Skeletons in my closet

The silent running dialogue that I often have with myself.

Friday, June 24, 2005


Okay, I will admit it…. I see how this blog thing could be addictive. My good girl friend turned me on to this blogging stuff, and she insists that I will become addicted to publishing my thoughts on to the web.

SideNote: More on her later. If I forget somebody remind me. Cause dat nigger is a blog by itself.

I spent part of my night planning this next post. I may have to set up a plan so that this shit wont take away from my LIFE.

I was flipping through the TV channels, as I was getting ready to be late for work. I flip past several strings of women programming channels. You know them as Lifetime and such. The programming is the same, the story always starts with some good average type woman, some times she is married with a good family or she is single with a great career. Then something goes wrong; she gets cancer, her husband leaves, she gets hooked on drugs, its one or the other. Then we watch her hit bottom, only to rise up again and struggle through to find another form of happiness. Women love these stories, these little 2hr mini drama; I think they just like to see someone’s life screwed up worse than their own.

See I know the woman television market is big time, but damn why brothers don’t have a channel. I mean there are stations for every demographic except for black males.

I would probably say blacks in general but I am going to focus on what I envision the first black male television programming station would contain.

SideNote: Don’t think that sports channels are Men's channels cause every brother has his favorite sport and team, and unless that channel is dedicated to that team and sport I aint watching it all the time.

Okay lets see I will start with morning programming.
6:00 Brother News
In depth analysis of things that affect brothers. Information on who is hittin that chick on the movie you saw the other night. All the sports scores, and boxing matches. Then like a weather forecast type deal. All the local brothers in trouble, any local chick that’s been run through, city social information. Important stuff. Shit that you need to be up on. Plus some shit on how to fix your credit.

6:15 Cartoons
Some old G.I. Joe type issue, some transformers, and Fat Albert for sure.

8:30 Ass Out
That Chick from OutCast Video, and Serena Williams walking around doing shit in they’re panties. Washing cars and having pillow fights.

9:30 InterNext
A computer show that gives u all the info and critiques on good blogs, sites, and places to get cheat codes on some video games. Spots to download some good porn, good albums, and ways to fix your credit.

10:30 GoodTimes, Sanford and Son,

11:30 The Videos
Play the videos on BET Uncut or After Dark…what ever it is, that shit is tight.

1:00 Old School Wrestling.
That new shit is truly gay. I am talking bout Sting, the four Horsemen, old Hogan, SuperFly Jimmy, and JunkYard Dog.

2:00 Movie Hour
Now I got to run Scarface, Sugar Hill, New Jack City, Goldie, Action Jackson, some Star Wars and Indiana Jones type movies.

SideNote: The real killer movie…and you heard it here first…. King Of New York…. If you haven’t seen it pick it up and check it out.

4:00 Back to them after dark or uncut videos

5:00 Kung Fu movies
5 Deadly Venoms and them type, not this new Jet Li shit…. which is good but I want to see Drunken Crane Style KungFu

7:00: Naked Hoes
Any pictures of some bad bitches that somehow always seem to get on the Internet. Maybe interview with the dudes that put them out. Especially the non-famous chicks. How do they end up on the net?

8:00 Afternoon Sports

8:30 The Wire
Nuff Said

9:30 Dave Chappel Show
Nuff Said

11:00 Talk Show
Bring back Sinbad…or maybe That first dude who did the Vibe talk show.

12:00 Some girls gone wild infomercials the ones with Snoop.
Plus some infomercials on how to fix your credit.

Thursday, June 23, 2005

My first entry

My first entry, my first discussion, my first dabble into the publishing realm. I will attempt to start a conversation with the public at large about the ramblings, musings, thoughts, ideas, plus the veritable cornucopia of useless information contained in my mind.

Some of this blog will be real life true none fictional accounts of the day-to-day operations of me. Some discussions will be my past. Others will be slightly redacted versions of my past to protect the not so innocent and the truly guilty. And honestly some of this will be straight up 5th grade made up.
SideNote: Man starting this thing off is really hard. It’s kinda like the first paragraph of that term paper. Oh, if you know me stop reading now!

Who am I?
Simply put I am a 30+ year-old black male.
Handsome (matter of opinion), smooth no doubt, intelligent, humorous, and quick witted.

Father of one and one to go.

Husband of one beautiful black woman,

Middle child of a two-parent middle-income family. Older sister, younger brother.

SideNote: Yes I need a hug… .and attention.

High school, college, law school. Done, done, and done

Had a job since 14 and hustled jobs before that.

Enjoy good food, music, and drinks.

Baptist random church attendee.


Why should you or anyone else read this blog? Hmmmmmmmmm? Good question! Lets say it this way, I am not trying to write a book, I don’t profess to be deep and poetic, and I am not overly artistic. But, man my life has been up and down and around, some real highs, and some outstanding lows. But it is all pretty funny by my recollection. So that is why I write, to entertain.

