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Author name: zyansaeed615

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DIE #summatimeCHI! DIE!

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    This past Sunday was the stuff dreams, at least my dreams, were made of – a peaceful awakening, a slight morning snack, eaten with the knowledge that a big lunch was to happen later, <redacted>, and a nice nap with the windows open.  My homebase is dope.  I aint bragging, it just is – in my living room I have 8-five foot windows that provide a window to the dopest skyline and lakefront in the entire world.   Just looking out my windows will provide you with such emotion its a shame.   On that particular Sunday, with that breeze coming thru, the sun reflecting (refracting?) off the gentle blue brown waters of The Lake Michigan, and a view of all the rooftops downtown Chicago has to offer, I was filled with nothing but dread.  Dread.  Yes. Dread.  Dread because I was reminded of something I once loved, but now hate fervently – #summatimeChi.  Man, just typing that phrase pissed me the hell off.  I get why folks love it, because I used to.  The late nights, the early mornings.  The warm night breezes.  The unearthing of our winter selves.  The smell of the grills.  The picnics and bbqs.  The NBA Finals…well strike that, they dont really matter much anymore around these parts.  I dont know if I aged outta that shit.  If my circle of friends are too small or if my priorities shifted.  But my Fuck Store ran out of stock of #summatimeChi and Im gonna tell you why: 1.  Don’t I know you?   Seriously Black Chicagoans?  Are you still excited about seeing the same damn people at every event?  House Picnic (more on that later). Taste Concerts. 27 backyards. The Gatlings All White Picnic. The Other Place All-Star Softball Game.  Harolds vs. Remus Tug of War Battle in Washington Park.  Let me help you out.  Yesssssssssssssss, I went to WY.  Yesssssssssssssssssssss I know <fake black southside celebrity, extra points if they are from Hyde Park>.  NOOOOOOOOOOO, I didnt use to date <fake black southside celebrity, extra points if they are from Hyde Park>.  Yesssssssssssss, I talk to Matt, he’s fine.  Noooooooooooo, I havent talked to her, you know that while you standing here asking and I dont care if she isnt fine.  Yesssssssssssss, I remember when we used to go up there.  Nooooooooooooo, I dont wanna go back.   My beloved Myalogists, remember when, is the lowest form of conversation — remember when you read this – Tuesday, April 4, 2016, when you inevitably see me at the Labor Day Grown and Sexy Black Midnight Odyssey Cruise. 2.  Facebook posts. I love Sundress season! Gotta get in this gym! How bout while you in the gym or waiting to see her in her sundress – cuz ya thirsty ass aint ever seen an ass before –  you shut the fuck up bout it. Stay on the treadmill/elliptical/stairmaster and pay attention fo’ you fall off or watch with great intensity that TNA jiggle by.  Dedicate yourself to your pursuits instead of booking about them. You write that shit every year.  Women, you still outta shape.  Men, women built like that still don’t want you. 3.  Violence My fair city is off to its deadliest start in nearly two decades and I have NO reason to think things will improve this summer.  A police force that the mayor himself has called anemic. “Poor us!  Who are they, the populace to start capturing our crimes on camera?  We are gonna stop protecting them.  Stop doing our jobs.  That will show them!”  A police chief who said he has never witnessed police misconduct in 27 years on the force.  Relentless block wars.  Such accessibility to guns.  Facebook live turning niggas into ghetto stars who live or die by the camera and social media, requiring us to have even MORE memorial picnics where we will see everyone in life – including him/her who will predictably tell you how they haven’t stopped thinking about you since y’alls 8th grade ribbon pinning ceremony.  Awesome. 4.  Southside/Westside Major Thoroughfare (47th/71st, 79th, Madison, et al) Fashions I live off 47th street.  I was once inspired on one particularly hot #summatimeChi day to write a rap called “Guts, Butts and Lacefronts” — I dont think I need to expound upon this topic.  But I will.  These, whatever variation of the word hoe is being used these days, leave me with no safe place upon where to rest my eyes.  Euroafriruvian weaves in pastel colors.  Lip/face piercings.  Kitchen/Jail Tats.  Ill-fitting bras that give the appearance of three breasts.  Low cut jeans that push up your gut and smother your gooch.  And cheeks.  Rotten stretchmark covered cheeks.  A total and complete BARF-O-RAMA.   5.  The Muthafuckin Catalina Chosen Few House Picnic I hate house music.  I make no secret about it.  Hate it.  Disco appropriated as house, yeah…..Ill drop it midway for those tunes.  But that relentless beating of beats with no words makes me sick.  My hatred may not qualify me to speak on the subject but lack of knowledge or affection aint never stopped me from pontificating before.  What started as a small passionate affair has ballooned into a commerce driven shit show that has folks paying up to $50 to walk thru a dust filled park. (Thats speaks nothing to the hundreds, sometimes thousands of dollars you may have to pay for exclusive packages.)   A dust filled park that has a bottleneck section to which inexplicably traffic is directed.  I legit thought I was gonna die in that bottleneck two years ago. It was hot as Hades, a mofo was walking thru there with a 10 speed schwin – it took what felt like 30 minutes to get thru AND this year, THIS YEAR, they expanded the shit to a whole fucking weekend.  I CANT EVEN.  Lemme say this.  I had SO much fun 10 years ago, when late to the game, I finally arrived.  My 100s fam set it up proper like and

