The Air Up Here, Vol. IV - Can't Stay Away Edition

Right after the Florida Classic last year I took a little diversion up to Norfolk, VA on my way back to ‘Sip. In the Norfolk Airport I saw one of the most touching sites I had witnessed in some time. [Side Note: For the readers of the Madd Issues Edition the Norfolk Airport is one of those airports where you can enact the roses scenario, just in case you are getting some love in the Tidewater/Hampton Roads area]. Anyway, I saw a little girl of no more than four, break away from her parents and run down the corridor to be swept up into the arms of her awaiting grandfather. While observing this site, that piece of ice better known as my heart started to melt a little bit, as I reminisced on how I used to jump into my grandfather’s arms as a child. In that moment I told myself that if I ever write another newsletter it will be filled with nothing but positive stories . . . the triumph of the human condition over adversity and related inspirational episodes. However, if you think that is what you are about to read, I’m sorry cause I do not do happy. If you want happy shoot me an email and I can put you on the list for Ebony, who does some amazing motivational articles; and Ana, who writes interesting observations about everyday life. I, on the other hand, only can write about what moves me at the time, which is why my writing is sometimes sporadic and oftentimes overly personal.

My life right now can be summed up by that quote from a Dickens novel, “It was the best of times and the worst of times.” During the past year I have moved to a new city and changed career interest. New relationships have been forged and unfortunately some old relationships have been decimated. Yet, that is the essence of life and who am I to argue with it. Life is ever-changing, always in motion. Time always unrelenting, waiting on no one. Now that you know from where I’m coming, let’s get it started. By the way, the standard caveat applies: read this during your lunch break or print it out and take it with you. I’ve been gone a long time; I have plenty to get off of my chest.


1. WHO STOLE MY JELL-O PUDDING POPS? Obviously someone took something from him, because Bill Cosby has been on the rampage lately. He has offered scathing commentary on the state of the black community almost anytime someone sticks a mike in his face. My grievance with Mr. Cosby is not necessarily over what he said, how he said it, or the fact that he made his statements in mixed company. It is patently apparent that much of what he said needed to be stated. My objection is that by failing to acknowledge his own role in promulgating some of the ignorance he claims to abhor; he comes off sounding dare I say, hypocritical. As someone who has a tendency to contradict himself even within the same newsletter, I have been accused of engaging in the same behavior. However, when called on such behavior I would like to say that I’m quick to concede my faults and flaws (you can be the judge on that). Too many black leaders have the lofty and admirable goal of saving the community, but they also like to pretend that they walk on water. This has a propensity to alienate the very audience for which they feign affection. Let’s be real, as groundbreaking as The Cosby Show was, it is not like Fat Albert was high art. As much as I loved Fat Albert as a child, in retrospect it reinforced many of the negative stereotypes held about black youth in society (Mushmouth and Dumb Donald, anyone?). I fully salute Mr. Cosby when he stated that some blacks use blaming the white man like an analgesic. He was right in his assessment that blacks need to do anything and everything we can for ourselves to improve our condition. However, he cannot deny the effects that slavery and institutional racism have had on our culture. Glossing over the fact that people were bought and sold, family bonds irrevocably broken, and opportunities for educational and professional advancement denied is equally as egregious as the activities he despises. Come on, Bill, holla if you hear me. And really, Bill, what’s up with the sunglasses indoors? Furthermore some of his statements, to steal a phrase from that guy occupying the White House, provide “aid and comfort” for the opponents of affirmative action, public schools, and any other social program that you can imagine. [I promise in a future newsletter, I will weave together the public school and social aspect]. These people are like, “Well, even Bill Cosby agrees with us. We can cut funding for programs at will.” To illustrate, being here in overly politicized D.C., I get my fill of bullsh*t from the Left and the Right. I was talking with a guy the other day that said that he never bought into the line that racism was still alive and well. He was always like, “Oh, they (people of color) need to stop complaining, get off of their behinds, and study and work harder.” He believed this until he married a Hispanic woman with a pronounced accent and witnessed her get discriminated against when she applied for a job. Just in case you are wondering if she was qualified, his wife has a master’s degree, a grip of certificates, and a Ph.D. My final gripe with Mr. Cosby’s comments is that he almost exclusively singled-out low-income individuals as the basis of his diatribe. I know many middle-class blacks and whites for that matter that fall into the “they spinning, n*gga; they spinning, n*gga; they spinning” category. The unfortunate fact is that black people seem to thrive off consumerism at all levels (peep the statistics if you think, I’m lying). Why does this occur? Because everyone believes that someday they are going to be SUPER-RICH, so why not just buy the things they want now. Contrary to the "Horatio Alger" myth that the media and politicians love to drum into the public psyche about the American Dream, the fact remains that if you are born poor in this country you are likely to stay there. If you are born rich in this country you are likely to remain there. A recent study stratifying income levels in quintiles (five 20 percent groups) from the poorest to the wealthiest revealed the following results:

