WHITE FOLKS LOVE THEIR WEED

There is this new urban MYTH that legalizing marijuana is a good thing for Black Males in regards to their incarceration under the War on Drugs in the US. WAKE-UP PEOPLE ... all this does is move the product into Corporate hands with Government collecting taxes. Marijuana belongs to the STATE. Anyone not in those circles possessing, growing, exchanging, investing, gene splicing, marketing, advertising, scheming and hustling weed will still be incarcerated just like the selling of cigarettes and alcohol.

The Government just needed time to create an official business plan that can be applied State-by-State and enough people dependent upon the product to push it through. Marijuana can be grown in the home as simply as a common Chia Pet product. Like bottled-water .... its all just a Game. Arresting people for weed had become a plan that had exhausted its merit points. The argument that it is for medical reason was not only the keep reason for making marijuana legal but "is" the ultimate smoke screen and not the real reason. When pushed to answer the question, "Are there alternatives to marijuana?" the answer was always, "YES, but ...". Using recreational smokers to push the agenda, the medical industry used it to gain legal access to cornering the market for profit and will flip-the-script to either exclude recreational smokers or become the sole dealers of the product. Already recreational smokers are going to the marijuana centers and being turned away because they don't have a "prescription".

WHERE WERE YOU SHAZZA? Pt. 2

A few weeks ago I Blogged about how a close friend of mine was being shipped out to Iraq again on April 15, 2008 (A FRIEND, A CALL, A WAR AND A PRAYER). He’s already been there for a tour and in Korea and all other places serving our Country. This is a worthwhile and noteworthy thing. It was his choice as well as his duty. I don’t have issues with the military; at one time I briefly considered the occupation myself, "BRIEFLY" being the optimum word. So the need to leave and do what needs to be done as required, I am in full support. And as my friend, my Boy Marco knows how I feel about him, the Occupation and this Administration.

Well, during my time away from the Blogosphere, I get a phone call surprising me that my Boy is half way between New Jersey and New York City. MAN I was surprised and also half FUQ’ed. I had just ended a serious Long Term Relationship and needed to be in that state of BLUES, you know the kind of Blues where you are listening to all the “sad songs” that define your life and feelings mixed with deleting all of the “our songs” from your Ipod so you can complete the Remix of the SOUNDTRACK OF YOUR NEW LIFE. I know I wanted to see my Boy Marco because in the reality that is the Bush Regime, this may be the only time I may see him for the next 18 months. YES, he’s gone for 18 months …. THE BASTARDS!!

Last time we hung out, I was chillin out in Chi-town but I was a work-a-holic so the quantity time we shared was only done in quality time. Not to mention, my Boy was detoxing from culture deprivation and had rather slept, eat Oreo cookies and drink Kool-Aid all day then go out and party. Nothing wrong with that. So now that it is a little over a year later, My Boy was doing his "The Marco Tour" to connect with his friends and family before his deployment.

So Marco arrives at 11pm on a weekday. Excited, we meet and greet, catch up and then he hits me with the BIG QUESTION, “So what you got planned for me?”

Now, if you live in a major city and you have folks from out of town, especially those from a rural area or the deep SOUTH you can relate to what I’m about to say, "US CITY FOLK DON’T PARTY 24/7". And even though New York City has the reputation as the City That Never Sleeps that unfortunately refers to the CITY, the PEOPLE LIVING HERE DO SLEEP. Especially the 9 to 5 Peoples.

So here I am, on the downturn of an emotional rollercoaster and sitting across from a Body with the energy of a rising Sun, what’s a Brotha to do? Well I had to do what many people have done in many years past, we looked at his wallet and said, "THIS IS FOR NEW YORK AND TOURISM, BOOST THAT ECONOMY."

So we made out a plan which involved, Club Hopping, House Parties, The Apollo, The Cotton Club, Lenox Lounge, Dinners, Bootycalls and Hoochies (come on ladies, he’s single and heading to Iraq for 18 months I had to do something), Meeting Family, catching up with friends and actually sitting down and having QUALITY TIME. That was the best. The fact that we could sit down and talk about goals, wishes, fears and his anger about heading back over to the desert. We talked about moments that to me were trivial but to my Boy, meant the World touched me so deeply that I moved aside a place in my heart to make him family. Interesting enough, he told me that I was more like his Older Brother than his actual Brother. I couldn’t tell you how much that meant.