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The Loss of A Legend

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My writing bring all the boys to the yard and they’re like, it’s better than yours.  Damn right, it’s better than yours I could teach you……but you cant teach genius, boo. Today’s guest column is brought to you by the homie, Brendan aka Big aka Big Man aka Socks aka Bree Daddy aka my bruh bruh.  You can usually find him writing some lightweight porn, but he chose to rush the blood to his other head to pontificate on the loss of Phife Di-Dog, who needs no introduction…. Without any further adieu, ado, adew…Brendan? “I’m all that and then some, short dark and handsome/ bust a nut inside ya eye, to show you where I come from……. –Phife Dawg We lost another hip hop legend on 3/23/16 from arguably the greatest hip hop group of all time. Phife Dawg aka the five foot assassin (Malik Isaac Taylor) was the street in A Tribe Called Quest. This little dude brought an epic flow with his high pitched voice and unique metaphors. This one right here, is personal for me. See this group in my mind was THE greatest hip hop group of all time. Not because of record sales, not because of Grammy’s or street cred. This group was the epitome of Hip Hop to me in the Golden Era of hip hop.  They kicked mad flows, had dope beats, wore the flyest gear and spoke about things I as a 16 year old kid could relate to. I remember listening to “The Low End Theory” and thinking these dudes are dope. No raps about drugs or cars or girls, but about life. Beats, Rhymes and life! (See what I did right there). Phife had the dope custom jersey’s (The Seton Hall joint was banana’s), and the illest skills in the group. “I like my beats hard like two day old shit……” WHAT!!?? Gritty videos on the streets of New York made me like these cats even more. It looked like my block. They wore what I wore. I wanted to do a video on the rooftop of the cleaners on 47th and Indiana because of these dudes. No hype man, no huge entourage, just skills. Back then hip hop didn’t make you see the artist as entertainers, but as cats you knew, or cats who your boys knew. They spoke about things we did. Damn right I made sure that “before I get the butt the Jim must be erect!” Now I’m sure my mom wasn’t feeling that last line but my boys loved it! Tribe called Quest wasn’t pretentious, made up, (Phife and Q Tip met at the age of 2) or planted by the major labels. They were just two cats and a DJ with skills. And my generation respected that more than anything. And speaking of skills………… Phife Dawgs so called coming out party was “Bugging Out” on their second album “The Low End Theory”. This album was special to me because I grew up in what is called the Low End of Chicago. But this was the first time we heard Phife really display his skills on the mic.” Yo, microphone check one, two, what is this? The five foot assassin with the roughneck business/ I float like gravity, never had a cavity/Got more rhymes than the Winans got family” You know how many rhymes this cat must have to have MORE rhymes that the Winans got family? That’s a big ass family! Take THAT Drake! Unfortunately, fame, money, ego and “The Industry” sent A Tribe Called Quest through a myriad of issues. The group broke up after its fifth major label album and it was never the same after that. Phife Dawg was well documented as a diabetic and struggled with the disease. Q Tip moved on to do solo projects but never reached the heights of his former group. Ali Shaheed, probably the least heralded member of the group, did what most DJ’s do, continued to spin records. Fast forward to 2008 and Phife underwent a kidney transplant due to complications from diabetes. His wife was the donor and it seemed like Phife was on his way to better health and maybe even bless us with A Tribe Called Quest reunion album. But you can’t catch lightening in a bottle. You can’t recreate the past. While the group did shows and toured, partially to help Phife with medical bills, it was never the same. This is indeed the end of an era, one of the greats has passed and not from gun violence, but from complications from medical issues we’ve known about since day 1. It’s a bit surreal and almost unheard of for hip hop entertainers in this day and age. Ohh and in case some young kid is reading this like “So what, he was just an old rapper”. Dude if it wasn’t for this cat and his group, you wouldn’t know who Busta Ryhmes is………..Respect is due! RIH Phife Dawg. A-yo Bo knows this (what?) and Bo knows that (what?) But Bo don’t know jack, cause Bo can’t rap Well what do you know, the Di-Dawg, is first up to bat No batteries included, and no strings attached No holds barred, no time for move faking Gots to get the loot so I can bring home the bacon Brothers front, they say the Tribe can’t flow But we’ve been known to do the impossible like Broadway Joe so Sleep if you want NyQuil will help you get your Z’s, troop But here’s the real scoop I’m all that and then some, short dark and handsome Bust a nut inside your eye, to show you where I come from I’m vexed, fuming, I’ve had it up to here My days of paying dues are over, acknowledge me as in there (yeah!) Head for the border, go get a taco Watch me wreck it from the jump street, meaning from the get-go Sit back relax and let yourself go Don’t sweat what

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Its a Bird, Its a Plane, Its SUPER TUESDAY!

