Afronista Rants #22: White People Wanna Say the N-Word, Too

Class, can anyone tell me the difference between a nigger and a nigga?

A white teacher from Chicago is suing the federal government for permission to use the N-word without negative repercussions.  All of this came about because he was caught using the N-word in his classroom.

A black student in his class had written a letter to one of her friends, and in the letter it contained rap lyrics with the N-word.  The teacher confiscated the letter and read it.  According to the teacher, he then used the N-word to explain racism as it related to Huckleberry Finn, the topic of discussion in his class that day.  At this precise moment he decided to use the N-word, the school principal walked into the classroom.  According to the principal, the teacher was using the word in an inflammatory fashion, not in a way that provoked thoughtful discussion.

The teacher was suspended from work five days without pay, but he says that the students were not offended.  They were having an active discussion on racism and the use of the N-word.  The teacher says that principal stayed in the classroom to hear the discussion.  The teacher claims that it is ridiculous that he cannot use the N-word as part of instruction and discussion.

I think this is very interesting.  I have heard quite a bit of debate on the usage of the N-word.  Black people would be supremely offended if a white person called them nigger, but yet black people say this to each other all the time.  A black person once told me that there is a difference between nigger and nigga, and that nigga is actually what black people say to each other, so therefore it is not offensive.  By this reckoning does it mean that white people can call a black person nigga?  Is that okay?  I don’t think so–at least, not in my mind.  Someone else once told me that black people calling each other nigga or nigger is a symbol of ownership.  They took the word back from the white people and made it their own.  I don’t know if I believe that either.

If it weren't for the N-word, Jim might've been Random Black Guy.

I do think that teachers, white or black, should be able to use the N-word as part of instructional discussion, but I think it might get abused and we’ll be back to where we started.  I have said before that I think we should not be so quick to erase things in our past.  Slavery, racism, segregation, these things really happened in our history.  They will never go away.  We should use the actions of our past to create better actions for the future.  Pretending these things didn’t happen is a disservice to everyone.  Trying to erase the N-word out of books that were written during slavery is ridiculous.  That was the way things were, but it doesn’t mean that is the way things are today or the way things have to be tomorrow.  I don’t condone it as correct; I am just simply saying that is how life was back then.

I also think that black people need to get it together.  Either the word is offensive to you or not, no matter who it is coming from.  If you want to use the word with each other or in music, then don’t get mad if white people say it to you.  If you don’t want a white person to degrade you then don’t allow its usage in any aspect of your life.  If you now “own” the word, then you can’t be upset if a white teacher wants to use it in his classroom.  If you say you own something that means it is yours and it cannot hurt you anymore.  That is just the way I look at it.

If we stopped using the N-word, many rappers might actually have to use a dictionary.

For me personally I do not use the word and will not allow anyone, black or white, to refer to me as such.  I try not to listen to music that glorifies the word.  It’s just not a part of my life.  I don’t own the word.  It is something that is there but not for my use or interest.

I don’t really know what happened in that man’s classroom.  If he was really having a genuine and true discussion with his students and they were actively engaged, then I don’t see the problem.  But if he was in there harassing them, degrading them then, yes, he deserved to be suspended out of his school.  To be quite honest, this confusion over the use of the word is really the problem.  It’s either acceptable or it isn’t, no matter who it is coming from, black or white.

I think we as a people, black and white, need to come to some sort of consensus on this thing because quite frankly, I am really quite tired of this discussion

Senseless Scribbling of an Idiot #53: You Just Might Be An Idiot

With an IQ of 85, little Katie is a future racist.

In a shocking new study, it has been discovered that people who are racist are actually idiots. According to research, children with low intelligence are more likely to be prejudiced as adults.  Adults with low intelligence have a tendency to espouse socially conservative ideologies.  Conservative values can sometimes lead to prejudice; therefore, all conservative adults with a low IQ are racist.

No, the study did not make a conclusive statement like that, but let’s just put it out there, okay.

Researchers studied children who were born in 1958 and 1970.  The children’s intelligence was assessed at age 1o or 11, and then their intelligence was assessed once more when they were 30 or 33.  In addition, their level of social conservatism and racism were also measured.  To measure social conservatism the subjects were asked how they felt about certain statements such as “Family life suffers if the mother works full time” or “Schools should teach children to obey authority.”  To measure their level of racism, they were asked many questions such as how they felt about working with people of other races.

The study found that children with a less than average IQ had a tendency towards racism.  These people also had a tendency to not have contact with people outside their race.  Socialising outside one’s racial group can be mentally challenging and too difficult for someone with a low IQ.  The less intelligent tend to favour structure and order, something that is highly valued in conservative thought.   Sometimes the complexity of the world is just too difficult to comprehend for someone with a lower IQ.

Thanks to this research, we now know what is wrong with Sarah Palin.

There have been several programs aimed at reducing prejudice and racism, but the subjects may fail to grasp the concept if they are idiots.  Being able to see another person’s viewpoint requires certain cognitive abilities that persons with a low IQ do not have.  Think about this the next time you are arguing with somebody.  You just can’t seem to get through to them; they just don’t seem to understand that ideals like homophobia, racism and misogyny are wrong.  You can stop wasting your breath.  There is now scientific evidence that they are retarded and are incapable of realising the error of their ways.

So now that we have proof that racists are idiots, what do we do about it?  That’s my question.  You can’t make someone get smarter, and these attempts to expand their worldview are now proven to be a waste of time.  Do we just leave these people alone and chalk them up as a lost cause?  Now what?  My next question is what about people who do have the intellectual capacity to understand complex concepts, but yet, are still racist?  What about these people?

I vote to have them shot.

For the record, the studies do not conclude that if you are liberal you are a genius, or if you’re conservative you’re automatically an idiot.

 

 

The full article can be read here.

 

The Afronista Rants #19: x(white teachers) + y(black students) + z(slavery) = how many problems?

Let’s do a math problem, guys.

Let’s take x white teachers plus y black students plus z inappropriate slavery questions and figure out how many problems will result.

