KG and Puff

This just in from Tony Knight:

"KG lives the good life."

That is truly a surprise. I always thought he'd marry a sister.

So here's my stance. I'm a child of God who appreciates and cherishes the fact that we live in a world with the entertaining and beautiful diversity that comes with so many different ethnicities. And only bigots can truly reconcile a feeling that people should SOLELY marry within their race.

However, I have always had a small problem with black men marrying outside of their race, especially white women. Before I'm cast as a bigot let me explain.

The Black Family is an absolute, utter shambles. There's no doubt in my mind that we have the highest percentage of single parent families. The Black Family was under assault from the second the European settlers tore them apart during the slave trade. Of course, seperating families is the best way to keep these people weak, they thought. And they were right.

The Black Family never really recovered from that. And these days, you have the problem of kids having unprotected sex, making babies and immature black boys splitting when it comes time to care for the poor children. I mean, the ailments of the Black Family are so numerous its probably best suited for a dissertation, not a blog post.

Anyways, anytime there is an eligible black man that could do some good by marrying a black woman and fortifying the community with a strong family unit, I think that's what should be done.

But too many times, black men with good gigs, especially ones that ascend to particularly successful heights, go and marry a white woman.

As always it goes back to slavery. There was some incredible conditioning that took place for a good six or seven generations that will not be undone anytime soon. One major result of the slavery/reconstruction/jim crow conditioning was the "angelizing" of the white woman. Of course a white man could do anything and everything with a black woman, but a black man would be lynched for merely looking at a woman.

Well once it was no longer illegal for black men to consort with white women, there was an all-out pursuit. yes, that's simplifying things and leaving out many other important variables, but it the gist of the problem.

What it's done is create a complex within many black men. White is Right, Black is Wack.

It's sad. Black women spend their whole life raising you and loving you; and then when you get a little dough or status, you turn your back on the community and ethnic gender that nurtured you and go marry a white women, move to the burbs and forget the hood.

It's a wicked cycle.

I even play a game, where I try to figure out -- based on personality, upbringing, disposition and gut-feeling -- whether they have or will marry a balck woman.

For instance:

Jamie Foxx will marry a black woman.
But what about Don Cheadle?

Allen Iverson married a black woman.
Rasheed Wallace was definitely gonna marry a black woman.
But something tells me LeBron will marry a white woman.

We all know football players refuse to marry black women, but there are a few that buck that trend.
But is there any doubt that Terrell Owens will marry a white woman (if he doesn't seek a civil union with another man)? He fits the profile to a T.

In other news:

I heard the new Puff joint. He's goin hard. The theme of the song is similar to his joint "Public Enemy Number 1". Except I think this joint is dope. I don't know who's writing his ryhmes right now, but if you ask me, Puff is spittin. Doesn't really sound like Loon is ghost-writing. Maybe it's Ness.

Ultimately, I think Puff is the best story. I used to hate my man, now he's like the collest kat to me.

My man Tony Knight from the Strict, who's pretty much the Bible on 68% of hiphop, said it best: "Puff is harmless". I always thought that was avery astute observation. Bak in the day, Puff was obviously a vanguard of the movement that threatened to ruin the genre and ultimately damaged it pretty severely.

But then Puff weathered all that backlash, came back without his Big Gun named Biggie and he was basically just a fun-loving entrepenuer that did party-style hop. Can't front on that. He no longer has the clout to influence the direction of the music...so if he comes out with a Pharrell track spellin his name in the chorus, bitin off a classic Kris track, who cares? Not me. Do you Diddy.

Tussin, Dex and Listerine: Fathers' fixations with fix-all products

Last Monday, as I was falling ill, I was watching some Oscar wrap-ups and happened upon some Chris Rock interviews.

Since I was sick, all I could think about was his bit in one of his shows -- I think it was Bring the Pain -- about his father and Robitussin. Apparently his pops used Robitussin for every ailment. Common cold -- Robitussin. Headache -- Robitussin. Broken back -- Robitussin. He used it so much he did what all black men do in similar situation -- he shortened its name to just Tussin. If someone was dealing with allergies: "Better get that Tussin."

