Dayum, Dayum, Dayum James

Over the past few weeks, part of my after-work ritual has become watching Good Times on TVOne. I’m actually surprised at the number of times I’ve laughed and also at the amount of social issues it attempted to cover. But there is just one thing so distracting that it sullies the experience of the Evans family in Cabrini Green

This is My Confession… (no E.Lynn)*

I have an admission to make that has been weighing on me lately and I’ve finally decided to come out of the closet address it publicly. I have watched Dancing With The Stars on 4 occasions this year. Pray for me. Jesus be a Nielsen box.

Do men actually watch this show? Let me rephrase that…. do STRAIGHT men actually watch this show? Hey, I know dancing is not a feminine activity. Hell, I just wrote about missing the slow dance a few entries ago. I am an appreciator of the fine art of dancing. I will have you know that I can’t even count the number of times I’ve watched Nelly’s “Tip Drill” video or the amount of money I’ve spent watching a terpsichorean move about a shiny metallic pole… I think her name was Mocha Delight. I have even promised my lady that I’d take salsa lessons with her on three conditions:

An Ode to my Foreman Grill

Imagine my surprise a few years back when I learned that the money George Foremen received to sponsor the now infamous Foreman Grill was one of the largest sponsorship deals in history. Yes, larger than Tiger Woods with Buick or Gatorade. Even larger than his Airness received with Nike. The only deal larger than Foreman’s is David Beckham’s deal with Adidas… ain’t it amazing what a symmetrical face will get one nowadays?? Though, I suppose it should surprise no one since he married a Spice Girl – whom every white man wanted to bone and every white woman wanted to be – and even Black women who vow to never date outside their race often caveat such assertions with “But that Beckham could get it. I’ll show that Brit how to bend it…”

Naturally, like all things that have an enduring popularity, I swore never to

The Obamas Made Me Do It

The way our new President has blitzed all forms of media with his message is an action unrivaled in scope by anything, except perhaps the p@rn industry on the Internet. He has been omnipresent like Rick Ross in MTV Jams videos, and as such, none have had to fill in knowledge gaps when it comes to what direction Obama is attempting to move the country. You turn on YouTube? Obama. You turn on your TV to catch your favorite primetime sitcom? Obama in an evening press conference. You go on Facebook? Message from Obama n’em. Hell, even my cell phone was getting hit up with text messages from the Obama. He’s working off the old tried and true adage that if you say it enough times, people will believe it.

My quandary is that the media blitz has hit overdrive with nitrous oxide boosters like an Asian kid’s car in a Fast & Furious remake. And since reaching these heights,

4 Degrees of Separation

The number of social networking sites out there makes for some interesting interactions with people you’ve long forgotten about or who’ve long forgotten about you. I will admit to succumbing to occasional fits of boredom or curiosity to Google or Facebook some person from my past, like the girl in my 9th grade math class whose friends laughed at me when I gave her a Valentine’s Day “will you be my girl?” note (she’s married, no kids, and has a body like a bag of bowling balls – thank God she rejected my offer) . Quite honestly, I have yet to reconnect with someone that resulted in us being fast friends all over again. It usually results in playing the

Legumes and Fibers and Pears, Oh My!

Recently, the news, magazines, and talk shows have been replete with warnings against the dangers of foods high in trans fat and LDL. These ominous declarations have us all looking at the back of boxes and containers assessing just how bad those Oreos are, how much sodium is in Kung Pao chicken, and how much saturated fat is in Fergie’s Botox’d bottom lip. I’ll even admit that I’ve gone online to check the calories in my favorite beers, and cringed like a gay dude at mismatched drapes when I discovered

Puzzled

I recently encountered a situation that left me a bit speechless. It’s not so much that it happened, but it’s the HOW it happened that leaves me puzzled like a 1000 piece picture of a rain forest.

So what happened? “I got hollered at.” Now, that in and of itself isn’t all that dumbfounding because it’s not as if I look like Jimmie Walker. But it is out of the ordinary for three reasons:

Black Folks & Jesus

In between killing a bottle of South African Red and drowning in dihedral group theory the other night, I was watching Good Times. On this particular episode, like so many others, Florida was praying to a picture of Jesus on the wall to help the family make rent. It reminded me of the episode when the family hung a picture of a black Jesus on the wall, rumored to be nicknamed Obama, and good things started to happen.

I have been suspicious of organized religion for years now since learning that the friendly lady who always had those chalky mints that old people carry around wrapped in napkins was cheating on her deacon husband with some scrub of an usher. Then there was the time the preacher got into a shouting match over

Break-up to weird-out

I’ve seen a lot of blogs talking about Kanye West and his new squeeze Amber Rose. As a man who despises all the celebrity websites and TV shows more than okra, I admit that the latest news of the two posing together nude for a photo shoot actually made me click on the Google News link to the article reporting it. I don’t think the woman is all that attractive, but she would probably say the same thing about me. So touche’… score one for the blonde. I will say this though, she is a veritable brickhouse from the waist down and is thick in thighs; not surprisingly, that’s the same way I like my baked chicken.

But what strikes me most is how

Other Side of the Rainbow

I’m pretty much convinced that all educated Black women want their lives to resemble one of three people: Oprah, Beyonce, or Michelle Obama. I’m certainly no sociologist or anthropologist, but I am a rather observant geek who can knockout a one-star Sudoku puzzle in like 5 minutes flat. That clearly qualifies me to make sweeping generalizations with a deftness normally reserved for Meet The Press soundbites.

First, the “educated” modifier is necessary because