Malik Yoba first came to fame with role in New York Undercover. More recently, he has appeared in Tyler Perry's 'Why Did I Get Married' and the upcoming 'Why Did I Get Married Too.' I was fortunate to have the opportunity to chat with the actor, musician and activist about a wide variety of subjects, including current projects and recent relationships.
He's clearly a man and artist that lives and thinks outside the box. In the conversation that follows, we discussed 'Shop Talk,' his web series on BET.com, relationships and the most surprising thing about working with Janet Jackson.
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Note: If you didn’t’ see “Brooklyn’s Finest” that opened this past weekend, you may want to view the minute long trailer on the next page before you continue reading so that you have the proper context for what proceeds. At times, the movie in itself feels like a retread of stories we've seen before, but it's still a compelling story of tormented men. And it's that subtext that sets the stage for some interesting introspection of the male psyche. On with it. Click Here to Read Post & View Trailer
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Most men live relatively soft. Warmed up butter comes to mind. We work square jobs. We play by the rules. We deny. We yield. At our edgiest, we might hurt someone’s feelings by saying something truthful, but even then we’ll circle back to apologize because we feel the need to keep things drama-free. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. It’s just a reminder that we’re not who we fantasize we are sometimes. Instead, who we are – most of us anyway – are practical providers for ourselves and for our families. Responsible but uninspired. Consequently, many of us labor through our lives trying our best to avoid a mid-life meltdown before we retire and die. For many of us, this is what it’s come down to – life has become one big ass yawn.
That’s why films like “Brooklyn’s Finest” or even the commercials for them can cause an adrenaline rush for many of us. "Training Day" was no different (same director by the way - Antoine Fuqua). Actually, mob movies and shows like the Sopranos are also part of the context. Popular culture has a knack for playing tricks on our minds especially when it comes to social pathologies. For fleeting moments we fantasize about running a criminal enterprise or at least possessing the swagger that it takes to do so. Hell, we even hallucinate at times about being the conflicted cop. Crooked or not, it seems far more exciting than sending emails, creating spreadsheets and doing PowerPoint presentations. And though dangerous and often deadly, having the reckless abandon to choose fight over flight seems liberating.
It’s in these moments of cinematic escapism, we get lost in the idea of being something that we’re not or, as they say, something that most of us aren’t built for. The murders and mayhem that happen throughout help to mitigate the sense of invincibility, but we still live vicariously through characters and story lines that offer a glimpse into an existence that doesn’t involve coffee, bagels and vitamins to get the day started. It’s a two hour field trip into a world where sh*t is unmarked and untraceable from guns to relationships. It's the gangster alter-ego within us that we all wish we had access to where one survives (until he doesn't) by his wits and instincts. It begs the question who would really want this life? It's twisted, but some of us find it intriguing, if for no other reason than we think the possibility of being shot to death is slightly better than the certainty of being bored to death in our normal lives.
So when Jay-Z, in the theme song for the film, asks “who’s gonna run this town tonight”, we have the urge to raise our hands and blurt out “ooh ooh ooh, pick me, pick me”. And therein lies the problem – even in our fleeting fantasies we’re asking for permission. The bottom line is we’re domesticated and harmless that way. Truth is most of us can barely run our mouths in our own households without buckling under the pressure of the wife’s evil eye so how the hell are we going to “run the town”? The idea of life imitating art is a bubble waiting to be burst when we're forced to keep things in perspective. And that' not necessarily a bad thing. One
This is a serious case of b#tch@ssness that makes me publish the rare Saturday post. If your name is Steve Williams and your day job is being the caddy to Tiger Woods, which happened to net you several million dollars over the last couple years, now would be an excellent occasion to stick a nine iron in your mouth. C'mon suhn, fallback from the cameras and microphones, do your job in as much obscurity as possible and hope like hell the PGA doesn't impose salary caps on caddys, especially those who can't fully appreciate life on easy street.
So if you haven’t heard by now, earlier this week it was reported that Steve Williams told "60 Minutes New Zealand", back in his home country, that he is.... Click Here to Finish Reading
Continued: So if you haven’t heard by now, earlier this week it was reported that Steve Williams told "60 Minutes New Zealand", back in his home country, that he is “mad” at Tiger and that he knew nothing about his escapades, but if he would have known he would have “blown the whistle”. Apparently he missed the memo from those of us who actually work for a living that read “if you’re a caddy that makes six figures or more a year, you don’t get to be mad. What you get is your wits about yourself and act like you have some sense.
Here's the deal. Tiger Woods, as infallible as he may be, probably makes more annually than the total gross national product of New Zealand. What I’m saying is Tiger Woods can make the entire country of New Zealand his next cocktail waitress and smack it on its tight little ass on the way out the door. There is nothing like witnessing an entire country making the walk of shame through the hotel lobby with its heels in its hands after an all-nighter with Tiger Woods. Yep, New Zealand is plausibly Tiger's biggest and favorite groupie. Last time I checked, there isn't too much color over there.
