Friday Night Live

As I contemplate what I can do to fix some of mtrusted music equipment, I am reminded by smartassphone, the lovable crack berry, about an incident I had on a beautiful Friday night, not too long ago...read on...

Friday Night Live...

As I stand alongside my partner, Furious Styles rocking D.C.'s new hotspot Ibiza, I come to the realization that DC is just like anywhere else. C.R.E.A.M. rules only apply. I feel like I'm in some sort of derivative caste system, similar to India. If youre not familiar, it mirrors our "paper bag test" made famous by the Black Bourgeoisie movement of the 20th century. The fairer-skinned individuals receive precedence over those of a darker pigment. Me being chocolate-skinned, I have always been a little miffed at the attention people get JUST because of their pigment. Granted, I've dated all parts of the color spectrum and I find that beauty comes in all shades. But I still see remnants of the "divide and conquer" strategy made popular in the days of legal slavery. Dudes rocking the new "conk" aka Wave Nouveau to give the impression of having "good hair". Yes, people are still saying that shit in the year 2008. As long as dudes get their hair relaxed and girls hit up their local beauty shop for that Indian Silky weave, we will be at the mercy of our shallow perceptions. The launching of a fashion line helmed by actor Boris Kodjoe, has taken the limelight away from the hard working DJ to put it on knee-high boots, peach-colored lining of suits and braggart lines of Egyptian Cotton. Me personally, I am not enthralled by metrosexual men wearing $3000 suits. I like what people like Boris are doing, making Black owned-clothing but at that pricepoint, who can afford that? Rent is due, phone is about to cut off, and I'm not thinking about my $200 shirt. I can admit, I took part in the middle-class meandering of my teen years: being a part of Jack and Jill, pseudo-worship of the Cosby Show and attendance of Morehouse College for my secondary level of education. Yes, I contributed to the ideal of the middle-class and how the presence of the "talented tenth" can help save out people. Granted, the notion of the tenth is platformed ideal which has never really come to fruition. 100 Black Men clubs across the nation have piqued the interest of their respective communities and have made some impact but haven't really made the type of impact that I think they were expected to. So as we sit and enjoy pollo brasa or fried chicken with waffles, we are reminded of the upward struggle of our forefathers and how much hasn't changed in over 100 years. Thanks Lincoln. Thanks Martin. Thanks Malcolm. We miss you and thank you eternally but we are still royally fucked up out here.