The Myth of the Magical Negro Chapter 1: Negroidian Principles

"I learned from TV that if you hit a midget in the head, gold coins will drop out."
Patton Oswalt


Contrary to popular opinion, if you stop referring to us in conversation or popular media we don't disappear like apparations or those little trolls in nursery rhymes.

Black people do not refer to themselves as "mulatto" or "octaroon" in either public or private. Those are names that refer to slave trade classifications. My background, while a truly fascinating subject, is not something for you to know or try to know unless I tell you, either orally or through some form of written communications.

You don't know how black people are, shall be, or will be.

Race may mean nothing, but being black will always carry a legacy. If you want to blame someone, there are many white males both alive and dead that are responsible for the massive burden that is race and racism. Feel free to give them a call, chant, present, or explosive device.

Black people exist collectively as a statstical base. Again, not our fault. Consult the above dead white guys.

Ghetto, urban, and/or black don't rhyme and they certainly aren't synonyms.

I am a large black male. Despite your own vision problems, I am not always angry. Then again, if you're stupid enough you might just piss me off all the time... so maybe it's just your fault.

Don't clutch your purse when I enter an elevator. There's nowhere for either us to go... oh, and I'm not a thief.

My baggy pants conceal neither a constant erection nor a shotgun. I wear them because I feel like it.

And my personal favorite:

Dave Chappelle is funny for reasons that you don't even get. And secretly he quit because you, after two seasons of it, still couldn't figure it out.



That is all for now.

Si, que puede?

In a discussion about union democracy, I mentioned mobilization. Other people mentioned mobilization too, but as a kind of salve to be placed upon gaping organizing wounds already slashed into the labor framework.

Mobilization is a kind of plan carried forth only in situations of extreme peril. It seems like its almost put into action when the situation is so bad that you need some kind of union chemotherapy. Sure, you might lose some hair and your skin might yellow like old books... but what else is there at this point? You want to live, don't you?

I think we should be thinking about how members feel about unions before we even start talking about making them members. How do we know that they aren't confused by what we're saying? How do you use a thirty-day blitz to introduce someone to the labor movement when we can't even decide on how useful blitzes are?

More later... probably a part two to this one. Gotta go.

I had proof that black was beautiful

She liked my dredlocks.  But the thing was that I really just had kinky twists.  

I’d met her way before that, probably some months prior, in Olive Branch.  I was really hot for her then, but I was so focused on work that I felt like we shouldn’t get down like that.  She was into me, but then again, it might have all been play regardless.  I was trying to get her attention, but it wasn’t working at all…

Then I come back to Memphis.  All people can talk about is how much she’s been asking about where I’ve been.  Personally, your boy was under the impression that she didn’t care in the least.  On top of that, my job was basically on the verge of being eliminated.  Things couldn’t get worse even if I’d tried to make them worse.  So what did I do?  I fell in love with her.

We fought a lot.  We laughed a lot.  We spent a lot of our time watching movies and making fun of each other.  She held my attention.  I missed her when she was gone and although she feverishly denied it, I know she missed me too.  There was no way that I was going to go back to twists though.  And that probably should have signaled my end… or our end anyway.  But I’m blind when I’m like that.  All caught up in how I felt and probably not listening to her and how she felt is what got me here in the first place: typing in the dark.

I love her.  I still do, even when things couldn’t possibly get better.  Even when I was with the other girl, especially when I was with the other girl probably.  I told her a lot of the same things that I told you… only she listened to me a little more when I told her I cared about her.  I imagine I was really talking to you.  How fucked up is that, right?

When things get worse sometimes I blame her.  She told me to erase her from my phone, and she’d do the same with me.

I lied.

Some lies are better left untold yet cherished, like old jewelry from new department store boxes… shiny paper makes anything seem legitimate, even when covering something taboo.  We’re all liars anyway right?  All hypocrites, so why not shame myself a little more?  

I probably should have called her by now.  But I can’t because deep down I know that she’d just hang up the phone.  So I’ll sit here, with my hand on Send.

Well, I did until about five minutes ago.

Get better, lady who constantly confuses me.  If you don’t make it, I’ll keep lying to myself and saying I don’t miss you anyway.

The Adventures Of...

So today, of all days, I decided that I was going to make a mess of Holiday Inn.  Not in my usual organizing way, but by applying for a job.

So I go up to ask for an application, and this is how it went down:

Counter Guy: So, what position are you applying for?

ME: I dunno.  What's open, off the top of your head.

Counter Guy: Well, for guys like you, we usually have the restaurant or the buffet.

ME:... (leaning in REAL CLOSE) What kind of guy do you suppose I am?

Rocksmokingcockblocking
BIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATCCCCCCCCCCHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!


I should have throated that guy.

New Blogger Account

Anyone who is reading this now knows that I am making the slow transition to Blogger. Mostly I'm moving just because the interface is so much better. We'll see how well it takes...

Those who are new, welcome. Be prepared for complete and utter nonsense.