Like Urination for Precipitation

If you aren't familiar, there is a saying that goes something like “do not piss on my head and tell me that it is raining.” I am quite familiar with this situation because many times in my 3 decades of life I have had people unzip from above my head and subsequently warn me of coming thunderstorms. One of the most pernicious of these bamboozles is the “we can be friends” lie. For a man, and for most women, being put in the friend zone is the kiss of death; there is absolutely no worse fate than being banished, “It's a Good Life” style, to the Friend Zone. (If you don't get the reference, look it up; it's an excellent episode of the Twilight Zone). Like that episode, being banished to the Friend Zone is a cold, horrifying, soul-crushing event from which there is no return. When you have been sent there once your main goal in life is to never be banished there again. But I, for one reason or another, keep finding myself in that particular cornfield time and time again, each time through another hilariously convoluted series of events.

I believe that I have been sent to the cornfield more times than most, because I have a particular personality trait that predisposes me to leaving myself open to getting “rained” on. I have an impossible to ignore need to fix people. Now don't get me wrong; I'm no Mother Theresa/Jesus figure. I would say it’s more of an ego-syntonic drive to do what it is that I think I do best; resolve people's psychological issues. I think that most people like to do what they do best, and I am a very good psychologist, regardless of what people may say. There's another component to this tragedy that I am not sure if I have complete control over; I have a penchant for meeting women who have recently hit rock bottom in their lives. This is a big reason why I have to fix so many people, because I seem to find so many people who need fixing. I'm not talking abut women who just broke a nail, I'm talking about serious, life threatening issues. Most of the time. Sometimes they are just girls who happen to date the same type of homicidal jerks over and over again but most of the time they are women with legitimate problems in their lives that I have some sort of useful perspective on.

If this is just some random cosmic coincidence then I suppose I can't do much about it. I've tried fighting against the immutable laws of nature before, and have always come out the worse for it. I'm tired of beating my head against a wall of physics. Another, less fantastic hypothesis is that I am subconsciously attracted to “damaged” women, which is a common affliction amongst some men. I have written before about my ”Hero Complex” and how I have a inherent drive to save people. What if there is a part of me that, when there is no one around who is in any acute danger, seeks out women who are broken, damaged, or are in acute danger, and insinuate myself into their lives? What if there is a part of me that looks for emergencies so that I can “save the day” and be the hero? Ask yourself these questions if you have a similar pattern of behavior, especially if you often find yourself banished to the cornfields. There is a direct correlation between befriending damaged people and ending up in the friend zone.

What is this connection? Well, I'll tell you. One of those immutable laws of the universe I spoke of earlier is the he or she who fights the battle never lives to see the fruits of their labor. Despite what 80's movies and video games have told us, if you enter the Castle and fight the Dragon in order to save the princess, chances are in the real world that once you do risk your life and do all those acts of daring do, the princess will then immediately hook up with your unemployed stoner roommate. THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is reality. I have learned that whenever I fix someone, they inevitably run out and sleep with/fall in love with the first person they see that isn't me. I have heard stories from several men and women confirming this from their own experience as well. They have had cases where they have helped people to stop drinking, stop doing drugs, stop dating abusive men, stop dating crazy women, get jobs, go back to school, graduate school, etc. and when they finally help this person achieve their goal, they, as Kanye West said “leave they ass for a White girl”.

What I mean by that is whenever you put your heart and soul into helping someone out in life, the chances are good that when they reach that goal they will leave you for someone else, that is, if they were ever with you in the first place. Only very strong relationships don't break up when one person experiences a large change in life/status such as going from dug user to sober, or from having low self esteem to being a fully self reliant individual. The worst part of the banishing procedure is that the person who does it usually tries to convince you that it's a good thing, which is where the great lie about being rained on begins. Rodgers and Hammerstein could not compose a greater song and dance than these people do when they try to explain to you why the fact that they are essentially ditching you now that they are “better” and giving all their goodies to a complete stranger who had nothing to do with their recovery is, in fact, a positive experience for you. Some of them think that you should even be thanking them for it. They are effusive with their thankfulness. Here is an actual text I received in this situation;

“I adore you, you know that. Just not in the way you want me to. Anyway I think you're amazing and awesome and I hate that now things are probably going to be weird between you and I. I hate to lose you. You're the only guy who I've talked to consistently for a year. And I think that's because we never hooked up.”

