“One Negro and…Two Orientals” – A 2010 Census Officer
Posted: January 6, 2010 Filed under: People, Pitts Indeed, politics, Thought Food | Tags: african-american, black, census, negro, new york daily news and 2010 census Leave a comment »The 2010 Census has “Negro” as a check box.
Question No. 9 on this year’s census form asks about race, with one of the answers listed as “black, African-Am. or Negro.”
Census Bureau spokesman Jack Martin said the use of “Negro” was intended as a term of inclusion.
“Many older African-Americans identified themselves that way, and many still do,” he said. “Those who identify themselves as Negroes need to be included.”
The form was also approved by Congress more than a year ago, and the word has appeared on past forms.
The use of Negro began disappearing elsewhere with the civil rights movement of the 1960s, as black or African-American became the preferred terms.
All things considered, I can’t say this one worked me into a lather. If anything, it just made me furrow my eyebrows and think: Why?
I get that the Census Board wants to make everyone feel included, but it stands to reason that if people are taking the time to fill out the Census, they’ll probably check the most appropriate box, even if they have to do so grumbling. I would like to meet the person beating down the Census Bureau’s door wondering why they as Negroes were left off the form.
As I consider it, the Negro usage seems akin to grouping “Retarded” along with “Special Needs” or “Handicapped” on a form. Yes; both are previously acceptable terms, but now that’s not really the case and more importantly, the use seems unnecessary considering neither denote anything specific or particular.
All the guys wanna come treat you right…
Posted: June 25, 2008 Filed under: People | Tags: atlanta, black, college, connection, darth vader, ma barker, real life, strippers, td jakes Leave a comment »
While restless last night, but in no mood to do anything one might consider productive, I decided to hop online and get a little AIM chat sesh fired up. Having once been heavy in the game, I now only use it every now and again, on those occasions in which I wish to do something but not something productive. Having reconnected with a few of my dunnigans and gotten their various life updates–marriage, Post-Graduation Psychosis, etcetera–I had occasion to get a nice little dialogue going with Ma Barker–known in some parts of the world wide web as Darth Vader–, one of the handful of ’06ers with whom I shared a redshirt year. In fact, while we knew of each other by virtue of being Black in an un-Black place, we didn’t really become properly acquainted until the summer after we were supposed to have begun our Psychosis. Instead of entering into the rat race, we flung caution to the wind and pursued that elusive white whale known as Spanish, and in that pursuit began the crew thickery.
Our affections for one another stem from not only mutual appreciation for the other’s intelligence, but also the fact that we could trade war stories and revel in our collective griminess. Because like T.D. Jakes says, “Those who grime together, rhyme together.” Or something. I’m Gracchus–For my elder-statesman status among the Elis–and she’s Ma Barker–a lovable, semi-criminal figure who would seem like a made up character in a John Waters movie if she wasn’t entirely real. Trust me, homegirl has a very particular brand of thuggery that just makes me happy that I know her. To further belabor this point, I supposed our interactions are something like when pirates get together and “arrrrrr” and drink pitchers of beer, except with collared shirts and college educations.
Anyway, like most people, Ma’s darthliness has been somewhat stifled by the fact that she has a real job. Much like every single other place in life, the rules of college don’t quite translate (especially if you don’t have money). Rather than roll to class twenty minutes late after being a shitshow at karaoke, she has to roll to work on time (after possibly having been a shitshow at karaoke). Still, her predilection for carousing with strippers has not been stamped out; indeed, it was the reinvigoration of said predilection that gave me cause to spin this yarn. Although, I suppose this isn’t a yarn if yarns are supposed to be fake for, this tale is utterly true.
Ma likes strippers. And I’m not talking about “she likes to see naked women”, I’m talking “she frequents strip clubs, dancers know her by name, and she has had out-of-champagne-room relationships with them.” Now, because she is a friend of mine, I give her lifestyle the latitude to be fascinating and not seem pathetic. This is also helped by the fact that she sees the decided amount of absurdity in it–a fact that we’ll come back to later. Perhaps I find it mostly acceptable because A: It doesn’t matter what I think and B: her tastes seem to be genuine; she likes strippers like women like tall guys. The whole thing is compelling in it’s ability to seem entirely regular.
In the theatre, I’m of the opinion that it’s the artist’s duty to tell the audience something they already know in an interesting way. Last night’s conversation with Ma was certainly that. Though I knew her affinity for women that remove their clothing for money, I knew not its particular nuance. I mean, it’s interesting enough to take Apple home and attempt to sweat her out. It’s even more interesting when you befriend Apple at her place of business–clearly with the intent to pump her out–and end up getting strung along through her life while clothed.
