Black History Month

So it's Black History Month and if you know me at all you know I'm not I'm not black or at least I haven't been since I was working on a farm in North Carolina. I was blue black back then. Seriously, like invisible in darkness black. I'm more of a milk to dark chocolate brown these days.In any case, to myself and others I encounter I am black. I love being black too. It's so much more mainstream than those purple's. There's a lot to not like about it I guess, but I wouldn't choose anything else.SO this is the month to celebrate my heritage. Herald our glorious rise as a people from the terrible injustices of the past. One month to commemorate decades of accomplishment and perseverance. One month to raise up the fallen heroes of the past and inspire the heroic leaders of the future. Did anyone else notice that it's the SHORTEST MONTH OF THE YEAR? Damn it! I think "the man" screwed us again. Could we just get some casinos?Well, everyone jumps on board in any case and off we go. Year after year schools cover the exact same list of black heroes. I heard about the same people year after year for thirteen years. I don't mean to diminish the amazing accomplishments of even one of those truly great people, but, FYI there are more than twenty-eight notable black people in the history of this country. That is unless you're getting your information from Senator Joe Bidden (Dude. seriously. Just shut up and stop running for president - your racism is showing. AGAIN!).So many major companies are buying up ad space to speak on what Black History month means to ... um, well - I guess to thier bottom lines. Allstate likes black people so I guess I'll get my car insurance from them! Earlier this month I got an email from a VP at my company regarding how important Black History Month is to my company. I love my paycheck ... I mean ... er, company! But this VP is the second whitest lady on the planet. The only person whiter than her is like, Gwyneth Paltrow (No offense Gwyn, honey - I still think you're great).This all stems from a recent trip to my local Barnes and Noble bookstore. I went with a friend that I really enjoy and it was a great time really. We always have a glorious time.But - while I was there I encountered the not so ambiguous African-American Interest table. I always look and I'm always frustrated by what I see. I demand to know who's in charge of what goes on that table. I hope it's not an actual black person. There were 30 to 40 books on the table and well over 80% of them were 'relationship books'. I don't mean tips on how to get and maintain good relationships. I mean books about doing it. Not even how to books (Doing it for Dummies, Hah!). Books about doing it to a lot of people. Zane's collected works were featured prominantly.I don't mean to downgrade any published authors talent or integrity. I mean - I like doing it at least as much as the next guy, maybe more. I do mean to say that to infer that African American people's "interest" runs predominately to sex, drugs and the "street life" is insulting. Well, at least to me. Where are the books on the Harlem Renaissance? How about any one of the fascinating non-fiction books written by notable black authors such as Denzel Washington, Sidney Poitier or Barack Obama (if you start that 'he isn't really black thing I swear to God...). How about one of the engrossing novels by Walter Mosley or any of the myriad other ethnic authors?I've spoken to a few people about my feelings about the situation I encountered and the response I heard most often was, "You should read one of those books. you might like them." That's not the point. I might. Probably not, but anything's possible. A woman and an ethnic person are running for president so ...My point is this - we won't be more until we aspire to it. Pick up a book intended to do more than titillate. Expand your mind. Explore your past and use it to illuminate all of our futures. Be saturated by truth. Be entertained by rich tapestries woven by "The Black Experience." I love the Alex Cross novels, but let's find a black literary hero that can be embraced by all that comes from the mind of an actual black person. Maybe my next visit to the bookstore will have that section filled with rich examples of the depth and intelligence of MY PEOPLE. There's still a place for doing it I suppose, but it would be nice if it wasn't portrayed as the main interest of a whole race.

Buy Britney's hair

Ah to be famous.

Every two weeks or so I stroll in to my barbershop to get a lil off the top. We have a laugh, talk some trash he cuts my hair and then I move on. On my way out my barber normally grabs a broom and a dustpan and into the wastebin goes that tangled mass of shorn hair.

Now - evidently, if I were famous (please God, no) and in the middle of a nervous meltdown - the protocol might be a little different.Just ask poor fallen mouseketeer Britney Spears how it feels to be that fabulously interesting. She's so interesting that well, I'm writing about her and so are thousands of other people.