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Editors Note:  I’ve had to edit this post as some horrid nosey people at my job have sadly discovered my blog.  And since I need to work, I’d rather edit, than have to defend my work, at least until I dont have to work.  Thanks.   Whaddup dudes and dudettes? Couple questions.  Do you love news?  Do you love politics?  Do you love elections?  Have you ever wondered what goes on in a newsroom?  Have you ever wondered what goes on in a newsroom on election night? Yep?  COOL, cuz Im bout to tells ya. NO?  Well, sit next to me and partake of this tall glass of Shut The Fuck Up and be quiet while I talk to the intelligent WOKE people. As some of you know, I work for a local news operation, which shall not be named EVER on this blog and who does not share nor endorse my views. Stick a pin in that info as you will need it as you move forward in the sharing of my life. 3pm:  I arrive.  A hush falls over my co-workers as the most beautiful black woman they have ever seen with an 8 week old dandruff laden crochet job and incredibly gorgeous Jesus delivered brows and eyelashes enters the room. 3:15pm:  Nick’s ass walks up to me, doesnt say hello and asks if I know what time the pizza is arriving. I passively aggressively dismiss him in a way that has him apologizing to me for the rest of the night.  NOTE:  FOOD IS THE MOST IMPORTANT COMMODITY IN A NEWSROOM. Cameras go out? Cool.  Printers down, no worries.  Anchors on air drunk?  We can handle that!  Pizza’s gonna be late.  PACK IT UP!  We out this bitch. 4pm:  Surfing the web to see what idiots and geniuses are posting on The Book, which is where I live. So many ‘I voted’ receipts.  So many.  So many pontificators. So many.  So many political analysts that dont know that today is a primary day.  Nothing except electoral votes will be won.  Pretty sure as of this writing some of them think Donald Trump became president last night. 4:30pm – eternity:  meeting with <REDACTED>, who explains she wants me to log speeches along with updating poll numbers and put out various fires that may arise.  She took the time to explain what logging means, as I did not go to school for 12 years for a MASS MEDIA ARTS degree, apparently.  AND does my favorite thing, which is to explain a simple ass task, repeatedly using different words and phrases, to explain the same damn point. 5:00pm:  meeting with Web Producer who takes 3 minutes to explain a way more difficult task, with the assumption that we can read the notes and make it work.  ME LIKE WEB PRODUCER.  WEB PRODUCER SMART.  WEB PRODUCER THINK ME SMART. 5:15pm:  Nick is happy, as there is no longer a need to worry about when the food will arrive.     6:00pm:  The cesspool known as Florida aka My mothers birthplace aka Stand ya groundland (not linking to that bitch ass) aka Marissa Alexander’s captor aka Hanging Chad  Avenue aka the place that aint shit but rednecks cept the SoBe (shouts out to Cocaine Biceps), has closed the polls.  It was only about 1% in at the time, but it was already a fucking landslide.  Dude won and I believe Monica’s dip’s wife won as well.   Marco Rubio figured out what the rest of us knew from the start….his beginning was his end.  OUTTA THERE.  Campaign Suspended.  (suspended…thats cute) The numbers provided by the Associated Press (AP), which we were using to supply our viewers with info, were rapidly changing. So much so, it was hard to constantly update.  Me and my compadre in arms, Nora, looked alot like this: The rest of the states slowly trickled in.  Missouri, Ohio, That place, That other place, The place over there, that spot and home sweet home, Illinois, which lets be honest is all I really gave a fuck about and one race in particular. 7:45 Polls been closed for about an hour at this point, except for Kendall County, which predictably ran out of Democratic Ballots.  PAUSE:  while we are at this point in the story, why are separate ballots needed?  Just list all that shit on one page, trust that I can read and comprehend simple things unlike my <REDACTED> believes and lets stop killing extra trees, K? UNPAUSE.  Our political editor started screaming so loudly that the walls shook.  He was raving about how The Bern got a court order to keep the polls open an extra hour due to the fuckery!!!!!!  I thought we were going to perform CPR on him if he yelled ONE more time. 8:00pm The race being watched round the world or at least Cook County Illinois:  The Foxx vs Ol Girl.  At first look, I almost started footworking, which is amazing, cuz I dont dance and Im old, cuz in the race for Cook County States Attorney, Kim Foxx, the (Black) peoples champ was doing to Ol Girl what The Gimp did to Ving Rhames.  GLORY!!!! But wait, inexplicably, her numbers are dropping.  WHAT IN THE ENTIRE EFF?  The phones started ringing off the hook.  SOMEONE GET AP (thats associated press incase your reefah addled brain doesnt remember that from earlier in the post) on the phone!!! AP gets on the phone and tells us something is screwy and to sit tight. 8:15pm:  More pizza.  Another Pop.  Bathrooom break.  Give manfriend the silent treatment, while being on the phone with him, then refuse a ride home. (will it ever end?) 8:20pm:  Someone yells, Mya!  Will you log Donald Trumps speech?  He’s on!  WAIT JUST A GOT DAMN MINUTE.   First you tell me to be at work at 7a to field produce the Barbershop cast surprising the kids at urban prep, then tell me you dont need me when I coulda stayed sleep.

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Oscar on the Rocks, Hold the Bullshit.