It’s one thing to see the inside of a stripper’s apartment–tough in it’s own right considering how dangerous such a scenario is for the stripper in question–it’s another thing to meet her hare krishna family at a hare krishna festival. No, you didn’t read that incorrectly (Sidebar 1: For the life of me, I didn’t even know there were hare krishnas in Ma’s neck of the woods and didn’t know one of their ilk could be a stripper). It’s something entirely different to discuss her college experience and getting her biology degree, an experience that didn’t include stripping because stripping is her post-bach work. Word.
It’s not totally crazy to sit on a stripper’s non-work couch; however, it is a bit peculiar to get drunk and watch Disney movies with them while not bumping uglies. Such things and others–like the purchase of organic shampoos and the like–might lead you to forget this person’s particular line of work, until you find yourself again in her apartment and said professional offers to dance for you. For a grand (Sidebar 2: Say what you want about stripping, but more than they are women who take their clothes off for money, they are hustlers. And I don’t say that in a disparaging way. Yes; the fact that they are getting naked or close to naked certainly helps their money-making venture, but in order to get people to continue to reach into their wallets, you gotta have a little something extra). It is only then, feeling mildly insulted by the business proposition and fully embarrassed for not seeing it coming from a mile away that you say, “Wait. You’re a stripper.”
Sure, there’s more than the Apples of this world. There are also the Danas; strippers of the middling sort who seem to be more in line with what the masses (who have little idea what they’re talking about) are wont to think: exotic looking and obsessed with astrology. Yet even they have a quirky wrinkle. According to Ma, strippers love Whole Foods. Her explanation was because they are often near the trendy spots in her given metropol. And since the decent to above average stripper, who, at the reputable club, can pull down between 2000 and 5000 a week tax-free, it stands to reason they can afford a close proximity to trendy. Though I also imagine Whole Foods has an appeal in being devoid of cheap cologne and middle-aged hard-ons.
Although we online cackled about this excerpt from her marginally hot mess personal life, Ma did at one point submit soberly that she needed to find some friends. Of all the absurdity that she spoke, this was easily the most profound in our conversation. As I stated way earlier, the reason I don’t worry about or pity Ma is that she’s fully aware of her situation for good or ill. Indeed, her ownadmission was not made with sarcasm or an attempt to troll for pity; it was merely the utterance of someone who is trying to navigate her way through “her quarter-life crisis.”
I’ve recently discussed the slim margin for error when having real life sex, but I think the margin for error for friendship is more slim. In this regard, the necessary critical mass that is found in school is less important than the variety found within said mass. Sure; there’s a friend group for just about everyone and often people don’t leave those groups, but should a person feel the need to change groups–which happens often enough–there’s usually something there for them. It’s not hard to move between the “scenes.” After school ends, as I’ve said previously, the access to multiple scenes is exponentially more difficult. But there’s more than that. Most people are not likely to say, “Oh, I can’t access a scene so I will do absolutely nothing at all.” Most give nothing a try at first–because they don’t know what to do–but eventually, the loneliness overwhelms to the point that they have to do something.
Outside of the easy route–going to a bar–I’d argue that people allow their predilections to more narrowly dictate their free time. Since that free time is much more precious than it used to be, most don’t waste that time trying new things. It happens sometimes–most often with a companion I would think–but people, for the most part, spend their free time doing something they know they like. Eventually the practice becomes a routine in and of itself–kind of like a leisure job–and the routine continually dominates because the only alternative is loneliness. While Ma enjoys the nakedness being shaken in her face, she more enjoys the connection to something familiar, something other than nothing.
Unfortunately, like everything else outside of college, Ma pays through the nose to sniff at companionship. And that’s what strip clubs count on. That’s not an indictment; it’s just more a realization that these clubs don’t sell in sex; they sell in a reprieve from loneliness. The ladies over at the Pink Pony are what your friends used to be. Not in depth, but in availability. Just give them that thumb print so you can get into VIP. Connection is just a credit card away. Ain’t that ’bout a bitch? Peace to Anakin Skywalker.
Penultimate Thought: I’m mesmerized by people who jump rope well.
Final Thought: Peoples’ guilty pleasures are exceedingly fascinating.
She drove me to the place where her horses run free…
Posted: June 22, 2008 Filed under: Movies | Tags: arsenio hall, black, coming to america, critique, eddie murphy, sexual chocolate Leave a comment »I was napping the other day and for some reason I can’t remember now and probably wouldn’t understood fully if I did, my mind drifted to one of the great comedies of all time, ‘Coming To America.’ The stellarness of this movie is beyond reproach; it’s got classic one-liners, Eddie in his prime, Arsenio before he fell off the face of the Earth, Sexual Chocolate…I mean, the list goes on.
