The Mystery of Chessboxing (Lego)

Perfectly captures an average Monday on my job.

The Best and the Brightest

Tiger offered a humble apology to everybody: his mama, his wife, his kids, his corporate sponsors (!), his non-profit foundation, his fans. But what about the real victims in all of this? Light skinned brothers

For those of you new to the program, I have been documenting the comeback of light skinned brothers for some time now. Back in 1997, Pierre prophetically predicted our re-ascension in "How To Be A Player," and the 2000s have been heady times for those of us who ace our paper bag tests. We were down for so long during the "Wesley era," where a "darker the berry" ethos made tan skin on a brother less popular than a ham sandwich at a Saviours' Day convention.

NeObama, Cory Booker, Harold Ford...heck, even Drake. Quietly, we've been turning back the clock to the DeBarge era. And it's all because of Tiger. His ability to hit a little white ball across a golf course, better than anyone in history, opened the door for us. We smiled as everyone talked about how he advanced the plight of Black people, but WE knew who was really going to benefit from it. And indeed we have.

Who you calling pretty pretty princess?

But lately, there's been a little trouble. NeO is less popular than ever. Cory's got trouble. Harold Ford is, well, Harold Ford. Drake got played to the left by Sade. And then there's Tiger.

Over the years he has been a steady producer for the cause. He showed how a light skinned brother could leverage double and triple consciousness into a formula for success and make billions. Instead of light skin weakness just being a foil for dark skin strength (think Barkley vs. Jordan), he was kicking ass and staring folks down with a bright boy swagger.

Ahhh...that's a familiar fit.

There's been the occasional hiccup, of course. We grimaced when we heard about the whole Cablinasian thing. It reeked of Tragic Mulatto and sounded dumb enough that even White people felt comfortable making jokes about it.

Cablinasian Bruce Leroy

There is also a stereotype that light skinned brothers have a problem with Black women, so we would have preferred that he find a wife that was a little less...well...Nordic. But of course we'll be the last ones to talk down on interracial marriage. We secretly realize that no matter who we're with, our marriages are all going to be "interracial."

But the last three months have been trying times for our people. Cheating on his wife was bad enough, but with cocktail waitresses, porn stars and strippers? You are one of the most powerful men on the planet, and that's the best you could come up with? Lord knows that Black folks are willing to forgive the infidelities and sexual deviance of their male public figures [see: Michael (any of them), R. Kelly, MLK (sorry, true), Jessie, etc.] but it gets a whole lot more complicated when his taste in women is so, forgive me, White and skanky.

Now every time a light skinned brother tries to talk to a Black woman, a Tiger resemblance is a liability.

You gotsta step you're game up, player!

But we haven't given up hope on you, Tiger. You've got a couple of things going for you still. No matter how much your competition runs their mouth about you "disrespecting the game," they are all still trembling. You're lucky enough to be playing in a sport where a player's "prime" can last for two decades, so when you come back and hit that ball long enough, this thing will blow over. Golf is still a White man's game and that's who pays your bills. He doesn't really care about the infidelity thing. The White woman thing is an irritant, but the rule is that you're just not supposed to flaunt it like that.

Word.

So, it's okay that you didn't apologize, Tiger. We'll be alright, just make sure to put on a couple more green jackets. Give it some time and NeO will be able to return your calls again (Michelle still checks the Blackberry).

And our revolution will continue. Besides, you know the gods are with us when Vin Diesel is still getting work.

The KKK Member

So, John Mayer says his privates are racist, but his heart isn't. Wow, that's a new perspective for a White man. About this I have several thoughts.

1. The news media was tripping over itself to get the perspective of Black women on this issue (that's right, clean it up Holly Robinson Peete), but what about White women? If we extend (ahem) Mayer's KKK metaphor into the broader historical context, we see that the rallying cry for White supremacists has long been the preservation of White female purity. However, the subtext of this "purity" has always been control of the White female body. White supremacists want their woman on a high pedestal so they knows where she is at all times and can control what she's doing. Mayer was not only insulting Black women, he was checking White women to let them know that his "c***" was an instrument of domination. Message: Your body is a wonderland, so stay in your lane. Read the whole interview if you have any doubts.

So many times we understand race as just an issue that effects Black people, but it's tied into a complex set of systems of domination (also involving class and gender) that touch everyone's lives. It's more than just a Blackthang.