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man the fucking internet makes me so fucking mad, which is probably not new information. Everybody got a fucking opinion about everydamnthing. (yeah, I know) I wanted to slit my fucking (what is that the fourth fuck of the post?) wrists wide open Monday morning.  Fucking (5th) think pieces from colored people across the land that was POSED TA BE boycotting the Oscars. He made racism a joke! Aint nothing funny bout hanging from a tree! He aint takin up for Mexicans! He made an Asian joke!  Thats’s racist! He came for a black woman!  Dont come for Jada unless she sends for you! (can we all agree to retire that one?) I aint even watch five seconds of the fucking (6th and last, maybe) shit and I feel as if i know all the jokes, but none of the winners, which I dont care about CEPT BAE.  BAE won, y’all. FINALLY.  Please make me famous,so I can meet him and we can become The Guiness record holders for oldest parents. Ahem…WHO, WHAT, WHERE, WHEN, and WHY, Sway?  Why everybody gotta dissect the hell out of the man’s monolouge?  Why Tyrese black ass gotta have something to say?  Shouldn’t he be busy telling Black women why they are habitually single and angry?  If you qualified to tell me whats wrong with me, and lets be honest, that list is long, why aint you smart enough to UNDERSTAND A FUCKING (7th, I tried tho) JOKE. Exhausting. I aint even finna keep talmbout us talking bout us, cuz this morning, two days after the Oscars, I came across a great piece talking bout the others. On The Academy’s inherent exclusionary caucasity, Christopher Rock said, “It’s not the racist you’re accustomed to. Hollywood is sorority racist, like, ‘We like you, Rhonda, but you’re not a Kappa.” I would like to say I was gobsmacked….but, I wasn’t.  Very little suprised me in a world where we holding mock slave auctions for high school students like it’s cool.  But these lil heffas, here?  Only thing suprising here is Stacey Dash isn’t a tweeting Kappa. So unaware.  So smug.  So stupid.  Kappa Kappa Gamma must be the only Sorority in the World with Kappa in its name.  Cuz white people are the only people in the world, if you look at the Academy Awards. As I always (twice) do, I check in with my fave and yours, Tone to see what’s got him tuned up on a Tuesday – turns out, his black ass watched the Oscars…maybe, but he def has an opinion on it. Tone? #OscarsSoWhite  #OscarsBeenSoWhite #ChrisRockStillBlack   Let me just say that I personally don’t watch the Oscars. IMO it has never been a show that offered anything that persons of color would enjoy. Unless you are heavily into obscure movies with subtitles that only made $14.00 worldwide at the Box office. So the recent #OscarsSoWhite furor confuses me because the show has always been the same. At any rate,  the #OscarsSoWhite thing was something to crow about this year and who better than to preside over the festivities than everyone’s favorite on screen crackhead (apologies to Samuel L. Jackson) Chris Rock. Chris is a funny dude and his social and political satire is typically dead on. The whole #OscarsSoNotEbony  “controversy” would surely give him plenty of ammo.  It was enough to make me almost end my 40 year boycott of  #OscarsSoAngloSaxon and check out his shtick. But alas, it was not to be. The Oscars come on the same day as #TheWalkingDeadSoWhite and at least there is a black zombie or 3 to cheer for or against depending upon whose side you are on in the zombie apocalypse. (that’s another article though) So I wake up the next day after my zombie fix and I see that Twitter is abuzz with reviews of Chris Rocks performance. Most people were generally complimentary but I saw some outrage  about Chris monologue. So I went ahead and found video clips of what he said. I’m confused about what people are outraged about.  He stated that Hollywood is racist and don’t do enough to promote diversity. Ummm, this is true. (I’m still mad that Booty Call didn’t get nominated back in the day personally).  There were people upset that he used nearly the entire monologue to discuss #OscarsSoIvory. What else was he going to discuss??  The fact that ¾ of us have never or will never see most of the movies that win at  the Oscars. They brought Chris in there because they knew he could capably navigate the subject and keep us entertained. Mission Accomplished. They were especially mad that he riffed on Jada Pinkett Smith and said she wasn’t even invited. I personally thought this was funny too.  And true. Plus Jada didn’t need to come anyway because she needs to spend some more time at home with her kids helping them remember what gender they are. Well that’s all for now. Until the next time people are fake mad about something. Thanks for the memories Chris. Special shout to Clorox Bleach for their continued sponsorship of the Academy awards.  

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And Now a Word on Blackyonce

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By this late date, you are more than aware that Beyonce has instantly become the most black woman, dare I say person, in America.  She got on the world stage where the previous blackest title holder was Janet’s nip.  She done told yall that she likes Blue’s hair in an Afro, even tho that doesn’t explain why she sometimes likes it with lint in it, but I digress.  (im not linking to that picture, she’s a child, a beautiful lil black one for chrissakes, but Im a lowlife at times so if you wanna see it, hit me up in the DM, where it goes down).  She single handedly saved one of the most important black institutions in America, The Red Lobster. That alone should grant her instant savior status.  Where else would yall go after church, graduations, baptisms, the mall, exorcisms, a lover’s quarrel, a clean pap smear, etc.  And although Im not a member of the vaunted Beyhive, I picked up what she put down, with that Formation move.  Luckily for me and for those of you that pretend that you liked that song, I got to see the video sans music, cuz I was in a ghetto ass shop on Ashland doing something almost as black as that video – getting my hair crochet-did.  That shit was black as fuck.  BLM.  Afros.  Nostrils.  NOLA.  Katrina.  POLICE brutality. Made me think bout Kanye for a moment, when he was still black post-Katrina, then I felt dirty, repented and stopped.  I have my thoughts on the timing of the release followed immediately by high as giraffe ladyparts concert tickets RIGHT AROUND TAX TIME, but I aint in attendance for me today.  I am in attendance for one of the funniest folks I know, one Antonio Bealer.  I asked that negro what he thought.  One question.  What do you think about Beyonce…and this nword wrote a dissertation in my inbox!  Hivers….go away.  You wont be happy. Antonio? On Sunday as I was watching Cameron J. Newton and Co. lay down and let the already insufferable Manning family add another ring to their collection, (Why Black Jesus, why?) a popular singer named Beyonce Knowles (you may have heard of her once or twice) debuted a song that made a political statement during halftime. While singers using these platforms to make political statements is nothing new, this was a whole new world for the singer who previously pioneered the art of surfboarding and leading packs of single women to dance around in a circle celebrating their single-ness while she went home to her husband every night. Needless to say, it caused quite a firestorm.  Sometime between the end of the game and now despite her brief experience as a freedom fighter she has been installed as the new leader of Black Panther 2K16 by the powers that be and there have been oh so many social media battles between us peasants about Queen Bees motives, impact and how anybody who didn’t agree with what she did is a hater. SMFH.  So I’d like to take a moment to say…. STOP IT. All of you. Stop right now.  Stop it to all those who thinks that somehow Beyonce has channeled her inner Angela Davis and is gonna somehow inspire others to finally recognize that Black Lives do indeed MATTER. If I need someone to inspire women to drink large quantities of Ciroc and profess their love for “bae” or to eloquently throw their man out the house while only making left turns and leaving the keys to the Jag because she bought that, Then Beyonce will be the 1st person I turn to. When it comes to making anthems for ladies to follow (even tho she herself probably wouldn’t) she is indeed the queen. As Winnie Mandela 2.0 im not really buying what she’s selling. I for one just find it to be far too coincidental that this outburst came just as tickets for the Look at Me Stand Up for Yall Now When These Tickets Go On sale Tour went on sale.  I say stop it to the media and government officials in America and abroad who are calling for boycotts and investigations into her alleged “Black Panther” ties.  Are yall serious right now? Did yall listen to this song.  I didn’t know whether to go lie down on an expressway in protest or head to Red Lobster with a bottle of hot sauce  for some of those Cheddar Biscuits. The song was dumb as hell and although I don’t know her personally I’m gonna say her ties to an militant groups, ummm don’t exist. Unless you get the girls she dissed in destiny’s Child back together. Now there’s some black rage there. A double stop it to all the people who think EVERYTIME somebody doesn’t agree with one of their superhero’s (oh yes the Queen is an Avenger) that they are a hater. Beyonce and Jay are shrewd business people and had to have known that this mini controversy would generate publicity that no marketing campaign ever could. Furthermore, those performances are on tape delay. If what she sang was so bad, they would have NEVER aired it to 111 million people worldwide.  Its ok to have divergent opinions people. If you love Beyonce and she inspires you to do better than so be it. Do you.  Love on Top made me wanna change my life too. So I get it. But if you like me, think this was a shrewd publicity stunt, then theres nothing wrong with that. You shouldn’t have to be attacked on social media by the Beehive for dissing the Queen. They have a right to be angry after seeing those tickets prices for the On the Run From The Man Tour. At any rate. Stop. Enjoy the Show. Because that’s all it is. READ IT.  LIKE IT?  SHARE IT!

