A No Show . . . For The Soloist . . .

After watching a news profile of the real characters, I was all set to go see the movie, The Soloist. But then, I read a couple of reviews. The reviewers praised the movie, but both made mention of a peculiar aspect, which unfortunately killed my desire to see the movie at the box office. Both reviewers stated that the schizophrenic street musician (played by Jamie Foxx) came to view the reporter (played by Robert Downey, Jr.) as his "personal God," something which, one perceptive reviewer readily pointed out, didn't appear at all in the book.

I'm not sure why filmmakers feel the need to keep breathing life into this archaic, Tarzan-flavored paradigm. It's either the ole "primitive in need of a Savior" scenario, magic Negroes or the Black wisecracking sidekick or best friend. Why can't we just be equals, sometimes? Why can't we just learn from one another on a playing field where there are no White Saviors or primitives of color in need of rescue from themselves . . .

I'd planned to take my music-loving son to see this movie. But something imbedded deep within my spirit and psyche, won't allow me to shell out good money to sit up in a movie theatre and passively subject him or myself to such debasing, unimaginative and unnecessary mythologies. I'd still very much like to see the movie. But I'll wait until it appears on cable or DVD.

THE HISTORY LESSON . . . (More On Name-Calling) . . .

Back in high school, I had a favorite teacher, who, with his big grin, jerky movements and small, wiry frame, reminded me of a cricket--Jiminy Cricket to be precise. He was a older fellow whose wisdom and intellect I'd accepted without question until the day he opened his mouth and spat out the words, "Those dirty Japs!"

The first time I heard him say it, I was stunned. I thought to myself, Surely, I must had misheard him. I didn't want to believe that my favorite teacher, a man whom I'd admired for his quick wit and keen sense of humor, not to mention his command of American history, had actually made such an offense comment.

But it was true. Again and again, while covering the U.S. involvement in WWII, one of my high school teachers used the terms "Japs" and "dirty Japs" in reference to the Japanese. And each time he uttered the words, I squirmed in my seat, made uncomfortable not only by his use of the ethnic slur, but by my own hesitancy when it came to voicing my objections.

Some memories stay with one always.

No, I'm not Japanese. I'm not even Asian. (Well, as far as I know *smile* According to the hubby, I do sorta kinda look Asian when I'm asleep). By self-definition, I am an African American of the female persuasion. But if it matters, and in this instance it did, there was a young woman of obvious Asian ancestry in that particular high school history class. I don't recall her name. She and I weren't friends or even acquaintances. The possibility exists that she was no more Japanese that was I, as does the possibility that she took no offense to our teacher's comments. But the fact remains that we were both young women of color, bound together in one sense by our vulnerable status as the only two visible minorities in a classroom full of young, White students, and bound together in another sense by our silence.

I can't help but think we should have said something, if only to one another. Why didn't we? Was it youth? Shyness? Fear? Ambivalence? Embarrasment? Or was it simply too far an emotional distance for either of us to cross. Twenty-plus years later, I still don't know.

Looking back on the incident, I now find it both unnerving and somewhat ironic that the teacher in questin reminded me of a cricket. The truth is, I have a fear of crickets, a fear that involves my not knowing where the little critters are bound to jump next.

And indeed, it is a small jump from Jap to nigger/from faggot to coon/ from spic to jigaboo/

If I, as an African American, wait until the slur turns from slanty-eye bastard to big-lipped baboon, then have I not, in fact, waited too late? Of course, I have. I think even way back then, I somehow sensed it was so.

"In Germany they came first for the Communists, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't Communists. Then they came for the Jews and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Jew. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a trade unionist. Then they came for the Catholics and I didn't speak up because I was Protestant. Then they came for me, and by that time no one was left to speak up for me."

(Rev. Martin Niemoller, 1892-1984)

"If they take you in the morning, they will be coming for us that night."

(James Baldwin, 1924-1987)

And for those who still don't get it, the "History Lesson" here is--just as there is no safety in silence, there is no safety in drawing the lines of intervention around our own ethnic, racial, sexual or religious identities.

(Written while listening to Erykah Badu's "Honey," "The Healer" and "Master Teacher" from the CD entitled New Amerykah: Part One (4th World War). Check the refrain from "Master Teacher":

"What if there was no niggas only master teachers?

I stay woke . . ."

TODAY'S CULTURE OF CELEBRITY . . . AND ALL THAT CRAP . . .

"I've always thought there are two kinds of celebrities. There are people who really want to be celebrities. There are other people who want to be good at their craft. The ones who want to be famous are the ones who you hear about all the time. The ones who are studying and honing their craft have to do that out of the spotlight. You can't learn anything when you're out (in the spotlight) all the time."

