Oh... By the Way

Romancexpress - Romantic Expressions v.2

Almost forgotB-J

Final Entry: The Jigabod Archetype

"......What's that...up ahead... It looks like... we're slowing down..."

Ladies and gentlemen, as hard as it is to believe, we've come full circle. Romancexpress has encompassed a full year, and the station is coming into view. We're pulling in for our final destination. BUT, I don't want you to be sad. Before we're done here, you're going to discover something profound. We'll end our engagement on a high note, eh?

From Jig to Jigabod... did you notice? When we first started out, remember how I told you where my name came from? I told you it came from a feeling in my soul; an urge to "dance a jig" when I felt happy. Well, I wasn't lying to you when I said that. But...

Romancexpress has been an evolution for me; I've been able to watch myself go through transitions as I've had experience after experience. And with that change, my name took a change too. And it wasn't just for aesthetic appeal. So, as we close this journey on Romancexpress, I'd like to end by reintroducing myself: I am Jigabod, the Jigabod Archetype.

I am a constantly changing creature; the worst thing one can ever do is try to categorize me because as soon as I am "captured", I transform. I become whatever I need to become at the moment; this was a dilemma at the beginning of Romancexpress because I had changed so much that I had lost my identity. I now realize that the purpose of Romancexpress' journey was for me to rediscover who I am at the core of my being. Mission accomplished.

From Jig to Jigabod; what's in the name? Much. There are 4 components to the name Jigabod: Jig, Ichabod, Jigaboo, and Jig-a-bod.

The Jig in Jigabod still represents what it did in the beginning; that little being still dances in my heart when I'm happy. Yet, I'm not so happy as I was at the beginning of the journey. And so, the name carries more meaning, because in my journey I've had to go beyond happiness and understand myself as a person in all seasons.

Ichabod represents Ichabod Crane, a character from the famous tale The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. He came into a town as a stranger and a teacher. He wasn't in the image of the "hunks" of the town; he lacked the machismo and the size and strength. He was actually fairly odd, built like a scarecrow and light on his feet. But, though he was a stranger in the town, he was no stranger to love, and in being his odd self he became a threat to every "hunk" in the town. 'Can't say my experiences haven't been similar.

Jigaboo is an old racist slur used against Black people. But it's not the word itself that holds the meaning. Part of the racism that we've faced has come in the form of people making us ashamed of our own culture. I've found that we've turned away from those things that were deemed "unacceptable" about us by the established culture. Things like the curl of our hair, or the fact that we are a musical people, neither of which is something to be ashamed of. So on one hand, this element of my name is an acceptance of those things attributed to Black people that are hated by other cultures. On the other hand, the change from "'boo" to "'bod" expresses that we are not only a unique culture, but a unique culture with much to teach and offer, as was Ichabod in the story; and like Ichabod also, we are hated for those things that make us unique.

Jig-a-bod simply translates to "jig-a-body". It represents my ability to touch people and pass my feelings to them. That little "jig" I feel in my heart, I do my best to bring it out of others. Not only that, but even the anger, pain, sadness, victories, anxiety, wonder and hundreds of other states of human being; I try to evoke them all with every word that I write. This is why Romancexpress was written as an open invitation: so that as I discover myself, you can discover yourself in my writings. I jig; you jig. Get it?

In my rapping, people say my specialty is "complexity"; layering multiple meanings in few words. You have just witnessed a perfect example of that. One word--- Jigabod--- four paragraphs of meaning. I am the Jigabod archetype; the first Jigabod and the last there will ever be. Not even my own progeny will become who or what I am.

So you're probably reading all this totally wrong right now; no, I'm not saying Jigabod is some great unreachable standard or something. At the end of this journey you should know better: the best thing that any man can ever be is himself. To attempt to be in another man's image, with the exception of Christ Himself, only limits you to the limited existence of another limited being. In simple terms: why copy something that's no better than you are? I'm Jigabod, and you're a wonderful person in your own right. I can't wait to hear your story.

So in closing this volume... oh yeah, I think I forgot to mention. You didn't think I was really gonna stop Romancexpress so abruptly like this did ya? lol, Nah. This is only the end of Romancexpress Volume I. I'm already building a second site for a second journey. There's still more life to live!

So again, in closing this volume of Romancexpress, I just thought I'd sum things up by saying this: I'm not saying I'm better than anybody else. All I'm saying is, I can't believe I'm not butter...

Jesus PeaceB-J

Why I Can't Take Criticism

Actually, that's a strong title. I should call this, "why I can't take criticism most of the time". Anyway, I'll get to the point. It's like this:

I can't take criticism most of the time not because of the criticism, but because of what I feel coming from BEHIND the criticism. It's one thing when a person genuinely is trying to help you by drawing attention to certain things you may have overlooked; it's something else entirely when a person is pointing out your faults to add to their own stripes.

It's like that "good lawyer" saying I maintain: "A good lawyer doesn't tell you what you can't do; a good lawyer tells you what it will take for you to do what you want to do". Most of what I get is the "can't do's" and doubts of people, but what I'm really looking for is the "if you go thru with this then you should expect A, B, and C, but I'm with you 100%". That's the kinda criticism I willingly receive.

I mean, sometimes I can literally explain the pros and the cons of a plan of mine to critics, hoping to avert dwelling on the negatives. But somehow I still find myself defending what I've already acknowledged as an issue as they descend upon the negatives, like I didn't even put them out there. And the bad thing is, normally, that would daunt me... Just imagine: you know the pros and cons of your own plans in advance, but just because people emphasize the cons (that you already know) you go from intentionally facing them to becoming intimidated by them. Pretty stupid, huh?

But I realized something the other day as I watched Star Wars Episode III. I watched Yoda, the legendary "wise one", make the wisest decisions he could as leader of the Jedi. But even in Yoda's 800-year-old wisdom, Mace Windu was killed, Anakin Skywalker managed to go to the Dark Side, Order 66 was still issued and almost all the Jedi were wiped out, and Darth Sidious still managed to erect an empire. The point? No matter what decisions you make or how good your intentions, there will ALWAYS be a loophole in the plan that could present a problem. So when people find these loopholes, it should never be a surprise, and you shouldn't take it personally. Especially when you already knew the loopholes were there.