It was a classic bit to me because it reminded me of my pops and Listerine. A few years later the father from My Big Fat Greek wedding had his fix-all product. It was Windex. He used it on everything, including bruises and scrapes. He used it as an air freshner. Even brought it to the breakfast table.

But by far his most compelling and profound use came after he had an argument with his daughter. While leaving the room, instead of using a gesture, like a dismissive wave off or slamming the door -- he turned his back, walked out and squirted some Dex in the air. It was the most gangsta use of a cleaning product ever.

My father was crazy with his Listerine.

Looking back I wish he would've used it back when I was a kid and he used to wake me up at 6 a.m. to cut my hair before going to our meetings. I always thought it was foul and cruel how he used to just punk and disrespect me by not brushing his teeth, but still trying to kick it with me in the morning darkness about racist white basketball referees and how they called games for Larry Bird and the Celtics. Plus he was hookin me with busted five-level fades and lumpy box cuts and tellin me they were professional.

All that dude?!

The least he could've done was run a brush across his amber choppers or gargle some of his beloved Listerine.

But see that was just it with pops. He only got maniacal with Listerine when it came to sickness-prevention. Pops hasnt taken a sick day in almsot 40 years. That's crazy right? He rarely gets really sick....like bed-ridden sick. And it's all because of 'Rine.

See, the way he sees it...colds start because of germs and most germs enter into your system through your mouth. That's why most colds start with a tingle in the back of your throat. Well, as soon as pops gets that tingle, he starts with gargling. And dude is committed with it too. He'll gargle for minutes at a time 2 or 3 times an hour. He'll gargle in the middle of meals. He'll wake up in the middle of the night to gargle. Dude even takes the bottle of 'Rine with him in the car when he leaves the crib. I can count too many times where I'd be with pops and he'd be gargling at red lights, opening up the door spittin out 'Rine before the light change. He'd stop a conversation abruptly and say: "Hold up Vince, let me hit this 'Rine before green."

But perhaps the most annoying aspect of his 'Rine fixation was his insistence on pestering everyone else to follow his health manual. And it's like, "Dude, I'm not gonna be gargling on my way up to the post office door and spitting in garbage cans before going in." None of us, not me or any of my sibs, were willing to be either as dedicated or fanatic as he was.

When we were younger we'd just have to deal with it. He'd force us. He use to give these annoying gargling tutorials. The key, ya see, was to get the 'Rine as far back in your throat as possible without swallowing. "Yeah, get on back in there deep where them germs is laying."

He got even more annoying as you got older though. Once you were in your late teens and he could no longer force you to do certain things, he'd find roundabout ways to get in 'Rine plugs when people were sick. When we moved in the late 90s, we moved to a nice crib that had a bathroom off the kitchen. That's where he kept his stash of 'Rine. Don't let me be in the the kitchen watching TV when I was sick. He'd inevitably slide in a 'Rine promo. It'd go something like this:

"Vince. What's happnin baby?"

"Wuddup pops?"

Weasling his way into position...

"Yeah man. I heard you down here hacking. Sounds like you got a serious phlegm situation goin on. What? You sick man?"

"Yeah man. I'm comin down with somethin. I'm handlin it though."

"Yeah I thought you might be getting somethin. I could hear that phlegm tryin to get out. You been garglin"

"Naw"

" Yeah. Well, mom told me you were comin down with somethin too, so I just went ahead and kopped you a bottle of Listerine. I put it on your bed."

"Good looks pops"

I'd give him each answer without turning my head from the TV so he wouldn't try to strike too engaging of a conversation. Still, he'd continue.

"Remember to get it in deep when you gargle. Get it all the way back in the slums."

Now I'd just start giving him the silent treatment.

But he'd keep going. See his Listerine rampage, as with most fathers and their fix-all promos, was as much about endorsing his unique prescription for beating a cold as it was about concern for your health. So even if he already had covered the essentials -- yes I'm sick; no I haven't gargled; yes I know that you bought me my personal bottle -- he still has to figure out a way to give me a gargling exhibition to blow the climaxing note on his self-celebrating trumpet.

