Little Known Fact

I rushed home early for this one, folks. That’s right, I have the scoop of all scoops and I think I might have even beat MediaTakeOut to the punch on this bad boy. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, I have breaking story on how the one and only Prince came up with the Song Purple rain. That’s right, bitches, I have the exclusive details behind it all. So, hold on to your hats, because here it goes.

Everyone remembers the song, Purple Rain, right? If you didn’t grow up with it, I’m sure you’ve heard it in one capacity or another. If not, well, here’s a few choice stances from that puppy:

I never meant 2 cause u any sorrowI never meant 2 cause u any painI only wanted 2 one time see u laughingI only wanted 2 see u laughing in the purple rainPurple rain purple rainPurple rain purple rainPurple rain purple rainI only wanted 2 see u bathing in the purple rain.

Get it? Huh? Do you get it? The purple rain is Prince’s Urine. That’s right, he was peeing on this anonymous chick (we think it might have been Vanity), but don’t quote me on that.

Anyway, back in the day, Prince was on this all Grape diet. So, for about a month all he ate was grapes. That’s how he managed to keep his girlish figure. Well, by some freak of nature, this all grape diet turned the Prince of Pop’s piss purple. Sadly, the man didn’t notice this, because he pees sitting down. Well, that, and the fact that he had that toilet sanitizer, which turns the water blue. So, as you can see, there was no way for him to know that he had this anomaly going on with his body, until this one faithful day. Yep, you guessed it. He was taking a piss on his girl, once again we think it was Vanity, and the spray comes out Purple.

The funny thing is that it wasn’t even Prince that noticed it. Well, not at first. You see, since it was hard for him to pee standing up, he had his eyes closed in concentration. It wasn’t until he heard, Vanity, or whatever the chick’s name, laugh and say; “You pissing purple rain on me, baby.” So, Prince is there, junk in hand, looking at this semi-nude woman, laughing as she lay sprawled in the puddle of purple urine and he comes up with this song. Yep, you guessed it. Purple Rain. The rest is history. Who knew it would be come a big hit in the eighties?

Anyway, you heard it here first.

-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.

So, was that a believable story? Purple Rain was playing on the radio, as I pulled into my driveway, and I concocted this little story. Anyway, I’m thinking of turning this blog into a haven for made up gossip lies, on the rich and famous. What do you think?

It's Your Attitude

Remember the Sermon on the Mount and how Jesus gave his diciples the beatitude? No? Well, I do. As I continue to read the Secret Life of Bees, I just got to a part that put two things in my head. One I will wait to share, because it is very much a part of the book and I am ahead in our reading. The other I think I can talk about in general.

I remember not really getting the story of the Sermon on the Mount but enjoying reading the Beatitudes; for some reason they touched me. I use to always wonder which of the eight categories I fell into. So, as I lay here, well pass my bedtime, I can not get the idea of the Beatitudes out of my head; so I thought it might do me good to do a post on them. So, without further ado:

THE EIGHT BEATITUDES OF JESUS
"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they who mourn, for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied. Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God. Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."
Gospel of St. Matthew 5:3-10

As I said, when I was young I use to wonder which of these categories best fit me. Now that I am older, I think I fit into each of the categories, except for maybe the last one. To this day, I still don’t think I fully grasp the concept of the Beatitudes, but I still find them so wonderful to read, in all their simplicity. So, which one are you?

-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.

Just a though I need to get off my mind, so I can forget about the book and get some rest before bed. You don’t have to participate. Oh, and could someone please tell Ieshia, I have no idea how to email her so I can reach her allusive new site. Tell her not to make me do a damn post on her ass!

One At a Time

Last night was an interesting night. What to hear about it? Here we go.

The day before yesterday Sgt. Lupe ran across some dumb ass teens, out past the City's curfew. She was foolish enough to allow them to go home on their own, with just a warning. A little later on, that same day, she spots the same three juvies attempting to break into a freaking church, or so she claims. They spot her and take off running, well two did, the other one was too scared to run and she was able to put him in custody. Knowing that I have zero tolerance on these little bastards and their parents, she calls me out to the scene to see if I want to aid him to my list of kids I conduct random bed checks on. I get out there and surprise, surprise. It is one my little habitual curfew violators. We take his dumb ass home, but not before going over to the house of one of the Little angles who ran and gripe out his mom for not know where the hell her 15 year old son is at 3 o’clock in the morning.

Then we take little Leroy (that what we’ll call him) back home to his mom’s house, where he is issued a ticket for the curfew violation. A ticket that his mom can’t afford. Now, since I have already told little Leroy what an embarrassment he is to me, seeing as he looks like me, and how if he was my blood I’d cluck him upside the head with my flashlight; I also feel obligated to let him know that I don't think he is a bad kid but is making some bad decisions. So, this leads him to ask me what he is suppose to do when he mom kicks him out of the house and then the reports him as a runaway.