I used to defend my conceptions to protect my own confidence in them; now, I think I'll just settle for knowing my course and accepting any criticism that comes with it as a fact of life. I haven't been living by my own credo... Did I ever give you my credo? Peep:

1. Protect the innocence (intentional pun) - make sure that anything that hasn't been corrupted does not become corrupted.
2. Restore the order - solve problems by returning to God's original plan for the situation, not by creating new solutions.
3. Raise the standard - like a scar where a wound once lay, raise the standard over a solved problem to make sure no further damage is done.
4. Let the fruit be the proof - don't spend time convincing people of your perspectives; simply execute and let them see the result

In case you didn't figure it out, it's the 4 principle of my credo that I've been in violation of. Perhaps if I spent more time executing and less time defending, I'd be further along right now. Let's try it.

Jesus PeaceB-J

About Me and Sex

I wrote this piece today for a special publication. Big shout out to Shannon and the V-Card initiative up in Canada; I support what you're doing 100%. When I grow up, I wanna be just-like-you, lol...

I have never had sex. I haven’t even kissed or been kissed by anyone before, and I’m 23 year old. I haven’t been on a serious date or anything, only a few impromptu dinners. The thing is, I’m not “down” on any of the aforementioned acts, especially the kissing and dating. Sex, however… well, let me tell you a few things about me and sex.

I was taught right from wrong at an early age but, as it is with many lower-to-middle middle-class upbringings, my parents never talked to me about sex. To this day, and I’m 23 years old, sex has never been mentioned in front of me by anyone in my immediate family or extended family. However, as I’m sure you’ve assumed, somehow or other I managed to learn about sex anyway.

For me, it happened way too early: 5th grade, if I’m not mistaken. Some “friends” of mine were goofing off, and they flashed me a scene from a porn magazine just to see my reaction. To this day, I wish that had never happened; that moment marked the beginning of my curiosity toward the opposite sex, and my eventual coming-into-knowledge of sex itself. From there I went to dictionaries, reading about different sex-related terms. Let’s face it: if you can read at all, the dictionary can tell you anything you need to know. By the time I finished that, I had a pretty good understanding of what sex was as well as a familiarity with the lingo.

Then came middle school, when sex became a part of everyday conversation. There were a few incidents between students that I can remember; my most distinct memory was around 7th or 8th grade when it seemed that the whole cheerleading squad became pregnant at once. Then there was the incident where I girl put herself against a pipe in a classroom and did the unthinkable… Nevertheless, the good thing about middle school was that, as all these things were happening, we were also being taught about things like STDs, AIDs, and… well… unwanted pregnancies. Knowing the many possible consequences that came with sex was enough to keep me from seeking to have sex with anybody.

High school saw a sharp decline in the sexual tension (believe it or not). Basketball and music became my two preoccupations. But I still had a few key sex-related experiences that remain with me to this day. The neighborhood I lived in was very close-knit; all my friends were within walking distance and we had pretty much all grown up together. Except for one. It took me a while, but I found out that a beautiful girl lived just a few houses down from me. I had known the girl a while, but I didn’t know we were so close.

Anyway, I was stomping the grounds with a male friend of mine one afternoon, and the subject of sex came up. He jokingly asked if I had “gotten any” before, anticipating the answer he would get from the “brainiac” of the school. I replied, “Nah, that’s not me man.” But then he said the wildest thing; I’ll never forget it. He said, “Why not man? I know you don’t have a girlfriend or anything, but _______ lives right up the street; holla at her. Anybody can get it from her.”

Don’t get me wrong; it was no secret that this girl slept with people. But for a cat to just put her in my face like that, like she was some kind of product…that really cemented my perspective on sexuality. It hurt in a weird way; regardless of how she was living, she was a person and worth more than that kind of mention. The next thing I remember, I had befriended the girl. And no, we never had sex: I never asked for it; she never offered it.

Then came the inevitable; the young lady became pregnant. I remember I didn’t know what to do as her friend; I knew about it, but she didn’t know that I knew. One time we were walking down the street together, and I just asked, “They say you’ve got a little one on the way. Is it true?” She denied it. I didn’t take that personally at all, though; pregnancy is just one of those things. And I could tell it really mattered to her what I thought of her, so it was nothing. But I kept thinking to myself, “It’s hard to believe this type of drama happens every day; sex is just not worth it.” A few weeks later, when her pregnancy was finally visible, she actually asked me to be the child’s godfather. I was nowhere near prepared for that, but I settled for being his (it was a boy) “Uncle”.

Oh yeah, one more thing: the guy that impregnated her. If I remember correctly, they didn’t stay together; just like pretty much anybody that ever slept with her. Hold on to that…

So, life went on. For biological reasons, I had more or less sexual drive at different points, but my perspective on sex never changed. Then came college… and freedom. This was where I really had my first “tests”; plenty of opportunities to try things I never tried and no one to make me do or not do anything.

There was a young lady my first year that I had it BAD for. I mean, she wasn’t the prettiest girl I had ever seen, but she was just bad enough to keep my interest: exotic, thick below the waist, petite, listened to the same music, liked my favorite groups, similar beliefs, even interested in a career in music. Honestly, she was the first girl I ever saw myself marrying and doing all the things that married people do with.

There was one time when we were having a study session; I was helping her with a paper because writing comes easily for me. Her roommates were there for a while but they were on their way to the club. We got started a little before they left, and after a few small-talk exchanges, they were gone. But I do remember one of the girls telling me before she left: “You should be careful; she’s nothing but trouble.” I thought she was joking… sort of.

The roommates had left and we were left to ourselves to work. I remember the first thing she did was change into her nightwear: some thigh-high boxers and a long t-shirt (my favorite combination, unfortunately). Now, you might say I make too much of things, but I took that as my first warning sign and immediately went on-guard. You see, I’ve never had sex, but I know what happens when people get turned on: the first thing is their blood leaves their brains to redistribute to “other places”. That’s why, once people get turned on, it’s often too late to rethink things.