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Real as a Three Dollar Bill

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Growing up, I was a tv addict.  I think that I even wrote that about myself in the About Me section of this blog no one reads.  I watched every freaking thing. The Love Boat.  The Smurfs.  Dynasty on the phone with my friend Nile, which is why we call each other Fallon and Sable to this day.  Jenny Jones.  Morton Downey. Rickey Lake. Sally Jessy.  Donahue.  See where Im going?  At some point talk shows became my favorite. And aside from the “Geek to Chic”, “I was a one, now Im fun” makeovers and the paternity tests, two things were prominently featured: PSYCHICS and HYPNOTISTS. Psychic would sit up and tell an audience member  “Mama, says the lotion is in the basket” and said person would burst into tears like “Only my mama, would know the lotion is in the basket!  Shando!”  And I would be sitting there in tears  with them like “Damn!  This shit is real! I wanna go on the show.” Then I would fall to my knees and pray I would meet this woman:   Then we have our Hypnotists.  They would tell a person they were getting sleepy and mofos appeared to be sleepy.  Then they would be made to bark like dog, hop on one leg and marry Prince Akeem.  And I would be like “Damn, this shit is real.  I wanna go on the show.”  So, when the opportunity presented itself….when the universe answers your prayers, you put on ya big girl panties, throw caution to the wind, and walk into your destiny.   My Fairy Godmother Adina, a segment producer at the gig, has made both of my dreams come true.  She has come to me twice  in the 2016th year of our Lord (is that right? I never know) and asked me if I want to be on our morning show.  Once to get a psychic reading, once to be hypnotized.  I’ve posted both of these videos on my Facebook page, and the response I got the most was “was it real?”  Seriously….if I had a dollar for every time someone asked that, I’d have a hot 50 bucks, cuz that’s how cracking my facebook be.  BE JEALOUS. This post, will reveal the pure unadulterated truth. My Psychic Reading (Exhibit A):  Thomas John is a world renowned psychic, medium and clairvoyant. He’s also a published author and life coach….at least that’s what our website says.  About 7 of my co-workers and I filed onto the stage, with me being particularly careful and strategic about making sure I was standing right next to him (sorry kristin), so his focus would be on me.  Mission Accomplished.  He turns to me and says “Im sensing you lost a woman”  REAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLY?  Im sitting up with smile lines, hanging jowls, and gray hair and you really know I lost a woman in my life?  MAGIC!   “A grandmother, perhaps?”  WHAT WITCHCRAFT IS THIS?  HOW DO YOU KNOW THIS?  IS SHE HERE?  “You guys were very close. She lived with you right?”  UMMMMM, NANA LIVED IN DETROIT, BUT THATS KINDA CLOSE, JUST SMILE MYA, UR ON TV.  “She wants you to know, she is always with you.”  AWWW, THATS NICE, MAYBE NOT TRUE, BUT IM COOL WITH WALKING ROUND THINKING IT.  “She had breathing, issues, correct?”  NOT REALLY, NO.  “oh so maybe that’s you” he said to the girl next to me, before moving on to her.  He briefly returned to me to tell me a promotion or growth in my position was imminent.  AND WHO THE FUCK DOESNT WANT TO BELIEVE THAT?  Real Factor: 0.  Unless I get a promotion, which could be filed under a self fulfilling prophecy, which would bring the real factor to .5   Watch for yourself right here: http://www.fox32chicago.com/mornings/70477628-story   That time I was hypnotized, or was I (O_0)? (Exhibit B): Colin Christopher was his name.  He was on the show to discuss a book he’d written about hypnotizing yourself  or something or dating or something.  I couldnt really be counted on to care, cuz I was too excited about the possibility of making a fool of myself on the local news.  Prior to the segment, we found a quiet place to conduct our session.  He explained to me the basics of hypnotism, and the varying times it could take a person to go under.  He worked on me for about 10 minutes prior to the show.  Telling me to imagine myself being enveloped by different colors, different temperatures. Honestly, after all that, I was a little groggy, but im not sure if thats cuz he was taking over my brain, or becuz it was 8am and my eyes had been closed alot.  So we go to the set.  The conversation turns to me.  He commands me, “SLEEP”.  PAUSE.  Now, at this moment, I have a choice.  Embarrass the hell out of this man, or play along.  Play along it is.  We went into the exercises of hotness, extreme hotness, which interesting enuff, I felt. He told me to imagine I was on a beach and it was hot as hell and the more I fanned myself, the hotter I got.  It got hot as hell on the set, but there are approximately 98578365783578326598327589273589 lights in the studio, so it coulda been that.  Then he told me to imagine I was cold…sitting on a block of ice cold…and to shiver..and the more I shivered the colder I got.  Now, at this point, I am still playing along.  He commanded me “UP” or something and I came back like “what’d I miss? sike”  The host asked how I felt, blah blah blah, I cracked on his ass (SEE TIMELOG: 3:08 on the vidya), blah blah blah..and segment over.  We leave the studio and Colin sits me down and tells me he needs to bring be back down.  “BACK DOWN FAH WAHT”  I aint even go nowhere.  But he does some nanoo nanoo presto chango and Im back supposedly.  Now you can