And this, this is the part where the trickle of piss becomes a downpour;

“You should be happy, I let you in where other guys never get to go.”

Apparently that place she let me in is everywhere but her vagina. The crazy part is that this is maybe the 20 or 30^th time I've heard this speech in my life. I have the unfortunate luck to encounter women who believe that they can only sleep with men who don't care about them, and who they can't care about in return. This is, of course, lunacy. But a surprising number of women think this way. By the way, the above quotes are not doctored or taken out of context in any way. It took me a long time to realize that telling me it's a good thing that “I'm too special to sleep with” is not a good thing. It's piss disguised as rain. It's a sham, and after 3 decades I'm finally learning to grab an umbrella and step out of it. If you care about someone, and they are special to you, you should give them the greatest gift you can, which isn't “friendship”. Besides, what these people consider friendship isn't that, because the relationship is never even. The person doing the fixing never receives the same services in return. That person can never depend on the person they fixed for emotional support. The damaged person, by definition, cannot be a good friend because if they could they would probably possess other life skills that would have prevented them from becoming damaged in the first place. They are inherently selfish, and never ask about the “fixer's” problems. Therefore, the fixer is more of a tool to be used when needed than a true friend. In what way is this a tenable position for anyone? A true friendship is reciprocal, and these relationships are strictly one way. The friend zone is a lonely place, and no one ever has sex there.

So, if you are the type to be a “fixer” and you feel some trickles coming from the sky, ask yourself is this really rain I'm feeling, or something else entirely?

Let's Pretend

(I believe that this falls under the category of "free verse" not quite a poem. be gentle, I kinda of just vomited it up from my subconscious.)

Let's pretend that I took no for an answer. That I let the world beat me, that I never recovered from my mother being snuffed out like a candle in a stiff wind. Let's say that I never recovered from every time I got knocked, no, hit by a car, slammed to the ground, power-bombed and then had a piano dropped on me from three stories up. Let's pretend that I lost the fight with my own mind that I have had to fight every day of my life, the death urge that compels me to fail, to sleep longer and longer until I get to the day when I don't wake up. Let's pretend that I don't hear the alarm in the morning over the sound of my ribs cracking, over the sound of life kicking me again, of the sound of my jaw shattering and my teeth hitting the pavement like a packet of skittles, skittering across the ground. Let's pretend I was late for work because I was choking on my own blood and bile. God don't like Ugly, but he does not mind kicking you when you are down. He must enjoy that sound, the skittering, you see.
See the sideshow, let it begin, can't afford to pass it by, guaranteed to make you cry. See the boy who cried a million tears and not one hit the ground because his pride and his ego refused to let his pain go, so the heartache and the rage and the sadness and the frustration roam his wearied mind like hungry tigers consuming every but of happiness that should clumsily stumble into their path. So he cries on the inside and smiles on the outside and laughs at the cliches that suddenly make sense but don't shed any light and don't give any answers and don't provide any solace or comfort but never cease to miss a moment to destroy any chance at making a better life for himself and those around him.
Let us count the ways in which his heart has been broken, let us count the ways in which his heart has been denied, let us count the ways that he has let down and been let down, let us count how many times he has been told no. Let us see how many times he has been laughed at for daring to hope for something better, for asking for a woman who was never meant for him, for asking for a happiness that will forever be out of his reach. Be careful of the laughter, if you gather it up, all of it every smirk and smile and giggle that has escaped the Candy-Colored Lip-Glossed orifice of his oppressor, the sheer volume of derision would blast your consciousness away as cleanly and as efficiently as those poor souls who where firsthand witness to the splitting of the atom at Hiroshima and Nagasaki. You may hear the cracking, again, the crackling cracking, but it is not breaking it is burning, the singed sizzling away of what was once a human being.
If you were to look for my innocence, my hope, my childhood, my boyish charm, you would find no bone, no ash, no teeth, just a relief, a dark outline against a wall of where all of those positive things about me used to be, before they were destroyed by untold waves of heat, pressure, and light. Blasts from the Candy Colored lips of so many who spoke honeyed words that burned, most literally, like the sun, and left as much evidence of their passing by as a sun would.
Maybe if you looked up you would see those trees with their strange fruit swinging in a cold, ill wind. From the bows of the highest trees swing those things I once held dear, my hopes, my dreams, those things I wanted and want so much in life, hanging dead and decayed, lynched with barbed-wire nooses, by honeyed words and lies and half truths and good intentions. Well meaning diatribes and silences that were meant to speak volumes but instead were like thin steel spikes drilled deep into my living corpse, aimed not to kill but to cause the most pain possible. Steel spikes that never missed their mark, that slid easily, lubricated as they were by the aforementioned tears that I never was allowed to cry. Three swords it says, piercing my heart, but still it beats. Let's pretend that it didn't, let's pretend that my heart stopped and I gave up and I said yes, no, I know, I can't, you won't I'm not good enough, I never will be, I never was, Never will be good enough for you, Not White Enough, Not Jewish Enough, Not Skinny Enough, Not Stable Enough, Not Rich Enough Not Black Enough, Not Hood Enough Not dat Nigga.
Not
Not
Not
Not
Not.
Ever.
Enough.

