Giving Back My Ghetto Pass (Part II)

Since blackness is narrowly defined, and I've been outside of those definitions for quite some time, I'm giving my ghetto pass back. Here are twenty reasons:

1) Not only was I born and raised in Des Moines, IA, Des Moines is also in my top four cities in the US (along with Columbus, OH, Chicago, IL, and Madison, WI).

2) I have never had a cool nickname. Verbal is closest, but it usually reminds people of the crazy white dude in the Usual Suspects.

3) Wonder Bread and Miracle Whip are delicious.

4) I only have one dance move - side to side. And every now and then, I bend my knees. And some of the time, that one dance move doesn't work like it should.

5) OJ did it.

6) So did R. Kelly and Michael Jackson.

7) I'm perfectly okay with dating outside of the race... so long as it's not dating outside just to say you did it.

8) I have voted for a Republican in my lifetime, and it's not beyond me to do it again.

9) Seinfeld is one of the funniest shows ever.

10) I have no "black accent". As a matter of fact, I sound like my mom and dad fed me the dictionary until I was 18.

11) Even though I'm not as angry as I used to be, I still get angry at individual people far more than other races. So you won't find me trying to find racism in a box of Shredded Wheat or railing on how Jews run the world.

12) I don't "buy black" for the sake of doing it. Best bargains get my money every time. So sorry, Sean John and Roca Wear. I'd rather hang at Target and still look good while keeping more money in my pocket.

13) If the average size of a black penis is 37" like one is lead to believe, then I'm hung like a fruitfly.
(Wait a minute... I can't lie about this one. I'm really hung like a f*cking blue whale. Let's skip this one and move to #14)

14) Although football is my favorite sport, I'd rather watch skateboarding, motorcross, and Winter X games over basketball any day.

15) Outrageous jewelry and pimped out cars make me feel like I'm bleeding on the inside. Give me an almost-new Honda Accord over an Escalade sitting on 22s any day.

16) I won't, under any circumstance, watch BET. I haven't watched BET since they fired Tavis Smiley and won't start watching it now.

17) I have good credit.

18) I don't refer to myself as African-American. I'm not from Africa, neither were my parents, their parents, or their parents. That sh*t annoys me, just like it does for people that are at least three or four generations removed from being Italian, Irish, or any other ethnicity.

19) I can name 10 country AND 10 classical songs that I LIKE.


20) I have no bitterness toward any police department. I DO have bitterness toward the police who abuse their power... just like I have bitterness toward any m*thaf*cka in the business world or even in relationships that do things that equate to the same amount of damage.

So there you have it. Even though I have dark skin, I'm done with this whole being black thing. It sucks. Rip up my ghetto pass. I'm done with it. I don't know how to classify myself... but I think I'm better off figuring that out down the road.

Tummy Tucks, Michael Jackson, and My Lack of Blackness (Part I)

So now that the Michael Jackson hysteria is dying down, I'm starting to realize something... as much as people ripped on him in his life and death about his not wanting to be black anymore, no one ever presented the alternative viewpoint...

But in order to present the alternative... let's "pretend" for a second that Michael never had a skin disease. Let's "pretend" that he made all the physical changes himself. Now most people pretend that already, but what about the other rumors that circulated that no one paid attention to?

The Jackson family loved their mom, but despised their dad. The man was obsessive, strict beyond belief, and never allowed the kids to be kids. Of all the Jackson kids, none was more anti-dad than Michael. There was a book out that said that Michael was so afraid of his dad, that he'd vomit at the mere sight and sound of him. That's pretty harsh.

What makes it worse is that, if you look at the pictures closely, Michael looked more like daddy than any of the other kids. How would that make you feel... to look like the spitting image of someone that you wanted to drive a bus over? Michael was in that boat, and he lived with it everyday.

Knowing that, and knowing that Michael had all the money in the world, he decided to use that money to change everything about him that remotely resembled his dad. He went from being a virtual Joe Jr by appearance to being... something else. Is that REALLY anti-black? Or is it someone who had the reason and resources to change the things about him that resembled what he didn't like about himself (which is resemblance to pops)?

If we're still "pretending" that he changed his own physical appearance, then I'd argue that, not only is it the latter, but that we can all relate to it in some way, shape, or form. Check this out...

Ladies have a hell of a standard to live up to on a daily basis. Some women despise looking in the mirror because they are too dark... others because the hair is too kinky or that tummy has too many bulges in it or the boobs were too little. Guys, same thing. someone out there probably made you feel like sh*t about your darkness, hair, or even your d*ck size. And not only that, but someone out there has probably helped in beating in the "negative" things about them. The effect of that is wishing that you could change those things. You can straighten or color your hair, then lie about how straight or light it really is. You can get a tummy tuck and tell everyone that 900 crunches a day did the trick. Whatever it is, there are wishes galore that, if unlimited resources were available, they would be used to enhance that physical appearance. You could add a couple inches to your d*ck and say that everyone was delusional about how little it was. Whatever the situation, money and time would be able to fix it.