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2/1 News You Can Use

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Since Im waiting on Tone and have nothing better to do, I thought I’d do a blog post, since I pay for this domain name and shit. Hey black people!  While we arguing bout rapey old black men and dueling baby mommas of a never was rap star, Congress was further disenfranchising you! Here’s it is: Trecretashionvaris goes to buy a benz on his administrative assistant salary.  Benzo sends his deets to the bank.  Bank tells benzo “we only gonna hit him with a 8% interest rate, but if you wanna make some more money on your end make it 12%.”  Benzo 1 looks at Benzo 2 and says “wait, he’s a darkie, hit him with that 16% so we can make MORE MONEY MORE MONEY MORE MONEY!” The homies over at CFPB (The Consumer Financial Protection Bureau) said : “wait a minute muthafuckas! yall gotta stop overcharging our nubian brothers and sisters and other “persons of color”, and if you dont, you better make sure you charge everyone the same interest rate.”  The dealers said “talmbout same interest rate.  fuck you mean. wait thats too hard, we cant be expected to treat car shoppers equally.  Lobbyist do your job!  Create a bill allowing us to continue to be discriminatory.  Tell Congress we need help robbing people!”  And Congress heard their plea, looked into their clear eyes and strong hearts, and answered their call. Here are the Illinois Democrats that sold us out.  (sorry other states, you have to look it up for yourself.) 8th District – Tammy “UP FOR 2016 RE-ELECTION” Duckwork – 847.413.1959 17th District – Cheryl “Cheri UP FOR 2016 RE-Election” Bustos – 202.225.5905 11th District Bill Foster – 630.585.7672 3rd District Dan Lipinski – 708.424.0853 5th District Mike Quigley – 773.267.5926 AND IN CASE YOU DONT KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE: Do with all of this information what you will. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/democrats-car-dealers-racism_us_564e440ae4b0258edb30ba10 ************************************************************************************************************************************** Flint. Poor, poor Flint.  By know we all know whats going on in that poor town.  And there are several people that should be in jail, much like here in our beloved Chicago, but I digress. The water is fucked.  The people are fucked.  The town is fucked.  What you probably didnt know, is that way before the water was undrinkable, unbathable etc, the town was being used for fucking target practice.  YEPPERS.  Michael Moore, the peoples champ and official #feelthebern-er, wrote an article about the 10 things we dont know about Flint.  Horrifyingly enough he wrote about how the town was being used for two years as target pratice.  Unnanounced  military exercises were taking place “complete with live ammo – GRENADES AND SHIT – and explosives” inside city limits!   Yep.  This would be the perfect time to go find Yeezus and ask him to talk about folks not caring about black people, but Yeezus is dead. RIP. (shouts out to all the Chi-Towners doing their part during the Flint water crisis.  I see you.  So does the Good Lord. http://ecowatch.com/2016/01/30/michael-moore-flint/   ************************************************************************************************************************************** EL CHAPO Is in jail.  He did not escape.  I wish I was surpised at how often I saw this article shared on social media, but Im not.  The fake site did a good job this time as it presented itself with a url very close to abcnews’s, but……. From the “about us” section of the website:  Do you have a complaint? We love to hear them! You can call our complaint department directly at (785) 273-0325. Do you have a problem with self-rape? Are you looking to get off the Devil’s playground?Fappy The Anti-Masturbation Dolphin can help! Praise Fappy!   FAPPY. THE. ANTI. MASTURBATION. DOLPHIN.   And y’all believed that shit.      

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What’s My Favorite Word?

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I fucking love hip hop.  I don’t love all rap music.  But I fucking love hip hop.  I suspect many people that are celebrating or have celebrated the 20th anniversary of their 20th birthday share my sentiments.  I’ve seen that conflict rear its head again with the release of the oh-so-EPIC Straight Out of Compton, a biopic chronicling the, awwww, fuck that shit, you know who and what the movie is about.  I loved that fucking movie.  I fucking love them people.  I fucking love Cube – and his fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine assed son.  I fucking love Dre.  I fucking love Ren.  I fucking love Yella (not really, just stick with me).  And I fucking love EAZY. I still remember being over KT’s house listening to Boyz N The Hood, ON CASETTE, with the door locked, under the covers – cuz was there any other way for some pre-teens to be listening to that shit?  After one particularly scandalous line, I turned to KT and said “Did you hear what the fuck he said?”  Cursing wasn’t new to my ears, nor mouth, but to hear it said so brazenly in the form of music certainly was.  And with that prepubescent voice of Eric’s tugging at my heart, I fell in love with N.W.A.    Straight Outta Compton, Eazy Duz It, AmeriKKKa’s Most Wanted, 100 Miles and Runnin’, Death Certificate (PERFECTION!) and E.F.I.L.4.Z.A.G.G.I.N., the beloved soundtrack to my senior year of  high school.  Things happened, people fought, people died, people left, people came – but nothing could take away the impact they had on my life, and the culture at large.  Murrica never saw anything like them before.  Young, brash, bold, unapologetically BLACK and telling their story in their words.   FUCK THA POLICE.  WHAAAAAAAAAAT?  YASSSSSSSSSSSS! The most dangerous group indeed. Approaching my 40th year on this thang, sadly and righteously, I still find reason to yell that sentiment.  Them boys were SO ahead of their time, so prophetic, so revolutionary, if only they hadn’t called me a bitch 5,000 times while they were introducing the masses to the strength of street knowledge.  Cue the conflict.  I can appreciate, in totality, their contribution to the culture.  But I also acknowledge, in totality, their detriment to it as well.  Them niggas done ensured that my grandson’s grandsons will proudly proclaim they a nigga and you a nigga and she’s a nigga, and that we some niggas and then will turn around and ask someone if they would like to be a nigga too. Them niggas done ensured that my granddaughter’s granddaughters will be called bitches, hoes, sluts, cee you next Tuesdays and will likely call each other that, as a fucking term of endearment.  They helped to ensure that black women are seen as objects, to be fucked, disrespected, BEAT(s by Dre) and tossed aside – to not even be the sum total of their parts. Ain’t none of that shit cool. And when I think about the effects of this music that are still being visited upon us today, it cuts deeply.  Black women and men are at war – largely – with each other.  No community can rise with that type of dissention in the ranks.   And Old Mya struggles with them attitude having niggas, whereas Young Mya would have just said that Old Mya just didn’t get it.  Both would be right.  There is no resolve to my inner conflict with these dudes. One thing’s for certain though, when it’s 90’s hip hop day in the old folks home and the song says “What’s My Favorite Word?” I’m going to scream that shit.  LOUDLY.   #StraightOuttaCompton #Rap #HipHop #Movie #DrDre #IceCube #Eazy-E #NWA  