a. Of those born into the poorest quintile 42 percent stayed in that quintile, 24 percent moved into the next quintile and only 7 percent ended up in the top-tier.

b. 40 percent of those born into the top quintile remained there, while only 6 percent ended up in bottom fifth.

c. Economic mobility is lower in the United States than in the Scandinavian countries, Germany and Canada.

Now please do not think I am saying if you were dealt a bad lot in life to just say “the hell with it” and give up. No, no, no, this is not the case. I am just letting you know that it is slightly disingenuous to single-out individuals for being underprivileged like they chose to be in that condition and would not escape if they could. Many lower-income individuals work two or more jobs to make ends meet; yet, because of their poverty they end up paying more for some things like housing (on a percentage basis) than you or I. For the skeptics out there, I urge you to read the book Nickel and Dimed – On (Not) Getting By in America by Barbara Ehrenreich. This journalist goes undercover moving from Florida to Maine to Minnesota taking jobs as a waitress, hotel maid, house cleaner, nursing home aide, and Wal-Mart salesperson. Her experiences trying to eke out even the most basic subsistence are eye-opening. Not that I need to remind you all, but be nicer to the service people next time you are out shopping. Coming back from that tangent, while I applaud Mr. Cosby on opening the debate and bringing issues that must be addressed by the black community to the forefront; my question is at what cost?

2. THESE TWO WORDS. Someone called me a while back and the conversation just annoyed me. At first I didn’t realize why . . . Let me think:

a. Could it be the fact that she was just too chipper?
b. Could it be that she was rambling on about things that were utterly unimportant?

All I know is that the happier she became in the conversation, the more discontented I became. She was acting like everything was all-good between us without acknowledging or apologizing for the fact that she had caused me considerable pain. It was just like, “Hey, I’m back. Be glad that I have decided to fall back into your miserable little life to cause havoc, raze your happiness, and leave a trail of destruction in my wake. No, I’m not going to say I’m sorry and I’m even going to casually drop into the conversation that I have a boyfriend just to needle you.” I may miss a great number of non-verbal clues, as demonstrated in The Love Edition, but I pay keen attention to what people say and how they say it. I finally realized that it wasn’t what she was saying that was galling. It was her complete lack of remorse; her inability to accept responsibility and apologize that had me hotter than fresh asphalt in August. After the conversation, I thought why can some people just not form their lips to say the words, “I’m sorry.” Now I know that guys rarely say the words, “I’m sorry” to one another, but we have our own Neanderthal code that usually plays out in one of the following situations:

a. “Yo, man, let me buy you a beer.”
b. “Yo, man, let’s go play some ball.”
c. “Yo, man, you wanna go watch the game?”

Sometime in the course of each of the previous scenarios this scene will play out:

Guy #1: Yo, man, I’m . . . well . . . you know?”
Guy #2: Yeah, man, I know.”

