Sunday night I told myself it was finally time to end our relationship. We had started out strong, but over the past couple of years our difficulties were coming to a forefront. She...consuming much of my free time, money, and energy- distracting me from my goals, responsibilities, and friendships. I...in silent disgust; listened intently to her every word, contributing nothing to the relationship.
Yesterday morning I called her up to do what so obviously needed to be done. As she began to speak, a small tear welled up in my eye.
"Thank you for calling Time Warner Cable, this is Shanique, how may I help you?"
My voice cracked as the words came rushing out.
"Yes...I'd like to cancel my cable television service."
I thought that would be it, I tried to keep up a strong front, but Shanique was not going to let me go so easily. My monthly cable bill could be best described as insanity. With two televisions, HBO, DVR, and the HD package, I was shelling out $145 a month to watch the intricate facial deformities of my favorite athletes, solution-less talking heads, with their PhD's in polarization, simple-minded, talentless, "reality" hacks, who complain about how hard it is to get recognition and praise for their tiresome vapidness, and a bevy of shows "Lost" on drawn out storylines with an "Entourage" of homoerotic characters.
By the time I got off the phone with Shanique, not only were we still tied together, I suddenly had an appointment for next Thursday to install an internet phone line, along with a free trial for Showtime. Somehow, when I heard that just having internet was going to cost $59.99 a month and for only $40 more I would have the phone, cable, Showtime, etc., the priority of optimizing my life suddenly jumped out the window in favor of a couple free weeks of The Weeds. In the moment, it all seemed to make sense.
That was until several hours later, when I saw the headline on the Drudgereport.com, "shooting at Virginia Tech University, at least 29 dead."
You would think that after reading such a headline, one would begin to feel a sense of grief, sadness, and concern for the well-being of the friends and families of the victims (and students), while simultaneously feeling fortunate that one's life was not directly affected by the tragic events.
But no, not in my head. What did I do? I looked for coverage on the television, and went to Rosie.com (Rosie O'Donnell's blog) to see if she had posted any comments about the recent events. Why was Rosie a priority? Honestly, I have no fuckin idea. All I know is for the past couple years, I often listen to four chickens cluck away for twenty-five minutes about their "View" on EVERYTHING! Through all of this, I somehow ingrained the knowledge that "Rosie's spiral of depression" began after the Columbine shootings in 1999. Well I thought to myself, if murdering 12 people in cold blood could put her in a state...what will 29 do!
Truth be told...I actually like the lady. I had the opportunity to be her waiter several times many years ago. Financially, I have never met anyone more generous ($150 dinner gets you $150 tip). Though servers with vaginas tended to do even better with her, she has never done wrong by me, and when I watch her on television, I see a woman who "believes" she has the best interest in her heart for peace and acceptance of all people. Do I think she reaches sometimes on issues of homophobia? Yes. However, if I had a podium like hers, I'd be yelling about all the woman I have dated who complain about how hard it is to get recognition and praise for their tiresome vapidness. So much so, that I sometimes wish I was gay!
So since Rosie had not yet responded, I tuned into CNN to get some particulars regarding this madness. Sure enough, their attempt at coverage was about as chaotic as the information being relayed to the students on campus during the shootings. The end point for me was when the anchor (through a phone interview) asked a student on campus, "How are you feeling?"
I crossed my fingers and prayed that the student would respond...
Hmmm, that's a tough question. I am doing wonderful; I'm currently jumping rope down the hall and getting ready for a keg party at my frat house. This has been one of the best days of my life. Thanks for asking.
How are you feeling??? Is that news? How do you think he's feeling? He's scared, sad, frustrated, angry, hurt, etc., etc. Why do we need to hear this? Does this boy's opinion encapsulate the feelings for everyone on campus? I don't know about you, but I just didn't care (because it doesn't need to be said).
And for that matter, I really don't care about thoughts or opinions of any LCD screen icons anymore. I was listening to a talented speaker the other day and was drawn to his simple statement:
"Nobody on television ever put a penny in my pocket or food on my table."
I think my point is...What would Rosie do? Why the fuck should I care!
I called Shanique this morning and told her to put a squash on Time Warner’s plans for my household domination.
"Put me down for $59.99 a month, " I said.
If Rosie wants to tell me how she feels, she can invite me out for dinner.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Sunday, April 15, 2007
She Will Always Be "My Favorite"
I'm a minimalist by nature. I'll take a few great friends over a group any day. I don't collect anything, hate "trinkets," keep a tidy house, and have a "spring cleaning" four times a year.