In order to figure out this problem, let’s examine some facts.

So, a group of nine teachers at an elementary school in Georgia decided that it would be a really awesome idea to correlate their students’ coursework in Social Studies with their math homework.  In theory, this sounds like a great idea.

But what if your child, black, white or Chinese, came home with a math problem like these:

Each tree has 56 oranges.  If 8 slaves picked them equally, how many oranges did each slave pick?

If Frederick gets two beatings a day, how many beatings will he get in one week?

I know that I have a warped sense of humour, but when I first read this article I started laughing.  It’s so embarrassing that it’s funny.  If my kid came home with this sort of nonsense, his answers would be something like this:

Q.  If Frederick gets two beatings a day, how many beatings will he get in one week?

A.  None, because Frederick will shoot his master and join the Underground Railroad.

But seriously, the teachers at this school really ought to be ashamed of themselves.  Let met caveat by saying that I do not know the true racial makeup of the teachers nor do I know the racial makeup of the students with this math homework.  Given the location this incident occurred, I will say the teachers were probably mostly white and the students were mostly white with a good helping of black kids.  It’s so ridiculous that only white teachers would come up with this sort of crap, and if by some unlikely chance that there were black teachers involved, it just makes the whole thing even more laughable.

There are plenty of ways to teach students about slavery, but this is a little bit over the top.  I am all for not pretending that slavery didn’t happen.  What amazes me about this situation is that no one sat down to think if it might offend someone.  I do not believe that every white person is racist.  I bet none of these teachers are racists (if they are all white).  It just didn’t occur to them how idiotic this situation is.  And that’s what’s so scary, how people just don’t think.  Nobody ever stops to think how other people might feel about a certain situation.

The NAACP wants the teachers fired.  Everyone always wants to dole out the maximum punishment, but as offensive as this is, I don’t think the teachers should be fired.  I think they should attend some serious sensitivity training.  They should also have to do some role reversal where they get to walk in other people’s shoes for a little while, to see how it feels to always be the butt of someone’s joke.  I doubt these teachers are racist, just thoughtless.

So, now that we’ve had time to consider the above question, you will discover that there is no solution.  So here’s a new question:

9 teachers send out 5 resumes a day for 5 days. What is the maximum amount of rejection letters that can be written in response?

The Afronista Rants #18: Black People Eat Different Food!!!

Here I am again, trolling CNN and I come across an article “My First Thanksgiving with White People.”  I wanted so bad not to click on the article, but it’s kinda like a train wreck:  you have to look.  So it’s written by a black man who visits his (white) partner’s family for the holidays.  He compares their Thanksgiving spread with his family’s spread and at first, is a little bit disappointed.  Later he discovers that white people prepare their food with just as much love as black people do.  And they all lived happily ever after. 

I don’t know who this man is, but he is hailed in journalism circles.  I do occasionally read his articles, even though I cannot recall to mind the last one I read.  At any rate, we’re not talking about his journalism abilities.  We’re talking about his perpetuation of race and racism in this country.

“My First Thanksgiving with White People.”  ???  Seriously?  I mean, seriously.  If a white person were to write an article, “My First Thanksgiving with Black People,” it would be seen as inflammatory and racist.  The news website would be blasted for allowing such a divisive article.   Black interest groups would call for a boycott.  The news website would have to issue an apology, stating racism wasn’t the intention of the article.  They were trying to bring cultural awareness.  Whatever.  See how silly it all becomes when you have to resort to describing anything by race?

If it can’t work both ways, it can’t work at all.  I am not white but I am so offended that CNN would allow this title.  It’s not the article, per se.  It’s just the title that is so wrong.  If this guy wants to talk about the first time he had Thanksgiving outside of his close friends and family, that’s perfectly fine.  If he wants to wonder why other people don’t put paprika on the top of their potato salad, I’m okay with that.  I wonder why anybody would eat potato salad period at Thanksgiving.  I’d never heard of that.  To me, potato salad is outdoor food, something you eat at barbecues.  It’s different, but is it white?  Is it black?  No, it’s just certain family’s traditions. 

I think racism will persist in this country because we are always too focused on race.  I think it is very important to have pride in one’s history, but we are a nation honed in on race:  black history month, Asian history month, Hispanic history month.  Why don’t white people get white history month?  Because all the coloured folk would rise up, foaming at the mouth that all the other days of the year are “white history month” and we are being forced to celebrate the likes of KKK or whatever else.  Once again, if it can’t work both ways, it can’t work at all.

I understand that we began these different history months to bring awareness that other people beside white people in this country exist.  If the educational system focused on a well-rounded history of all the people that contributed to this country then we would not need to have whatever-colour history month, and we would not have ignorant articles “My First Thanksgiving with White People.”  You are not a native American newly discovering white people for the first time in your life.  You know that different cultures eat different things.  Who would assume that what you eat in your house is the same as what anybody else eats at their house?  Really? 

You’ve never watched Thanksgiving TV specials and seen people eating dried up turkey, cranberry sauce and green bean casserole?  You know you do not eat that in your house, so, wonder of wonders, people must be different.  I wish the article had been more of an exploration of what various people consider to be traditional Thanksgiving cooking.  He could have talked about the differences of his family and his partner’s family.  He wanted to note that he is in an interracial relationship and that’s awesome, but he placed such emphasis on his white partner’s family, almost alienating them and making them seem weird, when really they are just different than what he was used to.

I am a black person and I invite you to my house for Thanksgiving.  You will not find a turkey or neck bones soaking in collard greens.  You definitely won’t find any potato salad, with or without paprika on top.  Yes, we do have the macaroni and cheese, but we prefer hot rolls over corn bread.  Instead of collard greens, we have spinach.  Cornish hens, fried rice, maybe some kind of stir fry and definitely some fried turkey wings.  Sweet potato pies are good, but pecan is better.  If I wasn’t deployed, I might have put some tofu burgers on the menu.  I don’t know if that’s black, white, weird, or whatever.  I just know that it’s what we put on our table at Thanksgiving.

