The Tiger Post

• Tiger Woods. What can I say about you that hasn’t already been said? You cheated on your wife with a porn star. Or maybe you didn’t. And your wife beat you upside your head with one of your golf clubs. Or maybe she used said club to save your life (we KNOW next to nothing!). What we do know is that you were asleep on your lawn. Barefoot. I think it’s important to recognize that there are only a few individuals who know something in the ballpark of the truth, even fewer who know the actual truth, and none of the individuals reading this know anything. Except that Tiger was asleep and snoring on his lawn. Barefoot.


• The shock of Tiger’s dalliances have in fact created a maelstrom of dialog regarding male/female relationships; some quality, some not so much. But I’m still not sure why Tiger has inspired these conversations. He never held himself out as a moral crusader, at least not in the marital sense. Not that he showed himself to be immoral, but it seems clear that morals never figured into his carefully crafted public image. In fact, he never provided the public with any real ideas concerning his personality or urges. Yet folks seem to have understood his stoicism to be a sign that he would never cheat on his wife. But folks ignored the fact that he’s a highly-successful, highly paid athlete just like any other (giving true meaning to the notion that golf is a “gentleman’s sport”). It is quite possible that the only difference between Tiger and Shaun Kemp is that Kemp never had enough sense to wrap it up (I guess I’m assuming that there isn’t a paternity suit against Tiger in the works. I wonder if he assumes the same…).


• I am now thoroughly convinced that what makes an athlete truly great (in that MJ, Tiger, Muhammad Ali, Jim Brown form of greatness) also makes him the opposite of what one should aspire to personally be. None of the “All-Timers” were genuinely good people, and that most definitely includes the individual I hold up as the closest to being a hero: Muhammad Ali.


• One of the few conversations I’m interested in regarding Tiger is why he cheated. Did he cheat because he couldn’t control his sexual urges (I truly do sympathize with that, but shame on him, as he broke a promise. Not a promise to God, but one to another person)? Did he cheat because his specific marriage wasn’t happy (don’t know what to say about that…)? Or (and here’s my fear), is the entire institution of marriage one of misery for those living within it? But as I write this it is becoming clear to me that there’s no way to know what marriage entails until you’re in it, so there’s no real way to know whether marriage is “for you” before you're in one.


• As I read the stories about Tiger, one excuse for him continues to be used: the media scrutiny is greater now than it ever has been, and if Tiger had been the institution that he is back in 1960, the public never even hears about this. I firmly agree with this one. So what? He got caught doing something (again, we don’t know what, other than that he cheated), and the fact that everyone else is doing it does not justify his actions. And please believe: I am not holier than thou in discussing this. I am not sure how I would respond to the amount of… (ahem…action) Tiger received. It was a difficult situation (has a larger understatement ever been written? Women were throwing it at Tiger like he alone possessed the cure to breast cancer, and we all expected him to turn it down? Really? The only mystery here concerns why Tiger chose some of the least attractive women known in the groupie world. As an aside, golf groupies must rank somewhere between professional fishing and bull riding on the groupie scale. You know, if he actually slept with those women who we’ve seen pictures of. Now my head hurts. Let’s just move on). However, to me, “everyone else was doing it” simply doesn’t justify Tiger here, just like that line of argument did not justify Barry Bonds in his performance enhancing drug use.

Black Middle Class-ism; An Ongoing Conversation, Continued...

I find that the best way to observe a particular social class’s honest view of itself is through the paintings, poetry, and music of its members (“art,” for those of you who get annoyed when people write more than necessary). It’s not always a perfect view, and it’s also true that the view almost always becomes corrupted through notions of profit. However, there are moments when an artist – through a stroke of a paintbrush, or a perfect lyric, or an unforgettable prose – faultlessly captures the very essence of the class with which that artist belongs to.

As black folks, we have expressed our views of self in this manner since we arrived on this land, and our art has followed a general theme of struggle. I cannot quibble with this theme, because our history has generally been one of struggle. However, as the black middle class grows, it is becoming obvious to me that the black middle class is not struggling, at least not to the same extents that our ancestors did, nor to the extent that our economically-challenged brethren currently do. However, the art that currently describes black folks continues to describe us through the lens of a struggle (you know, all of that art that is truly inspired by life, and isn’t solely designed to turn a profit …). So, the art that currently describes us (black folks) doesn’t actually describe us (middle class black folks).

So, as a wise friend of mine succinctly put it, during a discussion regarding middle class black folks: “Your (black middle class folks) life doesn’t inspire art.” And it’s true: I’ve seen nothing artful regarding black people being successful as a matter of right (if you have, please direct me to it). The closest I’ve seen in this regard are images of black success as an oddity, or success despite a struggle based on race.