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So Easily Distracted

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I am lazy.   I have an unquestionable talent.  It’s unquestionable because not one person that I meet in the realm of what I am talented in, will let an opportunity pass without telling me how talented I am.  But I am lazy without question as well.  They also tell me that.  This blog should be full.  Every month should have at least 20 posts in it.  I should blog everyday.  I work in a newsroom.  Im not without source material.  Im on the internet allllllls fucking day.  Im not without source material.  I talk to folks from all walks of life.  Im not without source material.  But, Im lazy….and probably a bit afraid to walk into my destiny or find out everyone has been lying to me.  Along with my laziness, I can also get very distracted.  When I think about sitting down to write something, I inevitably think of  other things I would like to be, which takes me away from the task of writing.   I would like to be, in no particular order….a flight attendant, a writer, an actress, a singer, a comedian, Mrs. Urlacher, Mrs. Long, Mrs. Chadwick, a chef, a focus group moderator, a host, a socialite, a Lotto winner, a mom, a social anarchist, an avenger, a bartender and the woman of the manor on a large plot of land in Cuba where I will wander aimlessly, barefoot in a maxidress, suckling a sugar cane, while  taking sips of my homemade exquisite caipirhinia – fuck.  I can drink that word, but I can never spell it.  Oh well. So distraction is a problem as far as my personal goals and aspirations is concerned, but thats about the only space in which I am distracted.  Im pretty dope at multitasking.  I planned a boss assed retirement party for mi madre, while going thru a soul crushing breakup.  I was able to care about a family member’s incarceration, while still enjoying Power.  Believe it or not, I wrote said person a letter WHILE I was watching Power. And one time I was talking to said person annnnnnnnnnnnnnnd watching power.  BOOM! POW!  PING!  PEW-PEW!  I sat in the Amy Winehouse documentary and figured out what I was having for dinner.  I wanted our girls brought back whilst hoping for our girls and boys to not be killed in my hometown.  Yeah, Im that deal.   I was participating in my favorite masochistic activity – perusing Facebook – this morning, when I became inspired to write.  This column has been brewing for a while, but the desire became action because of Aubrey, my boy TJ and an idiot friend of his.  Thanks idiot friend*.  You have pushed me into this morning’s destiny.  This fool is one of the ones who sit on high – OWSOH (oh’-sew) is how I will forever refer to them.  (did I just coin a catchword?  Its catchword a word?)  The Owsohs would have you believe you cant pay attention to more than one thing at a time.  That you are as simple of brain as they.  It’s how they get to feel good about themselves and whatever the fuck they care about or stand for….barf. Exhibit A:     TJ dared to post about Drake now pissing on the grave on the already dead and buried Meek Mills (as you and your cousins like to call him) and one of the Owsoh’s took the time to call “DISTRACTION”.  As the kids say, such a boring and lazy read.  This man, who writes FOR A LIVING, whose job it is to be informed, is – or his fb pals are – being distracted by a fucking rap battle.  Weren’t you able to find this meme and breathe out your mouth at the same time like other idiots?  Im sorry, forgive me, but I aint sorry.  The Owsohs are so condescending, that they deserve my disdain.  An Owsoh told me to dig deeper when I questioned why people persisted with the “Sandra Bland is Dead in her Mugshot” campaign. Which is exactly what I thought she should have done when challenging me.  I think it even more strongly now that we have video of her WALKING INTO THE JAIL, and her mugshots being taken.  This Owsoh, also challenged me on The Cos.  Said he wasnt convicted, so he’s not guilty.  I told her, Zimmerman wasnt convicted in a court of law, but we know he is a murdered.  She told me, “I dont know anything about Zimmerman.”  Owsoh, you oh so….not worth my time.  They tell us we cant pay attention to and comment on pop culture and care that our brothers and sisters are being murdered by the ones sworn to protect us.  They tell us that we should question the timing of Bill Cosby’s legacy tarnishment and not the over 30 years of non-convictable rapes he visited upon young girls.  The homegirl Mama Akila organizes a Chicken Crawl in honor of her most favorite food, but rallied a stunning seek and destroy mission of a woman who dared to insult the dignity of a black woman and her children who were simply enjoying a day at the beach and had the nerve to splash a white woman who was sitting at the water’s edge.  Pretty sure if the Owsoh’s only saw Akilahs posts about chicken, they would call her distracted as well. And then they would be in trouble….. Im tired kids, tired of black folks dying, black folks crying and other folks lying, annnnnnnnnnnnd Im writing this at <redacted>, with what feels like 100 eyes on me, so Im gonna close this out with this screencap, which perfectly captures my mood, thoughts and fux about Owsohs.   Yes, my beloved Deray….you are magic.  So am I.  Continue to multitask.  Now, Im really gonna go before I forget to post this due to the re-emergence of the Ice Bucket Challenge, cuz yes…thats a thing and a distraction.   *Writers note:  Dear

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Ain’t she a woman? No. But She Plays One on TV and Twitter.