I have one friend who puts sauerkraut on her table and a different friend has oxtails.  I guess we don’t fit into this guy’s neat little labels of black and white.  It’s cultural differences, and they are wonderful and when I am invited to other people’s homes for holiday dinners  I would never think to expect that their food would be the same as mine.  And then I wouldn’t return from their house and say, “Hey guys, I just had my first Thanksgiving with [whatever colour] people!  What an experience!”

The whole thing was just so lame.

I Have a Dream

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we have come to our nation’s capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked “insufficient funds.” But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check — a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quick sands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God’s children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro’s legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.

We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. They have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.

As we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, “When will you be satisfied?” We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied, as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro’s basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating “For Whites Only”. We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.

Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.

I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal.”

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

This will be the day when all of God’s children will be able to sing with a new meaning, “My country, ’tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim’s pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring.”

And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!

Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California!

But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, “Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!”

The Afronista Rants #14: Sorry, Niggers

Not that I listen to the Dr. Laura Schlessinger Show, or that I’ve even heard of her in the first place, but I just happened to be trolling CNN when I came across an article about her giving a public apology for using the word “nigger” in her show several times.  Now the black community is about to crucify this white woman over her poor selection of words.  Al Sharpton, King of the Black Folk, described the incident as “despicable.”  The Guilty White are embarrassed and apologetic.  The Black Masses are up in arms.

Me?  I’m just shaking my head.  I’m not really upset with Dr. Laura Schlessinger, whoever the hell she is.  She’s just imitating what she hears in the streets everyday, more than likely.  Or maybe she really does feel all black people are just a bunch of niggers.  Who knows?  Since many of us refer to each other as “nigger” how is she able to determine which of us is a nigger and which one of us isn’t?  Everyday black people, not all but many, call each other nigger like it’s nothing.  You hear it in rap music all day long.  Black people come up to each other and greet each other, “What’s up, my nigger,” all the time.  So what is the problem if Dr. Laura Schlessinger tosses it about a few times in her radio talk show?  She is just another confused white woman, trying to figure out what to call us:  black, African-American or nigger?

Is it because black people feel like they somehow have ownership of this word?  Is it that mentality where it was once so offensive and so demeaning, that we’ll just now take the word over and give it a whole new twist?  I was once told that there was a fundamental difference between the word “nigger” and “nigga.”  When I hear rap music and black people greeting each other with this word, they are saying “nigga” not “nigger,” according to this guy who felt the need to enlighten me.  Nigger is that bad word you aren’t supposed to use.  Nigga is something else entirely.  That doesn’t make much sense to me, but if black people want to go on that, then who am I to say anything against it?  *eyeroll*  What the hell do I know?

All of this began when Dr. Schlessinger received a phone call from a black woman who was married to a white man.  The black woman said she loved her husband but she was tired of his family saying what she considered to be racist things about her.  The woman gave a few examples and Dr. Schlessinger said she didn’t find anything particularly racist about what the family was supposedly saying.  Then the black woman asked about the usage of the word “nigger,” to which Dr. Schlessinger replied,

“black guys use it all the time. Turn on HBO, listen to a black comic, and all you hear is nigger, nigger, nigger.”

The caller (the black woman) became upset that Dr. Schlessinger continued to use the word several more times and the two ended up in an argument.  Dr. Schlessinger then told the woman that if she was so hypersensitive she should not have married outside her race.

Had this been me I would have been more annoyed that she castigated me on marrying outside my race.  I would not have been upset by the constant use of the word nigger, because she is correct in some aspects.  Many black rappers, black comedians, and black people in general use the word like it’s nothing.  I’m sure, as I outlined above, that their reasons are different, but it’s still a usage of a word that many people find derogatory.  I’m not just talking about the Educated Black or the Guilty White, most people just don’t want to hear the word because they are reminded of a time that we’d all just rather forget.  It’s a senseless word, no matter how you use it.  Dr. Schlessinger shouldn’t use it and neither should Jay-Z or Chris Rock or the kid up on the block.

If you don’t want anybody to call you a nigger, don’t let anybody call you a nigger.  Don’t promote the usage of the word.  I know it would be a stretch to get people to stop buying rap music that contains the word “nigger,” but if you want to get upset by it, get upset by all usage of the word.  Don’t just jump on white people when they use the word.  I would feel foolish if I told a white person not to call me nigger when I let my friends call me nigger or ride around in the car with music shouting, “nigger, nigger, nigger,” all day long.  The first thing this white person is going to say is, “Well, you let your friends call you nigger.”  What am I supposed to say in response, “They are my friends, so it’s okay?”  No, it’s not okay.  I’m not a nigger, so you can’t call me one and neither can my friends.  You can’t punch me in the face and neither can any of my friends.

If you want to try to play the argument that there is a difference between nigga and nigger then you are just stupid and there’s no coming back from that.  I am not a nigga or nigger or any other deviation of the word.  Snoop Dogg can’t call me one.  My sister can’t call me one.  My best friend can’t call me one.  And neither can Dr. Laura Schlessinger.

We don’t have ownership of the word like we think we do.  We sound ignorant and foolish as we stand up on the corner with the “nigger” this, “nigger” that.  I know this does not apply to most of the black population, just a few suckers who got rope-a-doped into thinking they are owed something.  Every time you use the word or condone usage of the word in any shape or form you are just knocking yourself back a decade or two.

I tell my little cousin all the time that he needs to treat himself like he wants other people to treat him.  If you treat yourself like an asshole other people are going to treat you like an asshole.  If you treat yourself like a nigger then other people will treat you like a nigger.

The Afronista Rants #13: Why Are You Shouting?