She was at her computer; I was a good distance off seated in a chair. I remember her saying, “Why don’t you come closer; I won’t bite.” Well, then I went to thinking again. You see, her computer was atop a desk right at the foot of her bed; on her bed is where she wanted me to sit basically. So I replied, “Nah, that’s alright; I’m fine right here.” It sounds easy enough, but don’t be fooled… I REALLY wanted to sit on that bed.

We worked a little longer, but I knew I was pushing my luck; just because I choose to abstain doesn’t mean I always do so willingly. So when I felt her paper was setup enough for her to finish the job, I took license and made an exit. It was dark as heck and bitter-frikkin’ cold outside so she invited me to stay over, but I decided I needed to take that walk… quickly. To this day, I still don’t believe it was my doing when I left that night.

For the rest of the year, I found myself at basement parties with women coming out of their pants; when it got hot and heavy, I left those. And there was pornography readily found and frequently seen in dorms; I walked away from that too. I understood that a big part of avoiding sexual encounters is knowing your limits and averting ahead of time those things that might trigger you. So that’s what I spent a lot of time doing.

My last physical encounter was with a friend of mine; an exquisitely beautiful girl I went to high school with that I had been DYING to see again. We finally ran into each other when I transferred colleges, and like a dream I found her riding in my passenger seat for a whole semester. However, I had my doubts about her. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not at all a stickler about whether or not a person is a virgin; everybody’s made mistakes in some dimension of life and it’s not always easy to the right thing. BUT… I do expect a person to at least KNOW if she’s a virgin or not (pretty funny, huh). In one conversation she told me she wasn’t a virgin; in another she told me she was. She went back and forth several times. So since I couldn’t take her word for it, I just assumed she wasn’t one. No big deal (except for the lying part).

And I really was going to leave it at that, but then came “the guys”.

Now, normally I wouldn’t listen to what “the guys” say; that’s like one of the most guaranteed ways to screw your life up, period. However, that’s only in the event that the girl knows if she’s a virgin or not: they all unanimously said she wasn’t. They thought she and I were actually dating and called themselves “looking out” for me. They told me about how she and her best friend “came to the party dressed like hookers and locked up in a room with some guys for quite some time” and all that; that wasn’t hard to believe, because she did have a tendency to dress wildly. Still, it was just words. Then, some of the guys came at me like I was a priest or something and confessed to doing this and that with her years ago. Me, I made no bones about it; again, words are words, past is past, and passed is passed.

But then there was that one time… We were riding in my car, and out of the blue, this “virgin” asks me, “what’s your wildest sex fantasy?” Hm… Yeah, I almost crashed the car right then. In the grand scheme of things, her asking me something like that is a dot, nothing to raise much of an eyebrow about. But, remember what I said earlier about avoiding sexually tense situations? Well, two things ran across my mind: 1) this is not something somebody asks who is trying to protect her “virginity”; 2) This is not something I should be entertaining if I am to protect MY virginity. To this day, she and I are still friends, but much more distantly.

I find myself constantly defending my position on sexuality. Aside from religious beliefs, there are so many plain and practical reasons not to have sex, at least before marriage. I keep hearing the same arguments over and over…

I hear things like, “sex is fun” and “it’s my body”. Yeah, sex is fun; it’s the unwanted pregnancies and STDs and dysfunctional, sex-maintained relationships that aren’t. The consequences far outweigh the rewards. And yes, it is your body, no matter how used it is. But, for example, when I think about some of the girls I know and where their mouths have been… wow. I mean, you cats can kiss around all you want to; I gotta think about that for a good minute. I’ve never been kissed before, but maybe I’m not missing much after all.

Then a lot of people say sex is a sign of “commitment” in a relationship. Nice sentiment, but I think of the example of my old friend from the neighborhood; not a single man that she slept with stayed with her, even the one whose seed she birthed. And it’s funny that I knew so many girls who slept around, and they all were so unfulfilled. They would come to me and talk with me and get the biggest kick out of the simple fact that I would listen to them. From that, I grew to understand that sex could never stand in the gap for true love and a true relationship.

On that note, I have one more college experience to share. It’s about the most meaningful relationship I had. You see, while I was “sprung” on the “exotic” girl I told you about, I also had a special friend that I was spending all my time with. I won’t go into detail about the whole situation, but all I can say is I enjoyed every moment I spent with her and we would do anything for each other. I couldn’t rest until I knew she was squared away. Any time of day or night that she called me in need of anything, I was glad to be of assistance. I didn’t have a heck of a lot of money, but I was willing to short myself to make sure she was taken care of. And she helped me through a lot of my personal problems as well. We spent a good bit of our time trying to stop each other from helping each other.

All that time: all the late nights talking, going for walks, laughing, crying, hanging with friends, calling each other… it never dawned on me that she was the one I was really in love with. And through it all, sex never came into question; that’s how I know that sex is overrated and that true, lasting relationships aren’t build on fleeting moments of pleasure. If anything, sex and lust just blinded me to where I really needed to be, and now I have a burden I might never be able to shake off: knowing that I missed out on someone special. Through having a true friendship, I learned what true love is. And I’ve got news for you: in the grand scheme of love, sex is just a dot; sex gets its value from true love, not the opposite.

So, let’s recap: I’ve never kissed; I’ve never dated; I’ve never had sex. How does it feel? It’s cool… real cool. Would I like to do these things? Heck yes, someday. But I was thinking the other day: I’ve been single for over a decade now; I feel that I could die right now never having a first kiss, never dating, never having sex, and be at peace with that. And I think it’s because I’ve experienced true love, even though I didn’t recognize it at the time. And kissing, dating, and having sex really couldn’t offer me anything that I haven’t already obtained except maybe a buzz, some butterflies, irreversible conditions, a few strange sores, and thinner pockets. On the flipside, I have more to anticipate because I chose to wait: a gift for my wife that no one else has ever had with no worries about diseases or anything like that. ‘Should make for a less inhibited, more enjoyable time.

B-J


Again, many thanx to Shannon and V-Card for giving me the opportunity to help. We gotta do this again sometime; I think I'm the most long-winded brotha on earth! lol

Middle Class Black America Stand Up...

I GOT A PROLLEM WITCHU.

SEVERAL PROLLEMS ACTUALLY.