Gentle Giant that I am, I give and my business card and write my cell phone number on the back. Before handing it over to him I let him know that if he and his little buddy misuse my number, for any reason, I’d come knocking on his door and that there will be hell to pay.
Anyway, fast forward to last night. Guess who called me, before I went into work. Yep, little Leroy. He is at odds with him mom and don’t know what to do. So, I call work and tell them that I am going to be a little late, because I have to make a detour and go pick his ass up. I have decided, with his mom’s permission, to bring little Leroy to work with me so we can have a heart to heart talk and maybe I can be that beacon that leads his ass down the right path. Maybe.

I took him to the station, gave him comic books to read, while I did my work. He was talked to by different sergeants, of different races and various troops and made to stand before our detail. Sgt. Latin even gave the kid tickets to a hockey game (Little Leroy use to play hockey). I mean to tell you if this young man was not known by the police officers on deep nights before, you better believe his ass is now. He will be dumb as fuck to do anything illegal.

Anyway, after our 12 o’clock detail lets out I take him to the crack house….err, sorry, over my mom’s house, because she needed to borrow money and it was part of my route for that day. I introduced him to my slacker, little brother, who was having sex for some reason. Do you know that I didn’t think my little brother had sex? Seriously, I thought he was that damn lazy, but he damn sho’ did have some female all up in his bedroom. Still, he was nice enough to come out of his room and spit some wisdom on the kid. Little Leroy, like most, felt an instant connect with my little brother. He might be a lackadaisical son of a gun, but he can charm the pants off of you. (Don’t worry, my mom lives far enough away that I am not worried about the kid remember how to get back to her joint).

En route to my mom’s place, I tell him a little about my situation growing up. I let him know that life for me ain’t been no crystal staircase. So, by the time we leave from my mom’s house he is willing to open up and tell me about how his dad died, last year, his parents separation, his mom near death experience, how his own grandmother stole his dad’s insurance policy; leaving him and his mom with nothing. The works. The boy has had it hard, and he is acting up as a result. But everyone has their sob stories and I let him know that that is no excuse for him to act the way he does and never an excuse to buck up to his little, frail mom. This kid, is twice the size of mom, folks.

Then I take him to my Ihop, where he gets to meet the wait staff there. The people at Ihop love me, folks. Their world lights up when I come into the door. I don’t care how busy it is, they make time to cluster around my booth and spend a little time with One Man. Talk about your ego boost, and it impressed the hell out of little Leroy who said, “Wow, everybody knows you here.” Of course, that was not the purpose of taking him to Ihop. You see, not only was little Leroy wearing the same thing that he had on the day before, but I had also learned, en route to station, that he hadn’t eaten all day. He swore to me, up and down, that he wasn’t hungry, but we all know that was a lie. What 15 year old, grown boy, isn’t hungry. C’mon now.

Anyway, he ordered a big ass bacon, egg and cheese burger and he got to listen to my group of misfits talk about the things they did, which lead them to were they are in life right now. Plus, they song my praises, which is always good.

After we finished at Ihop I was taking little Leroy home, when all hell broke lose at one of our clubs in South Dallas. It came out as a shooting, but ended up being just a big ass free for all and you know your boy One Man has to be a part of the fray. These men and women at these clubs know I don’t play with them. So, we go there and help break up that mess and then, once again, make a bee line to his house. Well, I’ll be damn if I don’t see another teenager walking down the street, just as calm as you please. I make him get in my car, take him home and as I am writing his ass a citation, this Hispanic male comes stumble pass me. He has had the hell beat out of him, to the point that I have to call an ambulance. Well, sure enough, this unfolds into some drama, that I won’t get into, but once we get it all situated, I take little Leroy home.

It is now past three and we can’t get little Leroy’s mom to wake up, to save our lives. So, we call and leave a message on the machine, that I am going to keep him for the rest of the morning, which I do. Mr. Leroy had one hell of an experience with me last night, because I am what you call a shit magnet. We got flagged down an aggravated assault, he got to see both nice and mean Sgt. One Man, I taught him how to check a person on our MDC. And he got to partake in an arrest of this stupid ass drunk, who broke out his girl's front glass window. It was one hell of a night, but I am hoping that he got something out of the experience. After all, the Dallas Police Department rained down a lot of love and care on that little man.

Yeah, I think I might have done a little too much, invested a little too much time, but I think he appreciated it; I know his mom did. The poor lady is at her wit’s end. Only time will tell if I, with the help of my fellow boys and girls and blue, were able to make a difference in this young man’s life. Your boy, One Man, trying to save the world one thug at a time. LOL

-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.

(Plus, I am under the assumption that if I invest a certain amount of time in his ass, I become authorized to hit him when he steps out of line.)

Miss Honey

I have no idea why I found this clip to be both funny and disturbing at the same time, but I did......No problem with the brother in drag, with the ice cream swirl on his head, but the guys in the back...they are killing me. Seriously, they are dancing their asses off.