I’m not sure what this says about the black middle class, but it is clear that we haven’t quite figured out ourselves in this already uncomfortable class conversation. Maybe art will never be a plausible portal through which we express ourselves. Maybe continued success will shine a light on a better way. Maybe…

Black Middle Class-ism; An Ongoing Conversation

One occurrence within the thorny confines of the American class structure has been the rise of the black middle class. Now to be clear: there are still far more black folks surviving in the dregs of the lower classes than enjoying the fruits of middle class status. However, the black middle class is growing, partly through the sacrifices of individuals during the Civil Rights Movement, partly through the knee jerk de-segregation efforts (read: bussing), partly because old-school (paid) entertainers have new-school (spoiled) children, and partly because some folks made the simple-yet-powerful choice to change their circumstances (all of which came before President Obama. So no, there is no Super Negro here to save us).

(On a side and unrelated note, here’s a collection of Will Smith interviews regarding the choice mentioned above. I’m not usually moved by inspirational words, but Mr. Smith really struck a chord with me. Shout to LaLaBouvier for exposing me to this).

As this group formalizes (I have struggled to accept this, but I recognize myself as a member, begrudgingly so, but so nonetheless), it seems that our ability to understand our class status has grown more difficult. It’s as if we talk around who we are in efforts to avoid accepting both the idea that we belong to a race of largely poor and undereducated people and the idea that we, as an educated and (relatively) upwardly mobile group, have forgotten our roots and “graduated” from the black race (Michael Eric Dyson explores this struggle in his book “Is Bill Cosby Right, Or Has The Black Middle Class Lost its Mind? if you care to read more on the subject. I personally agreed with less than half of his thoughts, but that may have more to do with the fact that he’s attacking The King Pudding Pops, and that’s just wrong. But I digress…).

I guess the thinking continues through a view that it is easy for poor black folks to understand their place in this conversation because the ideas of being poor and being black are a perfect match (like peanut butter and jelly, or Kool-Aid and sugar, or Michael Jordan and 18 year old girls…whatever floats your boat). But this leaves us with the question: what is a black person who isn’t poor? What class grouping are we to be herded into? Is there a defined class structure above the lowest class of poor peoples? (this conversation is both uncomfortable and difficult because it seems to require a consideration of people extremely close to me as belonging to a class lower than me. I don’t know the truth value of that, nor do I know what to do with that if it is in fact true…).

So long as this general race/class conversation centers on the double conscious notion of what others think of middle class blacks, we will continue to struggle to figure out who we are as a group (and for this reason I question what I am doing here hosting this conversation: am I continuing the negative attributes of double consciousness simply by attempting to figure out my social self?). This is a problem I hope to work through, because right now I do not have an answer…

TRA-GE-DY

I'm disturbed.



Life Imitating Art, I guess...

He's Neither MLK Nor Arafat/Peres

For every Martin Luther King Jr., who expressly created grand change toward peace, there’s a President Woodrow Wilson. While President Wilson did lay the framework for the League of Nations by the time he won the award, the League was not a functioning body at that time. In fact, it failed about as fast as it came into existence. Wilson, for all of his efforts, was not even able to get the US to join the League. Sure, it can be said that the United Nations arose from the ashes of the League, but I struggle to find a proper way to give President Wilson credit for that. That would be like giving credit for discovering penicillin to the person who left a cheese sandwich out overnight (that cheese sandwich story isn’t even true, but the fable fits so well here that I feel comfortable admitting to an untruth for purposes of highlighting a point. I digress…).

Additionally, it is difficult at best to fit Al Gore’s work on climate change under the umbrella of “peace.” Sure, I can make the argument (the gift and curse of law school is that I can make a logical argument for practically anything), but to do so is a fundamental stretch for sure. Furthermore, I’m not sure how Yasser Arafat and Shimon Peres can be awarded anything regarding the word “peace.”

My point is that President Obama is not the first winner of the Nobel Peace Prize who’s actions have left something to be desired, and he surely won’t be the last. If his victory is in fact the direct result of an end to former President Bush’s failed foreign policies and diplomatic non-actions (if there are tea leaves here, my reading of them suggests that such an act occurred), I’m fine with that. Reasonable minds may differ.

And not to be esoteric, but the politics involved in awarding the Nobel Peace Prize places an understanding of whether President Obama “deserves” the award in the realm of ultimate subjectivity. The only objective statement that can be made at this point is that President Obama is admired and respected more by folks in other nations than in his own (shout out to the Birthers). That fact may explain the controversy in its entirety, or at least much of it.

So I Guess This Means I'm Back...

It’s been a while since the last time I wrote anything here (we elected a black President and Michael Jackson passed away, just to name a couple slightly significant events that have transpired since my last entry). One reason has been school and work. However, I’ve managed to do enough outside of those endeavors to make that excuse practically irrelevant.