And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, is the end of it. Apology and acceptance – the reason why guys get along so well, unless the cause of their rift involved a female. The more I thought about that conversation with her, I realized that there were people that I have wronged over the years to whom I have not issued an apology. Thus, to show everyone how simple it can be, here is My Public Apology. First up is my ex-girlfriend. She treated me unkind back in the day, and for a period of almost four years after that I flipped her off (and I have very long fingers) every time I encountered her. At some point in 1999, we became pretty tight to the point where I consider her a friend. Yet, from time to time when we might have a disagreement, I’d dredge up all the stuff from the past (I’m talking circa 1995) and throw it in her face, which was not fair or right. For that, I apologize. Second, to a woman that I met at a party during my last semester at school. I got your number and I didn’t call. (Actually there are quite a few people I could apologize to for this situation. Getting the number just seems like the right way to end a conversation.) Not calling had nothing to with you. It had everything to do with the fact that I had made a complete jackass out of myself (just like I’m sure I’m doing now) and was beyond embarrassed to face you. I know, not exactly my finest moment. For what it is worth, I offer a very sincere apology. Finally, to my friend in the NYC, you know who you are. I can without a doubt say that meeting you was the third best thing that happened to me in 2002, behind two personal events that we have discussed. All I can say is that it was not supposed to have ended the way that it did. Somehow the script got flipped and we ended up with “edited for television” version instead of the “director’s cut.” Meaning there was so much that I wanted and started to say, but never did. Okay, maybe that was a bad analogy. Anyway, the camera incident in Atlanta (get your minds out of the gutter people, it’s not that nefarious) coupled with not keeping in touch are two mistakes that I actually still regret. For that and so much more, I apologize. See, people, it wasn’t that hard. You just open up and admit that you were wrong. It is good for the soul, cathartic even. I feel downright refreshed. Now watch as I proceed to do some more dumb stuff I’ll have to apologize for later.

3. LET ME RIDE THAT DONKEY. For those of you that missed the Democratic National Convention, (and why shouldn’t you have, considering that the networks severely limited their coverage to a few hours) missed some of the best oratory that I have heard in some time. Some of the speakers were clearly off their game. Both Howard Dean and Ted Kennedy seemed handcuffed by the DNC’s policy to keep the speeches from being too fiery. Even John Edwards wasn’t up to his usual standard, although he was reported as feeling under the weather. Conversely, some speakers definitely rose to the occasion. John Kerry managed to channel the 1970s version of himself and gave a solid performance. Al Sharpton, although lacking a little in substance, fired up the crowd with some memorable one-liners in response to Bush’s question a week early to the National Urban League concerning the lack of black support for the Republican Party. Bill Clinton was, of course, Bill Clinton. Nothing more to say, you know how he gets down. The shocker to most, but not to political junkies or the people of Chicago, was the Keynote Address given by Barack Obama. He managed to out-Clinton, Clinton. He looked straight into that camera and for fifteen minutes had the crowd mesmerized with that “I feel your pain” style. The remarkable thing was not that his speech stirred the emotions, which it did, but that the substance of the speech was unassailable. I browsed many of the Republican websites the next morning and the worst thing they could say was that “on many issues he sounded like a Republican.” Yeah, right. The speech contained no pandering to special interest (Big Oil, Big Pharma, etc.) and it contained none of the blatant code words (state’s rights, pro-business, frivolous lawsuits, reverse racism) that many on the Right pepper their rhetoric with to signal support for one group of voters over another. It was literally the speech that we would want all of our politicians to give; but Barack Obama didn’t just give it, he owned it. He played the crowd like a funky piano. He was the conductor, the crowd his symphony and the speech his music. He started off slowly building the drama, then with the crescendo brought the house down. I know you’re thinking why am I not quoting from the speech and this is because I want you to experience it for yourself if you missed it. You can go to http://www.dems2004.org/, click on “video” then “Tuesday” and finally “State Senator Barack Obama.” For those, not running broadband connections I can email the speech as an MP3 file to you if you have the INBOX space. Oh, and trust that I will be back soon with comments on Alan Keyes jumping into the Senate race in Illinois to challenge Mr. Obama.