Yes indeed... Middle Class Black America pisses me off so bad sometimes. I talk about it in third person as if I'm not a part of it, but what I'm referring to is the tendencies and ideals that constantly resurface in everything it touches. And don't worry, I got a problem with every group of people, and even with myself when I think about it long enough, so don't take it personally. But this one is just sitting there in front of me, and nobody wants to address it.

Actually, that's a good place to start. Why DOESN'T anybody ever address the Black Middle Class? I'll tell you why: because the Black Middle Class plays right into the hands of those over them and overlooks those of lesser social stature. I won't call it selling out. But picture this:

The goal of the Black Middle Class is to become as assimilated into the "established culture", that being White American society, as possible. Don't believe me? I'm willing to bet that the majority of Black Middle Class households frown on dreadlocks, braids, and afros. Why? Because they're "unprofessional". But did you ever stop to think about what makes them "unprofessional"? You can walk into an interview with an Armani suit and the closest thing you could get to gator shoes without being a distraction, and you will STILL get dirty looks if you merely wear your hair the way people of color in other countries wear theirs. I don't care how trim the 'fro, how tight the braids, how clean the dreads; you're an upstart and you need to conform to the "other people who work here". And Middle Class Black America, you AGREE with that! I won't call it selling out tho, but the "established culture" loves you for it.

But back to why Middle Class Black America isn't addressed. On one hand, you play into the established culture's hand, so they don't have enough of a problem with you to talk about you. On the other hand, you're so detached from Lower Class Black America that you can't even hear them. Bill.

It seems the trademark of Middle Class Black American culture is putting down those who are already on the bottom. And no, it's not constructive criticism. Constructive criticism is when you recognize the problem and become a part of the solution alongside the person. But I'm tryna picture Heathcliff Huxtable taking a walk through the projects right now. If you can picture that, then you're a better man than me.

It's a lack of empathy; the Black Middle Class is so detached from the Lower Class that even the solution it proposes to any given problem lacks foundation. I've heard a million "kids need to pull up their pants and the world will be better" speeches in my school career and I never took a single one seriously. When I hear a "where are these kids's fathers" speech, or a "we need a solution to help the single mothers" speech, then I'll take what the Black Middle Class says seriously. See, when you're detached from something and lack an understanding of the state that it's in, you start to say things that make sense only to you in the form of half-baked solutions. But the thing is, since the Black Lower Class isn't "worth listening to", then that's the best that the Black Middle Class will ever do in "giving advice".

Oh... don't act like the Middle Class takes the Lower Class seriously. Are YOU serious? Set up a table. Put a book by Maya Angelou on one side; put a book by Tupac Shakur on the other. Ask a seasoned Middle Class Black American high school teacher or principal (I had to do it, I'm sorry) to choose one or both of the books for a reading list. And after you ask why they left the Tupac book on the table, listen to them tell you, "that book used the 'n' word too much..."

Then ask them if Mark Twain is on the reading list.

'Ammmn...I know it hurts. You'd rather the "established culture" call you a nigger, knowhatahmsayin, so you can fit in and feel better about it. "Chicken's on the deck!" *whistle* (Chappelle show reference)

But enough, enough about that. I feel another education spiel coming. Tell me this: Middle Class Black America, why do ya'll feel that education is gon' save us? Do you realize educated people are the ones who run all the f'd up institutions you're tryna be a part of... well, you won't admit they're f'd up cuz that's where you aspire to be, I understand. We'll do it like this then; reset...

Education is to be desired. Education is one of the greatest things a man can obtain in life. SO... Go to college, get an education right? Really? Cuz, Middle Class Black America tells me to go to college for something else: to get a piece of paper so I can qualify to work for someone else and make more money. Hold on to that word "qualify".

Now, before you jump on your African-American History soapbox and talk about people dying for our rights to free education, let me say, you're right. They fought for and obtained the freedom to further their education. Now hear what I'm saying: not going to school to get a DIPLOMA, but going to school to get an EDUCATION. Not going to school to meet set STANDARDS, but going to school to get an EDUCATION and set their OWN standards. See the difference?

It's funny: my whole Middle Class Black American life, I grow up with the impression everybody goes to college to get an education and get a job. And then somehow we, with education, can change the world or somethin. Somewhere between my last year of high school and my first year of college, I discovered that the real objective is to obtain a plain old piece of paper that says, "I have worth". Then one day I was talking to an older friend, and he was talking about the difference between us and foreigners. He said, "The difference between us and them is we grow up and we're expected to get a piece of paper and work for a business; they grow up and they're expected to OWN a business." 'Ammmn...

So what's good, Middle Class Black America? Two things you should take note of here: 1) Be honest; we don't care about education. We care about being "qualified" to operate in the "established culture". I won't call it selling out, but "they" love you for it.
2) Not only do we work to meet their standards, but then we work FOR them after their standards are met. Break our backs to make a little more, but then make them a LOT more. And at the end of the day, even at work our mobility still depends more on how much behind-kissing we can fit in a day than how "qualified" we are. So WE got a lot to be proud of huh...

Middle Class Black America, listen up: education is not gonna save us; hell, it's not really education you're after ANYWAY. It's a permission slip from the established culture to advance in their Monopoly game, that's what you go to college for. Ask yourself, "How can I/we advance when my job is to make somebody else look good/obtain wealth?" If you really went to school to get an education, then why don't you think outside the box like an educated man or woman? That's what pisses me off; you have the potential to change the world, but you don't have the courage to step outside of your traditional safety zone: a wife, kids, and a white picket fence and you've clenched the American dream, boom.

Which is my last point actually. The most amazing feat of the Black Middle Class is somehow managing to place themselves completely above the things that go on around them. I'm tambout, they will actually look at you funny if you say something like, "let's get involved". Call ya a "kickback from the 60's" or something, like the time for change has passed and this is just the way things are. No, that's too nice. It's more like, "there's nothing wrong here; the established culture loves us". That complacency, that satisfaction, that tendency to look away from what's right in front of them; that's my biggest issue with the Black Middle Class.

