Peer Pressure

I drove to Starbucks this morning with every intention of buying a regular coffee; no bells, no whistles. But by the time I got out of my car, I had convinced myself that I should at least add an espresso shot. Simply to avoid being snubbed by the barista who will otherwise disdainfully slop my 'just coffee' into its cup as penance for sullying the atmosphere of her high end establishment with my obvious lack of taste. By the time I left, my bill was $5.83 for the grande macchiato and old fashioned donut that peer pressure made me buy.

And that's weird because I'm an eighties baby, raised on after school specials, and I know that the cool kid should never be able to make me feel like shit for not buying any of her drugs. I've been prepared, since grade school, to 'Just Say No' when offered a hit of crack, but I can't even manage to make eye contact with the chubby bitch behind the counter at the local Starbucks.

Where's the friendly eighties TV personality to tell me how to act in this situation? Starbucks needs a fucking PSA. A bespectacled twenty something school teacher in last year's Old Navy sidles nervously up to a Starbucks counter and asks for a regular coffee in a timid voice while staring at her shoes. Then the snotty hipster barista raises an eyebrow and asks in a loud, mocking tone, "A large Coffee? Is that all?" And the camera zooms in for a montage of cackling faces as the patrons and baristas point and deride the poor school teacher until she bursts into tears.

Then, the action will freeze and Bob Saget will walk onscreen to give a little speech about the power of addiction and the billions of dollars corporations spend to tie their customer's sense of self worth to their ability to buy their products. And then the picture will blip to snow and then to the orange 'broadcast interruption' screen because the commercial was pulled from the air at the request of nearly every major corporation.

Back to Black

This past Friday, in response to Ralph Nader’s challenge to his ‘blackness’, Chicago Senator Barack Obama hosted the “Black Enough for You Now?!” gala at Hollywood’s iconic Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles. The gala featured performances by KRS One, Ded Prez, and Dave Chappelle, and $500 a plate fried chicken and truffle dinners.

The event was attended by several, beflakjacketed, members of the press. However, they were unable to obtain an interview with the Chicago Senator. “Normally, when covering an Obama event, we just look for the only black guy in the room and interview him. It’s always Obama,” said Fox News correspondent William Lench. “However, that strategy proved problematic with so many, erm, democrats, in attendance.”

Obama made no speeches or attempts to identify himself, calling it his “little joke”, in a subsequent press release that was out of character for Senator Obama. The release included several other points, including a personal thank you to Mr. Nader for “showing him the light. In addition, there was a cryptic references to impending “changes”, including his intention to publicly embrace the Muslim community: “I am ready to embrace the religion that will have helped to put me in the white house, and thank them publicly for taking a lot of the heat off of us.”

The R. Kelly Verdict

My sophomore year at college, my roommate worked at BET as an intern and got hold of the infamous R. Kelly sex tape before it was circulated around black America. For weeks afterwards, kids would flock into our dorm from all corners of the campus to get a peek at the R. Kelly scandal. The tape played hundreds of times in our living room and, like a train wreck, most times I felt compelled to watch it. And after countless viewings and the span of a few years I have trouble deciding which part disgusts me more.

At first I thought it was the girl, who was clearly pre-pubescent, wiggling her hips at his command and then peeing on herself. Then I thought it was watching him pee on her face while she tried to control her impulse to move out of the disgustingly hot stream running over her eyes and lips. But most times I decide that it’s the fact that although he had sex with several women on this particular tape, pissing on the fourteen year old was the only thing that really got him excited. That’s just creepy. Almost as creepy as the amount of time I have spent thinking about that disgusting tape.


The R. Kelly verdict
R. Kelly’s decision to videotape his illegal and unsavory sexcapades has made it clear to the world that he is a criminal and a sexual deviant. It did not, however, manage to convince a Chicago jury of twelve that he should be convicted of any of the 14 counts of making and owning child pornography that he was charged with. I can’t say that the R. Kelly verdict surprises me. I am, however, impressed that the classic “it wasn’t me” argument of Shaggy fame actually worked. At one point in the video, R. Kelly puts his face about six inches away from the camera and his unmistakable face is, well, unmistakable.