I mentioned before that I sometimes have serious identity issues when I’m in public areas with other black people.  Because of who I am, how I was raised and my ethnic background, I don’t really consider myself a black person.  Not like a black person because my skin is black (actually, it’s brown) but when I say black, I mean, like black American people.  I don’t consider myself in that fashion for many reasons.  A co-worker of mine said he didn’t see me as a black person either.  He said I was international, and I kind of like that.  If I had to have a label, I guess I’ll go with international.  I damn sure don’t want to be called African-American, or any other hyphenated anything.  I’d like to just be called American, but whatever.  I’m not here to talk about all that.  I’m here to talk about why I wish I sometimes wish I was anything other than brown-skinned when in public with other brown-skinned folks.

So, Friday afternoon, the kid and I decide to take a stroll through the new neighbourhood.  About two blocks away is a quaint little street with mom and pop shops, so we headed over there and found a Middle Eastern cafe-slash-pizza parlour.  We stopped in to order some slices and there we were, enjoying a pizza with halal meat and it was nice and cosy.  There were other patrons in the restaurant and it was all nice–until two black women and two black children came into the restaurant.

Now, this is not a large place.  There are about four tables total in the place.  It looks like a carry-out (I guess it is, actually).  My point is that it’s not some huge ass restaurant with a bustling crew that you have to shout to be heard because there’s so much background noise.

First black woman in EXTREMELY loud voice:  What kinda milkshake ya’ll want?

Small black kid in SCREAMING loud outdoor voice:  OOOH, THEY GOT COOKIES’N'CREAM!!

First black woman still in super loud voice:  They got … uhm… cookies’n'cream, mango, pineapple, peanut butter….
She proceeds to read the entire list of the milkshakes (there are about 15-20 flavours) in this voice that is unnaturally loud, almost deafening, like she is conducting an auction on an airplane tarmac with 747s taking off above her head and some battleships in the background practising gun rounds–oh, and a marching band is out there too.  That’s how loud she’s talking.  The other patrons are staring at her like, “Shut the fuck up!”  The cashier guy is trying to get her attention, but since she’s pretty much screaming, she can’t hear him as he politely says, “Ma’am, you should try the peanut butter, it’s our best flavour.”  The only reason I heard him is because I was standing right next to him getting some napkins.

Both kids:  COOKIES’N'CREAM… COOKIES’N'CREAM.  I want cookies’n'cream.  Mom.  Mom.  Mom.  MOM!!! MOM!!!! I want cookies’n'cream.  MOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!

Both the kids are dancing around the woman, grabbing on her clothes and screaming at the top of their lungs.  The kids are approximately 8 and 5 years old.  Too old to be acting like assholes.  There was a deaf kid already in the restaurant with his father.  (I know he’s deaf because he makes deaf people sounds and they were speaking to each other in sign language.)  Perhaps the kid had partial hearing, or what, but he was staring at the two boys like they were lunatics.  They were making so much noise that even the damn deaf kid wanted them to shut the hell up.

Second black lady, also in ridiculously loud voice:  I HEARD YOU.  YA’LL BE QUIET.  BE QUIET.  LEMME LOOK AT THE LIST.

Her voice was louder than the first woman and the two kid’s combined.

Second black lady:  Do y’all have cookies’n'cream?

Forget about the fact that when the first woman started reading the menu, she said cookies’n'cream because it’s the first flavour on the menu.  I’m sorry, she must not have been shouting loud enough to be heard.

First black lady:  Y’all finna share dees, cuz I ain’t finna buy no two milkshakes.  [still shouting]

Kids:  NO, WE DON’T WANT TO SHARE.  No, mom!  Mom.  Mom.  Mom!!!  MOM!!  MOM!  MOM!! MOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Erique is staring at me like… oh my God and I’m trying to eat without standing up and screaming, “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” cuz you know I will and then be just as ghetto as they were.  *sighs*

They order their milkshakes and then for a few minutes while they are waiting for the milkshakes to be done, they are kind of quiet and the restaurant is somewhat normal.  Then the milkshakes are finished and the man calls their numer.  First black lady gets up to get the milkshakes.  The kids are about a foot and a half from her and she SHOUTS… I can’t even describe how loud her voice was.  I wish I could voice record for you because she was even louder than when she first came into the restaurant and it was so loud that it was almost hilarious, if it wasn’t so goddamn disturbing.  She actually startled me.  The pizza was hot and I was trying to get it in my mouth without spilling hot ass cheese all over my face and then she starts shouting.

First black lady:  HERE Y’ALL GO!!! GET THESE HERE MILKSHAKES CUZ I AIN’T FINNA MAKE NO DINNER!!!

I thought they were going to leave once they got their milkshakes, but they didn’t.  They sat down and proceeded to have a loud, super hysterical conversation.  Then to make it even more ghetto.

Second black lady:  EXCUSE ME!  EXCUSE ME!!!

I couldn’t figure out who she was talking to.  She was screaming at the cashier guy who had gone away from the counter to restock the little soda refrigerators.

The man turns around.  “Yes, ma’am, how can I help you?’

Second black lady:  Y’ALL AIN’T GOT NO AIR CONDITION UP IN HERE.  IT’S HOT!!!!!!!!!!!

There was no air conditioning inside the restaurant.  Like I said, the place is a carry-out.  I don’t think they really intend for people to sit down and have a fine dining experience.  It was hot in the place.  In fact, even though it was scorching hot on Friday afternoon, it was actually cooler outside.  I understand it was hot, but if they didn’t have the air conditioning on that entire day, what makes you think that suddenly they’re going to have some air conditioner?  Just for you.

The man smiles and shakes his head.  I thought he was extremely polite and nice.  He did not get annoyed once at all that carrying on.  I would have been like, “Get the hell out my restaurant,” which of course, would explain why I don’t own anything.

First black lady:  IT’S NO AIR CONDITION IN HERE?  IT’S HOT.  IT’S HOT.  I’M MELTING.  I’M FINNA DIE.

So I’m thinking, well, all you guys ordered was milkshakes, why don’t you leave and go home where you have “air condition” (as opposed to air conditioning) so you can stop damn complaining in that loud ass voice of yours.