Enjoy the laugh and have a great weekend.

Like a Crack House

My mom’s house is becoming more and more like a crack house. Let me explain. Everytime I go over to my mom’s house there is some new negro laying up in my mom’s house. I don’t even get it. Yesterday, we I went over, the first thing I do I go say hi to my mom and see if she is okay. Then I ask where my nephew is (in school, where he belongs). My niece is outside, talking to somebody and my little brother has just driven up. I go into the family room, to hopefully look at some television, but there is somebody already in there, sleep/looking at television.

My first thought is, why is my nephew Ant over here? I know he still living with my mom ‘nem, but only in theory. The reality is, he is normally somewhere shacking up with his fianicie. But there he is, slumped in the big chair, sleep, 48 hours on televison (or whatever the name of that reality cop show is). So I go back into my mom room and hang out with her. She starts gripping to me about how some inspector came over and turned off theiir water heater and they have no more hot water. What the fuck? Yeah, she called the inspector for some reason and he found that they were involation and he had to turn off their water heater. She was so mad at the man, but I told her that she couldn’t be mad at the man for doing his job.

Anyway, so I’m sitting right there and my mom starts calling for my brother and calling for some guy name T.J. Who the fuck is T.J. Anyway, after a minute, this T.J person comes and to see what my mom wants and guess what…It’s the person I thought was my nephew. LOL. Okay, I can explain this, because I know you are wondering how I don’t know my own nephew when I see him.

Okay, my nephew Ant is about 6 foot, two-forty and blue black in color. We are talking so black that you can’t tell where his skin ends and his hair begins. So, good look making out his features, if your are not right up on him and the light is poor. Well, this T.J. guy has the exact same build and complextion. Who know.

I ask my mom who the hell he is and she says , “Oh, that’s T.J. He lives down the street.”

“Okay, why is it that every time I come over here, yall got some new stranger laying all up in your house.”

“He’s not a stranger. He lives up the street and friend with Stace (my Niece) and Duce (my brother). He went to school with them or something.”

My mom drives me crazy. I lived in this house and I know everyone that both my neices and brother and sisters hung out with growing up. This T.J. is not one of those people and even if he is, why is his ass laying up in your house at two something in the afternoon? We know this much about him. He is either 26 or 29...either way why is his ass not in college, work or at his own damn home. I don’t get it and my mom still doesn’t answer my question, so I ask it again. “Why is it that every time I come over here there is some new, random guy up in your house.”

Her answer: “He’s always over here.”

Well, he’s not always over here, but this is the first time I’ve seen ass over here. What kind of communal, group house for the lazy is being run over here. It’s not like my mom has anything. Hell, they are living just above the knee sockets of poverty. It’s not like she is always whipping up these outstanding meals. I just don’t see what the attraction is, except for the fact that you see other grown ass people in and out of there, not working. Not unlike a fucking crack house.
And yall all know by now that I worry. I get to see man’s inhumanity to man on a daily basis. I know how crazy people are and what they will do and I hate that my mom allows herself to be put into a situation where someone can do harm to her. You are over weight, paralyzed on one side of your body and virtually immobile. Negroes are crazy, I don’t want them in the house with you! Plus, I don’t like all these random dudes hanging around my nephew. I don’t know them and I think everyone is a potential pedophile. I’m not trusting a single motherfucker. Does it really take something drastic to happen for them to get the message? Well, no….we know that’s not the answer because about a year and a half ago some little punks robbed my sister and cousin in the driveway of my mom’s house. (I WAS LIVID!)

But what’s a man to do? I can’t tell my mom who she can and can not have in her house. I can’t tell my little sister how to raise her son. I can’t tell my little brother to get off his ass and get a job. Well, actually, I CAN and DO do all of those things, but it’s like talking to a brick wall, a cactus and a deaf pussy cat. They ain’t listen.

AGGGHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Drives me crazy! Fucking, none crack smoking, crack-heads. How pathetic is that shit?

-One Man's Opinion. Peace.

Evolution, In Reverse

I use to think about this when I was younger. More like when I was in my teens and the word dawg started working it’s way into the black man’s vernacular. I actually remember when someone first called me “dawg”. I was at church and a so-called friend of mine brought this little thug he knew to church. The kid addresses me as dawg, but I hadn’t understood what he’d said, because I had never been addressed in this manner before. So, I guess a look came over my face that lead him to believe that I was offended by the word. He actually called himself getting mad at me, because he mistook my look of perplexity for one of being offended. I still just looked at him like he was an idiot.

Anyway, right before started calling each other dawg, we were calling each other cousin. Some of you might remember this. “What’s up, cousin? “ How you doing, cuz?’ Before this, and probably for the longest about of time, it was brother. Remember the good ole days when we use to call each other brothers? “Hey, brother.” What you been up to, bro?”

