Category Archives: don’t go chasin waterfalls

Reflections of a once discouraged Black Man that can’t get into “certain” clubs


 You likely know exactly what I’m about to say. And likely, exactly what I’m about to call out. To most of you reading,  this subject isn’t a surprise. It’s not even news anymore. It’s a story that happens…and continues to happen on a regular basis. For those unaware of such activities, let me sum it up for you: 

Black people have a hard time getting into “certain clubs”.

And we’re not the only culture, but I can only speak from my perspective and experiences. I’ve even recently heard of cases of folks getting in trouble who stood up for their peers (in this case, teammate) who were discriminated against. If this hasn’t happened to you yet as a black male, you either don’t go out, you’re always over-dressed when you do go out, or you simply just stay ‘in your comfort zone’.

Going to college in Austin, TX, I learned these lessons at an early age. Ya see, back in 2004 when I was a freshmen, brothas were still in the blazers, long button-ups, jeans, and Air Forces.

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Revenge of the Nerds

All people are inherently self-centered. This is a truism that people apply easily to others but really can’t apply to themselves without constant work. What makes this even harder for some is when they count themselves among a group of people who see themselves as perpetually wronged. Today we are going to talk about just such a group, nerds. Yeah the free ride is over nerds. I’m calling you on your bull and I took AP classes like a Klansman who once dated a black girl I’m one of you so don’t even try to say I’m just picking on you, I’m not trying to hear it. Nerds are people who are constantly portrayed as sexless losers who are constantly picked on in high school. What makes this a problem is that as nerds grow up they gain a ton of privilege but never shed the mindset that they are perpetually under-appreciated. This leads to all kinds of self-centered behavior that basically boils down to being one of the worst kinds of asshole. The one who blames their on everyone else. Read the rest of this entry »


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Single Ladies that are not quite “Living Single”

I heard about this show about two years ago when a producer I use to intern for mentioned the new project she was working on. She described it as a Sex in the City set in Atlanta featuring black women. Interesting and exciting, huh? Maybe. Then, I didn’t hear about it until the week before its premiere. There could be a blog within itself asking the question why this show wasn’t promoted much, but I don’t want to go off on a tangent.

I write this blog fresh from watching the premiere. I tried to wait, but my laptop sat at my feet calling my name. The feeling from the ending, and throughout the entire show, still lingers. A feeling of … confusion. For some reason, I’m extremely unsure about this show. I really don’t know how I feel about this show just yet. I want to see how it’s going to develop.  But for some reason, I really want to like it!

First, two hours was just too long. It felt more like an under developed movie than a television show premiere. It had its moments, but it became taxing to watch. I kept looking to see how much time was left, and it started after the first 30 minutes of the show. That’s never a good feeling to have. I also almost turned it off about 20 minutes before its end. Hopefully the hour-long episodes won’t be so bad.

Secondly, it was an overload… of everything. I feel drained after watching that show. The pilot was just too much too fast. It was a whole season of drama within one episode. Ask anyone, I love my fair share of drama, so when I say it’s too much, then it’s too much. I think I would have been more interested if I had time to be invested in the characters (and that the key tool in a sitcom). There was so much drama, I was desensitized by the end of the show, and I didn’t care what happened.

With all the drama and the loooooong premiere episode, the resolution became cheesy. I cannot argue that they have some great set ups, but I’m kind of disappointed that so much happened so soon. There was heavy drama within the first two minutes. Why so soon? Reel me in, please! Then reveal. If you give me drama before I care about the character, the drama makes me roll my eyes and say “Get over yourself”. The great thing about a television show is that you have time to play with a lot of things. As much as I want them to keep up the stakes, I’m a little frightened of the drama overload. After all of that, the only reason I want to come back next week is to see how they handle an hour.

I also fee like they drummed the “single ladies” theme into our head. Okay, I get that the show is supposed to be about single ladies. I got that from the title, but do it subtly.  Living Single was about living single, but you weren’t always reminded. As a (newly) single woman, I don’t want to keep being reminded that I’m single. I want to subconsciously connect to the trials and tribulations of the single life.

As much as I want to like this show, it just seems… overdone. I feel like they’re trying to hard, and that’s an extra turn off. There were some good moments and nice story set ups, but it didn’t wow me. And a pilot is supposed to wow me, so I will come back next week. Yes, I may be coming back next week, but I don’t have high hopes. I’m waiting on them to prove to me that I’m wrong. I’m charging the problems up to the too long series premiere. I guess I can equate this feeling to when I watch Love That Girl and Let’s Stay Together watching the next episode hoping it will be good, and both of those shows are womp! I’m ready to support, so I hope there’s something to support.