Let us pretend. That I will never. Ever never be enough.

Let us pretend that I believed that.

That I will never be good enough.

Where would I be? Would I be anywhere? Would I exist? No I think not. So excuse me if I'm Pushy. Excuse me if I'm Arrogant, Creative, Cocky, Overbearing, Antagonistic, Demonstrative, Persistent, Persuasive, Loud, Random, Unpredictable, Uncompromising, Moody, Overwhelming, Intense, Subtle, Stimulating, Arousing, Destructive, Comforting, Seductive, Protagonistic, Heroic, Demonic, Erotic, Feral, Dutiful, Loyal, Reckless;
Excuse me, if I do not take your “no” and walk away quietly into that dark night.
Excuse me, in short, for being Me. Because this is the Me You made, This is the Me I had to learn to be to survive the world You made for Me. So enjoy Me, revel in Me, Because I Am Not going Anywhere. And if you cannot fathom that, well, You can always Pretend that things were Different.

Show at Comix

A mix of new talent with seasoned pros and celebrity drop-ins! These are the shows to catch the hottest stars of tomorrow! And I'm gonna be there! (I'm in the "hottest stars of tomorrow" category) What I need is at least 15 people to RSVP As Soon As Possible to come and see me perform! All you have to do is call the club 212-524-2500 and say you are coming to see me! You also get a discount on admission, which would be $10. There is a 2 drink minimum as well. All that is inconsequential however, as this is a really funny show, and even though it's new talent, I can guarantee it's funny talent! So let me know if you are coming and thanks in advance!

Oh, and if you can't come, which I completely understand, try at least to tell anyone you know who is a fan of Stand-up. It should be a good show.

Best Beats Ever

What I am undertaking here is, at best, quixotic, and at worst, impossible. I want to make a list of the top 10 best Hip Hop beats ever. Once I started upon this task I realized how foolhardy it was. I mean, it would be hard enough to make a list of top 10 Bad Boy beats, or top 10 Violator beats (including Missy, Timbaland, and Busta Rhymes songs). It would be damn near impossible to make a top 10 list of Dre beats, or Snoop songs, or Eminem songs, but that is exactly what I am attempting to do here. If you disagree with my list, (and you are almost destined to) I encourage you to make a list of your own. I am a beat connoisseur, a beat junkie, a beat-nut, if you will, and I would love to hear other people's opinions on this matter. To be honest, I probably won't even completely agree with my list, but I figure this is a good place to start. Oh, and PLEASE keep in mind that though there may be better SONGS that capture some of the moods I'm talking about, I am making an attempt to separate the beats out from the flows, featured artists, etc. So without further ado, here we go...