Now we are at, nigger or niggah. What the hell! How did we come to this degeneration of a name? I’ve always thought this degeneration of how we referred to one another played hand and hand with the violence acts we commit around one another. Let face it, as we changed the way we referred to each other along came a disconnect.

Keep in mind that this post hit me like thirty minutes before I have to get my ass ready for work, so I am going to try to break this down to you right quick. Let’s start with brother. What is a brother? When you hear the word brother what thoughts does the word invoke? Kinship? Love? Family? Who could be closer to you then your brother? Then we went to cousin. See the beginning of the disconnect? A cousin is still kin, family, but not a close as a brother. Hum, it might be a little easier for me to hurt my cousin then it would be to hurt my brother; after all, we ain’t that close. Then, some how when I wasn’t looking we went to dawg (dog). It’s a little easier to kick a dog, huh? After all, it is just an animal. Sure dogs are loyal, supposedly man’s best friend, but in the end it is till an animal. Fuck that beast! I’ll kick it, beat it, kill it, if I have to. Fuck you, Dawg! And now, Nigger. People have been hunting, beating, and lynching niggers for years. Hell, back in the day a nigger were labeled as nothing more than property, considered less than an animal.

Not being hip, or cool, I never used any of these terms growing up. I preferred to call people by their names. But, this kind of makes you wonder, right? Is this why there is so much black on black crime; why our youth of today don’t seem to value the life of the one that looks like them? Sure, I know that white people commit violent acts against each other everyday. But, this site isn‘t about them. It is about us.

You know Shakespeare once asked a question, “what’s in a name?” He even went as far as to counter with, “a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” Fuck that! Sure that shit sounds all poetic and romantic, but I say that there is a power in a name. People put a great deal of thought in what they name their children for that very reason (albeit, some of yall get that shit wrong too).

Hell, would you want a dozen roses from me if they were called “Fuck you bubs”?

Anyway, just a little food for thought. Now I got to get my ass ready for work, so no time to proof this bad boy. Love you all, my brothers and sisters of every race and nationality.

-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.

Yeah, I realize the irony of this post and the name of my blog. Get over it! The name stays!

John McCain-Our Senile Candidate

Out saw this on my boy Jack's blog and decided to steal it and pass it on.

I'm One Man and I approve this message.

Peace.

Don't Be Claiming Me!

It is very interesting, being a cop. People either love you are they hate you. More often then not they hate you. People are so funny, they honestly believe that just because you approach them and are wearing that big, blue uniform, that you are harassing them. Whatever.

Anyway, I have been talking to one of my friend, who works in the Internal Affairs department. She hooked me up with the Christian store that sales teaching items for children. I went there today to buy poster that will help Manny learn his colors, shapes, numbers and currency. Anyway, she works an extra job at some Charter school and keeps telling me that she speaks to my cousin, who drives a school bus. I don’t have a cousin who drives a school bus. She assures me that I do, but whatever. I know my relatives. She even goes as far as to get his name for me today.

“I spoke to your cousin,” she says. “He says his name is Tony.”

“I don’t have a cousin name Tony.”

“Sure you do. He is tall and brown skinned.”

“Uh, no, I don’t. I know all my male cousins and known of them drive a bus for a living.”

“He says he just spoke to you yesterday.”

“I didn’t speak to anybody yesterday. I don’t answer my home phone, any more, and I left my cell phone over my mom’s house the other day.”

“Well, he says he’s your cousin.”

How funny is this conversation. How are you going to argue with me about the existence of a cousin. I might be getting senile, but I know all of the crazy ass bastards in my family. How could I not. We spend every holiday together and up until recently we had been having a monthly Family Game Night (We really need to start that back up).

Anyway, I know it’s a long and dumb story, but this happens a lot. Family members that I rarely speak or people from my past are always trying to claim my ass, in order to get out of trouble.

-One Man's Opinion. Peace.

How About a Book Club?

Okay, if you’ve read the post before this one then you know that I took my mom to see, The Family That Preys, yesterday. While we waited for the movie to start, we watched the previews of movies to come. One of the movies to come. One that caught my attention was the new movie starring Queen Latifia, Alisha Keyes and Dakota Fanning. The Secret Life of Bees. My ears immediately perked up when they said that this movie was based on a book and I remember whispering to my mom; “Imma go get that book tomorrow.”

So, here it is tomorrow and what did I do. Well, first up I woke up from a horribly realistic dream, where I murdered a family bully. That was not cool. I literally woke up in tears. Once I got over that, I went and got a hair cut. Yes, I am look very cute today and then went to Border’s Books to see if I could find my book. The Secrete Life of Bees, by Sue Monk Kidd; only fourteen bucks. It is lying right here beside me.

Now, before I open up a page and begin to read it I have to ask….Anybody out there willing to join me in reading this book? I know, I ain’t Oprah, but I have been trying to get other bloggers to start a blog book club. So, since I can’t get anyone else to do it, I figured I’d take a shot at it. So, what do you say? Any takers? I know you good people read, because you are dedicated readers to the world of BLOGS.