And he knew I knew, so he'd try to ease it in. i guess it was his paternal instinct and duty. Anyway, despite my silence he'd continue. Usually he'd just start milling around the kitchen, maybe stop and aimlessly stare at whatever show I was watchin. If it was sports he was set, because his grasp of sports was so thorough that he could easily find away to to get in a plug, plus he could avoid me giving him the silence by engaging me in a sports convo. But he was at his most annoying if it was a show like Real World and he really had no plausible entree into a 'Rine plug. But like I said, he was determined...

"What's this Vince?"

"Real World"

"Man them kids crazy ain't they?"

Silence...

"Man is that dude gay? Look at him. Little sissy."

silence....

"Man that girl crazy ain't she Vince. that broad nutty as a fruitcake."

A little more staring at the TV

"Look at that broad...man she look sick too don't she?"

Silence...

"People always sick...I hate sick people...People in this crib always walking around sick...Gettin snot and saliva on everything."

Silence....

"You good though. You don't stay too sick. You're like me. But not the rest of these ol' sickly niggas. Priscilla? Man, that girl! She stay walkin around the house with her lil' sniffly nose. I can't stand these sick people around here. Yo mama stay sick too. I'm through with this no immune system situation 'round here. Ya know what I'm sayin Vince? Sick niggas...But you cool though"

Here it comes...

"Man shoot, let me go on and gargle some Listerine before I come down with some virus."

That's when he'd go in the adjacent bathroom and start gargling with the door open. Talking himself through his several gargles, but also indirectly giving me some gargling pointers for the 300th time in my life...

"Wooooooo. Let me do 'bout three or fo mo hits."

he gargles...

"Ahhhhhh. I'm gonna get it down in there on this next one."

he gargles....

"Uhhhh. Them germs is co-dead. Ya know?! Got to get at them lames before they even get started!" He'd try to fake like he was sayin all this stuff to himself.

This went on too many times to count while I lived at home. Funny thing is, I gargle a lot now. Especially when I feel colds coming on. If I would've gargled a little more and little earlier, I may not have caught the flu bug, which eventually turned into the chest cold that had me dealing with asthma attacks all last week.

Regardless of how they go about it, I guess it's somewhat accurate when they say "Father knows best."

For what it worth, you probably won't ever catch me living anywhere without some Tussin, Dex and 'Rine.

Asthma attacks

I had asthma attacks last week.

This is how uncomfortable I was: I didn't eat for more than three days. Literally. The only thing I put in my system was H2O and medicine. I couldn't walk more than five feet without propping myself up with a wall or counter top and I couldn't talk either. After three or four words I'd need to gasp for oxygen. I had never been in such discomfort.

Can't really tell you how it started. It was to severe to have been from allergies. The doctor I saw said it probably was a flare-up from some version of the flu. Originally I felt a cold coming on Monday at the movie theaters. I go see a lot of matinees during the day and last Monday I got real sexy wit it and decided to do a double-feature.

Pretty soon that air-conditioning draft was giving me a scratchy throat. By Monday night I had that tingle in the back of your mouth that you get when a cold is coming on. So I hit Walgreens for some cold medicine, loaded up on vitamin C, Golden Seal and Echinasea...I even gargled Listerine like pops used to teach me (more on that in the another blog).

No go though. By Tuesday it had turned into a chest cold...Mo phlegm than a little bit.

Now whenever I get a chest cold, I go on big-time pnuemonia alert. I had the nuemons once before and they say you're more susceptible to catching it again if you've had it once before. And I don't play with pneumonia because its deadly. So, to get rid of that mucus I went and got me some Tussin (more on that in the other blog). It helped with mucus, but my breathing kept getting worse.

This was really effin up my work week. I had several big stories due, inclduing one on NBA pseudo-legend Darryl Dawkin, who was an Orlando-native, and I couldn't do anything more than lay tossing and turning in bed. Talking made me exhausted and I didn't have the energy to sit up and write, let alone the clarity to write coherently and the interest to string together anything remotely eloquent. So we had to postpone my stories and give others to some of our part-time stringers.

My boss was being a prick about things too. Sending me emails about turning in my expense accounts when he knew I wouldn't be able to get him any receipts if I was house-bound. I didn't get a "Vince you aight?" until he heard I was in ER...and then it took about another day to get a "get better email". Which made me kind of upset since I've worked as hard, if not harder, than any writer since I arrived in Jan (but more on that and him in a future blog.) I'm like, "don't act like a nigga is mailing it in." (Do I sound like a scorned wife?)