2. I'm usually against the whole punitive iPod purging that some people advocate after an artist does or says something despicable (see: Chris Brown). To me it smacks of digital book burning, and in this evanescent age, I can't help wonder how quickly and easily a voice might disappear forever if we all decided that it was too "wrong" to be heard. Plus, most of my favorite artists, from James Brown to Michael Jackson to Amy Winehouse (!) to Marvin Gaye, were either unsavory, or half-crazed, or both. Funk stinks sometimes, by the way.

Funky, without a doubt

3. So, I won't be deleting Mayer from my iTunes, but after listening to some of his music again, I have to say it makes me pretty disappointed. My favorite song of his "Daughters," talks about the impact that a fathers can have on the type of relationships a woman has later on. It's a really wise, sweet song. I always thought of it as a nice (almost feminist) take on the importance of valuing women. But now, not so much.

4. My father warned me about you, John Mayer.

Scene: Driving in my car with my wife in the passenger seat and my father in the backseat. We have just come back from dinner. My dad, Doctra Knowitall, gives me a look in the rearview mirror when John Mayer comes on. I ignore it.

"Uhh...I don't really like that dude," he says, undeterred.

I could feel myself stiffen, becoming defensive. I want to remind him that no one asked him. "Why you don't like him?" I said, trying to remain casual.

"I don't know, something about him..."

I could feel him nodding a doctor's prognosis: terminal whiteboy.

"Well, he's got some good songs," I said finally. My car, my stereo. So: there.

I cringe at the memory, but I know there are a lot of innocent Black men out there, just like me. Kanye, Jay-Z, Dave Chapelle, they all let you borrow their "nigger" pass (as you say). And look what you did, John. Usually I'm pretty good about not being taken advantage of Jazz Singers such as yourself. I NEVER liked Vanilla Ice or his dumbass song. I KNEW Justin Timberlake was a phony long before he talked mess about Prince and threw Janet (and her piercings) under the bus. Now, I feel like such a fool.

After the State of the Union address, Chris Matthews said that Obama's speech was so good that Matthews had forgotten he was a Negro. People got upset, but I know just how he felt. That's how I used to think of you, John. You sung good enough that I almost forgot you were a Cracketycracker. Almost.


5. The dumbass comments came up within the context of a remark about Mayer talking about people saying he has a "hood" pass because he sings "bluesish" music and has been on a couple of hip hop albums. He made an interesting observation about how the term "hood" is really just a stand in for the word nigger. That's a good point, but he also went out of his way to say the actual "N" word. He had to know that the use of the word would take away from the intent of what he was saying, especially in our soundbyte culture.

But I tend to think it wasn't about questioning how society uses new words for old concepts. No, I think he was trying to be "edgy" by demonstrating that you are so post-racial that you could actually make it cool to be a racist. Just because double-consciousness is something new to you, that doesn't mean that your racial deconstructionist navel gazing is profound. In the words of Jay-Z, "we don't believe you, you need more people."


6. As I was brainstorming a list of White artists with "hood passes," I couldn't avoid the most obvious choice: Eminem. In some ways Eminem is a whole lot smarter than Mayer because he knows that there are some topics within the genre that are off limits to him. He learned long ago that he could not say the "N" word, and that all of the women that he raped and killed in his lyrics would have to remain White, no matter how many records he sold. (Mariah Carey was about as close as he could get, and even ended up taking an L on that when she made a hit song at his expense)

Don't make Nick take it to the streets.

Although Mayer may have been stupid for running his mouth, I appreciate his willingness to take a risk. One of the things that has stunted Eminem's growth as an artist over the last decade has been his timidity. He talks big about being able to say whatever he wants, but he stays securely in his lane. He is the crazy White boy with lethal lyrics, but he talks about nothing and beefs with whomever he sees on MTV that can't fight back. He sells millions of records and is acclaimed as a genius, but still plays the role of the crucified (ax-murdering) savior. He talks about real hip hop, but supports one of the biggest underachieving, sellout musicians of all time: 50 Cent.

Yeah. Definitely...definitely...definitely going to sell a million records. Definitely. Yeah.

I give Eminem credit for being one of the first major artists to question President Bush after 9/11 when he released "Square Dance" in 2002, but it seems like after the re-election in 2004, he gave up. If Eminem really wanted to do something as an artist, he would have to step out of his lane and examine himself in a different way. He's smart enough to recognize White privilege. He has seen first hand the psychotic cycle of violence that robs so many young Black men, like his childhood friend Proof, of their lives. He has seen corporatism rob hip hop of its heart (he was actually an accessory to this robbery). He's got stuff to talk about.