I’ve never done the book club thing before, although I really do enjoy reading. That being said, I am not one of those read a book in a day kind of people. I like to make a good book linger on, like good sex. I like to make it last until I can stands it no more. So, I read in stages, during breaks, and such. If I had the money, I’d have wall to wall books in my house, because I love the written word so much. If I can just get a handful of you to join me in enjoying these written words, and maybe discussing them later, I’ll be one happy camper.

-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.

The Family that Plays

Today, I paid my mom a surprise visit and took her to see The Family that Preys. I got to say, Tyler Perry did it again. I must admit that I didn’t think that the movie was going to be any good, but one of my female co-workers said it was the bomb. It was funny and sad all at once. I thought it was going to be contrived, but nope; Mr. Tyler did his thing, although I do believe that it could have did without his presence. No offense to him.

I gotta tell you, the funny thing about surprising my mom as apposed to letting her know in advanced, is the fact that we got to the movies on time. How funny is it that I can let her know a day, even a week, a head of time and she will never be ready on time. Surprise her and we are right on schedule. Even she noticed and commented on it while we were en route to the movies. We got there in time to see all of the previews, and that never happens. She saw lots of movies that she wanted to see next, included Bernie Mac’s last movie; Soul Men. I didn’t think it looked any good and I can’t just go to see a movie in memory of a late actor.

After the movies my mom wanted me to take her to El Chico’s to get her something for dinner. Being the loving big brother that I am, I called both my brother and sister to see if they wanted anything to eat. Of course they did. So, I ended up buying food for all for of us and Manny, of course. Then I ended up spending the entire day with them. I love my little Manny to death, but I tell you, he will wear a brother out. I mean, he went hour upon hour without shutting up. I swear the boy has Energizer batteries shoved up his rear end. I told him on five different occasions that I was going to start beating him with a stick. I have no idea why he never takes me seriously.

He is such a happy baby boy. So happy in fact that I accused his mommy of getting him drunk. The boy is a nut bag, but he cracks me up. If laughter adds years to your life, he will live to be like a thousand and I will live to be a hundred and ten. I gave him his bath, put him on his pj’s, and read him two books before receiving a big hug around the neck and a kiss on the cheek. I told him I love him and to learn a lot at school. He told me no and said he loved me too. He is such a little bastard. I wish he did ever have to grow up.

Anyway, go see the Family that Prey’s. It will be well worth the money. Over here, it just cost five dollars of two adult tickets. HA! Don’t hate.

-One Man's Opinion. Peace.

Not Down Memory Lane

More moments for Alzheimer Island. You know your mind is slowly deteriorating when you put your underwear on backwards. That’s right folks, there was not one, but two days that your boy put on his boxer shorts, backwards, and went to work. The sad part was that I didn’t even realize they were on backward until I went to take a leak and there was no hole to pull Mr. Winky through. Where was the damn hole? I’ll tell you were it was; behind me. I will say that Mr. Winky was nice in safe. No fear of him popping out that day. LOL

Moment number two. Who know you are losing it when you got to the fast food place. Order your meal, pay for it and leave. That’s right people, I was half way home before I realized something was missing. Forgot my food. When I got back I could see that they had been looking for my dumb ass. It was quit funny, and just a little bit disturbing.

Had a doctor’s appointment on a Wednesday. New it was on a Wednesday. Driving to the appointment, while talking to my big sister and telling her that I am on my way to a doctor’s appointment. Get to the doctor’s and check in at the front desk, five minutes early I might add.

“Good Morning, ma’am. My name is One Man and I have an appointment to see Dr. Who at 11am.”

Receptionist, after checking her files, “I’m sorry Mr. One Man, I don’t have a record you’re supposing to be here today.”

“Well, I have my appointment card showing that I am suppose to be here today and plus, someone from your office called me on Monday with a reminder.”

“Okay, Mr. One Man, can you have a seat while I check our records.”

So, I have a seat and go through my wallet in search of my little note recording my appointment date and time and find it, Wednesday @ 11am. My ass ain’t crazy, damn it. I know when my damn appointment was.

So, the receptionist comes back to the window and says, “Mr. One Man, you appointment isn’t until Wednesday.”

Puzzled look on my face. “Isn’t today Wednesday?”

“No, sir. Today is Tuesday.”

‘Nuff said.

I think I’m going to cry.

-One Man's Opinion. Peace.

The Way we Be (Repost)

My very first post. Read it and weep. LOL. Seriously. Only thing missing is the Picture of Mr. Clinton. To be honest, I know nothing about how to manipulate the blogs on this damn thing.