Michael did the same thing. He changed his hair, skin tone, cheekbones, nose, and chin... and now, he looks more like Diana Ross than his dad. That doesn't make him anti-black. That makes him rich and able to do something about his features... yet he constantly got beat up because he doesn't like being black. Wow.

And not to get on a tangent, but that sh*t drives me crazy. I hate the narrow definition of blackness. You have to be a certain tone, you have to talk a certain way, you have to act a certain way, you have to hang with certain people, you have to have certain interests... that's pretty messed up. And I guess it gets my blood boiling, because I've been perceived as the farthest thing from being black for damn near my whole life. It's one thing to hate on Michael because you don't like his music or the child-molesting thing. It's another to call him anti-black because of sh*t that you don't even know about.

You know what? F*ck it. I'm turning in my ghetto pass. Seriously. Here it is. I don't f*ckin want it. Use it as toilet paper or something. I'm not black anymore. I'm whiter than white rice on a white paper plate and a white napkin with a glass of milk and vanilla ice cream on the side. Don't believe it? I'll give you 20 reasons why I'm no longer black. Check it out in the next blog...

I'm A Grown-Up... And That F*cking Sucks...

I was reading through a Men's Health seasonal magalog, and the thing was organized in lists this time. There was one list in there that discusses the points in a guy's life where he has "matured" from a kid to an adult. It was an interesting list... there were things in it which made me laugh in agreement... like no longer having the desire to get an athlete's autograph or fantasizing about a MILF that is the same age as me...

But this past weekend, I found that I was able to add to the list...

Let me give you some background to how I realized that somehow, I have grown up...

Four or five years ago (true story), me and a couple people were walking through a park on a nice, sunny Saturday afternoon. There was a festival going on at this park. People were all over the place having a good time. Single people, not-so-single people, families, and pets were all over the place. The music was loud and live, there were plenty of games... all around, it was a good time outside for all.

So we were walking around, beers in hand. All of us enjoyed the games and the music... until we decided that we had enough after about two or three hours. We started walking out, when we heard some noise in a corner. So we decided to play Sherlock Holmes to see what it was. Over to the corner we go, and there were two people, a guy and a woman. Both had no pants on, and he was hammering the hell out of her. In semi-drunken states, we watched for a minute, because we thought it was funny, hot, and definitely not something you'd expect to see. I mean it was classic... these two people were oblivious and clearly didn't give a f*ck what was happening around them. So after a few minutes of watching, I started yelling for the dude to life her leg higher and get deeper. The other people started laughing and cheering. The couple got a little embarased, put their clothes back on as quickly as possible, and took off. And we all ended up with memories that last a lifetime.

Fast forward a few years to last weekend. I had my daughter last weekend. We decided to enjoy an evening stroll by letting her ride her bike while I chased her. The park down the street has a big walking path that we really like, so we headed down there. The two of us got to the park and got on her bike. She had her helmet on and was ready to fly, when what does she see happening on the swing set? Two people... a guy and a girl. The girl was sitting in the swing, and the guy was between her legs. She was wearing a short skirt, so at the very least, they were making out. And my daughter caught a nice view from a distance. She looks at me, and asks me what they were doing. I told her that they're whispering secrets in each other's ears and that we shouldn't pay attention. But in my mind, I thought "What the f*ck are those two people doing?!?! They need to take that sh*t to the hotel! My daughter doesn't need to see that sh*t! That's f*cking disgusting!"

Not only did I think that, but I even tried to break it up. I had my daughter get off her bik and run around the path with me. I told her that when we got to a certain point on the track, to yell as loud as she can while she ran as fast as she could. That certain point was when we would be about 10 feet away from the oblivious couple. So, she did it and scared the sh*t out of the couple... enough that they got back in their car and went somewhere else. Now I was happy but still slightly agitated that my daughter saw that...

So what does that have to do with growing up?

Well... the first thought in my mind five years ago was how f*cking cool it was to see a sex scene hidden in a public place. The first thought in my mind last weekend was that it was disgusting and they needed to get a room so my daughter isn't traumatized by those perverts. I don't know if that's maturity or me getting old at the ripe old age of 31.

Pretty messed up, huh?

So what do you think it is... maturity, getting old, or something else? Have you ever had a moment that smacked you in the ass and you realized that you really are a grown m*thaf*cka?