Johnny Mathis (The Charlotte Observer, April 25, 2008)

Outside of the Old School Mix, I really didn't tell a lot of people about my recent television appearance. Make no mistake, I told those who didn't already know about the book (After The Dance) and shared with them all of the details about the two signings I had scheduled while in Memphis. But the TV and radio stuff, I left to others, like my proud hubby who called up just about everybody and their mama's (LOL).

Those who know me well understand that I'm fully content being in the background. I have no real desire to be in front of the somebody's camera or even behind somebody's mike (my dream of being a DJ fizzled a long time ago). I'm more than willing to step aside and leave the place on the stage marked as "the center of attention" to the more spotlight hungry.

Ain't it funny how those things you enjoy the least, often seem hell-bent on chasing you down? When I worked at the public library in Memphis, seemed like somebody was always sticking a camera in my face: on one occasion, I had to do an impromptu TV promo for the library's Magazines/Newspapers department and on another, I had to do a televised spot for an African American film festival I'd helped coordinate.

Shortly after my son learned that I was going to be on television, he struck up a loud chant of, "Mama's gonna be famous! Mama's gonna be famous!" Every couple of hours, he'd break into another round and finally I asked him, "Are you still gonna love Ole Moms even if she isn't famous?" Of course, being a good son, who loves regular meals, clean clothes and on-call chauffering, his answer was a resounding, "Yes!" (LOL)

I suppose, among other things, the point I'm trying to make is, I love writing and certainly, I love it all the more when folks find what I write entertaining and enjoybable. But I've never had a desire to be thought of as famous or a celebrity. I've never set as my goal "getting rich" from my work. Now, I would love to see some of my work on the big screen, but the satisfaction I would derive from doing so doesn't necessarily have a dollar sign or a certain number of zeroes attached to it. Sorry, if that disappoints, but I'm just simple like that (pun intended *smile*).

A lot of what I despise about today's arts scene (whether literary, theatrical, musical or otherwise) is the whole "15 minutes of fame" and "everybody's entitled or dang well oughta wanna be a star" notion. Bump that. Rather than doing some of everything (whether legal or illegal; moral or immoral; outrageous or just outright dumb) in order to draw attention to themselves, I really wish more folks (both artists and non-artists) would follow the advice shared in the quote above. Obviously, it's worked well for the 72-year-old crooner, known as Johnny Mathis. He's been in the game for fifty-two years and he's still going strong. Not only does he still perform, he can still draw a decent size crowd.

Think about some of today's more popular singers, writes, musicians, actors and the like. Who, among them, will still have a viable career, be in their right minds or even drawing a breath in the land of the living ten to fifteen years from now? Of course, nothing's promised and anyone of us could get hit by a bus tomorrow. Moreover, a lot of today's youngsters wouldn't know Johnny M. or likely be at all impressed by him, even if he turned up butt-naked on their favorite reality show, but I'm just saying . . .

WORDS OF WISDOM & HUMOR . . . FROM MARK TWAIN . . .

The following notice appeared in the opening of Mark Twain's The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn--

"Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot."

I think, quite often, a lot of us feel this way . . . but would never dare say it (smile). Of course, to be SUCCESSFUL in today's marketplace, we need all of those things and more. Don't we? (LOL) It's okay if you don't "get" the humor in the statement above. The truth is, the joke is generally always on the writer . . .

THE DEATH OF HIP HOP . . . PART III (Notes & Comments On The Hearse Ride To The Cemetery)

SIGH . . . The other night, I watched the 2nd half of Oprah's "After Imus: Now What?" town hall discussion. All I can do is shake my head. It truly saddens me to see & hear so many smart & talented Blk men speak & act as if they were in complete denial about a phenomenon that adversely affects so many of us.

For the most part, these men, all of whom are in positions of leadership, came across as a bunch of belligerent, whiney, 3 year-olds. Okay, here's a clue. When a grown azz Blk woman says, "Listening to rap artists call me and folks who look like me (be they nappy-headed or not) all kinds of bitches and ho's 24/7 is both insulting and demeaning," the proper response from a grown azz Blk man ought not be, "Uh-uh! No, it ain't! You're not the boss of me!" Sheeesh . . .

Russell Simmons. I don't know brother. I think you are a brilliant business man. I love what you're doing with Def Poetry. But the statement you made about Hip Hop doing more for race relations than the entire civil rights movement is A BIG, FAT LIE, plain and simple. If you actually believe that mess you are either sadly deluded, incredibly mis-educated or a mad man. Yeah, I said it. Meant it too.