[Photo]Okay, my first entry was going to be on the Ghetto Note Book, but that was all changed this morning when I went to get my hair cut. I stepped into the barbershop and to my surprise they were watching Larry King Live. That's right...Larry King Live. Keep in mind that this is a black owned and operated Barbershop in an all black neighborhood. A Barbershop that usually has its television set to BET and only BET. As it turned out they were watching Larry King's interview with formal President Bill Clinton. Apparently Mr. Clinton has a new book to promote, but mostly he was talking about his wife and her candidacy for president. At any rate, one of the head barbers walks into the shop late and sits down to talk to me about a business venture he had cooked up in this little mind. All of a sudden he becomes aware that Bill Clinton is on television and he proclaims loudly, "Hey, that's Bill Clinton! You know he was our first real black president!" Then he goes on to spout off all of the wonderful attributes that Bill Clinton embodies that makes him worthy of being dubbed the "first" black president. I'm sure you've all heard them: "He plays the sax, he smokes weed and he got head in the white house. How can he be anything but black?" Of course, true to form, all the other black folk in the shop began to voice their agreement, spitting all kinds of ludicrous B.S. So, being a loyal customer to this particular shop I feel comfortable enough to pose the following question to the barber who set this whole thing off."Why is it that we want to call Bill Clinton the first black president?"I asked. "And then, in the same breath go on to list all of his negative traits? That ain't cool. I don't want my blackness associated with that."All of a sudden the shop gets all quiet and I begin to fill like Two-Pac. You know...All Eyes on Me. And I'm pretty sure they are thinking, "look at this nigger." The barber in question looks at me and smiles and tries to say that everything he said wasn't negative. After all he did mention the fact that the man plays the sax and likes Jazz and how hard it is to play Jazz in the first place. What the hell? Look, I have nothing against Bill Clinton. As a matter of fact he did some pretty good stuff while he was in the White House. Even things that benefited the black community as a whole. So, why is it that when black folks speak about the man and want to give him his honorary membership into to black-dom, they never mention all of the positive things that the man did. Why is it that they only focus on the negative things? The things that lead to the man almost getting impeached during his second term in Office? Can someone please explain that crap to me? Is this truly how we see ourselves? Is this really how what we want to model ourselves after? Hell, don't we got enough people out there focusing only on our negative traits without glorifying them ourselves.

One man's opinion. Peace.

Blog-iversary

I am so bad with dates. My very first blog anniversary has come and gone, because I suck at remembering dates. My very first blog was written on September the 6th, 2008. It was about Bill Clinton and how our people considered him the first black President. I only received three comments, two of which was from the same person, who I actually knew. The other was unsolicited. The unsolicited comment came from ‘yet another black guy‘. I was very disappointed, because I thought it was one hell of a post and nobody had read it. Still, it was a fun outlet for my creative thoughts, so I keep it up. Now I have a whole family, in the blog world. It’s like a whole other support system and I appreciate it greatly.

If you are listening, brother; thanks to you, YET ANOTHER BLACK GUY, for being my very first reader.

-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.

I Get Mad

Okay, I know I have been gone for awhile, but my world as been on a continuously, sucky path. This is the beginning of day three with me not allowing myself to lose my temper. As it turns out, people have been making me mad, a lot, lately. I’m talking, Yelling, mad. It is a very bad look on me and I’ve decided to over come it. What I am learning is that when I allow other people to make me lose my temper, I give them power over me, and that crap ain’t cool.

Let me give you a little back ground on my temper and when and why I decided that I would not hold in my anger. When I was in my twenties. Around twenty-three or four, I had a job as a Department Assistant at one of our Community Colleges. I worked the evening shift, and was the second in command when the Assistant Register was not at work (and her ass was hardly ever at work). We were having a concurrent registration going on, this particular work week. Just for those of you, who do not know, concurrent registration is when we allowed high school students to register for some college level courses. A wonderful program, I might add.

Well, on this one particular day, there was this Asian man, who was attempting to get his daughter registered for these concurrent classes. Well, they did not have all of the paper work needed to be allowed to register and I had to deny her application. Now, this would not have been that big of a deal, except for the fact that this was the last day of registration.

Well this bastard would not listen to reason, even when I showed him in the catalog why I had to deny his daughter enrollment. I promise you that I went back in forth with this guy for almost an hour, and he would not listen to reason. Plus, he refused to believe that I, a young, black man, had the final say in whether or not his daughter was going to get into college. Needless to say, he was pissing me off, but I was determined to maintain my professionalism. I let him know that I was finished with the conversation and went back to my desk (which, just so happened to be right there near the front counter).

Don’t you know that this bastard continued to badger me, from across the counter. I was hot, but determined not to lose my temper. So, in an attempt to hold back maintain my composure, I decided to practice something that’s I’d head about and seen on television. I decided to count to ten and take a series of calming, deep breaths. Well, as it turned out, I did that shit wrong and I began to hyperventilate. It was a very scary moment and I literally passed out and an ambulance out to the college (This is the moment of our friendship that my buddy Lou likes to tell people about the most.)