Another reason is that, in this Twitter Age (Thank You! I coined the phrase myself…), I wonder whether anyone is interested in reading more than 140 characters at a time. Do folks have a long-enough attention span to read a whole blog entry anymore? I guess I’ll find out…

A third reason concerns what J-Smooth calls “The Little Hater.” Sometimes I just don’t think what I have to say (or write) is important enough to put out there in the ethers. Other times it seems as though everything that could possibly be said or written on a subject has already been said or written. So why am I chiming in with my opinion on the matter? (I sense that I will continue to struggle with my personal Little Hater. To be continued…).

But all of the above is tangential to what I’ve discovered to be the real reason I stopped writing, and that reason goes a little something like this (Hit It!): the more I wrote, I found myself thinking I was actually working toward solving whatever controversy I was writing about (as if my explanation of what “Greatest Rapper Of All Time” really means would actually cease inane notions that Mos Def is…mos’ def’ in the top 3. Silly me…).

Now, it’s not beyond my personal parameters to possess an inflated view of the weight my opinion holds (what can I say; I get it from my Mamma…and Daddy). However, without realizing it, I became severely frustrated that my words didn’t change anything. Black folks still overreact when a racist old white guy drops the N-Bomb (or rather, unnecessarily react), The Duke lacrosse players never got a proper apology from the likes of Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton, and Soulja Boy still has an effin’ career (the last wound cuts the deepest…). Keeping this frustration in check will be an additional challenge for me.

So now that see why I stopped writing, the reason why I want to continue writing became clear and is shockingly simple (at least to me): I miss writing. I miss expressing myself in this format. I miss the therapy that writing offers me. I feel more comfortable doing this than verbally illustrating my point of view.

So, in the proverbial words of Brett Favre (again!) and a posthumous Michael Jackson: I’m back (it’s either ironic or the basis of a bad horror movie to claim that a dead MJ is claiming he’s back, even proverbially…).

"I Arrive on Time, I'm Never Fashionable"

The advent of communication technology has drastically, and negatively, altered the manner in which we socially interact.

Truth be told, there is a way for us to be digitally connected without losing, what I believe to be, the importance of social interaction.  Unfortunately, we haven't reached the place where we are able to do so.

There's a great deal of information that is available today in ways that were simply impossible 20 years ago.  The upside is that mankind has proven to be incredibly productive.  Sadly, this productivity has come at the expense of regressing social traditions and common courtesy.

Think, for a second, about how natural the phrase "running late" has become.  I can't even front, because I myself have pulled this card on a number of occasions in the past.  The problem lies in trying to be at too many places at once; trying to accomplish more than possible in 24 hours. 

Communicating on blackberries or texting on phones at dinner and/or clubs (a pet peeve of mine) make it impossible to live in the moment.  I've always contended that cell phones killed the party scene in college. Prior to cell phones every party had potential.  After cell phones, if a party was bad and that information became available through the wire, it was a straight wrap.  Mull that one over if you happened to be in the purple bubble circa 2002.

We risk losing, in the hustle and bustle of trying to be more productive, our sense of respect for one another, which I would argue is important in a world where human interaction is becoming increasingly unnecessary.

The game plan this summer and beyond is put the phone away and arrive on time, never fashionably late.  For the sake of maintaining the sanctity of humanity, I encourage you to do the same.

Eulogy for the King of Pop

It is important for me to say a few words by way of praise, about Michael Jackson, a shining star whose brilliance can never be extinguished.

I was in a meeting last night when someone interrupted us to announce his death. Admittedly, I was incredulous. When the reality of the truth set in, I was overcome with an immense sadness. I thought of the millions of people, who like me, loved this man. Although I was in this small meeting, outside there was a collective experience of people coming to grips with this death; and knowing that I was a part of that amplified the sense of loss.

As a former DJ, I can tell you that one of my bread and butter tracks was Billy Jean. People went crazy for that track, or any Michael track for that matter. I don't know of many songs that have that type of universal appeal 20+ years after their release. Michael's autobiography indicates that he wanted to have a big family. I believe he accomplished this by giving birth to so many classic songs that have managed to forever capture his energy and life.

Perhaps one of the most intriguing personalities of our generation, Michael embodied cool and yet managed to have such a great love for his fans.

I leave you with some lyrics that capture my own sense of loss quite accurately:

Got some bad news this morning
Which in turn made my day
When this someone spoke I listened
All of a sudden has less and less to say
Oh how could this be
All this time I've lived vicariously
Who's gonna save my soul now
Who's gonna save my soul now
How will my story ever be told now
How will my story be told now

Made me feel like somebody
Like somebody else
Although he was imitated often
It felt like I was being myself
Is it a shame that someone else's song
Was totally and completely depended on

Who's gonna save my soul now?
Who's gonna save my soul now?
I wonder if I'll live to grow old now
Getting high cause I feel so low down
And maybe it's a little selfish
All I have is the memory
Yet I never stopped to wonder
Was it possible you were hurtin' worse than me
Still my hunger turns to greed
Cause what about what I need
Who's gonna save my soul now
Who's gonna save my soul now
How will my story ever be told now
How will my story be told now