4. DREAM DEFERRED. Langston Hughes asked the question, “What happens to a dream deferred?” I ask the question, “What happens when a dream dies?” She was only 19 when I met her, had that fresh look in her eyes. A diamond in the rough, a real hidden jewel. I started checking for her everyday while hanging around school. I figured I’d swoop in real quick and scoop her up before the rest of the fools on campus got wise. Before you chastise me for pulling an R. Kelly, keep in mind that I was only 21 at the time. For the better part of five years off and on, I pursued her. Dating people here and there (after all I am the serial dater), but always thinking, “Maybe . . . .” She moved away a few weeks ago and that dream of mine has progressed from deferred to deceased. She always said that we were/are friends. In retrospect, I question if we ever were. Not questioning in that petty way because the relationship never blossomed, but because our “friendship” was always defined on her terms. In our final conversation she got upset saying that I was speaking to her like I was never going to see her again, like I was saying farewell to her and ending the friendship. Once again, I question the feigned outrage, because I talked to her and spent more time with her in the few months that I’ve been up here than in the two years prior. Although she may optimistically say otherwise, I know that this is the end and that is not necessarily a bad thing. There’s an expression that goes “some people come into your life only for a certain amount of time, fulfill their purpose and then move on.” Maybe for us that time has come. I will miss her. I will miss her dearly. I will miss her smile, her freckles, her sarcastic sense of humor; but as is usually the case with me, I will miss something else much more than her person. I will miss the moments that had yet to occur. Things like sitting with her on my porch back in Mississippi watching our grandkids run around in the yard, witnessing the birth of our first child, gathering with family and friends on our wedding day, and most of all I will miss the look on her face when she finally realized that she did love me, let go and just fell. It’s crazy, right? The stuff that runs through my mind, I mean. I don’t mourn for the individual, I never do. I mourn for the shattered dream. That is why I lament. That is the only reason why I cry. Damn. It’s funny because I know that she is going through none of these emotions right now. To her, I’m just that country boy that used to leave notes on her car. But I know that one day she will experience some of what I’m going through. And as wrong as I know it is to say this, I cannot help but think to myself, “See you when you get divorced.”


MUSIC REVIEWS

1. Quality by Talib Kweli. If you are going to name your album Quality you better be sure you can back it up. This album finds his production value finally matching the quality of his lyrics. Be sure to pick up his new album, The Beautiful Struggle, when it comes out later this year.

2. RBG by Dead Prez. If this were their first album I would be probably be singing their praises stating that this was a solid effort. However, after 2000’s groundbreaking Let’s Get Free, I must say that I was a little disappointed by this album. While it is still better than 90 percent of the stuff that you will hear on your average Clear Channel station, I was expecting more. While there are some memorable songs on the album, like “Walk Like a Warrior” and “D.O.W.N.,” it seems that in an effort to gain commercial appeal they lost the fuel that brought fire to their lyrics. Instead of his usual “how many leopards . . .” comment I can hear my friend Jamal saying “How many remixes of ‘Hell Yeah’ can you have on one album?” Dead Prez is constantly talking about pimpin’ the system, however on too many songs on this album it seems like they are pimpin’ themselves.

3. Van Hunt by Van Hunt. This guy’s colorful background lends to equally colorful music. His music is genre-bending and not easily categorized. He drifts from rock to Memphis-style blues to alternative to straight R&B. His first single is “Dust” which is currently getting heavy rotation on VH1 Soul. I like every song on the album except for the last one, with my favorites being “Down Here in Hell (With You)” and “What Can I Say.”

4. Songs About Jane by Maroon 5. Forgive me for sinking into the realm of stereotypes here (I told you I contradict myself sometimes, but at least I admit it) but to steal a line from the person that gave me this CD, “It should be illegal for white boys to jam this hard.” Their guitar-driven songs will have you nodding your head as much as some of the hottest hip-hop tracks. I dare you to put on “Harder to Breathe” and attempt to sit still. After keeping you amped-up for most of the album, they switch up speeds with the tear-jerking by still rockin’ “Sweetest Goodbye.” Go pick this album up today.


As I wrap this up, there are a few more things that need to be said. Jina, I’m sorry because this edition definitely falls into the “horrifically long” category, but it’s shorter than the last one. Marcus, I know I was on some of that “personal” stuff that you hate this time. I tried to throw in some political issues for you. For the long-time readers the “Shout Outs” and “Life Goes On” sections will be back next time.

Believe it or not this newsletter was never supposed to have come out. Around October of last year, I had written my goodbye edition. However the longer it took me to put it out, the more I was just going to fade into the sunset. I want to thank all of the people that would not allow me to go out in that manner. Thanks for believing that I have something significant to say. Because of you all, I can’t stay away.

--AIR © 2004