One note of caution, you will see SideNotes, and Damns throughout all of my writing.
Let me explain:

They are kinda hard to explain. You know when a character in a movie turns and talks directly to the camera….like in Hitch….or old school Ferris Bueller, it is like a direct communication with the audience.

If I spill the beans are screw up bad, a damn will appear to explain my actions without directly interrupting the story. Like the narrative guy from the Dukes of Hazzard, you know….

Quick Story to start it off:
I boo when I don’t like stuff. I vocalize, I let it be known. I don’t care if you are the president or a Baptist schoolteacher, if I don’t like it I am subject to boo.

I am sitting in a really urban, neo soul coffee shop. The atmosphere was really what poems are meant to be recited in, its dark, shadowy, enticing environment. Hell someone could fuck in the corner and not get caught. Once you walk in you immediately feel cool.

So me I am already feeling cool, two scotch and sodas in the last 10 minutes cool. I rest in my chair waiting for my senses to be subjected to verses and methods…skills. Of course since it is a black for black production, the music is humming helping create the vibe. My attention diverts from person to person. I fidget in my seat, shouldn’t have worn these sandals, they don’t look right.

I look up just in time to see a less than artful entrance onto a makeshift stage.

“Welcome, are you ready to have a good time?”

Stupid question, see I came to be miserable, upset, and bored! Would somebody please for the sake of the entertained public, stop using tired old contrite phrases:

Not to be to cocky but I think I know talent. I know how to be entertained. I know good shit when I hear it. Needless to say I didn’t hear it this night.

The first brother stood up and did his best Lorenz , I am smooth sexual Blackman, Tate. He rattled on about sex, and hot and wet and blah blah blah. Nothing new, nothing original.
But no boo from me. The parties is just getting started, don’t want to make snap judgments.

Next….Next….more and more of the same. I hold my tongue, it takes a lot to get up there and do this, so my expressed opinion should not be rushed.

Brother Angry stands up and does his oppression poem, with his tats, his gold, his $150 Tennis, $50 T-Shirt, and $100 jeans! I have to wonder that the major symptom of his oppression on the outside appears to be him. I silently agree that this dude needs to forgive the white man, forgive "DA MAN" for puttin the foot on his neck, and forgive me for not buying this ridiculas statement. How are you oppressed if you wearing over $300 in fads and fashion. Forgive Sean for forcing you into that shirt, Forgive Nike for placing those shoes on your feet, Forgive Jay-Z for making you put those jeans on. You are your own worst enemy....but moving on!

My luck is not failing me because next Sista Angry steps up, baby daddies, orgasm less sex, no good men that can handle a upwardly mobile sister with education and it going on....Uh just a guess, maybe you shouldnt have slept with them dudes without protection, maybe you need to open that mind up and the legs will follow (blink from the black eye), maybe just maybe they dont like your opinionated azz....but moving on.

I held it all in check, just an observer, no need to reply to any of this assualt on my sensibilities.

“To the stage I would like to welcome….”

Hot garbage!!!!
Her hair wild, untamed. Her eyes stark, troubled. Her clothes loose, baggy, unkept. Judging by her garb she was either an urban poetess, or a homeless wanderer. Or she was posing!

She starts into to her black woman, strong, powerful, sexual, alive, the birth of civilization from her womb….blah blah blah…!

It just popped out. The first came from the top, a surprise, unexpected. Almost unintended. The next was more from my soul. It oozed out like black ink staining the entire scene. It rumbled in from all sides and crowded the poor woman to the single lit safety of the spotlight.

Between Stares and Glares, I got glares. They could have been stares but I was caught up in the moment of expressing my displeasure with the performances. I thought it was funny but I am not sure if everyone enjoyed my free form of expression.

My significant other first adjusted her seat, then excused herself to the bathroom.

SideNote: I hate bullshit. I hate copies, unoriginal, lambs, and leeches. The tone of your voice switching from high to low, pitch floating, staccato breaks. All bullshit. Express the real. Poetry should be as individual as the soul that produces it. Oh but I forgot, this society strives on copycats, unoriginal, followers. Everyone aint Tupac, or Maya Angelou. Everyone doesn’t have struggles, some of you grew up in a middleclass, three bedroom, mommy and daddy at home, childhoods, right next door to me.

I would like to say that when the dudes who were running the show asked me to leave that I responded with some witty retort. I would like to tell you that I graced the stage and flowed poetic. Hell I wish I could say that they allowed me show my displeasure, but succinctly they did not.

I paid my tab, waited for my ole lady by the door, and thumbed my noise at the whole affair.

SideNote: A first read of this story by a friend makes me think I missed conveying my point. So I add this to pull it all together for those of you who were home schooled.

I have been back to the poetry spot, too my shock I was not well received. Never the less I stood up and gave them my idea of poetry. This by no surprise was hard but fair. And I was good, not great but good. I was me, I sounded like me, expressed me, even laughed out load at the funny parts like me. But like it or not it was me, no apologies, no excuses, just real…!!!!!