With that in mind, what Stevie needs to do is chill out and enjoy his earnings until Tiger is ready to play again. I’m not sure what there is to do in a country in which sheep outnumber humans 9 to 1 but he should figure it out. Because running your mouth to "60 Minutes New Zealand" about your rich American boss is about as regrettable as one of Tiger's infamous stateside mistresses, with Russian roots, posing for "Playboy Chechnya". Both parties should keep their mouths shut and their clothes on.
Tiger, on the other hand, indubitably has no game and imposes no fear whatsoever when he’s not walking the greens. Consider Darth Vader for a moment. Sure, he’s fictional but there are elements of his character and story that project real life values and virtues. Somewhere along the way, Darth presumably got some hot galactic chick pregnant resulting in the birth of Luke. And who knew until Darth, himself, revealed it? What people knew was to keep Darth's name out of their mouths. Decked out in that custom tailored black armor, wrecking shop in a “in a galaxy far far away”, Darth was on some gangster sh*t and people knew better – everyone: Obe One Kenobi, CP-3-0, the Storm Troopers, Billy Dee Williams, all of 'em, his caddy too. Darth Vader wished R2-D2 would open his tin mouth and even look like he was about to say something twisted.
Look, I know I'm out there but I’m just saying that Tiger has no swagger, no fear factor. His buddies - Charles Barkley and Michael Jordan failed him badly.
More importantly, Stevie, the caddy, needs to resume driving in his designated lane, get to polishing up the clubs and swallow the whistle. By all accounts, over the years, Steve Williams has been fiercely loyal to Tiger and understandably so. Now is not the time to stop or he may find himself unemployed and herding sheep to keep busy. Now, runteldat sh*t. One
Marriage is overrated unless your spouse allows you to date and have sex with other people. This is what Tiger Woods keeps telling himself he has to stop telling himself, because it never ends well when said spouse has access to your golf clubs and believes the exact opposite. But according to surveys, 4 to 9 percent of married couples subscribe to the philosophy of "open marriages," an arrangement in which each partner is free to enter into side relationships without guilt or jealousy from the other. Click Here to Finish Reading @ Black Voices
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So my boyfriend has a thing for wearing socks when we have sex. I can’t tell you how much I hate his footwear habits in bed. Maybe I’m too particular, but it seems very odd and silly looking.
- Carla in Chicago
Thanks for raising the issue. The do’s and don’ts of sock-wear, both socially and sexually, is vastly overlooked and under-discussed. Beyond your personal pet peeve, which I’ll get to momentarily, there are several other sins of the socks that make the average man look like a fashion Antichrist.
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Continued: For instance, with dress attire and even business casual wear, the color of a man’s socks should match his trousers, not his shoes. Dark blue pants, for example, require dark blue socks, gray pants require gray socks (of a similar shade) and red pants or anything of the primary palette requires a complete wardrobe intervention, as sock color suddenly becomes less important. So unless a man is colorblind, it’s really that simple. And he should know that black socks, regardless of how enticing they may seem, should be saved for a black suit, which by the way should be saved for funerals and formal occasions.
And then we have the slinky socks, the ones that no longer have the functional elasticity that allows the fabric to sit properly on a man’s calves. Those need to be removed immediately and set on fire. Look, no one wants to see a man’s hairy shins when he sits down and crosses his legs. Impotent socks that are unable to get up and stay up on their own are a pathetic sight to behold.
This leads me back to your original issue. Regardless of color or elasticity, there are three occasions when a man should never be caught wearing socks. One is when his feet are subject to get wet, as in bathing, swimming or being water-boarded. Two is when he wears sandals, despite his ‘frat boy’ inclinations to do otherwise. And three is when he’s about to “tap it”, yes, “tap it”. Because, Carla, you are absolutely right; it’s the silliest looking thing I’ve ever seen.
Unfortunately, it’s not exclusive to men. Some women are guilty as well. The very idea of foreplay, alone, with a partner who is fully undressed minus a pair of white footies or black nylon knee highs is magnificently unerotic. There is a reason why actors and actresses don’t wear socks in sex scenes; it’s arguably the most unflattering bedroom look possible, right up there with a wave cap or a set of rollers.
Typically, offenders will make the case that their feet are chilly. To that point, British researchers have discovered that couples with cold feet while “shagging”, yes, “shagging” are less likely to achieve full and genuine orgasms than couples who wear socks. Personally, I contend that if the feet aren’t warmed by the natural body heat after ten minutes, somebody is doing something wrong anyway – either that or turn up the damn thermostat. And if the entire act is expected to last only 10 minutes or less, then again somebody is doing something wrong anyway.
Think of it this way: if what matters most is making sure all the extremities are nice and toasty before “bumping uglies”, yes, “bumping uglies”, then why don’t couples wear gloves and skull caps? It can’t be any more hideous or any less of an act of sexual heresy than sporting socks like one is trying his or her best to recreate a bad porn scene. Seriously, what could be more sexually deflating than someone strutting out of the bathroom decked out in footies, a hat and mittens? Yes, it’s utterly ridiculous. Tell him to keep it classy and lose the socks. One
My wife talks too much. She goes non-stop. I don't even know what she's saying half the time because I tune her out. I try to listen but instead of getting to the point she goes round and round and she loses me. Many of my friends complain about the same thing with their wives and girlfriends. Any thoughts on this?