So as the days go by and I watch Marco handle himself here, based upon his experiences, if he was not careful, New York City could eat him up and drain him dry. I mean, just like the saying, “If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere” is a reality. This is why.

As part of our agenda while Marco was in town, he wanted me to so a photo shoot for him and for his family. I agreed (I guess he knew the sympathy of being shipped out to Iraq, I'd do it for free, which I ended up doing ...) Afterward we were driving back to Harlem from a photo shoot that I did for him at one of New York’s most scenic parks when a car pulled up next to my Boy’s driver’s side. Marco, driving a brand new LEXUS (really nice, the head turning type, most definitely a sign of MONEY old or new) he kinda was BIG WILLY on the road. This Dominican kid then yells out at him, “Yo Papa, I got that Haze! Give me your number and I hook you up.” On the passenger’s side I am seeing just how my Boy would handle the situation and in the true style of a Country Mouse my Boy Marco responds, “Word?”.

“Yeah Papa, take my number and call me so I can have your number in my phone.”, he says in an insistent tone.

So Marco takes out his cell phone and begins taking the kid’s number. “Aiight, yo, what’s your number?”

Before he could complete the number exchange, a second kid driving with the Dominican says, “Yeah Man, we got those Pills too.”

I then interject to Marco very calmly and matter-o-factly, “Yo, you don’t want to do that.”

“Why?”, Marco asked

“You just don’t.” spoken in a Fatherly tone.

I look at the Dominican kid driving, lean across My Boy and say, “Yo Pa, we will call you later OK, we have a party to get at and we need to know what we need to get. We’ll get at you when we know.”

"Oh word, where is the jump off? Maybe we can roll through?", he asks.

I say to him, "Not that type of party. "

The second kid pitches, "We got that good shyt yo. The best."

“Yo, call me now. Call me now.”, The Dominican driver insists.

“I’ll call you later.”, I end the conversation and then I look at my Boy and tell him to roll up the window. “Negro, you need to drive this car straight and head downtown.”

When we get to 125th Street and Broadway I begin to tell Marco that he was just about to enter into a drug deal and his gullible ass didn’t even know it. Then there was no knowing if the police were watching and even if you were just talking, you and I would have been thrown all over your nice little LEXUS looking like THUGS on a Cops episode. I also drop the knowledge that everyone in New York is nice, but you have to be seasoned enough with the lingo to know if you are meeting someone nice or someone "nice".

Surprised and embarrassed my Boy says to me, “I didn’t know, I thought when he said he got that Haze, he was referring to a Rapper and selling his Bootleg CD. You know the ones people say they sell in New York.”

Like I said, Country Mouse.

I sat there in the car for a few minutes then started to laughed HARD. He laughed too because he knew, he wasn’t quite ready to be left alone here. New Yorker's can Smell New Meat as well as someone ready to buy a bridge cheap. I just couldn't see My Boy leaving here with only a barrel and flip flops.

We did Ground Zero, looked at the Statue of Liberty, had Uptown Soul Food and Texas BBQ, Spanish cuisine in Washington Heights, Central Park, the Bronx, Queens, and Brooklyn, traded pictures and music and in the end, made PROMISES. We promised to keep in touch, me being his tie to Home and him letting me know that he is being smart and staying alive. Looking at the Military’s Report to Congress this week …. Well I’ll just keep my opinions to myself for later.

Seven days later, I am totally exhausted. I lived the life of a CITY THAT NEVER SLEEPS and I was dragging. Between lack of sleep, running from dawn to dawn, eating on the run, dancing playing tour guide as well as BIG BROTHER .. oh did I tell you I was going to work as well… LAWD I needed a deep coma sleep. And yet, I was over my BLUES. I was now OVER MY BREAK UP. Of course I am not over the initial anger of the break up, I mean the reasons why are still immature, ignorant and devious BUT I can now move on and count my losses. I have my Boy Marco to thank for this. GOD does put people in your life for a reason. Especially when my issues with a break up is small in comparison to being assigned to a WAR ZONE for 18 months.

WHERE WERE YOU SHAZZA? Pt. 3

During my tenure away from the blogosphere, I worked on a few projects. One of those projects was an offer to be part of a new Black themed magazine dedicated to the healthy pursuits of bettering relationships between the sexes. I know on the surface, it seems like another one of those Essence-Wannabe publications but like I said, this is a “new” project and like all things, sometimes reinvention is a Good Thing. So after a few weeks, I and several other urban Writers were able to get together for this new and bright endeavor.