And if that weren’t enough, it is, in my less than humble opinion, one of the great date/icebreaking videos ever. Think about it: If you have a honey coming over, it’s a movie with just the right comedy to romance quotient, which is one of the great macking subterfuges.
As you might imagine, I’ve seen this film more than a few times. Frankly, I think you have to have renew your viewings every year just to keep your Black card in working order. Obviously, as I have grown, I’ve seen more flaws in the film, most of those being on the bougie Blackademic level that is useful and compelling in heavily regulated doses. Eddie is won over by the pure and virginal light-skinned girl while her dark-skinned sister comes off as a floozy. When you step back, that’s mildly problematic. It’s not right to demonize dark-skinned sisters, especially when light-skinned girls are stank anyway.
But I digress. After many viewings and cackles of delight, I came out of my slumbering stupor and realized this incontrovertible fact: Lisa McDowell had no reason to be all pissed at Akeem and throw the earrings he gave her at him before getting off the train, obstensibly breaking up with him because Akeem’s dad came into her room and said he was in America merely sowing his wild oats and had no intentions of being serious with her. If you think about it her reaction was borderline absurd for the following reasons:
1. While I can see being hurt by such a revelation, the facts of the matter leading up to that point belie what King Jaffi said. If you recall the movie, there’s nothing that should really lead us to believe Lisa and Akeem do anything other than have long talks, cultural outings and a romantic kiss or two. And also if you consider the device of Lisa’s sister Patrice being cast in the light of a harlot, it stands to reason that her (light-skinned) sister does not spread her legs so easily. Let’s not forget this simple movie fact: Unless the movie shows you or tells you, a hypothetical act DID NOT happen thus, Lisa and Akeem did not go to Pumptown.
2. She’s hurt by being deceived, but let’s consider what the guy lied about. He was a prince with the heart of a romantic who wanted to find true love and felt his power and influence would get in the way of that. He didn’t hide a baby mother or a stint up north; he said he was a goat herder rather than the eventual ruler of a nation. Upon finding this out, can a person really be all ticked off?
3. If Akeem was truly sowing his wild oats why would he: A) Lie about being wealthy and only demonstrate his wealth in a covert manner, which backfired anyway because another person was given the credit for his lavish monetary deeds and gifts and B) Befriend a woman he finds intriguing, endure the insults of her wack boyfriend while never mentioning the fact that dude could never see money like his, and C) Do meaningful relationship-type things–minus sex of course–with said chick after wack boyfriend is out of the picture? That makes no sense. Now, I could possibly see a person posing as a commoner for sport, just to see if he could bag chicks without the money, but this wasn’t the case. And while she didn’t know if he was creepin’ or not, her gut and logic should have told her otherwise. I mean, come on, Lisa. When have you ever known a dude to treat a mere wild oats sowing jump-off like Akeem treated you, in public no less? It does not happen. And if anything that resembles his actions were for the spoils of a jump-off, you would have needed to been spreading your legs.
4. She didn’t have the moral high ground to go throwing the earrings back in his face. She didn’t seem to have a problem wearing them beforehand, even after the note attached said they were from a secret admirer who was not Darryl, her man at the time (Sidebar 2: What if Darryl hadda been like, “Where’d you get those earrings?” What could she say? I thought they were from you? If she said that, she’d hae been a liar because she had good enough reason to believe they were from him, but wore them anyway. She can only stand on the fact that Darryl was douchely). So when the truth finally comes out, she treats dude like she caught him red-handed. Akeem shoulda been like, “Yeah, these were from the same guy who has made no overt attempts to reveal his wealth or extort a sexual compensation to recoup the cost of said earrings, dinners, etc.”
5. Even with all the evidence casting him in a favorable light, the guy STILL renounced his throne. Sure, you could argue that people will do anything when desperate, but to say he had truth and righteousness on his side and did not need to do such things is a gross understatement.
Again, I can understand why she would be taken aback by the truth coming out. That’s pretty heavy stuff, but her reaction does not hold water. He treated right, wasn’t sleeping with her and the only thing that you could classify as a lie was his withholding the fact that he was filthy rich in order to possibly meet a woman who loved him for him, though this lie did not prevent him from being anonymously generous with his wealth to not only her but others.
No; you can’t refute the above and yes; I do need a job. Peace to Frenchie Faison.
Penultimate Thought: Text messaging is the devil.
Final Thought: I think the best Law & Order team was Brisco and Green.