I can’t decide how to feel about the R. Kelly verdict. I want to be angry that such a flagrant pervert escaped the long hand of the law, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. Maybe it’s because I appreciate the fact that money is finally buying justice for black people like it has been for white people. Or maybe I just have trouble turning my back on my favorite childhood musicians. Am I crazy to wonder why the parents who brought their children to R. Kelly and Michael Jackson’s houses aren’t being put on trial? Why would you allow your 13 year old daughter to hang out at a grown man’s house? R. Kelly didn’t even have an amusement park.

Barack Obama and the Fist Bump

Every minority in America who finds themselves dividing their time between white culture and their own also finds their identity somewhat divided. And when your job is involved, behaving one way around your ‘root culture’ and another around white culture is essential; especially when your root culture is (consciously or not) associated with negative stereotypes.

In America today a lot of things are, well, black and white. You’re either for us or against us. And for minorities, success often means choosing one culture or the other, especially for those minorities in the public eye. You’re either Al Sharpton or Clarence Thomas and both choices have consequences. ‘Keeping it Real’ is honorable, but gives the opposition the endless ammunition of negative cultural stereotypes. On the other hand, completely distancing yourself from that culture and being lauded as an exception to the racist rule just helps reinforce stereotypes.

Unfortunately, for minority candidates and professionals in general, the latter is the obvious choice despite the consequences. In order to be successful it is often times necessary to ‘play the game’. Which, roughly translated, means making white culture comfortable with your difference by closeting it. Or, at least, that’s the way it was.

When Obama announced himself as the Democratic Party’s Candidate in the face of Hillary’s refusal to let it go, his wife gave him a ‘fist bump’ (or pound or dap depending on whose culture you identify with). Those more foreign to black culture’s equivalent of a handshake called it ‘silly’ and used it as an excuse to question his leadership capabilities. But, while cross-cultural miscommunication does happen, like his initial, natural defense of his (albeit misguided) mentor, I think that they have gone out of their way to misunderstand.

And I think that any black person, especially Obama and Michelle who constantly find themselves called to the defense of the inconsequential and irrelevant, would know that the opposition would latch on to this like a dog with a bone. If you’re a black professional, that might be the way you say ‘what’s up’ to a friend at a barbecue, but you probably wouldn’t greet the boss that way at a business function. Especially not one held in St. Paul, Minnesota.

Unless, of course, you felt that you had already scored the democratic nomination, and the only thing keeping me from becoming the 44th President of the United States was an ineffective octogenarian who was worthy of being ignored for the greater part of the presidential race. Then you could do whatever the *beep* you wanted to. Like “Dubya”.

When George W. Bush first took office, he was an inarticulate southern hick. Characteristics that, pre-2000, most Americans preferred to disassociate themselves from. But several years later, a drawl and a gun license were no longer characteristics of a dumb hick, but of a ‘man of the people’.

As a black American, I think that my favorite part aspect of Obama’s presidency will be watching the cultures collide. The first year or so will be overwhelmed by ‘cultural misunderstandings’ fueled by intolerance which will make black people giggle and white people consider repatriation. But, in the end, I think that Obama will be able to do what Colin and Condi could not: make it o.k. to be a minority again.

i think i'll start things off with a poem

Ludwig pressed the button a little too late, a little past the designated coordinates.
No reason to panic: general area is protocol.
He had already turned around, was radioing base when the polished
festively painted missiles hit nearly a quarter mile off target
directly into the Cedars of God.
Lebanon’s last trees squealed, whooshed, burned in on themselves
exploded in despair and fizzled, in front of no one
who was busy putting out fires elsewhere.

so let me introduce myself

greetings earthlings,

i spend a ridiculous amount of time immersed in pop culture. i google, peruse rss feeds, and channel surf in search of the interesting and noteworthy. consequently, my blog is sort of like the shuffle setting on your pop culture ipod. which is a pretty cool concept. so, plug in, and hang out.