By Thursday my breathing was so bad I went to an ER.

While there I've come to the indisputable unarguable conclusion that immigrant children, especially African and Latino children, are by far the most ill-behaved children on the planet. And it's all parenting.

The little black boy in the room sat quietly by his father. The little white boy got up and moved around every so often, but his mother would dutifully say something like, "OK Tyler, sit down now and color in your book. These people are sick." or "Tyler let the man walk through." Maybe not as forceful as an angry black mother, but it did the trick. The little rugrat sat down and let us, me in particular, be sick withought any added annoyance.

Meanwhile the little hispanic girl was going crazy: crawling on the dirty and wet lobby floor, stepping on everyones toes, taking down blinds. And all her 50-yeard mother would say was "Casandra. Casandra. Casandra. Casandra. Casandra." That's it! She just kept repeating her name in this mousy voice. Wouldn't bother grabbing her or even keeping her eye on the rambunctious kid. Just periodic "Casandras".

Sometime she would change her inflection, usually after Casandra had just done something incredibly mischevious like take a crayon from the white boy and draw a line on the wall. That's when we got, "Casandraaaaaaaaaaaaa". But even then it was just "Casandra" Homegirl couldn't even muster a "Dios Mio". Everyone understands kids will be kids, but adults are supposed to police them right? Not immigrant parents.

Am I a bigot? Probably. But you know I was ready to call child services.

Anyways after sitting in the waiting room for 2 hours, I was finally called to the back where I sat for another hour. During this hour, a nurse checked on my exactly twice. First to check my blood pressure and then have me blow in this contraption to see how much oxegen was in my body. After she she checked my oxy levels she just set the contraption on the table and bounced.

20 minutes later, after sitting in that room with my chest heaving, another nursed stepped in asked a couple questions and moved me to another room. There I sat for about 20 minutes while nurses whizzed back-n-forth past my room, never popping their head in. They weren't busy either. Most of them were in a an adjacent room eating chinese food. And that's cool. You need your breaks, but you work in an ER -- this isn't a call center. I mean, can you give me a doctor update? Can you set up an aerosol machine to get my breathing in check? What are you schmoes getting paid for? Needless to say I was heated. Finally another nurse walked in. It was actually the same one that checked me first and skated off with my lungs falling out my mouth. So Maria looked at my papers still lying on the table and said, "ohhhhhh noooooo. Has doctor come yet?" Of course I can't understand her because I'm weazing louding than a lawnmower. So I gasp and say, "what?!" "Doctor," she says. "He come"

I don't bother answering that stupid question. I just said, "Can you get a doctor in her please."

Five years later a doctor finally arrived, checked my breathing and hit me with the asthma attack diagnosis. He hit me with some meds and sent me on my way.

It's been about 3 or 4 days since and the breathing has definitely subsided.

Thing is though, the doctor said it would've never happened if I hadn't got sick. And if you believe my pops, I would've never gotten sick if I would've gargled more Listerine.

Check the next blog for the Listerine stats.

Job Search 1

King Procrastinator. Tha's my name from now on, or at least until I learn to handle things on a timely basis. It's now March and I still haven't sent out an updated resume and clips package to some of these newspapers with job openings.

Real soon, I'll be telling about some of the conversations I've had with my editor, who looks like a stout version John Stamos.

There are so many reasons why I hate sending out resumes. The cover letter process sucks for one. In the journalism industry you have to research the paper so you know the hierarchy, coverage area and paper history. It's laborious. Then you have to write what always ends up sounding gloating on one end and pandering on the other. So sometimes when I sit down to write a cover letter, i decide to do other things...like post blogs or look MTV's new online show After Hours staring Blair from Road Rules.

So that's my New Week's Resolution. Get these packets out and do follow-up the next week. One day, when I'm running my own magazine or writing books, I won't have to be bothered with this.

I'm naming this post Job Search 1 because each time something significant happens or even if I've wallowed in prolong lethargy, I'm going to provide similar short updates as Job Search 2,3,4,5...etc.

Last week would've been a little more productive...except I had several astma attacks...you know I got stories. Check the next post