I greatly dislike hallmark cards (I think its a cop-out for true emotions), think people ruin pictures, and have a 99% success rate of not paying attention to your name when I am first introduced to you (I am busy registering a million other things about you to concentrate on your name).
Every so often I will scroll through my cell phone and read over the current list of names registered. Inevitably there will be three or four names that I have no idea who, what, when, where, and why I know them. My feeling is that if I can't match the name to a face within 15 seconds, you obviously can't be important enough to stay in my phone. This Saturday just so happened to be that type of day for a name erasing mission.
As I casually scrolled through the names, calculating the merits of our social dynamic, a name smacked me in the face and put a lump in my throat...
"Esta"
It's been two months to the day since my grandma passed away. Esther was her birth name, Mom was the name two her two children and spouses, Grandma was the name to three of her Grandchildren. But for me, and only me, her eyes lit up to Esta!
Twenty-three years ago I learned my first lesson about love and loss. I was at a Florida cemetery for my grandfather’s unveiling- a kid without a care in the world. I had no idea what was going on...I was only 5 at the time and had not placed any context to my grandfather being "gone." As I played on the mausoleum steps paces away from the burial plate, my father called me to come to him. As I paced over to him, I heard a sound emanating in the foreground that would stay with me for life. As I peered through the crowd, I joined the sound to my grandmother as my mother and uncle consoled her throughout the ceremony. To see such pain in my grandmother immediately caused me to cry tears all over my father's grey suit. I was not crying for the loss of my grandfather...I was crying for the pain of my grandma.
I couldn't love anyone more than I loved my grandfather. For many years I could not mention his name (Harry) or be in the same room with people who talked about him. The worst was when people would tell me how much I looked like him- that would just kill me. Partly because I missed him so much, partly because of the memory of my grandma's pain.
I often sensed she saw flashes of him when she looked at me. She lived with a broken heart for 23 years. Sure she had friends to play with and a nice "companion" at one point, but no one could ever replace Harry. For many years I have felt a responsibility to distract and protect her as much as possible from the loneliness, with phone calls, visits, hugs, and kisses.
Esther was 86 years old. She lived a full life. She got to see weddings, graduations, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. While I selfishly wished to have her in my "physical" life forever, her passing somehow comforted me. To see her buried next to her love, somehow healed a wound inside of me created at the very same spot so many years earlier.
So while I uncomfortably deleted "Esta" from my list of names in my cell phone this weekend, I have comforted myself with the knowledge that while names can easily be erased from your phone, some names can never be erased from your heart...
I greatly dislike hallmark cards (I think its a cop-out for true emotions), think people ruin pictures, and have a 99% success rate of not paying attention to your name when I am first introduced to you (I am busy registering a million other things about you to concentrate on your name).
Every so often I will scroll through my cell phone and read over the current list of names registered. Inevitably there will be three or four names that I have no idea who, what, when, where, and why I know them. My feeling is that if I can't match the name to a face within 15 seconds, you obviously can't be important enough to stay in my phone. This Saturday just so happened to be that type of day for a name erasing mission.
As I casually scrolled through the names, calculating the merits of our social dynamic, a name smacked me in the face and put a lump in my throat...
"Esta"
It's been two months to the day since my grandma passed away. Esther was her birth name, Mom was the name two her two children and spouses, Grandma was the name to three of her Grandchildren. But for me, and only me, her eyes lit up to Esta!
Twenty-three years ago I learned my first lesson about love and loss. I was at a Florida cemetery for my grandfather’s unveiling- a kid without a care in the world. I had no idea what was going on...I was only 5 at the time and had not placed any context to my grandfather being "gone." As I played on the mausoleum steps paces away from the burial plate, my father called me to come to him. As I paced over to him, I heard a sound emanating in the foreground that would stay with me for life. As I peered through the crowd, I joined the sound to my grandmother as my mother and uncle consoled her throughout the ceremony. To see such pain in my grandmother immediately caused me to cry tears all over my father's grey suit. I was not crying for the loss of my grandfather...I was crying for the pain of my grandma.
I couldn't love anyone more than I loved my grandfather. For many years I could not mention his name (Harry) or be in the same room with people who talked about him. The worst was when people would tell me how much I looked like him- that would just kill me. Partly because I missed him so much, partly because of the memory of my grandma's pain.
I often sensed she saw flashes of him when she looked at me. She lived with a broken heart for 23 years. Sure she had friends to play with and a nice "companion" at one point, but no one could ever replace Harry. For many years I have felt a responsibility to distract and protect her as much as possible from the loneliness, with phone calls, visits, hugs, and kisses.