10. Is a Three-way tie by Dipset because they are all TV related samples. Of course I mean .357, Let Me Know, and the Horse and Carriage remix. They are (in order; Magnum P.I. Theme, the MNFootball theme, and the Night Court theme) some of the best TV music around. I am slightly disappointed that they never got around to sampling the “AirWolf” theme, but it could still happen, right?

9.“What Up Gangsta”, 50 Cent - If you have some nefarious actions planned for the night, there are few songs that will put you in the proper frame of mind faster than this song. Runner-up – Quiet Storm, Mobb Deep, Ante-Up Remix, M.O.P.

8.“Fire”, Joe Buddens – This may be the Jersey in my showing, but the hardcore House pedigree of this songs makes me put this song on repeat consistently. If it comes on while I'm driving I instantly speed up 10-15 mph. It's that kind of song. If you can sit still during that song, check your pulse.

7.“Never Let Me Down”, Kanye West – It's fairly well known if you know me that I drink the Kanye Kool-Aid. I say that I am to Kanye as “Stan” was to Eminem, without, you know, the homoerotic letters and suicidal tendencies... But I digress. The problem with me and Kanye's songs is that I find it impossible to separate the flows from the beat, so I can't really be impartial. “Never Let Me Down”, I believe to be an amazing song, with or without words, which is why I included it here. Still, I feel like I'm violation my own rules here...

6.“Bitch Please Pt 1 and 2” - Want to talk about epitomizing the West Coast sound? I don't think it gets much closer than these two songs. They fairly beg to be blasted at high volume in a low rider, sans top, in a low income neighborhood. You can throw Xzibit's “X” in here as well; what, that was an enjoyable song...

5. “Clint Eastwood”, Gorillaz – This is the first Gorillaz song I ever heard and still is by far my favorite. I don't know what it is about this lazy meandering baseline that gets me, but like a good point guard this beat makes whoever is working with it look better. I think maybe it is the harmonica that lends the song a sort of otherworldly feel. Either way, this one deserves to stand among the best.

4.“I Can't Stand the Rain”, Missy Elliot – If anyone ever coins the term “Beat Minimalist” (which I should) Missy will be the primary example of such an artist, and this song will be the primary example. A song that's as great for what isn't there as for what is, Missy definitely explored the space with this one. This beat is the musical version of a Sundress; you had better be talented, because this beat will not hide any of your flaws. Beautiful bare bones music.

3. “You're All I Need”, Method Man, ft. Mary J. Blige – The most gangsta love song of all time, there is really no way to get around how hard this beat is considering the subject matter. If you separate the two and listen to them separately, you are put in the mood to do entirely different things. By “different” I mean, do a home invasion or write a poem for your beloved different. It's a good thing this song is about love, because this beat is about grimy, illegal things.

2.“Who Shot Ya”, Notorious B.I.G. - Speaking of bad intentions, this song has nothing but bad intentions. Again, I maybe unduly prejudiced towards this song because of all the yelling of “J.M. MUTHAFUCKA” (my initials) but this beat influenced a lot of hip-hop that came after it. An original product of the Minimalist School, this beats' scarcity of decoration allowed B.I.G. To fully display the breadth and range of his lyrical ability. I can imagine the shock to the status quo when they first heard this song. So, what's better than this?