But it's not just about making political or social statements in the music. I want an artist to level with me; show vulnerability in a way that is not necessarily cool or accepted. Take a risk. I promise I won't delete you from my iPod.


7. Something about my last comment seemed a little too safe, on second thought. It's easy to wag your finger at someone who has a complete body of music and say they haven't done enough. As artists, don't we all constantly fight that battle of wanting to be loved ($), versus telling a "truth," that can often seem so illusory or crazy or wrong?

But I guess that's what's required to make art that is truly great. And that's also why it's easier to talk about then do.


8. The Mayer interview is worth reading. I disagree with those that say he needs to shut up completely just because what he said was offensive. He has some (interesting/smart/stupid) things to say about fame, love, race, and even (gasp!) masturbation.

You better tell your story fast...

Junot Diaz had an interesting article in the New Yorker about the lack of narrative in the year long presidency of President NeObama. Diaz argues that NeO has not been able to frame his legislative efforts inside a greater narrative of his presidency. Diaz cites the rethugs' use of 9/11 as a masterful example of how narrative can be used to drive policy.

To this, I have a few things to say:

1. The first year of the NeO presidency reminds me of how I felt after I watched the sequel to the Matrix: slightly disappointed. The Matrix ends with Neo ascending to a seemingly infinite level of power. He tells us that he is going to get rid of all the rules and boundaries. He crosses from the Rubicon of potential and (literally) flown into the realm of actualization. It might sound corny, but the first movie left me wondering if some large part of myself had not been just changed by what I had seen on the screen. Maybe everything was different now.

And then came the sequel. I've written extensively about the dreaded White Dreads from Reloaded, but let's just say that no matter what happened in the second movie, we were bound to be disappointed. The election of Scott Brown was my White Dread moment.

No, we don't use gel!

2. Diaz makes a good point about the importance of narrative in a presidency, but he doesn't recognize the genre that NeO is "writing" in. We are talking about the story of the Presidency of the United States here. Don't get it twisted, this is a Western. The main character has always been a White man. This particular White man has always had to bust his guns. The vast majority of the bullets have been caught by colored folk (whether they be Injuns or Hajis or Charlies or run-of-the-mill-Negroes) in the interest of "settling the land."

What? That's what I thought.

Bush and the Rethugs rode that narrative so well because they were traveling a well worn path that everyone could understand. On 9/11, once again the White man was under attack and answered the call, reluctantly, of course, to save the day. (The story got a little old near the end there, especially when it became blatantly clear that the rethugs were more apt to blast their friends in the face than smoke out and round up the offending redskins.)

That's why the Tea Partiers have it so easy. Hell, all they had to do was watch the first twenty minutes of Birth of a Nation to figure out their political platform.

Well, we don't care what Senator Brown said in his speech. His daughters are NOT available.

But there's no question about NeO's writing ability. On the campaign, he constructed one of the greatest political narratives the world has ever seen. He reached out as a beacon of redemption for an entire nation. If our country could put centuries of prejudice and hatred aside and take a leap of faith for this brilliant, special man (and his family), than maybe there could be hope that the vision of America we always here about could be real for all of its citizens. And if NeO had been able to fly into the clouds on inauguration day (high, high over Aretha Franklin's hat), that would have been the perfect ending of that story. But that's not what happened.

What's happened is that NeO is in the midst of about ten different narratives, from overt and covert wars on multiple continents, to health care, to immigration, to economic disaster, to natural disaster, to an education system in turmoil, to Scott Baio (!) trying to clown his woman. Trying to unite all of these these narratives within a single overarching structure is something that would even make Dickens shake his head. It also doesn't help that in the traditional POTUS western NeO would be the one wearing the feathers, shaking a tom-tom. Western's are all about the domination of the Other, and in order for NeO to be successful against his opposition, he's got to rally White support against the an Other that is White. That's complicated.

For real? Charles in Charge. Do you really want it? Because we can make it happen for you.