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One of my best friends in the world, Gee,  is an incredibly brilliant, resilient, worldly man, wise and valuable to me beyond measure – and he and I agree on absolutely nothing.  I mean nothing. He probably wouldn’t even agree with that description of him I just wrote.  Conversely,  if he says up, I’m gonna fucking say down with all the great vengence and furious anger of Jules Winnfield. Today’s impasse came courtesy of Ms. Mo’ne Davis, WHO I WROTE ABOUT IN MY LAST BLOG YOU DID NOT READ.  In my LAST BLOG POST YOU DID NOT READ NOR COMMENT ON, NOR SHARE, NOR LIKE ON FUCKING FACEBOOK FOR CHRISSAKES IT ONLY TAKES A MINUTE FUCKAS. YALL SWEAR I NEED MY OWN SHOW OR SHOULD WRITE A FUCKING BOOK BUT WONT EVEN SHARE THE FUCKING POST I TAKE THE TIME TO SHARE WITH YOU FUCKING LIARS!!!!  Ahem, in my last post I wrote about all the moves this phenomenal young lady is making.   Making history, writing books, film consultation, design and philanthropy, just to name a few of her, what Nene would call ACK-YOU-LAIDS.  Since I wrote that article, a person I will only refer to henceforth as Fuck Tard took  to his twitter to call her something you don’t call a 13 year old girl even if she is acting like one.  A 13 year old is a child.  Even a black 13 year old.  I’m not gonna repeat that shit and I’m happy to report that a number of the media outlets I enjoy didn’t report it either, so if you wanna know what it is, you gonna have to look it up yourself.   Only thing that moved swifter than Mr. Tard removing his tweet was his school’s president removing his dumb ass from his collegiate baseball team.   Instead of Fuck having to go on an “I’m Sorry If” tour, the media sought out our baby for a response – Our 13 year old baby.  At 13 I was asking God if he was there, and figuring out a way to “must increase my bust” (hey judy), instead of commenting on national affairs and social issues.   But, whatevs, the media called and she answered. Because she is the class act and the role model that many of our male black athletes feel they don’t have to be, she took the high road – cuz what other road would she take?  She forgave him for his actions and said everyone makes mistakes. Cool.  Good answer, lil mama.  She then went on to say SHE felt bad that HE got dismissed and she wrote the school to ask that he be reinstated.  *cue the bride music* That last bit pissed me the fuck off.  This reeks of extending a hand in love – sideeye.  Of forgiving your rapist because he’s not strong enough to control his impulses.  Of forgiving your child’s murderer because he was just doing his duty protecting his neighborhood.  And I don’t like the smell of that shit. However, I have a tendency to overreact to things and because I know he is often on the other side of the spectrum, I hit up Gee and asked what he thought of that, already knowing what he thought.  He didn’t disappoint. He said all the shit we all know.  She’s perfect. Birthed from babies breath and angel tears. Class Act. Mature beyond her years.  I then asked if she should have asked that Tard be re-instated.  He said yes, again, because 1. it would never happen and 2. brilliant pr – it makes Fuck look a million times worse than he looked on his own.  Cool.  While I don’t agree, I don’t disagree.  We ended the convo with him telling me I was Malcolm.  Fine…good night Martin. This morning I awoke to read that Damon over at Very Smart Brothers shared my view.  I tagged Gee in the post.  Reliably he found fault with it and challenged me. “No excuse for what that dude said!! It’s sad and gross to say the least. Here’s my question though. On TV, how are Black women portrayed? Name 5 of the Top shows with black women leading. What are they doing? Let that sink in.” I love my friend.  Honestly.  But I wanna implore him and everyone else to kill the black woman on television narrative. Ask me to talk about Shonda Rhimes, not Olivia Pope.  Ask me to talk about Tamron Hall, not Mary Jane. Ask me to talk about Cathy Hughes, not Cookie.  Ask me to talk about Loretta Lynch, not Annalise.  Ask me to talk about Michelle Obama and not ‘Bow. See Mo’ne is a real little girl.  A real live living person like Shonda, Tamron, Cathy, Loretta and Michelle. People that go out in the world everyday as a black woman which Mo’ne has been forced to do to early. Women who I talk to my nieces and lil cuzzins about. Those other people are just characters, more prevalent possibly because they are fed into our homes, but imaginary none the less. But since I’ve been tasked and I am the Playa President of The Mya Seals debate team, who am I not to follow thru? 1. Olivia Pope.  A prominent D.C. Fixer.  Got a man elected president.  Handles problems.  Runs shit. Sin?  Sleeping with a man that didn’t belong to her. 2.  Annalise Keating.  Highly sought after defense attorney.  Much lauded law professor.  Mastermind. Sin?  Sleeping with a man – she couldn’t trust. 3.  Mary Jane.  Host and Producer of her own cable news show – a cable news show she just insisted be devoted to issues affecting black America and black women in particular.  Devoted daughter.  Go-getta. Sin?  Sleeping with some men. 4.  Cookie Lyon.  Brilliant record company exec.  Mother.  Wounded, betrayed animal. Sin? Honestly, alot, but chief amongst them?  Sleeping with a man that got her sent to prison. 5.  Rainbow “Bow” Johnson.  Anesthesiologist.  Doting mother.  Wife – the

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