It's actually funny; you're more likely to find activism in the Black Upper Class than in the Middle Class, but the Middle Class is closer to the distress. And I gotta say this too: BLACK MIDDLE CLASS, SHAKING YOUR HEAD AND SAYING "THAT'S A SHAME" IS NOT ACTIVISM. The American Black Middle Class has got to be the most-talking, least-acting demographic in human history. It's like it's a status symbol to take note of obvious injustices as an opportunity to say something obvious. I can see it now... Rodney King is getting beaten on live TV, and Middle Class Black households have a Cosby moment with the family sitting in front of the TV as the camera pans from the youngest child to the oldest member of the family, who says, "When will it end?" before the credits roll. 'Next sunrise, breakfast is served with two eggs and a slab of turkey-bacon bent into a smile and a tall glass of sunshine. Nothing changes, nobody's upset, no remote plans to take action.

And, oh my goodness, this one right here... It's bad enough we don't take action. But then, what some of us do... we say "somebody else will take action". Aight you punk... You're in the last 3 seconds of a basketball game; 5 players on the court, 1 bucket to get the win. Well, your punk behind iz scared to take the shot, so you dish it off to ya teammate, who's just like you, so he dishes to the man to his right, who is a pass-ifist as well and tosses cross-court to the wingman, who passes to open man, who wasn't ready, and the ball makes it all the way back to you.

First of all, by the time you're done with all that passing, the buzzer goes off and you've blown the opportunity. But thats not why you lost; you lost because none of you punks would pull the trigger and take the shot, so the score never changes; you all figured somebody else would handle it, and come to find out nobody would. That's the Black Middle Class for ya, smh.

If you don't plan to change the situation, then don't talk about it; save your breath for something worth saying.

Matter of fact, I think I'm 'bout done with this roast. Why did I do it? I dunno why I did it; I'm Middle Class, we run our mouths a lot. But I figured I'd at least take action and leave it in a tangible form for future reference. And no, it's not some perfectly organized and bulletproof argument; this isn't college, this is reality. If you're in touch with reality, then you'll also feel something of what I said, even if not all of it. Cuz one thing that I don't want to be guilty of is keeping silent when something needs to be said. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you Middle Class Black America?

Unlearned

The term post-modern comes to mind immediately as I write this, even though I don't think it fits exactly. Post-modernism: rejecting the scientific method and putting trust in things less logical. Or somethin like that...

Anyway, I was doing some thinking today... actually it was last night, chatting with my lil sis. I was talking about not knowing and not understanding things in life. As I recall, it was centered around the movie about Ron Clark that I mentioned in my last two entries, and also about the prospect of me becoming a teacher.

Did I ever tell you why I didn't want to be a teacher, aside from the fact that I hate school? Well... I'll put it to you the way I put it in a verse: "'didn't become a teacher because I understood/ the school system's burning; the teachers are just wood/ but it could be corrected if the parents just would.../". Put it like this; there's a problem with school systems all over the country; parents aren't doing their jobs. And the responsibility has fallen on the teachers to "hold down the fort" until they come back to their senses. The prollem is, since nobody's holding these parents accountable, the likelihood of them coming back to their senses is nil.

So, in my possibly-misguided mind, I'm thinking, "Why in the world would I want to become part of a temporary solution that will give these parents more room to continue their neglect?" You see, one of the reasons I am the way I am is because I was taught to think logically. No joke, I was in special classes as a youth that emphasized critical thinking, and now that's pretty much what I do with any situation I'm faced with. So my logic tells me, becoming a teacher is like putting a band-aid on a bullet wound; taking a cough suppressant for bronchitis; leaving all the lights off for the sake of a blind person. And I see that the real problem is in the homes, and my mind won't let me settle for anything less than a real solution that directly addresses that.

Still, I still have that sinking feeling that I am being called to teach. And it got me to thinking: the value of knowledge must be relative. I gave my little sister this example:

"Suppose you were afraid of spiders, and you were in a maze or something. And one of the requirements is to pass through a room covered in spiders. But you didn't know this.

And suppose when you reach this room, before you see the spiders, a guide tells you to close your eyes. And then he dictates to you where to step, where not to step, and eventually you get through the room no problem. But had your eyes been open, you would not even have ventured into the room. Sometimes knowledge can be your worst enemy; when you hafta accomplish a task in spite of the knowledge provided."

So, in my case, if I am called to teach, it would be a move beyond all my reasoning. And I would hafta "unlearn" all my reasoning and do the most illogical thing; become a piece of mere piece of wood to a furnace that needs to be extinguished. I mean, I know schools can't be starved for workers; there are valuable children who need to be taught regardless of the situation. So while "we're" (assuming I go thru with this) getting shafted to buy time for a solution, who's job is it to actually do the solving? That's where it falls apart for me; there is no one actually making effective solutions while the teachers are being used up.

But hey, what can I say... It brings me back to the post-modernism idea; wouldn't this be the perfect time to exercise that thing we like to call faith? I mean, me being a teacher would be the dumbest, most illogical, frustrating, contra-ideal move I could see myself making. Nothing short of faith would make it tolerable for me. Perhaps that's the scheme; make Jigabod become a teacher to reduce him to relying totally on his faith.

But this makes me think about something I read in the Bible; I don't remember the verse, but God was talking about how some things He doesn't tell us because our minds couldn't handle it. I always thought that that meant they were things beyond our ability to conceive, like maybe ideas that human language couldn't contain or images so holy they would destroy us. Nah... I mean, it might be that too, but I think I have a new perspective on He meant. I think He meant there are some things that, if we knew them, they wouldn't make any logical sense to us, and we'd refuse to do them. And yet they must be done, for whatever reason is in His plan. So, like in the spider example I gave to my sister, we are kept in the dark to protect us from our fears, and even from our own logic. The Bible tells us to gain knowledge, but simultaneous there is knowledge that God protects us from so that we can do those things we hafta do. Go figure

(cough) But, as I am a man of logic as much as a man of faith, I gotta ask one more time: who's job is it to actually do the solving while "we're" getting shafted to buy time, assuming I go thru with this teaching thing... I don't expect an answer, it's just a hypothetical question.

The SuperTeacher II: Define Family

As I closed my last post, I had a radical idea...

How do you define family? Is it just a bloodline? Is it just the people that brought you into the world? But it can't be, because the state can assign a child to a foster or adoptive family just as easily, and it's still considered a family. So...