After I was revived, I made it up in my mind that I would never hold back my temper again. I decided that it was unhealty for me. So, if someone pushed my buttons to the point that I needed to unleash on them, I would do just that. And I must say, that as a police officer, my verbal anger has served me well. Just the intensity of it makes the public at large think my ass is crazy, and I believe it prevents me from having to lay hands on people, which is a good thing. I ain’t trying to fight nobody, if I can help it.

Anyway, over the past couple of weeks I have decided to rethink my ideas of not holding back my anger. I still believe that it’s okay to get mad, but I should be at a point in my life where I shouldn’t have to get to the degree of anger that I allow myself to yell. The reality is that as a Sergeant, I have a lot of power and that I shouldn’t let my troops make me so mad, to the point that it becomes a shouting match. As soon as I am shooting at them it means that I have lost control and I feel it puts us on an equal playing field. I can not let this happen, ever again.

As far as the public at large is concerned, I am not so sure how my holding back my temper will work. The reality is, that most of the time the show of anger on the street is just an act to gain control over a situation. Let’s face it, my normal speaking voice is not very intimidating at all and neither am I. So, when I have a crowd of twenty to fifty people and I am the first one out, it serves me well to be loud and boisterous. Believe me when I say that I have taken control over a many potentially violent situations by using my words only. It has served me well, on the Department, for ten years now. So, I am afraid that stifling that part of me, on the streets, might just get me seriously hurt. I guess only time will tell. Besides, I know that it is there, if I should need it.

-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.

Drives Me Crazy!

I love my little brother and sister. They are both college graduates and twins to both. In November they will turn thirty years of age and they drive me crazy. That’s right….CRAZY! And let me tell you why.

As you know by now, this week I worked eleven days straight (not by choice). It was fine, I got to know a lot of good people, did some head sketches and made over-time money out the butt…and I found out recently that my over time rate is a little over fifty dollars an hour. Yeah, I know it ain’t much, but it’s like a good blow job to me. No offense. Anyway, since it had been a while since I had time for myself I took the next four days off. This is day one of those fours days and I went to see my mom, nephew and the rest. Just the thought of seeing my little nephew makes me smile (and I realize how sick yall are of hearing that, but it’s true. That little boy brings me joy.)

Okay, let me tell you how why twins drive me butt scratching crazy. Lets start with baby sis. I need for her to stop bringing every dead beat ass nigger she meets over to my mom’s house and around my nephew. I don’t know what it is with black women, my sister included, and sorry ass men. Example One: Manny’s dad. She meet his ass at the 7-11. He was a man hoe with children all over God’s creation. An unemployed man hoe to boot. I will say this much for the man…although he didn’t do much by way of financial responsibility he gave his time to my nephew. To the point that I was jealous whenever my little buddy was over his daddy’s house. However, I loved and appreciated the time that Manny’s dad spent with him, because I think that quality time is way more precious then money. I was said when he died in automobile accident before Manny reached the age of two years old. Then there were others that came and went in the wink of an eye but the one that comes to mind is the Murderer. She hates when I call him that, but that’s what he is. He killed a man last year. She met the Murderer at a chicken place. And my sister can believe the hype, but I don’t believe that shit was a accident and I need him away from my mom and my nephew. This bastard had a job, so I am told, but he didn’t have a place to live. I still don’t know why they were allowing this nigger, who she didn’t even know for a good month to be living all up in their house and sleeping all up in her bed. Now she’s messing with this twenty three year old, who just got released from prison for Aggravated Robbery and Robbery. Yeah, he spent five years of his young life in jail. He hung out with us when I took my family to the Univer-soul Circus. She swore up and down that she was not dating him, but I’m not stupid. Of course with his criminal history and the fact that he didn’t graduate high school, it is making it hard for him to get a job. I was criticized about giving him the third degree, but I don’t know this little mother fucker.

Don’t get me wrong. He’s a nice kid, very respectful and all, but I don’t know him. I want to give him the benefit of a doubt, but as far as I know he could be a child molester, rapist or still have those other criminal tendencies. I had to let him know that I am a cop (sergeant) and I am always packing. Evening show him the gun strapped to my hip. He needed to know that we were cool up and to the point that he fucked up. That’s when I become the Felon. I ain’t playing.
Then there is my little brother. Got arrested for position of Marijuana before he finished college, because his ass is hard headed. Came back home to help little sis take care of mom after my step-father passed away. Has yet to hold down a steady, full time job. I think the last one he had lasted all of six month (because he lied about his criminal history). Two of my guy friends gave me a hard time about calling him out on not having a job this past Fourth of July. They said he was embarrassed. Fuck that. They don’t know my little brother and his nonchalant ass. If he needed to be embarrassed about anything it would be the fact that he was twenty nine year old ass was asking his big brother for money, so he can go out, in the first place. That shit ain’t cool.