Meanwhile, the oldest kid had jumped up onto the window ledging and was perched over my table where Erique and I are eating.  He is staring down at us while we eat.  I swear, any second he was going to ask for a slice of pizza.  Look, you guys know how I feel about unruly children.  I do not hesitate to discipline children I find to be out of control.  I’ll never put my hands on another person’s child but I will tell them about themselves.  If you don’t like that, control your kids.

So he is there dangling over our food, just staring at the plate.  Since none of the kids appears to be abused or malnourished in anyway, I’m going to assume that they do eat and he is not staring at us because he’s been starved for the past three days.  No, he was staring at us because he is an ill-mannered little brat.  I kept waiting for the two women to call him back over there and when they didn’t, I said, “Can I help you with something?”

Do you mind?  More staring.

Excuse me, we are trying to enjoy our dinner.  More staring.

He just stared at me then back at the pizza, and Erique was like, “Can you please go away?”  The kid is nearly sitting at the table with us just staring.   At this point, I had this sudden wish that it was legal to beat other people’s children.  When he made no move, I said, “Go back over to your trashy mother and stare at her, because nobody wants you over here.”  He looked shocked that I said that and then he got up and ran off.

Usually, I brace myself for a confrontation because kids usually tell their parents what I said to them and then some ghetto mammy comes over and tries to “tell me about myself” and then I have to remind her that she and her family are a cancer on the ballsack of America.  But the kid didn’t say anything, but he didn’t stare at us anymore.

I know a lot of parents are like, “Oh my God… oh my God, if she had said that to my child….”  Everybody gets all upset, but then if you have rude, unruly children, why do you defend their behaviour and then get upset if someone tries to correct it?  If you taught your children properly, somebody like me wouldn’t have to speak to them at all.  But I guess I’m just crazy.

Anyway, really, this could have been any race of people.  It’s not to say that all black people are despicable in public, but there is an awful large percentage of black people who, when in groups, talk unnecessarily loud like they’re inside a wind tunnel next to some jet engines and a set of full-on club speakers blaring booty bass.  It’s annoying and excessive, and when I see that I want to sink into the floorboards so that people don’t associate us together.

I was in Wal-Mart one time and there were three black women in the line in front of me, carrying on a ridiculously loud conversation even though they were standing right next to each other.  They start to make their purchases and the cashier asks me if I’m with them.  Hell, no, I’m not.

We don’t all know each other and we don’t all stand around screaming and laughing like lunatics.

The Afronista Rants #8: Black Folk Don’t Tip!

When I was in my early twenties, I worked in an upscale hotel that had a pretty nice restaurant.  I was officially the room service operator, but I ended up doing double duty as a hostess in the restaurant, as well as a server.  One day I served a group of well-dressed black men.  By overhearing (ear-hustling) their conversation, I would assume they were doctors, or something medicinal.  Of course, it is only an assumption, but they seemed to be quite well-versed.  They seemed to be much more than just some random guys talking about cancer and pharmaceuticals.  Anyway, they ordered a pretty lavish lunch.  They had several drinks from the bar, appetisers, salads, soups, main courses, and two of the guys had dessert.  In the end, their bill came up to approximately $250.  One man paid for the entire meal on his MasterCard.

The tip he left:  $0.

Perhaps my service left much to be desired.  I don’t know.  We were not particularly busy so I was able to give them as much attention as they needed.  I brought their food promptly; I ran back to the kitchen a several times for steak sauce, hot sauce, ranch dressing, whatever, and it didn’t take me two years to do it.  I figured that I would get the standard 10%, no more, no less than what is deserved.  I was SERIOUSLY annoyed that I got absolutely nothing.

When I went into the back, I told my co-workers, “Those cheap ass bastards didn’t even leave a tip!”  Billy, my white co-worker laughed and said, “No offense, but black people don’t tip.”

Uhm, I beg your pardon?  I’m too broke to eat out much, but when I do, I tip and my parents are restaurant freaks and they always tip.  What do you mean black people don’t tip?

Steve, the Asian guy said, “Yeah, they never leave a tip.  That’s why I hate serving them.  You bust your ass for nothing.” 

Determined to prove them wrong, I decided that every time a black person tipped me, I was going to rub it in their faces.  So I really started paying attention, and I also upped my game to make sure that it wasn’t my fault that I didn’t get a tip.  I slapped some Vaseline on my teeth and smiled till my face cracked.  If I had to run from the kitchen to the floor with their food balanced on my head to ensure they got the hottest food possible, I would do it.  Anything they could possibly desire, I would make sure that my customers got it. 

Hah.  He was right, hardly any of my black customers tipped me.  The ones who did “tip” me merely rounded up their bills to even number.  A $9.96 bill meant that I got four cents tip.  Whoopee!  By contrast, my white customers always tipped.  Some were quite cheap, yes.  A few times I got precisely ONE DOLLAR.  One old white lady gave me two quarters with a big smile like she was doing me a favour.  Gee, thanks.  But for the most part, I got something.  I noticed that Asians tipped quite well.  We used to fight over who would serve the Asians that came into the restaurant.  We were all broke college kids, okay?  We had to do what we had to do.

Anyway, fast forward to my mid-20s.  I can now afford to eat out more, better quality of restaurants too.  I had just moved to Baltimore.  A group of us, mostly black, went out to the club and decided to hit up an all-night diner afterwards.  The diner had a strict “no check splitting” policy.  There was about 10 of us.  We kept the waiter busy with our annoying demands, mine included.  “Can I get more hot sauce?”  “Is it possible that you could put the gravy on the side?”  “My fries are cold.” “Can I get more ketchup?”  I don’t like my food to touch so I always ask for separate plates for everything.  I am sure we got a heavy dosage of “special sauce” that night because it was really quite over the top.

When the bill came, it was in the 200s.  First, we got into a fight trying to figure out who ordered what.  I took control of the check and went around the table:  Candace had pasta; Mike had chicken; Tonya had the burger… After figuring out who had what, I simply divided the tax by 10 instead of trying to calculate five percent by everybody’s order.  Too annoying.  Because our party was larger than six, the gratuity was already added.  That’s where the fight broke out.