There's this gray-area definition that says a family is simply a group of persons who care for one another and love each other. And it makes me think...

If a child is in a "family" that neglects him/her... do they really love that child? I mean, when you ask the parents, most would say yes. Perhaps I asked the wrong question...

Let's be euphemistic and say, suppose a child's family is "unfit" to care for the child for whatever reason. Could a boarding school substitute as a legitimate family? I mean, supposing they had enough board-mothers and board-fathers right; could they not only substitute for a family, but actually BECOME a family? I mean, if a family is a group of people who love each other... If there are foster families and adopted families made of folk who aren't even blood related... Not to mention oftentimes foster families aren't even fit right? So why NOT have Boarding School families? IS THIS DOABLE?? IS IT FEASIBLE???

But who would be the dorm parents? Maybe barren couples who want children and can't bare any. Maybe SuperTeachers like Mr. Clark who somehow find so much time to invest in kids.

...I dunno, I just thought I'd pitch this here for later reference. After watching one of Mr. Clark's students in foster care being abused (and that hurt because I know kids like that) it puts the idea of Boarding Families in a very reasonable light to me.

The SuperTeacher

Last night I saw a movie about the life and work of Ron Clark, a master teacher who went into an inner city school and turned around the lives and academic achievements of an at risk class. Based on a true story; matter of fact, he's opening a school in Atlanta, GA in Fall 2006. My thoughts? Well...

Ron Clark is an admirable example of an ideal. He is the teacher who is gifted with the time and energy to not only be good at what he does, but to be the solution to the problems of those around him, getting physically involved in the lives of the studnets he teaches. That is commendable beyond any honor he could ever receive.

Maybe I'm paranoid... But while I was watching this movie with the family last night, admiring Mr. Clark's story while simultaneously gritting my teeth, I couldn't help thinking to myself, "I bet they think they see me on the TV screen, huh..." And the messed up thing was, I kinda wanted to be Mr. Clark. Or something like that.

It's not that I wanted the glory that he received at all; if you can't tell by now, I give less than a funny expression what people think of me. I get no pleasure in receiving honors (unless I can spend them, lol). But I watched this man getting so deeply involved in his kids' lives, cooking dinner at one student's house so that she could study instead of taking care of her family; rescuing another student from an abusive foster parent. From watching, being a part of, experiencing the public school experience, SuperTeachers like Mr. Clark are SO needed. And any student that is helped makes the whole profession worth it.

BUT... And I still maintain this: the SuperTeacher is NOT the solution to the problem. At the end of the day, what SuperTeachers do is double-edged: on one hand he/she saves the students put in his/her care; on the other hand they take the place of good parenting and allow it an outlet to continue. Any student that can be saved should be saved, by any means necessary; I'm not saying it's wrong to do this. But think of how many more students would be saved if parents were held accountable and if the fight was taken to the homes of these kids. THAT's a solution. The SuperTeacher is just a temporary solution.

There was a key scene in the movie that brings up an important point. Eventually, Mr. Clark develops pneumonia. Instead of resting, he continues to teach, and collapses before his students. What a moment, what a gesture, what tenacity, right? Those kids would love him forever for his sacrifice, no doubt. But it's just a reminder than every man is only a man, not a superhuman. A man can't take responsibility for so many other people and shoulder the burden alone. And this is what SuperTeachers face doing to themselves; they assume the occupations of teachers and parents, but only have the stamina to be teachers. This is not an effective, long-term solution to this crisis of at risk children.

Don't get me wrong though, Mr. Clark is fighting "the good fight" in this movie. And I was impressed by his method from the beginning, because it showed that he understood the root of the problem in the school system. You see, Mr. Clark starts off by making his first classroom rule, "We Are a Family". That's what these kids were missing in large proportion: healthy, fulfilling, encouraging, functional, supportive families. And it's a noteworthy approach, no question. But Mr. Clark, using the school to replace the family...

I'm bothered because... well... how can the family problem be solved if the family is dissolved? I'm caught between the welfare of the individual students and the welfare of the collective school systems of America. I mean... if the solution is to make the school the new family, then perhaps the public school systems should create boarding schools that provide room and board for students. I mean, have breakfast, lunch, and dinner at school; sleep at the schools. Become a real family in the full sense of the word. And have SuperTeachers like Mr. Clark as the "heads of the household", living iwth the students, cooking, helping with homework. Can you see my angle in this?

I say this not at all to discourage people like Mr. Clark; you are fighting a good fight, and... who knows, maybe I'll get suckered into it like I always feared. But I warn school systems everywhere; don't rely on good teachers to bail you out of the current situation. If you don't take the fight to the parents and hold them responsible, you might as well start building boarding schools now and preparing teachers to serve dinner and tuck their students in at night.

By the way, Mr. Clark... Whatever diet you're on, fill a brotha in cuz you must have crazy energy to be able to do all that you do. Stay strong.

B-J

The Follow-Through

Thinking back to all the blogs I've written since the Romancexpress left the station, I can't think of a single one that hurt me to write. But I think this is gonna be the one; 'matter of fact I'm sure. So, here it goes...

Today is Friday, August the 4th, 2006. At this very moment, there's a festival going on downtown in my city; First Friday is what they call it. For 2-3 weeks, I had been planning to go down there and circulate some of my music. My little sister is home from college; I planned to take her down there to get out of the house. My associates and I were supposed to meet up down there and do some footwork to get word out about us and what we're doing.

Weeks passed. I started working on music to present, but never quite finished it. I didn't call everybody like I was supposed to. Those I did contact, I didn't stay on top of. But... I still intended to go forward with the process. I did have a little bit of music on me; even that would have been something.

My head was killing me all afternoon. Then, we got a bit of a storm this evening, right around the time I should've been preparing to leave. But it was a quick storm; didn't last very very long. I had no proof it was headed in the direction of the festival or anything. But, I let that stop me...

No, that's just an excuse. The truth is, I stopped myself. It's not an attractive or flattering concept, but there's no other way to put it. I have a one fatal character flaw; I never finish what I start. Well not exactly never, but proportionally I start a lot more than I finish. I have hundreds of songs and verses strewn all over my room; only a few of them are actually complete. And it's not that I can't finish them, it's just... I keep telling myself "just keep working, just keep working". And to this day, I'm still "working" and not accomplishing. To admit this leaves the most bitter taste in my mouth.