Something tells me both Mr. Simmons and Kevin Liles, the entertainment executive who appeared on the show, have both bought into their own hype and now want us all to drink the Kool-Aid. Mr. Liles went into what can only be described as the Black male version of the neck-swerve when Stanley Crouch used the word "clown" in reference to the folks reponsible for the distribution and perpetuation of this demeaning garbage. The brother's near hysterics would have been comical were the situation not so sad.

No, Mr. Liles you're not a clown . . . you, sir, are the freaking RING-MASTER if you are sitting up behind a desk somewhere ALLOWING this crap to go on, as the one sister said, ON YOUR WATCH. And your little speech about going from intern to executive, I mean really, what is that? Another tired version of the "don't hate the player, hate the game" type of ignorance? Just so you know, for what it's worth, that's like telling folks you went from being a two-bit street corner pimp to running a brothel. And hey, that just might impress some of the simple-minded folk you obvioulsy run with, I don't know.

Common, I ain't mad at you bro. Matter of fact, I'm jamming "The Food" from your cd "Be" as I type this. I understand and appreciate your desire to elevate the "game" and represent another side of the discussion. Like I've stated before, censorship isn't a bandwagon I'm fixing to jump on for NOBODY. I appreciate both the beauty and power of words. And within the proper context, I don't object to the use of even the most vile of them. Now, when they're repeated hurled as weapons and they're used to hurt, malign and defame, that's another story.

So, Common, all I ask is that if you're going to continue to ride with those other clowns and fools, try to steer them away from the gutter and the drainage ditches. And for heaven's sake, if you see that those jokers are about to ride off a cliff or down some other street of no return, step off and tell 'em "later." Keep in mind, "thug solidarity" is what killed Tupac. Ain't no need of you going out like that. And oh, for the record, a lot of sisters, elders and quite a few brothers too have been trying to critique y'all in a spirit of love, but the knuckle-heads and puppet-masters in your crew ain't been trying to hear it. So, now we got to go summon up the ghosts of John Henry, Harriet Tubman and 'Nem and come back at 'em with the Hammer.

So, if nothing else, try to stay true to your own verses Common. Like you say in Chi-City" ... "it's a war going on . . . you can't fake being a soldier" and what's that you and Kanye say in "The Food" . . . "I know I . . . I could make it right, if I could just swallow my pride . . ." That's right C, keep "writing FREEDOM songs for the Real People."

Ben Chavis. I'm disappointed. But then again, maybe I ought not be. Didn't he get run out of the NAACP for improprieties with women? I'd hate to think this was yet another case of the Blind, trying to lead the Blind. But when you KNOW BETTER, aren't you supposed to DO BETTER? Yeah, I guess that's just another one of those things I learned back in the day that folks obvioulsy don't believe in any more.

Henry Louis Gates? Wait, wasn't he one of the chief defenders of the misogynistic filth being spewed by the likes of 2 Live Crew back in the early 90's? Please. With all due respect, he's a part of the problem. An academic hustle, is a hustle, none-the-less.

The only brother who really represented and came correct on Oprah's show yesterday was the attorney, Londell McMillan, the young man who said he'd represented a lot of the rap artists from Lil Kim to Kanye West and all those folks in-between. Big Ups to this brother for his poise, his leadership and his clarity.

Mr. McMillan said there were a lot of responsible parties who needed to be called to the table and held accountable for the misogyny and demeaning imagery in Hip Hop, among them the rappers themselves, producers, label heads, artistic development folks, consumers and radio stations. He dismissed this "oh, but they're poverty stricken and don't know any better" line of bull Simmons and Liles were trying to pitch. Like we don't know some of the worst of these fools come from middle class backgrounds . . .

Anyway, Mr. McMillan mentioned how some artists feel boxed in, obliged and are often aggressively encouraged to go the whole, "nigga, bitch, ho" route in their music. What's that I hear? The resounding echo of a "Whoop, There It Is!" Tell 'em 'bout it LM. In the Good Old USA, money is always the bottom-line. ain't it? The entertainment industry heads have latched onto this whack-azz formula and as long as it's fattening their wallets, they're not about to let it go without a fight.

Mr. Simmons, Mr. Liles and Mr. Chavis . . . it's not about hating Hip Hop. A lot of us love Hip Hop, we're just ready for all the blood-letting, name-calling, half-naked boot-shaking, stripper club behavior, pimping and thuggery to be over and done with. We're just tired of all the lame azz excuses and historically incorrect rationales for why it's okay for Blk men to call Blk women out of their names.

We're just tired of mourning what really and truly could have been a beautiful thing had not a bunch of greedy, opportunistic hustlers been allowed to muck it up. HELL, We're Just Tired . . . SIGH . . .