Candace had a pasta dish that was $10.99.  When I told her $15.00, she shrieked, “Why do I have to pay $4 extra?”  Uhm, cuz you have to tip him.  “I don’t want to.”  Too bad.  It’s on the bill.  Then they started crying about being forced to tip someone who had basically been our slave for the past two hours.  None of my black friends wanted to tip the waiter (who was also black).  I thought it was exceptionally rude, and if the restaurant had been able to split the bill, I would have paid for my food, tipped him privately and walked off. 

Instead, we sat there for another 30 minutes, screaming at each other about why they had to tip and why they didn’t want to tip.  To make it easier, I just divided the automatic gratuity by 10.  It came out so that we were going to tip the guy about $2 each.  Everybody ordered dinner, except one person who had dessert.  And even that one person didn’t even mind adding on $2 to her $6 dessert. 

We did eventually come to some sort of conclusion, but some of us left the table looking at each other with that eye, you know… the side eye.  I decided, “this is a group of people I will not eat out with again.”  I don’t like it when people don’t tip.  A lesson I was taught as a kid, “If you can’t afford to tip you can’t afford to do whatever it is that requires tipping.”  I was taught to tip ALL service people:  waiters/waitresses, bell hops, taxi drivers, beauticians, barbers, your tattoo artist, and the chick that waxes your bikini line, everyone that is doing you a service. 

I came across an article just now, <a href=”http://www.thegrio.com/2010/01/does-race-play-a-role-in-the-way-we-tip.php”&gt; Does Race Play a Role in the Way We Tip?</a>  According to this study, I suppose it does.  There are a lot of reasons cited why black people don’t tip:  not having enough money, not knowing the proper custom, etc.  There was also some evidence in a bit of racism when black people enter a restaurant; nobody wants to serve them because they are notorious for not tipping.  The person who did the study, whom I understood to be black, stated that she has never been treated poorly when in the company of her white friends and associates, but if it’s an all black group, then the service becomes terrible.  Presumably, because they are black and were automatically discounted to be shitty tippers.  Since they probably won’t tip, let’s just treat them like crap.  Who cares?

We do know that on the whole blacks make less, have less disposable income.  That doesn’t mean that they should never eat out to a restaurant; it just means they should hold off eating out until they can afford EVERYTHING, because tipping is apart of the American culture, and it’s not something you do when you get exceptional service.  In case you didn’t know, 10% is the minimum you should tip.  If your server gives you basic service, the basic tip is 10%.  You give them more if they are exceptional.  If they suck so bad that you don’t want to give them a tip, you should report them because they deserve being disciplined. 

It’s not right that we have a stigma of not tipping, but hate to say it, if you don’t tip and the whole population is generally seen as a group of people that don’t tip, the only way to get rid of that, is to change the culture of our race.  START TIPPING.  Once again, if you can’t afford to tip, then you can’t afford whatever it is that requires tipping. 

And let’s not be cheap like the whites.  Yes, they tip, but $1 for a $90 meal is a slap in the face and I’d rather not get a tip at all if that’s the case.  When I went out of town recently, the girl I went with told me that she didn’t know how important tipping was until a few years ago.  A teacher of hers had to let her know that it was important if you wanted to continue to receive exceptional service from someone.  The teacher gave her some money so she could tip the service person.  However, when we were out of town, I noticed that her tips were quite miserly.  I’m not saying we need to break the bank.  I’m also not saying we need to reward bad behaviour on the part of service personnel, but these people are doing you a service.  If they do a good job, and not just a good job, but an excellent job, they deserve to be rewarded. 

Candace from the diner disaster earlier said, “Why should I tip them?  I didn’t force them to be a waiter.”

No, you didn’t, but you did force the guy to run back into the kitchen THREE times because you needed more ketchup, mayonnaise, and ranch dressing.  Then she complained that her food was cold because she wouldn’t eat it because she didn’t have enough ketchup.  “That’s his job,” Candace said rudely.  There’s almost nothing you can say to that; it’s that blatant stubborn idiotic streak I find in some black people that I just can’t go up against. 

That night in the diner, I paid $25 for everything, even though I only got a $6 egg sandwich and a $6 dessert.  Not only was I exceptionally fussy, but the table was rude to the waiter (and he wasn’t rude back to us) and he deserved it.  I felt like I had to make up for their bad behaviour.  When I went out of town, I put into my budget how much money I would need for tips:  the cab driver, all the restaurants I would be eating in, the bellhop who carries my luggage to the room, even the maid (which most people always forget or ignore), a little something for the concierge guys who give me the dibs on all the local happenings.  I tip based on how much I spend, how fussy I am and the quality of the service.  I expect basic and good service, but when I get exceptional service (like the patisserie who made me my own dessert in Vegas), you will get an exceptional tip.  I gave that woman $10 tip even though the dessert was only $5.  I was SOOO pleased that she offered to make me anything I wanted, then it took me about 8 minutes just to figure out what I did want, and she brought it back very quickly.  That was the best $15 ice cream sundae hot chocolate fudge caramel pecan brownie thingie I ever had in my life.  Worth every penny. 

I think the biggest reason black people don’t tip is that they didn’t know they needed to do so.  In the article, one woman mentions that nobody ever told her, just like my friend.  Secondly, some of us just don’t have the funds for it.  So here’s the remedy.  Teach your children why we tip, how to tip, when to tip, and if you can’t afford to tip, then you can’t afford whatever it is that requires tipping. 

The Afronista Rants #7: Sorry, MLK, the War Ain’t Over Yet

Today is Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. day.

Today is Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. day.

I would say it again, but you get the point.  So, my question is, what precisely does that mean?  I got a day off, thanks to Congress, because some people rallied together and thought we should have the day off.  We celebrate a lot of white people, why not this guy who gave some speeches and got killed for his efforts?  That’s their argument, not mine; I’m just trying to give you the basic premise.