3. But in the end, I think Diaz is right. NeO has made some decisions, like state secrets, like the bank (giveaway) bailout, like escalation in Afghanistan, like the expansion of executive power, that cause me considerable pause. One of my favorite professors, Alexs Pate, used to always talk about the importance of discovering the "goodness" of a character. Goodness doesn't necessarily mean that the character is good, but that you have a firm grasp on the motivations behind their actions. They are consistent with who they are, even if that consistency makes you shudder. Dick Cheney may be many things, but his goodness is not difficult to grasp, though his narrative may be shallow. He is a satisfying villain because you know what he is going to do: evil. NeO, on the other hand, is harder to get a sense of because so many of the things that he has done, or not done, have gone against my understanding of who he is a character. Not that I've given up on him by any measure, but he's getting a lot more complicated than I imagined.

You just had to put on the black hat, right?

4. My hope for NeO, which I guess is the hope I have for all of us, is that he take the risk to evade the Western genre. It doesn't matter if you put Tyreese Gibson in the starring role, the Western is about domination. To regain the confidence of the American people in his POTUS narrative, some will advise that he needs to dominate, he needs to start collecting some scalps. Historically, during similar ebbs in popularity these scalps have been "scalps of color". (See: Clinton, Bill; Bush, W. George; Bush, George H.W.; et cetera)

Although I give NeO mixed reviews so far, I hope he has the courage to resist the trappings of the genre and take a stand that's principled, even if it costs him a sequel.

The Brother From Another Planet

Say what you will about President NeObama, he has given us the gift of some amazing iconography.

Don Belton: Truth teller

 

I first met Don Belton when he visited Bloomington to apply for the professor's job at Indiana University in 2008. I got to sit in on a dinner with some faculty members and I was immediately struck by the man's warmth and intelligence. You could tell this was a brother who had not only read and written extensively, but also had the life experience to inform his work and teaching. This was a wise, caring person.

He also had that James Baldwin aura about him: he was a truth teller.

On December 27th, Don Belton was brutally murdered in his home. Police later found a journal entry Belton wrote about a man named Michael, and how happy Belton was about their relationship. This lead police to Michael Griffin, a 25 year old former Marine. Griffin quickly confessed, but portrayed the murder as a revenge killing. Griffin, who served a tour of duty in Iraq, claimed that the 53 year old novelist was able to sexually assault him, not once, but twice, on Christmas day.

With all due respect to the judicial process and the rights of the accused, this is, of course, the worst kind of fiction.

Griffin, who has a girlfriend and a two year old son, says that he came to Belton's home seeking something. He says it was an apology, but maybe it was an absolution, or an answer to why what happened between them happened on Christmas. Whatever he found with Belton in that house left him disturbed enough to stab this man, this loving man, to death. 

Describing Belton as a loving man, I think of Baldwin. He once said, "love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within." According to Baldwin this love principle requires us to remove our masks and come to grips with the truth of what lies underneath. This principle also obligates us to share this truth with those that we share our love with, even when it painfully unfastens the masks they hold. The consequences of this truth telling are often great, and it takes a person of great bravery and integrity to uphold this standard. I'm not sure what happened between the two men, but it seems that Belton's faithful adherence to this love principle is what cost him his life.

 He will be sorely missed.

A candle light vigil is planned at IU from 5-6pm. Friends of Don have set up an excellent blog dedicated to memorializing Belton and bringing his killer to justice.

***Update after the trial

Tell me you're going to be...

Hopefully you're in the midst of people you love. My wife and I bought a house a few months ago and lately I've been thinking a lot about the nature of houses and homes. A lot about being thankful.



It's amazing to see Luther so self-assured, so powerful. Dude could sing.

The Way Mulattas Make Me Feel

After reading all of these good reviews about the new Michael Jackson movie, I think I'm going to jump over the cliff like the rest of the lemmings and go see it. I wrote a post about MJ's iconic Black or White video a couple months back and that lead one of my old IR compadres Hannah Notess to ask me to write something for the journal she's at, The Other Journal.

I always tripped off the video for Michael's "The Way You Make Me Feel" because it's such a sweet song, but such a strange video (which is often the case with Mike). Basically, it's off the BAD album and it's Michael's version of an NWA video. (As a matter of fact, I think the video's female lead went on to even greater success in Dr. Dre's "Ain't Nothing But A G-Thang" where she got 40ozs of St. Ides dumped on her head.) Anyway, the piece is called The Way Mulattas Make Me Feel. You can check it out here.

Max = Not Marriage Material

When I was in kindergarten my dad taught me how to feed insects to ants. In the backyard of our house we squatted down, looking for bugs and swarming ant's nests. If you found the right size bug and the right location in an ant's nest, you'd have a show that beat anything on Wild Kingdom. Years later, my parents divorced and I spent a lot of time turning over stones in the dry brush of our backyard, "playing" with bugs by myself.

