So, a few months back...after a restful vacation, I return to work and I walk in with my black co-worker.
Not one that I'm regularly cool with...you know. I don't know if she has kids or a man or is gay or anything, we just speak about the bare minimum. This means, with black folk, it’s usually about music or what Beyonce is doing. (Yeah. We touched on her. Wait for it... wait for it...)
So anyway, even though there are eight elevators available, thanks to her talking to one co-worker, me talking to another and elevator manners being what they are, we all (4) wind up in the same elevator up to the ninth floor.
"How was your weekend’s all around, and she mentions to one of the other co-workers, she'd just returned from the Essence Music Festival.
Now let me say this.
I've never...ever had the urge to go.
OK. That’s a lie. I did once. But that's when Prince performed and by that time, I'd caught him four times in the NYC area and thought I'd had enough of his tiny, redboned self.
( SIDEBAR: I learned something very important about myself that year. I can never have enough tiny, redboned self. Especially when it drops the lights and starts with an electric guitar "Question of U" solo. But this isn't about him. )
Anyway...I never wanted to go cuz...well, The Essence Music Festival seemed too damn...black.
There. I said it. It's too damn black for me and one thing I know about myself...when I'm surrounded by too much black, I can't fucking breathe.
This is not to say I don't love my people. I loves my people. Lord knows I do. I just don't like them. Not all of them. Some of them. But that number is growing.
Now, I'm not really sure when this happened. I mean, once upon a youthful time, I had NO problems with my people. I was fitting right in, with a THICK Bronx accent, no vocal audio level other than "LOUD", and no "think before you speak" button.
Take me to any black event, and I didn't so much as blink. I'd check my really long gold colored tips (yes, girl...), my brown transparent plastic text pager, and start looking for the first cutie that walked in the door. Name the event, I did it. Grants Tomb (does that still happen?), Amateur Night @ The Apollo, Greek Week, The Car Show...
By now, I think you get where I'm going with this. Yep. I was a Chickenhead.
Bronx variety.
Albeit, not a good one, cuz I wasn't giving any up. And you just can't be a Chickenhead if your a...well...chicken. Eventually, you'll be found out and forced to prove otherwise. Besides, Chickenheads were supposed to be stupid and settled for what was put in front of them, so you might say I was the Little Mermaid of Chickenheads. I wanted more...
And I'm not alone. I come from a long line of "Former New York Grade A Chickens". Examples:
J. Lo - Branding Genius. (She got every Puerto Rican chica under the age of 18 in the Boogie smelling like "Glow". Don't. Fucking. Hate.)
Rosario Dawson - Hollywood loves her...even without her tits.
Alicia Keys - Mediocre musician/songwriter. But they LOVE her. Still not quite sure why...
But what do they all have in common? Yep. FORMER CHICKENHEADS.
Oh no? Don't believe me do you? Check out how they USED to talk. Remember Alicia? That bitch was the reigning "Queen of Misplaced Preposition" and she took her title very seriously.
Rosario? When she gets fired up...watch Brooklyn come out. Don't believe me? Catch Quentin's last flick. ...WHERE BROOKLYN AT?
And J.Lo... well. She never really got rid of her shit. But she did get married, so that immediately dissolves the Chickenhead status.
I do have a point.
The point is... at some point, you gotta grow up.
You can't take BET at word and run out and get Kool-Aid Red tipped hair cuz Keisha Cole has it. It's NOT ok to wear a fucking sports jersey to an adult concert unless your game went overtime and you were startin at the Garden. It's not OK to tattoo your son's name on your neck*. (Yes...I put him on blast.)
And it's triple, stupid, dumb NOT OK to order a neon glow in the dark swizzle stick in your Hennessey at a Jill Scott concert at Radio City Music Hall. I don't give a shit if they're selling them. They're selling them cuz YOU'RE BUYING IT ASSHOLE.
See. If it was the Universal Soul Circus... fine. I expect it. Hell.
Those other souvenirs can get expensive and you got five kids. Do you.
But don't have me looking at a thousand points of light in the Orchestra section, about to have a fucking seizure, because you thought that irritating green light would show off the fact that you're drinking GOOD brown liquor. Fuck you.
It's also NOT OK to sing all the songs along with Chaka Khan so that I can't even hear her. NOT OK.
It's NOT OK to stand there making idle threats to staff for no reason.
Girl on line to get her glowing squizzle stick: "I know they better had notta run outta Alize or there's gonna be some shit in here."
No there's not, bitch. Will you sit down somewhere?
Don't you get it?
It's NOT ok to accept living in the PJ's. It's NOT ok to dress like a slob. It's NOT OK to get disability and brag about how much you get. It's NOT FUCKING OK if your son gets sent to the guidance counselor for ANYTHING. It's not OK to get a bad hair weave. It's not OK to wear clothes so tight you look like a busted can of biscuits. It's not OK to talk as loud as you can on the 1 train. It's not OK to be pregnant by another man when you're pushing a one year old in a stroller. It's not OK to buy your one year old little boy a gold chain with a big cross on it that extends down to his belly. It's not OK to buy a Coach bag when you haven't paid your rent. It's not OK to let "that nigga" pay your rent. It's not OK to lie for public assistance. It's not OK to vote for Obama "just because he's black". It's not OK not to use protection and wonder how you got HIV. It's not OK to think you can't have better. It's not OK to just want what's given to you. It's not OK to not LOVE yourself.
There's a lot that's not OK. So leave Charlie Murphy the fuck alone because he's right. We GOT to do better. We really do.
And until we stop spending up all our money on bullshit, I'm gonna keep putting us on blast. Including myself.
So here's what I did.
I cut up all my credit cards and leave my debit card at home.
If I need money, I go to the bank (remember that place?) and withdraw it because all that convenience was costing me way too much fucking money. Not just in ATM fees, but it created the illusion that I had a stash of unlimited 20 dollar bills that are at my beckoning. And that's just not the case.
I quit my other gym membership. (I belonged to two. I know. Wasteful.)
I stopped buying lunch and bring it to work daily.
This, along with a host of other really inconvenient habits I re-adopted.
Because you know what? My moms didn't have any of this shit.
Not an iPhone, cable, ATM, internet shopping, microwaves...and somehow, she always found a way to feed & clothe her 4 kids. She didn't see life as inconvenient, it was life.
More to us than what we spend and show.
So I guess my point is... please. STOP PUTTING SWIZZLE STICKS IN YOUR HEN-ROCK.
And do better. At least try.
-Nye
One more thing. It's not OK to torture animals. You sick fuck. Color, celeb status, your Momma aside. It's not OK to torture animals and make a profit off of them, and it's doubly wrong when you don't NEED the money and you're doing it for shits and giggles...you sick fuck. Lost your job? Bankrupt in ten years? Oh fucking well.
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