At any rate, today my aunt posed a question “do white people celebrate MLK day like black people do.”  My response was, “black people celebrate MLK day?”  Oh, really?  Yeah, there’s some parades and stuff, but they have parades for anything these days.  How precisely do you celebrate MLK day?  Do we stand around and talk about the meaning of being black and oppressed?  What do we do?  Somebody let me know because I might feel like celebrating.

I told my aunt that today is just like any other day.  This is one of those partial holidays, where some people get it and some people don’t.  Those that get the day off are glad they don’t have to succumb to Monday morning blues.  MLK day is just like any other “holiday” we have where people only “celebrate” half-heartedly.  I told my aunt to look at how Christmas is celebrated in this country and she would get her answer.  If supposed Christians hardly give a damn about the alleged birth of Jesus Christ, the Saviour of mankind, why would anybody give a damn about a black man who got shot 40 years ago?

At any rate, I hate this day more than any other holiday that we have.  It’s so phony to me.  All my black friends on Twitter and Facebook are posting their “I’m black and proud” posts, most of them have had to do with President Obama and how cool it is we have a black president.  There’s lot of posts talking about our freedom and how we’ve won against the oppressors and whatever else.  I’m sure that’s all wonderful and everything, but seriously… what precisely do you think you’ve won?  How free are you exactly?  Where did you get these idiotic ideals?  Are you even on the same planet as I am?

NEWS FLASH:  THE WAR AIN’T OVER YET!

We might have won a battle, a major battle, but the war is not over yet.  And just in case you didn’t know, much like the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, there has been a total shift in focus:  we no longer fight The Man; we’re fighting ourselves.

I do not think we’ve made a significant victory in the war against racism and oppression.  Sure, legally, we’re not allowed to discriminate and all that jazz, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t happen.  Does it make it any less criminal just because we can’t see it?  But I won’t even turn this into a black versus white charade.  Let’s talk about black versus black.  We’re our own worst enemy.  We oppress ourselves far greater than the white man ever could.

Talking white, acting white, Uncle Tom, etc. all these things that black people say to other black people to make them feel guilty for succeeding in what they have decided is a white world.  Why not just be happy that somebody is successful at something, anything?  Why alienate your own kind because you can’t play the game, failed the game, or don’t even know there’s a game going on?

Black people segregate themselves far worse than the Jim Crow laws.  How many black people would never consider dating outside their race?  Black people won’t even listen to “other people’s” music because they “didn’t grow up around it” (whatever that means).  And the reason they didn’t grow up around it is because black people sit in their own crummy neighbourhoods generation after generation without a thought in the world to moving out to something better.  Just because you were born and raised in the hood doesn’t mean you have to stay in the hood.  With each new generation there is less and less determination to try and do something with oneself.

Black people want to be rappers and football players like other black people who supposedly have made it.  Never mind the fact that the chances of becoming such is slim to none.  So when you can’t be a rapper or a sports star, what is there left to do?  Black men don’t think of college.  They take the easy way out.  Drugs on the corner, sold to their own black brothers and sisters.  And when they get locked up, it’s the white man’s fault.  “They’re keeping us down.”

Oh, are they?  I don’t recall seeing any white people parading through your hood with a gun to your head forcing you to have hopeless dreams of celebrity.  They didn’t force you not to think of your own future.  They didn’t force you to start selling drugs, your ass, your mother’s pearls to make ends meet.  They don’t even force you to stay in your ghetto trashy neighbourhood, the one you call home.  You did that on your own because “that’s all you know.”  You didn’t even dare to dream of something else.  Because you’re afraid of being “too white.”  If being successful, comfortable and in charge of one ownself is being white, then what is being black?  Being a loser?

That’s what we say to ourselves day in and day out.  And when January 20 (or the closest Monday) rolls around, these same fools get up on a soap box and talk about how far we’ve come.  “Look, we got ourselves a black president.  Ain’t we proud, mammy?”

You can’t even spell president.  Out of every thing to be counted that is important in the United States, black people come up last.  Is this how you honour Martin Luther King’s legacy?  By being a race of illiterate drug dealers and video hoes?  Is this how you want to follow up President Obama’s presidency?  We have a black president now, but when will the next one be?  Who’s following in his footsteps?  Who’s inspired by this?

As long as we continue to oppress ourselves, this “holiday” is utterly meaningless.  You got your right to vote (that you only utilised just recently).  You got your right to drink from the white water fountain.  You got your right to ride in front of the bus.  You got your right to attend college (which you only  use some of the time, and maybe if it’s so you can play pro sports).  You got your right to whatever is out there that’s available to everybody else, but you haven’t gone out there to get it.  I guess you thought that right along with the reparations, somebody was gonna come knocking on your door to hand you your due.

Black people today, particularly young black people, need to realise that you haven’t won shit.  The war is not over; in fact, it’s just getting started.  Hate to say it, but you’re losing this one.  And once it’s gone, it’s gone.

Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. had a dream.  Where is yours?

Daily News December 15

Today is Tuesday, December 15, 2009.  It is the 349^th day of the year with 16 to go.

Today’s History

In 1791, the Bill of Rights went into effect following ratification by Virignia.
In 1939, the movie Gone With the Wind premiered in Atlanta.

Today’s News

Dead by Debt
A Florida woman is suing her mortgage company for the wrongful death of her husband.  The woman claims they received so many harassing phone calls that the stress caused her husband to have a heart attack and die.  Bill collectors sometimes called their home up to ten times a day, and they also called their neighbours.  The family fell behind on their payments after the husband had a heart attack in 2002.  He was airlifted to a hospital after a second heart attack.  While he was on disability, the family missed three payments.  Shortly after the second heart attack the family received this phone call from the mortgage company: “Get your act together and make your payments on your mortgage and quit playing these games.  Why don’t you have that helicopter pick you up and bring that payment to the office?”  The man’s heart failed shortly thereafter and he died.  The company doesn’t particularly address the number of phone calls or the content of the phone calls, but they are insistent that his death doesn’t have anything to do with the calls.  The FTC regulates debt collection but there are not enough investigators to go around, only the worst incidents are investigated.  Here are other phone calls people have received:

“You’re a piece of shit.  That’s why you turned your phone off.  Mother fucker.  But that’s okay.”