Esther was 86 years old. She lived a full life. She got to see weddings, graduations, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. While I selfishly wished to have her in my "physical" life forever, her passing somehow comforted me. To see her buried next to her love, somehow healed a wound inside of me created at the very same spot so many years earlier.
So while I uncomfortably deleted "Esta" from my list of names in my cell phone this weekend, I have comforted myself with the knowledge that while names can easily be erased from your phone, some names can never be erased from your heart...
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Ugly Is As Ugly Does
Nothing sidetracks America better than a good old, media contrived racial debate featuring our usual cast of frustrated, “civic leading,” attention whores who preach the hypocritical oath of love, respect and forgiveness under their terms- terms generally consisting of airtime, appearance fees, and “charitable coalition donations.”
“That’s some nappy-headed hoes.”
Two seconds of a 58 second topic. Played and referenced countless times for two seconds in radio and print, one begins to lose the context of Don Imus’s true message. So what got lost in translation? Simply this (and I’m paraphrasing so don’t quote me- for that you can watch the clip here)…
“I watched the woman’s championship game last night and man those ladies on Rutgers were rough looking dudes. Ugly I tell ya!!! WHEW!!! And the girls on Tennessee were cute you know so…Kinda like”
Did you all get that??? Here is a team photo of the Tennessee woman they were playing:
Eleven woman…seven of them distinctively black. These woman clearly exhibit the same “nappy hair” as the women that play for Rutgers. They wear their hair in corn-rows, braids, weaves etc…. So what is the difference???
Well simply put and brutally honest, if men were asked to make an imaginary list from 1-21, with 1 being the girl you would most want to sleep with, and 21 being the girl you would least want to sleep with on the rosters of Tennessee and Rutgers…lets just say a lot of guys would be picking:
Alex
Over
Katie:
Hurtful? Childish? Mean Spirited? Unnecessary? Guilty on all counts…Forget the fact that none of these girls would give my sorry ass the time of day. Katie might be the nicest, kindest, most wonderful human being in the world. Alex may be rotten to the core. Doesn't matter. This is a prominent aspect of how "the majority" of us think and talk when we are with our friends. This is how we think when we are alone. Guys don't sit around and say..."damn she's so hot I would drink her bathwater for just one night...you know so we could talk about our feelings. " Every girl that walks down the street gets a thumbs up or thumbs down in my head as to “would I hypothetically have sex with this girl if she acknowledged my existence.” We all do it…both sexes...equally guilty (Girls are just more subtle). We are visual creatures attracted to symmetrical beings. Whether the attraction is reciprocated, is another topic.
A statement on beauty has become a polarizing issue on race. Imus in the Morning is a radio show that until a couple hours ago was broadcast on MSNBC. In my opinion, I rather get a prostate exam then listen or watch that man on television. However, the man has an audience. The Imus in the morning show has been on in NYC since 1977. Last year, Imus averaged 358,000 viewers on MSNBC in the first quarter of 2006 (This is in addition to the thousands of radio listeners he has). He and his crew have always said stupid shit. That is after all the mission statement of nearly every drive time and rush hour show on the radio- inane “zoo crews,” with their stupid songs, horns, contests, gags, impersonations, and derogatory statements. But hey…people must be listening cause the big sponsors were definitely paying MSNBC.
That was until Mr. Hymetown and Mr. Tawany Browley come in on their high horse and point the finger. Watch as they ride into town with their black cone hat, stir up the crowd with the race card just enough so they hang him without any thought of the repercussions. And the sponsors…Oh the sponsors…If anything was synonymous with integrity and doing right by people in America these days, it has to be large corporations. I’m pretty sure Staples is closed on Sundays due to it’s religious and moral standards. Lets not forget how Kate Moss’s endorsement deals evaporated last year quicker than the coke going up her nose when her “compromising” photos of her trangressions were released. Today, Kate Moss makes more than ever in endorsements.
The facts remain…Put Imus back on the air tomorrow, and he will have higher ratings than ever. The exposure from all this nonsense will only bring a bigger collection of dolts who pander to his style of “humor.”
Fire him from the radio tomorrow, and he will have a contract offer from Mel Karmazin on satellite radio before he cleans out his office.
Did these woman deserve to be insulted and called out on the radio? No. Is it a cruel world filled with people who make a living making judgements and saying mean-spirited things about people they have never met? Yes.
