Killa’s Calling

Back in 1986, DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince released a song entitled “Girls Ain’t Nothing But Trouble.” In 1990, Bell Biv Devoe released the song “Poison” with the now ubiquitous catchphrase amongst Black men “Never trust a big butt and a smile.” A couple years later, when the doorbell at my parent’s home rang, my father unintentionally reminded me of this song when he sensed the young lady who I opened the door for had ulterior motives. His exact words were “Never put your d!ck into something you can’t put your heart into.” Though such a statement infers that I am in love with my Fruit of the Looms, it made sense then and does even more now.

Like many young men, I didn’t immediately heed the ominous declaratives of pre-Jada Will, nor of the overs!exed BBD who certainly entrusted their willies to many a smiling big butt, nor the witty postulate from my father. I was intent of throwing caution to the wind. And I was this way primarily because of the call of the woman.

It was this call that caused me great joy and pain, sunshine and rain (Rob Base and Maze in the house!). Now in the throes of adulthood, I see the wisdom in each of the warnings above, with caveats of course. It’s not girls that are trouble, it’s the infatuation with them that is. Similar to the old saying that money is the root of all evil, when in fact it’s probably more accurate to say that the LOVE of money is the actual problem. As for BBD, it’s probably best not to trust EVERY big butt and a smile, but I know for a fact that there is a big butt and a smile I trust. However, my father’s words ring truer than ever…. I kinda do love my Hanes boxer briefs.

This is all coming to me now because one of my buddies just ruined his career over a woman. Basically, he was stroking someone he shouldn’t have been, the job found out about it, and he was reprimanded. And in our line of work, that effectively kills his career. He had a bright future and is most likely on the current promotion list that is due out in a few months…. a list that will probably have his named struck from it now that he’s been caught. The guy has a beautiful wife and a kid, but he let his dingaling get the best of him and he got caught.

Now surely some folks will read this and say that he had this coming to him. And to them I say that it must feel good up there on that high horse of yours with your azz on your shoulders. We have all done things we shouldn’t have and are not proud of. And for a number of those things we were never caught and continue to live fruitful and blessed lives. And in my eyes, that’s life… you win some, you lose some. But in either case, you never play the game perfectly. So your errors that never catch up with you are blessings that no measly person and their judgmental outlook can take away from you. And certainly, people will scream that what goes around comes around and that karma is a beeeotch. And to that I say go read about karma. The karmic concept has nothing to do with tit for tat or one good thing for each bad thing. Karma is about reaping in your next life the seed you sowed in this life. It is a Buddhist concept that has been hijacked by scorned lovers and people of all sorts to make them feel better when someone does them wrong. In my boy’s case, he was caught for a reason that only God knows.

Here’s what I do know. Before hearing from my buddy yesterday, I hadn’t talked to him in 6 months. So I don’t quite understand why he felt the need to tell me. But on thinking on it further, I take this out-of-the-blue contact as a reminder from God of the lesson my father taught me. And I am damn sho’ listening.

Wearing c0nd0ms has been preached into our heads since we were teenagers. They always were pitched as a measure to prevent disease and pregnancy. Eddie Murphy joked about how by not wearing one all the time, he had gambled with his health for years. Comedians have mentioned that with the widespread onset of AIDS, that a woman may now have “killa pu$$y.” And that isn’t a euphemism for the ooo-weee goodness…. that is a literal description; if you get hold of the wrong one, it could kill you.

My buddy doesn’t have to worry about anything of that magnitude. The other woman is healthy and she isn’t pregnant. But his desire to conquer one more lady…. the call of the woman… has just killed his career. And despite Magnum being protection for the “big boys,” even it couldn’t protect him from the death of his career… which hopefully does not cause the death of his marriage as well.

Flew. Flu.

Because of my work, I’m a bit of a road warrior frequent flier of the friendly skies. As such, I encounter strange people, new places, and fresh experiences. Here are some observations from my latest jaunt:

Soul Plane

First, I apologize for the stereotypical use of a Snoop Dogg movie to describe an atypical sighting, but I have to make a certain amount of references to things Ebonic-y in order to maintain my Black status.

So guess what I saw at the airport last week.

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

Those Poor, Poor Pirates

While on Facebook the other day, I came across a couple status messages referencing the recent kidnapping and rescue of an American from Somali pirates water thugs. While seeing such rubbish on Facebook in and of itself isn’t necessarily a surprising development, what was surprising was the ridiculous, pervasive sentiment that can be summed up as “yeah yeah, but think of the pirates.” And to that I say, think of deez nuts.

Much like unicorns and soul mates, pirates are fantastical creatures. They conjure up an image of

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,

Slow Dance

My brother, who is ten years my junior, has often heard my laments about how present-day R&B music has gone the way of the dodo bird – South; like so far south it’s in China or Hell, depending on your view of China. More specifically, the death of the “quiet storm” R&B song has caused the death of one of a teenage boy’s tried and true wooing tactics – the slow dance. It has fallen out of vogue just like the use of the word “woo” to explain the courting of a girl. By the way, “court” is out of vogue too.

So imagine my surprise when

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