“When I see you, I’m gonna fuck you up.  I want my money and I want it now.  I hate people who lie to me and abuse my company.  If you bring my money back, you don’t have to worry about me, just disregard my message.”

Whoa.  As a former debt collector, I know exactly what goes on.  I worked for a certain very large bank, collecting on late stage mortgage payments, people who were at least three or four months behind about to get foreclosed on.  Naturally, we went through classes on what we were allowed to say and what we couldn’t.  No, you can threaten bodily harm or use foul language, but we were trained to be heartless.  We were not supposed to care if there was death, dismemberment, plague, disease, or whatever, anything to get that money without crossing that very thin grey line.  We had a list of things we could say to help people raise money to get their mortgage payment in.  Calls are monitored, not for quality like they tell you on that little automated thing, but to make sure we are doing everything in our power to get money.  I called these people who were four months behind.  After the mother and daughter screamed at me on the phone calling me all kinds of whore and bitch, the daughter (who was about 14) told me why they couldn’t pay.  They were in a boating accident on their first family vacation ever.  The accident paralysed the father from the waist down, put the six year old son in an eternal coma, and drowned the other son.  After listening to some child cry on the phone and tell me that neither of her parents could work, that they didn’t have medical insurance and that she had to get food out their neighbours’ trash when they weren’t looking, I just politely said, “Make the payments when you can,” and hung up.  My supervisor called me in her office and said, “You should have told her that while she was out there digging in the trash, she could find some cans.  Collect enough cans and you’ll make that mortgage payment.”  I left work that night and never went back.

Know the rules:

They cannot call you before 8AM or after 9PM, unless you agree.  They also cannot call you at work after you tell them you’re not allowed to receive phone calls at work.  They can only make contact once a day.  Once they speak to you and establish you as the person they’re looking for, they can’t call back.  But if you don’t say your name or acknowledge the phone call, they can keep calling. 

Even if you owe the money, and you know it, you can tell the collector to stop contacting you.  You must do it in writing; however, they will not tell you anything anymore, such as if they are suing you or repossessing a certain item.

If you have an attorney, they can only call the attorney.  They can call your friends and family to find out where you are, but they are only allowed to call once.  Once they make contact, that’s it.

Kiss My Grits!
A Louisiana woman has been charged with second degree battery after she poured a pot of hot boiling grits on her boyfriend.  After arguing all evening, he told her that he was breaking up with her, then he went to bed.  While he slept, the woman went into the kitchen and put a pot of grits on.  She waited until they were good and hot before pouring it over his face and arms, causing second degree burns.

Uhm… sorry for your luck.

Ecstasy Aficionado
A man from Amsterdam has reported to police that his collection of Ecstasy pills had been stolen.  He had been collecting the pills of various colours and shapes for more than 20 years.  He stored them like coin collectors store their collectibles, and he said that he was fascinated by the colours and logos, but he is not a dealer or a user.  Approximately 2400 pills were stolen during a break-in.  The man said the only reason he reported the incident was that some of the pills were poisoned and if someone took the drugs they might be lethal.  The police said even if they do recover the collection, the man will not be getting it back, and they don’t know if they are going to charge him with a crime.

Uhm, yeah, who collects pills?  Well, I guess I shouldn’t ask that because people collect all kinds of weird things, but Ecstasy pills, and you’re not a user?  Yeah, I highly doubt that.  How did you know they were poisoned?

Food Fight
A Florida woman is being charged with assault after she slapped her boyfriend in the head with a piece of raw steak.  They were apparently fighting over a slice of bread.  He asked for a bread roll and she gave him a bread slice.  When he got upset and refused to eat the bread slice, the woman began to repeatedly beat him in the face with the piece of steak.  Apparently, the boyfriend is somehow disabled and the woman hit him “so he could learn.”

Sometimes when I read this stuff I don’t even believe it.  I do get my news from reputable sources like MSNBC or CNN, but still, some of this is too ridiculous to be believed.  A bread slice?  A bread roll?  Steak?  Seriously?  I mean, seriously.

Pilfered Pee
Authorities in Utah are looking for the culprits who broke into a health office and stole 17 samples of urine.  The urine, which was stored in little plastic cups, was part of a drug test for a substance abuse programme.  Nothing else but the piss was stolen.

Well, that’s one way of trying to beat a drug test.

Racism:  It’s What’s For Dinner
Italian residents in Verona are in an uproar after a nativity scene featuring a black Jesus and black Mary was unveiled.  The city is having serious issues with illegal immigrants coming from Africa and Eastern Europe, many of whom are dark skinned.  The nativity scene appeared at the same time as an anti-immigrant operation called “White Christmas” began.  The operation is meant to find illegal foreigners and kick them out of the city by Christmas day.  The man who created the nativity scene, an Italian, stated that he believes that Jesus and Mary were probably rather dark skinned.  Some people were mad that the nativity was black and some people were mad that there was even a nativity at all because they didn’t want to offend the Muslims living in the area.  The designer said the point was not to have a black Christmas or a white Christmas, but to have a merry Christmas. 

Oh, Lord, here we go with this nonsense.  I thought I was going to make it through 2009 without hearing anything about the black Jesus debate.  Sixteen days before 2010, and I just couldn’t make it.  Well, at least it’s in Italy and not in the US this time.  Christians argue all the time whether he was white or black, nappy-headed or blonde, and this is precisely the reason why depictions of religious icons are forbidden in Islam because there is no way we can have any idea what Jesus, Adam, Noah or any of them looked like.  Despite some description in the Holy Scriptures, there isn’t enough to go on, and without a digital 10.1 megapixel picture attached to the Dead Sea scrolls, we’ll never know, so our speculation is not relevant. 

Today’s Thought

Experience is a good teacher, but she sends in terrific bills.  ~Minna Antrim