OK, she and K-Fed split. I didn't care. She likes to drive with her baby on her lap. At least she's not dangling them over any balconies. Tsk Tsk, give her a ticket and a car-seat. She got a little blitzed and shaved her head. I don't have to wake up looking at that pasty cueball every morning, so why do I give a crap? I guess I really don't care at all about any of that.What I do wonder is what makes her discarded hair worth a million dollars? How much disposable income and what sort of twisted freak would I have to be to even desire that unholy mess. I mean this isn't exactly a grilled cheese sandwich with an effigy of the Virgin Mary toasted into the bread. Now that's worth a million dollars. A sandwich just isn't a sandwich without the tangy zip of a miraculous apparition of religious iconography seared into it!It comes down to this - a million dollars to commemorate the fall of a pop princess. It's your money. You worked hard for it. Spend it however you'd like I guess. People are starving all over the world, but it's a good deal really - you get her used up lighter and an empty can of Red Bull too. I'm not even going to talk about what a quality pair of clippers Omega makes. You might even score some DNA! DNA, the baseball card of the future! People homeless and living in squalid conditions all over the world but this is "The Ultimate Britney Spears experience!"

For your million + you'd get to experience what exactly? A handful of store-bought hair that smells of stale cigs and that cloying hint of desperation?

PLEASE don't. If you want to throw away a cool mil - I take paypal, at least I would make arrangements to for a such a special customer as yourself. I'll even come get it. I'll keep you in a steady stream of hair clippings and empty pop-cans for as long as we're both alive. Your meals at my restaurant are all on the house till the end of time. Better yet, donate it to a charity in the name of Ms. Spears and wish her a succesful rehab. She a little nutty, we got it - we got it.So - visit the site. buybritneyshair.com. Go ahead, buy it - I dare you.


P.S. Photogs of the world, there is an entire world of amazing photos just waiting to be captured on film for the enjoyment and betterment of the world. Get out there, find them. Make the world a better place. Win an award for your dazzling skill. PLEASE stop snapping pictures of Britney going to the bathroom and Beyonce picking her nose. Have you seen a clothed picture or Jack Nicholson? He's old! We all know that he's fat and saggy! All 90,000 year old people are. We don't need you taking pictures of him on the beach to realize it. I don't wanna see that crap and lets face it, neither do you.

It doesn't take a frickin' astronaut... does it?

I abhor the news. I as a general rule absolutely REFUSE to participte in the blatant fear-mongering and sensationalism.

"What's lurking in your water? We'll tell you how to protect your family tonight @ 11!"

Damn it, it might just be too late by 11. My mom might get monstrously thirsty @ 9:30 and then she's just screwed.

"15 ways thieves could steal your identity and convince the police that you are a homeless person squatting in thier house. News Center @ 6."

I knew it! They can do that? That guy laying on my couch when I got home really wasn't my roomate after-all! If only they'd warned me @ 12!

According to those teleprompter reading, cardboard cutouts - we're all pretty much done for anyway. Our cars are unsafe and talking to my friends on a mobile phone is irradiating my brain to a nice medium well. In case you didn't know I read in the early edition that brain tumors come in Rare Medium and Well. There was an enlightening article about the dangers posed to zombies by eating undercooked brain tumors.

RIP Anna Nicole, I could give a crap about you all but for how sad it is that the news outlets hounded you LITERALLY TO DEATH. That life is not for me, and I don't want to get sucked in. I don't need details @ 11. I'd rather an imagination @ 2.

BUT - every long once in a while I see a story so fantastic in it's sugary-sweet tabloid shell that I absolutely must give a little nibble.Mrs. Nowak - I salute you. You hatched real genious level plan. I mean it.

So few people in this world have the will to follow through on something as DUMB in such a amazingly organized and intelligent way. Spock and Momma Bates had a love child and it's you!

I guess it's just the hopeless romantic in you that drove you to cross so many miles swadled in your own urine and feces to win back your first, ok, second true love. (Oh - I'm gonna get that whore! Nothing is going to stop me, not even that chili cheese burrito. I knew it didn't smell right.) Absolutely NOTHING says I love you like kidnapping and pre-meditated murder. (If you love me and you're reading this, I'd settle for maybe a good meal or a good slice of home-made pie. If your feeling adventurous, maybe we could just do it in a strange place.)

There is nothing sexier than the thought of a grown woman wearing a kettle of poop-soup dismembering the woman that I'm currently shagging. Lady - you are for the time being, an ASTRONAUT! The general public adores you. You are/were an American hero and had adventures that a .00percentage of humans in this generation will get to have. You put that and your very humanity on the line for what?

I guess just to amuse us.Luckily the mallet, rubber tubing(what the hell?) and trash bags weren't needed. Your prey survived, albeit more than likely scarred for life by those few moments your paths crossed, the confusion of seeing you, the fear and anger when you let fly your blast of pepper spray, the surprising revelation that she did not in fact soil herself with fear - you really did just smell like poo.