But I digress…Let us take some time to acknowledge the sad irony of today’s events. While Mr. Jackson spends his time in New York trying to assist in another public lynching, the North Carolina Attorney General dismissed all charges brought upon the three members of the Duke men’s lacrosse accused of raping a black stripper. I look forward to Mr. Jackson’s photo op as he goes to the house of all three boys who had their lives turned upside down -with his endorsement- and offers his sincerest apologies.
For some reason, I'm not too confident for that social justice...
“That’s some nappy-headed hoes.”
Two seconds of a 58 second topic. Played and referenced countless times for two seconds in radio and print, one begins to lose the context of Don Imus’s true message. So what got lost in translation? Simply this (and I’m paraphrasing so don’t quote me- for that you can watch the clip here)…
“I watched the woman’s championship game last night and man those ladies on Rutgers were rough looking dudes. Ugly I tell ya!!! WHEW!!! And the girls on Tennessee were cute you know so…Kinda like”
Did you all get that??? Here is a team photo of the Tennessee woman they were playing:
Eleven woman…seven of them distinctively black. These woman clearly exhibit the same “nappy hair” as the women that play for Rutgers. They wear their hair in corn-rows, braids, weaves etc…. So what is the difference???
Well simply put and brutally honest, if men were asked to make an imaginary list from 1-21, with 1 being the girl you would most want to sleep with, and 21 being the girl you would least want to sleep with on the rosters of Tennessee and Rutgers…lets just say a lot of guys would be picking:
Alex
Over
Katie:
Hurtful? Childish? Mean Spirited? Unnecessary? Guilty on all counts…Forget the fact that none of these girls would give my sorry ass the time of day. Katie might be the nicest, kindest, most wonderful human being in the world. Alex may be rotten to the core. Doesn't matter. This is a prominent aspect of how "the majority" of us think and talk when we are with our friends. This is how we think when we are alone. Guys don't sit around and say..."damn she's so hot I would drink her bathwater for just one night...you know so we could talk about our feelings. " Every girl that walks down the street gets a thumbs up or thumbs down in my head as to “would I hypothetically have sex with this girl if she acknowledged my existence.” We all do it…both sexes...equally guilty (Girls are just more subtle). We are visual creatures attracted to symmetrical beings. Whether the attraction is reciprocated, is another topic.
A statement on beauty has become a polarizing issue on race. Imus in the Morning is a radio show that until a couple hours ago was broadcast on MSNBC. In my opinion, I rather get a prostate exam then listen or watch that man on television. However, the man has an audience. The Imus in the morning show has been on in NYC since 1977. Last year, Imus averaged 358,000 viewers on MSNBC in the first quarter of 2006 (This is in addition to the thousands of radio listeners he has). He and his crew have always said stupid shit. That is after all the mission statement of nearly every drive time and rush hour show on the radio- inane “zoo crews,” with their stupid songs, horns, contests, gags, impersonations, and derogatory statements. But hey…people must be listening cause the big sponsors were definitely paying MSNBC.
That was until Mr. Hymetown and Mr. Tawany Browley come in on their high horse and point the finger. Watch as they ride into town with their black cone hat, stir up the crowd with the race card just enough so they hang him without any thought of the repercussions. And the sponsors…Oh the sponsors…If anything was synonymous with integrity and doing right by people in America these days, it has to be large corporations. I’m pretty sure Staples is closed on Sundays due to it’s religious and moral standards. Lets not forget how Kate Moss’s endorsement deals evaporated last year quicker than the coke going up her nose when her “compromising” photos of her trangressions were released. Today, Kate Moss makes more than ever in endorsements.
The facts remain…Put Imus back on the air tomorrow, and he will have higher ratings than ever. The exposure from all this nonsense will only bring a bigger collection of dolts who pander to his style of “humor.”
Fire him from the radio tomorrow, and he will have a contract offer from Mel Karmazin on satellite radio before he cleans out his office.
Did these woman deserve to be insulted and called out on the radio? No. Is it a cruel world filled with people who make a living making judgements and saying mean-spirited things about people they have never met? Yes.
But I digress…Let us take some time to acknowledge the sad irony of today’s events. While Mr. Jackson spends his time in New York trying to assist in another public lynching, the North Carolina Attorney General dismissed all charges brought upon the three members of the Duke men’s lacrosse accused of raping a black stripper. I look forward to Mr. Jackson’s photo op as he goes to the house of all three boys who had their lives turned upside down -with his endorsement- and offers his sincerest apologies.
For some reason, I'm not too confident for that social justice...
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