1.“Put Your Hands Where My Eyes Could See”, Busta Rhymes – What is it about this song that was/is so special? What is it that, when it comes on in clubs or bars, produces some kind of positive reaction in every patron, male, female, old, young? This song, I think, was something of a musical breakthrough for hip-hop. Definitely Minimalist by nature, I think this song made producers change what they thought a hip-hop beat could be. “Put Your Eyes” was off-beat; slower than usual, and had odd pacing, but it worked, oh boy did it work. The song showed off Busta Rhyme's ability to rap over pretty much everything, but, I believe, it showed the hip-hop world that there was a lot more room for creativity when it came to producing tracks.

So that's my list. Feel free to tell me how wrong I am.... now.

The Beginning of the End for All Other Podcasts

An Alter Ego is a second self, a second personality or persona within a person. An Alter Negro is the new definition of what it is to be Black, the Negrona within the Negro. I am of my Race, Gender, and Species, and not of them at the same time. The Alter Negro Show is the Internet Radio Broadcast manifestation of me, John Minus, the Alter. It is everything in my head wrung out and put on display for the world to see. It is my way of changing the world.

There are a lot of people like me out there in the world, people who don’t quite fit in, who are underrepresented, marginalized, and labeled Deviant. To all of those people, I say; this is the Show for you. The Alter-Negro Show, hosted by John W. Minus. The Grand Premier is in 3 weeks, November 23rd, 2009 on the Non-Productive Network, www.non-productive.com.


Go ahead, try and not listen. You’ll regret it.

The Most Colorful Game

A young man was killed in Hartford, Connecticut on Sunday morning. Unfortunately, this is not an unusual occurrence, as Hartford doesn’t seem to be a place bereft of crime. What is truly unfortunate is that sometimes no matter how much a young Black man tries to do the right thing, he can still become the victim of random-bullshit-petty-violence that takes his life. It may sound cliché at this point, but most concepts become cliché because they are so ubiquitous as to become a rhetorically accepted fact. The concept I am talking about is that of the poor Black kid in the ghetto who has some athletic ability and tries to use it to pull himself and his family out of the endless cycle of violence that traps so many in America’s inner cities. It may be cliché, but it is a stone-cold fact for many kids in the ‘hood that Football or Basketball are their only perceived ways of being somebody in the world… well, that or hip-hop. The worst part is that even when these kids make it, achieve their dream and get scholarships to a big-time College, their past still haunts them. They leave the ‘hood, but the ‘hood never leaves them. Jasper Howard wasn’t even from Connecticut, he was from Miami, FL, and still the violence that has claimed the lives of so many young Black men claimed his as well. And, like I said, as far as we know he was trying to do the right thing. So what do we learn from this? No matter how hard or how fast someone runs between the lines, they can never escape what they are, their Color.

This season the NFL has been celebrating the 50th anniversary of the AFL, what is now the AFC. In honor of that there have been a multitude of “Throwback” games when two AFC foes face each other, resulting in some rather colorful uniform displays. Starting with the Bright Orange stripes of the referees, I believe that I have seen every color in the visible Electromagnetic Spectrum, and some that aren’t (I’m pretty sure the Seahawks have used some Ultraviolet Colors in their alternate Uni’s). I, personally, have enjoyed the hell out of this season’s throwbacks, my favorites being the Oilers and Broncos (yes the Brown and Gold). Unfortunately my absolute favorite throwback Uni, the Tangerine of the Tampa Bay Bucs, will not be on display as they are a NFC team *sigh*. I guess I’ll live. Even with all the flashes of color one thing unfortunately seems to remain the same; the inescapable fact that the most important color on the field isn’t the green of the grass, or the hue of the uniform, but the tone of the skin of the player.

This has always been true, and it still is true. In 1958 the University of Buffalo football team was invited to it’s one and only Bowl game in its school history (before or since). It was the Tangerine Bowl, to be played in Orlando, FL against the Florida State Gators. Buffalo had two Black players on their team, and the school was informed that one of the stipulations of playing in the Bowl Game was that Buffalo’s Black players had to stay home; the Orlando High School Athletic Association did not allow Black players to play with White players. This was not an isolated rule either; it was a pretty common practice in The South for a long time. Common, of course, until the segregated schools realized that they could not beat teams that had Black players. Then the urge to win overcame racism, as it often does. This is why Sports so often overcomes racism, because even the most strident racist bastard can overlook his hatred for 4 quarters.