But I wasn't always like this, I really wasn't. I used to be Mr. Perfect in everything I did; I always finished everything I started, and I always did it best. But, they were things that mattered nothing to me, and one day I realized that. From that point, it was so hard to be "perfect" in light of being perfunctory. But no...

I'm even inconsistent in the things I care about. To accompany my hundreds of incomplete lyrics, I have a surplus of incomplete beats. A so many times I could have beat out making a way for myself, like tonight, I passed it up and used whatever was in my environment at the time as an excuse. Headaches? So what; one headache isn't gonna kill me. Thunderstorm? You're not a lightningrod, and the storm wasn't that bad; you could've driven down there and waited it out.

Don't get me wrong though; I'm inconsistent, I admit. But my greatest inconsistency is in things pertaining to myself and my own well-being; when others factor into the equation, I'm SO dependable. I could never leave another person hanging if it's within my power to help them. But what about me? Do I hate myself or something? Am I missing self-worth? If so, then I've gotta take some time and sort through that.

This really saddens me. I don't wanna be this way; I want to see my dreams and goals accomplished. And I'm not even sure that the way I am is what I think it is. I feel as if I'm waiting for something, but in the meantime, I DO WORK. Every day I spend the entire day chipping away at this and chipping away at that; I never stop for anything but maybe a blog or a game or two. Even at night, I'm using my hands and using my mind to whittle away project after project. I've learned so many way so many ways of writing; I've taught myself how to use computer programs and how to manipulate webpages using code; I've learned to play an instrument at the novice level; I've networked with people I never even thought I'd get to look my way. But to just follow through and FINISH... I don't know why I can't...

You know, it's funny... I used to have a hard time playing pool right? I used to shoot, and I'd see where I wanted the ball to go and aim in that direction and strike the cue, but it would never do what I wanted it to. Then somebody put me up on the problem with my shot: my direction, my logic, my vision, it was all there. The problem was that when I took the shot, I only poked the ball, but I wasn't following through. Once I followed through, it took my game to a whole 'nother level. That's all I wanna do people, I promise you; I just wanna follow through. All those things I wrote from the beginning of Romancexpress until now, they mean nothing if I don't follow through.

I don't know how you feel about me after reading this; I don't like myself at all right now, and I understand if you see me as a pushover yourself. But, I'm not done yet; even though I often don't finish what I start, at the same time I never give up on ANYTHING. Anything that I ever started and didn't finish is still a project in progress, even if it was something from years ago; that's the one thing I can say for all my inconsistency. But I'm gonna beat this thing, and it's gonna start here with Romancexpress. Here it is:

After a year of being here with you, I've decided that I'm going to publish Romancexpress into a book. A year's worth of my experiences and my best blogs in a single volume to be bought off store shelves. I started the other day and already I've plowed through every blog from the beginning: 319 pages of material. I'm going to edit the blog, choose what will remain as part of the book, and get it published to be sold. That's my goal.

I want to make this happen as a victory for myself as well as for your enjoyment, those of you who read Romancexpress. So, pray for me that this time I will finish what I start, and that one day all my chipping and whittling will take form. The blogging will continue, but the end of this month will serve as the end of Romancexpress: Volume I.


"The race is not given to the swift, nor to the strong, but to him that is able to endure unto the end."

Sippin'

Mornings are hard for a lot of people, for whatever reason. It might be you stayed up too late; might be you hate your job, hate school; might be you hate Mondays... Nah, you stayed up. You stayed up watching Adult Swim didn't you! (lol) Well, whatever it is, a lot of people solve this lack of eagerness with caffeinated drinks: coffee, cappuccino, malt, latte, whatever your particular buzz drink is.

Ever since my trip to Canada, where I had two sweet cups of hot coffee to be the cherry on top of a wonderful breakfast, I've become a bit more of a regular coffee drinker. In the course of my drinking, I've come to a realization; the genius of hot drinks.

Yes, caffeine is a kick start to get you on your way. I don't like putting influencing agents in my body like that, personally. But I'll tell you what I do like; I like what hot drinks do to make you pace yourself. See, when you wake up with a hot cup of coffee, you can't drink it down but so fast; you'll burn yourself. The only way you can take it is one sip at a time. That's a beautiful thing. Yes the caffeine wakes you up, but that heat keeps you from rushing into your day.

And I find, when I can't settle down and when my mind is going a million miles a second, a hot drink really makes me calm down, whether I want to or not. Coffee is dope in the morning, but I can drink it any time of day; as long as it's hot and just sweet enough. I also have a homemade creation, ginger green tea, that I sometimes drink to ease me at night . It's ginger-ale from the store that I've heated to boiling with a bit of raw ginger that I use to steep about 2 bags of green tea. As I sip, it burns with both the warmth from the stove top and with the spice of the ginger astringent. You can only take but so much at a time, but it's good for ya, lol.

So, as you start off your rough mornings with your lil' pep, whatever it may be, take note of the value of the heat that makes you take it slow. And any time you just can't slow down, try sippin' a hot drink, cuz anything more than sippin' is gonna teach you a valuable lesson: some things in life you simply can't rush, lol.

B-J

I-B-O-NIT: A Jigabod Moment

Dag, even the title rhymes. Smh...

Kay, remember a few posts ago when I was tambout RoboCop and how his motif is the antithesis to Darth Vader's motif? Well uh...

So I'm watching this VH1 show, "When Star Wars Ruled the World", right. Come to find out: John Williams, the dude that did RoboCop's theme, is the SAME cat that composed for the original Star Wars! That boi Jigabod got an ear doesn't he?! And they want me to be a teacher... psht


I-B-O-NIT (My new Jedi name)
B-J

The Genius of God

I've been thinking about this for a few weeks now, but as I sat here and watched this music video with NASA images from space, I was finally inspired to write it. I don't know what you believe out there, but I believe in the Trinity, and I believe the Bible as it's written. And the same effortless, meticulous intricacies I see in the Word of God, I see in the works of God. In short, God is a genius.