Meeting at a well-known Black owned bookstore I rushed in out of breath because I did not want to miss anything (plus I was on CP Time as well). The meeting for the most part went well. It was filled with the typical sizing up of the people in the room (me more so than others since I was the only Male writer in the room). The host was excited with the turn out and the idea; the writer’s were a bit more concerned about payment and ownership of their property. Much of the organization and meetings were on the setting up of the magazine’s foundation, sponsorship, advertising dollars and distribution, but by my own assessment, it was a bit shaky. There was much to be done with very little answers to questions asked, we, the writers wanted to know more.

We go through the meeting with our own degree of balanced commitment and reservation when it was finally time to leave. While I packed my things to head back home, one of the attendees asked to chat with me a little longer. Like all things connected with like minded peoples meeting, I assumed as much that this was the “networking” part of the event. The attendee and I began talking about our opinions of the meeting and the potentials it can bring “if” things go well. And as the host hurried all the people out due to the store’s closing, we all stepped outside in the April chill. The attendee and I walked and talked some more and as I decided to part ways, she had asked if I had wanted a ride home.

Now this is where my “BRAIN” kicked in. Sometimes I am criticized for doing this but I am told I THINK TOO MUCH. I mean, what the HELL, I was offered a ride home right? A ride that when finished would be only 5 minutes as opposed to a 30 minute walk or a wait in the cold for a bus that could be 15 minutes just for the wait. It was cold and I did want to be back home ASAP to prepare for the next day and catch some basketball. Then there were the other thoughts; “I don’t know her. What were her intentions? Didn’t yo Momma tell you about taking rides from strangers? Is she sweatin’ me looking for a Man or to be sexed up on the side? Is she trying to work me for some gas money?” All these things were flying through my brain when I finally said to myself, “Self …… STOP IT! Get in the car and be thankful and blessed you have someone nice enough to offer your Car-less Driving Ass a ride”.

So I get into the car and we head in the direction of my place. The all time we are riding, I find out very quickly that WE ARE NOT ON THE SAME HORIZON when it comes to politics, social and spiritual beliefs plus she attacked my boy Al Sharpton, to whom I volunteer for. Not for nothing, but the Sistah has some personal issues that I cannot possibly relate to nor willing to try. She was definitely the Girl from the other side of the tracks and I am at a point where my PEACE OF MIND was more important that anyone elses. Now I didn’t want to put on airs but just in the short time we were in the car, I knew that if there was any change or an aggressive move on her part towards "being friendly", I had my list of excuses from the BOOK OF MAN ready.

We get close to my intersection where one would turn and let a Brotha out but my "Driver" passes it by and goes around the corner — the long way. We go one block past the correct street when I interjected that she had missed the turn only to get a simple reply, “Oh I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.” I let that go thinking to myself, “MAN this trip will add an extra minute to the ride.

We make the long turn and back track toward my place when I apologize for taking her out of her way when she tells me that it wasn't a problem since she lives on the next block over from me. “OH HELL NO!”, I think. Now she’s going to know where I live. Let me get out just before my address so I don't increase the stalker probability. I tell her to let me off at the corner just short of where I lived, which she does.

She parks the car and just as I begin to grab my things, the woman begins a conversation about my knowledge about publishing and contracts. Now being polite I pause just for a moment, then do the cliffnotes version of explaining details, contracts, agents, writing and payment scales in the publishing industry as it relates to Internet publishing vs. Print. I figure I could at least do this as a "thank you" favor and do it in 5 minutes or less then BE OUT. As I finished, she breaks out her paperwork on a Book deal she had and what her novel manuscript was about. I paused again and listened counting down the minutes of my staying power. My patience is something that many of my friends admire and still I know that it isn’t what it use to be because in the back of my mind I can hear my inner voice saying, “You know, I really don’t give a FUQ about your book.”

Several minutes go by and all of a sudden, the topic changes from “My novel this My Novel that”, to “I have issues with my boyfriend”. BINGO! I knew something smelled like FISH and it wasn’t a cheesy tampon either. I quickly began to peruse the Table of Contents from the BOOK OF MAN to find a good OUT when I say, “You know, I wrote an article on that very subject. Give me your e-mail address and I will send it to you. Once you read it, you can reply back and tell me if it works for you.”

She agrees and as I begin to take out my business card I hear the woman say, “Oh shyt, here comes my Boyfriend”.