The Funeral

“There’s gonna be some/ slow singin’ and flower bringin’…”

Yesterday, I buried someone very close to me. Someone who I had grown up with and expected would be around for some time. As early as 2005, however, I began to suspect that the person’s death was inevitable. I put it off. I told myself the person would endure. I told myself the person would prove my worries wrong. In time my suspicions bore fruit. I was made all too aware of the person’s mortality.

Yesterday, my dream girl died.

I fit the very definition of a “sucka for love” (word to fellow Threadblogger chadstanton’s post). I bump “slow jams”/RnB so much more than I do even Lupe or Kanye. I consider myself a romantic. I used to believe in courting someone. If there was someone I was interested in at a given time, I gave that girl my full attention. I focused on establishing a relationship with a star player, as opposed to building a roster of people that were all talent, all glamour, but no longevity. Flowers. Tiff’s Treats. “Good morning” and “good night” texts. You name it, I dealt it out, or at least believed it would have a payoff (I still haven’t gotten that scholarship to The School of PDOS – or as King’s Law would say, The School of “People Don’t Owe You Shit”).

Fueling this behavior was my insistence in the idea of “my dream girl.” I’m not talking about my early crushes on Beyonce’ Knowles, Jada Pinkett, or Meagan Good (I don’t trust you if you just got put on “the hottest lips” (but most dumbed-down chick) in the game in the 2000s. I was down with Meagan Good beginning in Eve’s Bayou and carrying on into her brief legacy on Cousin Skeeter). I’m talking about my actual standards definition of what my dream girl was.

I was SO certain that my dream girl existed. I didn’t know what she looked like exactly; but at 14 years old, I knew she would be fair-skinned, would have brown or black eyes, would believe in God and go to church, wouldn’t smoke or drink. I knew she would be a doctor or a lawyer. I knew she wouldn’t use curse words because I didn’t curse. I knew she wouldn’t be “bad” because I wasn’t “bad.” You can imagine the naivete I had going in as a freshman at The University of Texas back in 2004. In high school, I was too busy and too “tightly wound” to even be considered overlooked. But I just KNEW I would find my dream girl in college. Hell, that’s where Dwayne found Whitley, right?

My experiences at UT would dictate that I “upgrade” my idea of my dream girl to that of “a good girl.” You read the above paragraph. You know my head was in the clouds. So you can imagine how shocked I became when even some of the young ladies who frequented campus bible studies or the more prestigious girls-only organizations, I found out were being referred to as overtly promiscuous even more active in the community (before I’m accused of firing shots, let me restate that “hoe-ism” is an equal-opportunity employer; any student is capable, but some more than others, and not just women…). UT would introduce me to my first idea of “unattainability” – the assumption belief that there were certain girls I couldn’t pull or that were “out of my reach” if I lacked a certain status or “label” (word to Kevin Powell’s “student leader pimp” concept). So there were certain young ladies I didn’t even think about devoting attention to, though I admired them from afar. (Lowkey, we all find ourselves attracted to that one thing we know is bad for us, don’t we? But curiosity gave the cat herpes…) But there were also some I did pursue.

A series of ill-timed, to-the-point-of-her-disgust lavishings, outright sappings of my creativity, friend boxings, and sometimes overall disastrous attempts at UT followed. With each failure attempt, my “dream girl” image was amended. Standards and “wants/must-haves” – some perhaps one rung below impossible for college girls aged 17-22 – were added. My colorism got turned the hell out She no longer had a desired hue. I was quite possibly “Daphne’ing” some girls – viewing them for what I wanted them to be, versus who they are, consequently causing them to fall short in my eyes when I stumbled upon flaws.

All this built up to yesterday’s funeral – the death of a pop star not firmly enough grounded in reality, to make it to the end of the road with me.

So what is this? A pity party? A reminder to not “put the p*ssy on a pedestal”? Not at all. This is a cautionary tale. Sometimes as people, we can be so enamored in the idea of love, or the idea of “The One,” that that image takes priority over us getting to know someone for who they really are. The honeymoon’s going to end. People will disappoint. People will fall short. People won’t be “who you thought they were” or “expected” them to be. But maybe they’ll be better. Sometimes a person’s beauty transcends our comprehension or our want-list. I’m not saying “lower your standards.” I am saying don’t let your standards put you in a position where you end up “getting your shit re-arranged.” Actually… maybe some people need that.



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