Thinking back on it, I'm a little shocked at the cruelty of the pastime. I like to think of myself as a compassionate person. Torturing bugs is the recreation of sociopaths, after all. But my regret is tempered by an appreciation for how I was battling my own loneliness and trying to assert some control over a world that seemed so far beyond me.

And it's also true that you end up doing a lot of (strange!) mean stuff when you're a kid.

So, watching Where the Wild Things Are, I felt partially transported back to that backyard, with it's rough stones and soft dirt, and solitary malice. Spike Jonze's beautiful adaptation of the Maurice Sendak story is picture-perfect in creating a world that is somber, hopeful, cruel, weird, melancholy, menacing, and joyful. The experience is similar to one of those strange dreams where you're know you're sleeping, but the dream world seems real anyway.

But I was not Max. Although I missed my mom and dad because they worked so much, in the movie Max's father is absent. It's never explained, but the sadness that hangs over the family suggests that the absence is permanent. My dad was still there to show me how to hit a baseball or play chess or drive a stick shift.

Plus, I never tweaked on my mom like Max does in the movie. He jumps on a kitchen counter, in full wolf costume, yelling at his mom to "make my dinner, woman," (even though she's got company and it's obvious she's trying to get her groove back.) He later takes a bite out of her shoulder and runs off like a wild animal. My mother is a kind woman, but I was smart enough to know that the consequences for that kind of behavior would be unspeakable.

And quick word of advice for all the single ladies out there trying to get someone to put a ring on it: if you find a wolf costume, with a pointy crown, in the closet of the man you are dating, keep stepping. As much as I like Where the Wild Things Are, it might as well be called Portrait of a Woman Batterer as a Young Man.

One of my quibbles with the movie is that I wasn't clear how the movie wanted me to feel about Max's cruelty to his mother. Early on we get that she cares a lot for him and is sacrificing for her son. (The scene with him dictating a story to her to make her feel better was a very "writerly" moment by the way. Word to Dave Eggers.) But then we see there's some new guy in the house who looks kind of wormy and mom is giggling with him and they're popping bottles. When Max comes through looking for some loving attention, all he gets is frozen corn. Although we empathize with the mother (even mama should get to swerve), the scene sets the stage for a justification of Max's crazy behavior.

Later, one of the movie's most touching moments is also one of its most troubling. When Max returns home, his mom doesn't say anything. I thought she might at least shake the teeth out his head, and then give him a hug, but no. From her reaction, I thought she was going to apologize for hurting his teeth with her skin. And despite his incredible and harrowing journey with the Wild Things that taught him about empathy and family and love, he doesn't have much to say to his mom when he gets home. No Sorry about that. No My bad. No My fault. No See what had happened was...

As a matter of fact, the main lesson he learns is that if he wants a home-cooked meal all he has to do is go missing for a couple hours. He gets all of mom's attention (no swerve for her!) and a fat piece of chocolate cake. The grin on his face as his mother falls asleep from exhaustion is not chastened with regret, but emboldened by self-satisfaction. That doesn't seem like a good sign.

Despite these quibbles, the movie is amazing. Visually it's stunning, but the characterization of the Wild Things is even more so. In fact, I haven't had this much fun since the great stink beetle/ant hill battle of 1988.

Nobel Swagger

So what if he hasn't earned it yet. Your president has been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. Pop some bottles and stop all that vacillating, b*****s!

But seriously, the Nobel thing does seem a bit ill-timed. Obama's got a major decision to make about troop deployments in Afghanistan. Everyone knows the war is a losing proposition that is going to cost America more blood and treasure. But if they withdraw, the Taliban is going to be back to their old tricks, stoning women and planning terrorist attacks. Either way, NeO is going to get the blame.

And that's what makes the Nobel thing a little confusing. Ideologically, NeO seems to be a world apart from Bush, but on policy, whether it's Guantanamo, state secrets, privacy concerns, Iraq, corporate bailouts, etc, they are closer than I would have ever have imagined. I think part of this has to do with the ingrained corporate power structure that controls the presidency, but part of it has to do with Obama.

Accolades aside, NeO will be judged on his ability to step back from the Rubicon that has already been crossed by Bush (and Clinton). He has to pull back the power of the executive branch if that Nobel prize is going to mean anything because an unchecked Executive branch means war, war, and more war.