This being the case, sports have brought down a lot of racial divides, while simultaneously putting them on display for the world to see. There has long been a belief that Black’s could never successfully play the QB position because we just aren’t smart enough. This perception is still around; there are very few Black QB’s who aren’t also known for their running ability. Warren Moon, the only Black QB in the Football Hall of Fame, had to go to Canada to play when he graduated from college because no team in the NFL would draft him as a QB, despite being named MVP of the 1978 Rose Bowl. After passing for over 3000 yards for 4 straight years in the Canadian Football League, Moon finally was taken seriously as a QB, and after a sizeable bidding war signed with the Houston Oilers. To date, only one Black QB has started and won a Super Bowl, further adding to this perception. And then there was the Limbaugh/McNabb debacle…

Rush Limbaugh, briefly, worked for ESPN doing color commentary on the NFL. He genuinely has a love for football, and in my opinion was an interesting addition to the show. His football analysis was actually very good, and he did not seem that out of place for someone who had no real connection to the sport other than as a fan. But alas, eventually the real Rush came out when he said that the Media wanted Donovan McNabb to succeed only because he was a Black QB. Now at the time, and even today, I did not think what he said was really that terrible. In fact I may have even agreed a little. Regardless of the fact that I hate the Eagles, I thought that Limbaugh’s statement, in and of itself, was an observation and nothing more. The problem is in the context of everything Rush has said before and since regarding race, he cannot say things like that and expect it to be glossed over. He has said some things that quite frankly make him the world’s biggest asshole, and he cannot possibly be naïve enough to think that what he does for a living would have no bearing on whether he was allowed to be part of an industry as image-conscious as the NFL is. Add to that the target of most of his vitriol happens to be African-Americans, who obviously had a problem with him becoming an owner as well, and yes, Rush was Rushed out of the group trying to buy the St. Louis Rams.

I am an ardent believer in our First Amendment right to Free Speech, but what most people fail to realize is that when you say whatever the Hell you want to, there are consequences to those actions. Rush Limbaugh just experienced some of those consequences. In his world, he is never held accountable for his actions, but in the real world, people hate him and are angry about what he says. Sports are the great equalizer, where it’s about Colors, yes, but what rules above all is CAN YOU HELP US WIN. Because of that, over the decades racial barriers have been broken down both on the field and off. Ultimately, Rush was not going to help the Rams improve as an organization, as many players voiced that they would not play for a team that he was a part of, meaning that his presence would hurt the team in the WIN/LOSS column. Period. That’s why he was dropped from the group. I love my Colorful NFL World for just that reason. Now, where can I buy one of those Gold and Brown Broncos Unis?

The Unbearable Triteness of Beings

Let me start off by saying this.

I. Hate. Pink.

I always have. I don’t think there is anything good about her or what she does. Most of my distaste for her comes from the fact that she is just too damn ugly to be famous. I mean, I know plenty of attractive girls who deserve to be famous way more than Pink does. She’s just awful in the facial area. She looks as if a blind impressionist sculpted her visage. I disapprove of her and most of the things that come out of her mouth. Many of her “songs” seem to consist of yelling and pandering to tired fake-feminist themes that are guaranteed to sell because hey, who doesn’t like being angry and yelling about being spurned by stupid ex-boyfriends huh? Really, she’s the worst kind of garbage because she has absolutely no basis for having a justifiable opinion on anything, yet she feels the need to share her ill-informed and irrational opinions with everyone in the fucking world. Literally, she is a global cancer in this sense, harassing people in the United States, United Kingdom, and Australia. Her most passionate cause is animal rights, but unlike most animal rights activists she actually does other charity work for humans, and for this I must give her at least a little credit. She hasn’t abandoned her (presumed) race for another species, even though she obviously shares more DNA with a canid or, say, an orangutan than another Human Being.