He and I had a talk, as I left the house and I laid it all out on the line for him. The fact that his ass was about to turn Thirty years old, without a job history to speak of. The fact that he can’t wait for the perfect job to just drop out his ass. The fact that I think he is still smoking the wacky-tobaccy. The fact that the older he gets the harder it is going to be to get a job. The fact that I’m not going to help raise his ass, since I don’t help support grown ass people (unless they carried me for nine months, no charge). I told him that he had too many people trying to help his ass get a job and he to busy playing at it. That shit is ridiculous and yall all know it. Then I brought my ass home.

I love my family. Lord knows I do. I try to get us to do things together as a group, even if it means me playing. But damn it, I need them to do right. I have made a hell of a lot of mistakes, believe you me, but in the end I support myself and have never and I mean never asked anyone for a helping hand. It’s just not in me. That being said, I am willing to lend a hand, but damn…I only have so many hands to give.

-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.

Eight Years To You All

I say this commecial right after witnessing Serena win her tennis match. This little jokers is laughing his little heart out. It is such a pure and innocent laugh that I had to share it.

There is just something about seeing a baby smile or laugh that can feel your heart with joy, especially if it is a child of your own. There is just nothing that can compair to a happy baby.

There is a post to follow this one, but I had to send this out to you. If you are ever feeling sad, mad or just plain blah, come to this post or look it up on youtube. If it doesn't brighten your day I think you are just dead inside.

-One Man's Opinion. Peace.

Seriously though. Look at the kid. He is literally over joyed by the simple pleasure of tearing newspaper. That just cracks me up.

Can I Get Some More Pee For My Cornflakes?

Okay, remember when I was whining about my sucky work week last week? Well, since I was assigned to the Convention Center with our Displaced guest; here it is-day eight and still no day off and the work week went from bad to worst. Don’t get me wrong….working the convention center was cool. Over nine hours long, but I got to know our service men and women very well. Did you know that they volunteer their time in most instances (although they got paid for this particular incident). They are some of the most dedicated people I have ever met, and I was proud to work along side of them.

Still, my work day did not improve. As a matter of fact, the day before last my cousin calls to inform me that he has been accused of sexual assault, in New Hampshire. What the fuck? Yes, this is the cousin with the fat baby, ugly wife and long winded father in-law. “Why are you still cheating?” He said he wasn’t but what do you call it….you just told me you recently had sex with a woman who is accusing you of rape. Damn!

Then, sometime yesterday evening Roscoe pasted away. For those of you who do not know, Roscoe is my dog. When he didn’t come when I called, before going to work last night, I assumed he had just managed to get out the backyard. Since he is so dark and my light is out back there, I couldn’t see him when I looked around. So, I went to work thinking that his dumb ass had gotten out and how I was going to have to yell at him when I found him. After I had gotten to work I got to think, “what if he’s dead.” How bad would I feel if my dog was dead and I was thinking about yelling at him? But surely he wasn’t dead. He was just a little over six years old. That’s not that old for a dog. Anyway, I had to go home to look for some paper work for my lieutenant. I park my squad car in front of the house, half expecting Roscoe to be laying on the front porch, looking all guilty and shit. No. Roscoe. So, I grab my flash light and head around the rear of the house. My back yard is relatively big and I don’t see him immediately. When I do see him, he is laying near the side of the house. I know he is dead, but I yell his name about three times, hoping that he will get up, bat an ear, something; I don’t want my dog to be dead. But he is and there is nothing I could do about it. I have to grab my paper work and head back to work.

I kind of wanted to cry, but I didn’t. I don’t know why. I’m still trying to decipher if I am a bigger punk for wanting to cry or not crying. It doesn't help when you call Animal Control and they want you to not only "sack" your dog, but put him out at the curb. I didn't even want to look at him...not like that, but I supposed I was going to have to "sack" him, but I told the lady that I wasn't able to move him to the curb. Can you image me trying to pick up the corspe of a dog that weighted almost a hundred and fifty pounds when he was alive. Have you even heard of dead weight?

Anyway, I miss my doggie. He was a good dog and a loyal friend. I know I wasn’t always the best owner, but I loved my dog and I hate that he is gone. I miss the way he use to know my car and would run up to the gate in the hopes that I would say “hi”, instead of “shut up”. II miss the way he would want to constantly be around me, to the point of being under foot. I even miss his doggy gas, and Lord knows that crap was potent.

Yeah, can I get some more pee for my cornflakes, please. I can still taste the milk in these.

-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.

Out of Pocket

Okay, folks, to round out my outstanding work week (yes, I am being sarcastic, my work week sucked jagged rocks), I will be at the convention center, monitoring the evacuee process. I was cool doing it, when I thought it was just going to be for two days. Surprise, surprise, it is for the who work week, including my days off. Sucks to be me, but I am trying to keep a positive out look. I mean, I could be one of the poor evacuees, right? So, I guess I won't complain.

Well, that's a lie. I am going to complain like a bitch, in my head, but on the outside I will be kind, greatful and pleasant.

I will return to my regular scheduled blogging and blog reading next week (God willing).

-One Man's Opinion. Peace.