I watched these images from space: nebulas, galaxies, solar systems, asteroids, planets, stars, novas, constellations. And I couldn't find words to describe them, or the genius that went into them. I saw things that oddly resembled familiar sites, like a nebula that resembled a wolf on one side and a fish on the other. I saw things that looked like things from my own imagination; clusters of celestial objects that resembled some sort of gateway into who knows what. I also saw things that resembled nothing I had ever seen before. The only thing I could say was, they resembled what spirits should look like in my own mind. And they were HUGE. It had me thinking; maybe we don't see spirits because they're so massive that we simply don't have the scope from where we are. Wouldn't that be something?

But this Genius, He knows we're so limited in scope. So He makes himself apparent in the smallest of things. I woke up one morning and looked in the mirror. In case you didn't know, I'm a relatively furry cat. But I also have had sensitive skin most of my life. It's the "proper thing to do" to shave if you're a hairy person, but one day I thought about it. I have blemished skin, but when I allow my hair to grow, it evens my tone. The solution to my skin was already in place when I took a step back and let what God set in motion occur, lol.

I thought about elderly people who become ill and end up with more poison in their bodies from all their medications than damage from the illness itself. But the amazing thing is, God actually gave our bodies a remarkable healing factor: IF we take care of our bodies and allow them to work without so much aid. I think sometimes we're so much in control that we override the solution to our afflictions before we realize its there. Give the Genius time to work.

From the outer reaches of space to the first cell of your own body to the very molecules that give structure to matter itself; maybe to something even more intricate that our limited human senses can't even perceive. God's genius is all around us. I'm thankful that I can see the genius in his Word as well. When most people do their best to escape it as a book of punishment and restriction, I look at the choices we make instead of doing God's will and the end results and realize it's a book of protection; a book written by a Father who wants to shelter His children from self-inflicted injury and impending destruction.

I'm not a deist; the Word is where God reveals His true nature as it pertains to us, and only partially in nature itself. And I'm not a scientologist or anything like that. But God's genius is just so obvious, and so wonderful that I thought I'd mention it. And the best thing about it; even though the expanse of the universe is so endless, He spends His time watching over you and watching over me like we were the only people in the world. To be valued in such a vast, infinite universe is really something. You should think about that whenever you feel alone or worthless.

B-J

Nice Guy Survival Kit: Women's Network Epilogue

I prooooomise, I was only watching a Different World this time! And in my last blog it was a marathon on Nick at Night, not on Oxygen! I'ma make this short I prooooomise!

Okay, so I'm watching A Different World on Oxygen cuz I like A Different World a whole lot all of a sudden, and I'll watch it WHEREVER it comes on. But then this commercial comes on: "They didn't think we had the balls to pull off a successful women's network..."

I would just like to say... NO WE DIDN'T THINK YOU HAD THE BALLS TO DO SH!T. CUZ YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO HAVE BALLS! STOP DEFINING YOURSELVES RELATIVE TO MEN! 'Like anything you do doesn't have worth until man is factored into the equation... HAVE SOME SELF-RESPECT WOMEN! 'AMMMMNNNN...

That's some da craziest ish I ever heard... "They didn't think we had the balls..." I HOPE NOT! Shoot...

(shudders)

Chirp, Chirp

I'm sleeping, I know I am. I haven't seen anything yet. It's still early. The night is so cool; I can even tell as I sit here. I got the nerve to crack a window right now.

I hear crickets chirping. I don't know why that stirs me tonight; reminds me of being back in the country. I'm watching reruns of A Different World. Ha... Cree Summer, Jasmine Guy, Jada Pinkett, Lisa Bonet, Marisa Tomei. Man, I really was born a generation too late, lol.

Still, I feel so close to days gone by. I rest on them at the close of my evenings. I even went so far as to throw on old favorites. Nah, not that old; I'm not a geezer. Just some tunes from when I was a scrapper... aight, a nerd. "Love Makes Things Happen" by Babyface and Pebbles (she was such a fox; "fox" was the word back then, lol). And "Forever More" by Puff Johnson. Dag that song has been with me for sooooo long and I never knew who sings it until tonight. I could look her up and see her face but... I like imagining better.

I was talking with a younger homie of mine a few days ago about music. And I said something that really stuck to me. We listened to old classics from all decades, and I told him, "Man, we were raised on better stuff than what's on the radio. We need to act like it. If we came up on better music, cats should be able to see that." Something like that.

The point is, I feel like I'm sleeping. Better music, better television, better health, better hopes, better dreams, better relationships, better upbringing, better friends... better days. Gone without a trace. But where did they go? Am I crazy? I know I'm not crazy. Lisa, you gotta know I'm not crazy. I'm looking at you right now, how could I be crazy?

I just figured out something; THAT's why I listen to old music so much. Because that's my proof. It's the only thing I have that I can extend in hand and say, "Here is the evidence of greater things. And I've lived through it; why can't we go back, Marisa?"

I think I'm asleep. I think many of us are asleep. What happened to the dreams of the 80's children, Cree? I know we're alive, and our time is coming. But we've changed sooo much! What have we buried within ourselves; what have we forgotten; what have we surrendered to; what have we given up on. I can feel something powerful within.

I'm so tired. I'm tired of sleeping. I dunno how to wake up. It's not possible for so much to be instilled in me and it never resurface. Even if it were to manifest itself in a spontaneous combustion incident or something; there's got to be more. I just want to blaze as the proof that there's more. I won't do it as a monument to myself. But I'll do it because I believe there's others like me out there, and if we could all just tap into that sleeper inside of us... dag this sounds like grade A cheese. But I'm SO sincere about it.

I don't want an amen corner or a right-on with my fries; nor do I need a pat on the back or the subsequent "pitiful" head-shake. You know what I want? I want that sleeper in my chest, in the deepest depths of my mind, in my fingertips, to hear the crickets. You've rested long enough; time won't wait for us. It truly is a different world now. It's time for you to wipe away the sleep and stretch into a good morning like never before. And don't pretend you're not there; if you're not, then stop making all that noise.

...It's a cool night. Wish it could last longer; it feels wonderful. But, the day is coming. So many things to do that I've never done before. Let's "make things happen" like love this time, aight?

Chirp, chirp