One of the reasons that this chick gets to me so much, is that she likes to lay into people that I like, namely Beyonce and Kanye West. She had a thing against Kanye previous to the events of last weekend because he wears fur. Well guess what you half-chick, Cam’ron wears fur too, why don’t you go after him huh? Call him a piece of shit? Oh I know why, because Cam’ron and Dip Set will actually have her ass kidnapped in a basement in Harlem, never to be seen again. The point of the matter being that Pink only goes after “soft targets” like Beyonce and Prince William. Kanye, for all of his ego, is not and never has been a thug type of guy. He’s just not the beef-type who responds to perceived slights through diss-records and carries out vendettas through the media, no matter what people say about him. As jackass-ish as what he did was, you cannot say that he has ever made a personal attack against Taylor Swift or anyone, save maybe for George Bush, who really deserved it. The evidence is clear; for all of the many and varied insults she has hurled at him, he has said nothing in return. For what it’s worth, neither has Beyonce. I suspect though that Beyonce could care less about Pink, seeing as how B far outclasses Pink in virtually any and every category of measurable success one could think of.

I admit freely that I am biased towards Kanye, in fact I have stated many times that I am his biggest fan, in much the same way that “Stan” was Eminem’s biggest fan From an objective point of view however, the reaction to this event is all wrong. For one thing, Kanye interrupted someone else’s speech, did not insult her, and just said that B should have one. Now, upon further examination, it is no secret that Kanye looks up to Jay-Z like his big brother, so by extension it would make sense that he sees Beyonce as a big sister or at the very least sister in law. Who among you wouldn’t stand up and make a fuss if you felt that your beloved sister had been cheated? Wouldn’t you do it, especially if you were drunk and already prone to speaking your mind… no matter if it is appropriate or not… in any and all situations?
Secondly, and I won’t talk about this too much, but the man’s mother died 2 years ago, and let’s just say that it is still effecting him. Kanye was not exactly the most emotionally stable guy beforehand, and to lose such a central figure in his life, in fact, the central figure in his life so suddenly and unexpectedly sent him into a tailspin that he never has adequately dealt with. He admitted what I already knew, that he didn’t take any time off from working to adequately grieve, and all of that pain is going to come out somewhere at sometime. Believe me; I know this much is true.

Lastly, NONE OF THIS is as big of a deal as people are making it out to be. It seems to have sparked a national debate about whether manners are dead and about how Kanye is the rudest man ever. This of, course, is racist. I know people will say that I‘m full of it, but do you honestly think this would have gotten the same coverage if Kanye had done it to Ciara at the BET awards? Would you even have heard of it? You and I both know that the answer to that is no. I’m not entirely sure who Taylor Swift is or what she does, but I know what she looks like, and based on the fact that she is 17, and Beyonce is, well, B, I’m pretty sure that she has no business winning an award over B. That being said, she did win, and it is not the first time, nor will it be the last time some blond-eyed blue-haired girl wins an award over someone darker and more deserving.

What really burns me bout all of this is the public outrage. Much like the Michael Vick situation, people are showing much more anger and venom here than they do when actual human lives are threatened. I will never forget what happened in New Orleans, to me, it is just as horrible as 9/11, and that is why I consider Bush and his administration to be just as bad as those terrorists. They are just as responsible for the loss of several thousand American lives as Al Quaeda is. But I digress… the outrage over Katrina seemed muted and, let’s say, relegated to specific portions of the populace. The outrage over one entertainer embarrassing another has been far more vitriolic and incendiary. Once again, our priorities as a nation seem to be horribly skewed, and that is what makes me so angry. It seems like the most ignorant and ill-informed members of society feel the need to share their opinions in public forums the most often, which of course is why I started my blog. Pink firmly falls in the category of ignorant, ill-informed, and ugly. Sorry, I just can’t get over how hideous she is for a pop-star. I mean really, who dropped the ball there?