WHAT?!? Now where the FUQ did that come from?!?

I look up at her as she is looking in her rear-view mirror. I turn around to look to see whom I WILL be dealing with (better yet, if I will be either be seeing a hospital, breaking the 100 meter dash record or knocking Old Boy out like Mike Tyson).

“Don’t look back, he might think we are doing something in here”.

Again I say, “WHAT THE FUQ?!” as my mind goes back to that moment when my BRAIN was asking all those questions. I always keep preaching to myself, GO WITH YOUR FIRST VOICE. Every time I don’t, I always rue the day I did. My Mother was always good with me when talking about women. She was SERIOUS about telling me about Women. My Father was about the respect and loyalty to Women and how girls are fragile and it is a Man’s place to do Right by them; except for the Hoochies. Mom on the other hand was STRAIGHT UP GULLY. She had no issue with spilling the truth about the OPPOSITE SEX. She would tell me about the "GAME" and how a real WOMAN knows how to play her weaknesses into strength and if I am not careful, I can get hurt. Mom detailed the differences between the Good Girl and the Bad Girl and the thin line between the two. In moments of my childhood I would get caught up in fights, punishments and ass beatings mostly because a cute girls playing the boys against each other, or the promise of attention "if's". I recall a deep conversation in my teens when my Mother would discuss how some Men would loose their mind and either kill themselves or others over a Woman. As a teenager the very concept of doing something like that made no sense. Years later, this was one of those moments where I had briefly forgotten those lessons and needed them back REALLY QUICK.

Old Boy rolls up on the passenger’s side where I was sitting and knocks on the window. I look up. This Mofo was this YOUNG ASS KID, can’t be no more than mid-20’s, definitely a child of the streets, thugged down, saggin’ pants, a dirty boy for sure. Now mind you, the woman driving is clearly in her late 40’s if not a day before 50. Now I don’t have an issue with an older woman dating a younger man so her business is just that BUT in this case I now know that this (and I am being polite when I refer to the person) Woman purposely drove me past her “BOY” friend to create a situation and I WAS THAT SITUATION.

“Sup. Who you?”, he says staring me in my eyes like I pissed in is Corn Flakes.

“He’s one of the Writers I’m working with!”, she yells across me to him as she rolls up the window on him.

Pissed off by her actions and with me in the Passenger’s seat, he stands up straight and walks away.

Sizing up the situation my brain begins to process the whole situation and it dawns on me, I have seen the kid in passing and not paid him any mind (like I do most of the people acting “ignant” in my neighborhood). Then I look at HELEN OF TROY and see she just tried to start a WAR and I say to myself, "I need to end this now".

“So that was your MAN?”, I respond in an inquisitive tone.

“Yeah, he gets on my nerves, you know he threaten me with a gun when I told him I was leaving him. Then a knife another time. He’s crazy.”, she says as matter of fact.

My “brain” kicks in and I said in my silent voice, “BITCH, I should knife you right about now.” I mean where was HER disconnect and then I thought about what and who I'm dealing with. I then tell her that she is playing a serious GAME and I need to be going since her situation is beyond anything I can get with. As I begin to get out of the car, the kid rolls back and crosses in front of the car. The woman rolls down her window as he sticks his head into the car, gives her a kiss, then dumps a HUGE KNOT …. I mean A HUGE SOFTBALL KNOT of money in her lap as he places two more in his coat pockets.

“What is this?”, she asks him.

“Stop playing yo, just hold on to this!”, and he walked away while she rolled her window up. Looking defeated and embarrassed at what had just occurred, she looks at me and says, “You see what I have to deal with?”

Now I would have paid TOP DOLLAR if someone had taken my picture at that moment. I mean I had so many emotions flowing through me at the moment that in my mind’s ability to process everything went kaput, I was tongue-tied and brain numb. I mean, who was more out of Phase with Reality? HIM because for all he knew I was FBI going through her to get to him to get to his supplier, HER for trying to play me stupid and or trying to get me CAUGHT UP in something that would put me on the evening News, or ME for not exercising the Primal Rule … DON’T TALK TO STRANGERS?

I got the hell out of the car and made sure not to leave any breadcrumbs as to who I am and how to contact me. It still disturbs me that my positive day ended up being so twisted. With all the personal DRAMA I have been going through over the past few weeks, I really didn't need this. Brotha dealing with a HIATUS from the Blog. I got more coming up later.