- Dajuan
Is it that she talks too much or you don't talk enough? Let's be honest about this. Most of us (as in men) rather whack a hornets' nest repeatedly with our bare hands than hold conversations of any great length with our significant others. Early in relationships, it's different though. We're talkative. We're more expressive. But when the chase is over, so is the conversation in a lot of cases. And with that, the communication in many relationships gets reduced to a bastardized form of sign language or a never ending game of charades. Click Here to Finish Reading
Continued: It's the great verbal divide between couples. What starts out as a mere crack threatens to become a major fault line that undermines the entire landscape of the relationship. Ever find yourself at a restaurant with your significant other and because the two of you have very little conversation taking place you begin to glance around the room and notice other table interactions or the lack thereof? Invariably, what you discover is, minus the clanging of forks and knives and perhaps some placating of obnoxious kids, others couples are also dining in relative silence. It's a telling commentary on relationships.
But to your point, there is another side to this and possibly just as problematic. Sometimes women really don't know when or how to shut the f%*k up. They seem to go and on about things that appear irrelevant to our existence. In reality, however, there are times when they're actually pressing us about matters that need to be discussed. There are three conversation non-starters that bubble up over and over again: the children, the bills and the state of the union (as in the relationship). None of which we want to discuss, ever.
Finding that middle ground where both parties can co-exist is ideal, but tricky. It's a classic case of being careful what you ask for, as the conversation that needs to take place about conversations is the very type of conversation you were trying to avoid in the first place. Damn if you do. damn you don't. Irony is a double-headed behemoth that way.
I do have an idealistic thought, however. What if the communication in relationships – going both ways – reflected the principles and spirit of Twitter? Conversations would no longer feel infinite. The short exchanges would consist of thoughts abridged to 140 characters. Yes, we would count the space between each spoken word, as well as the implied punctuation. It's possibly a win/win. Women get to have the dialogue they want or need and men get the brevity that we so desire. Everybody's happy. One
It's come to my attention that some readers occasionally take me too seriously. Certainly, there are points I make that I hope are embraced and thoroughly considered. Often, however, I'm offering a very tongue-in-cheek style of opinion and observations. And while I don't profess to espouse the gentlemen's gospel, I do fully endorse what I provide in the way of commentary and counsel. On that note and in that spirit, today I've decided to share, from the guys at Esquire Magazine, a few thoughts that are flavored with a similar style of wisdom and wit and underscored with the same sort of wink wink self-awareness.
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Continued: This is a list of 10 highly opinionated observations, that I distilled from Esquire's little gray book called The Rules: A Man's Guide to Life, which features more than 600 entries.
Rule #3: Don't trust a man who calls the bathroom "the little boy's room".
Rule #24: A man in a mini-van is half a man.
Rule #40: For the last time, no goddamn speedos.
Rule #62: No matter how greasy the pizza is, you can't blot it with a paper towel and expect to be taken seriously.
Rule #69: No group of people has worse hairstyles than men in government.
Rule #72: A man whose belt is fastened on the last hole looks desperate and 'resourceless'.
Rule #111: The stupider a man, the slower he walks.
Rule #224: People eager to get married can be trusted as much as people eager to get elected.
Rule #276: If you are uncertain how much cologne is enough, you are not allowed to use cologne.
Rule #343: No fluorescent condoms unless they're all that's available.
Michael Wilbon of ESPN’s “Pardon the Interruption” described the media frenzy best when he stated on yesterday’s show that “this is the great overreaction in the history of broadcast television.” Even that may have been an understatement. The idea that Tiger Woods needed to apologize to the American public is all types of irrational. Did Jesus walk the American public down the aisle and give them away to be lawfully wedded to the Coblinasian? One would think so with all the moralizing and sanctimonious sniping coming from the pews.
Nothing is more absurd than the idea of the media being the arbiter of all things moral. The media has celebrity rabies. Ever since the scandal broke, they’ve foaming at the mouth waiting for today’s event to finally happen. All the while, they’ve been trying their best to infect their viewers and readers with the notion that the public’s right to know supersedes Tiger’s right to exist. Even Tiger himself said, via written statement, back in early December that “personal sins should not require press releases.” All Tiger needs to do is apologize to his wife and his family, which I’m sure he has done profusely for the last three months and get back to winning tournaments. Contrary to what pundits suggest, none of us have long memories when it comes to things like this no matter how egregious they may seem. One
My Initial Tiger Woods Commentary (Dec. 2, 2009)
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Editor's Note: This post is also live at Black Voices.
We all have issues we wrestle with. Warranted or not, some of us try to charge it to our parents or some other factor in our childhood. But try as we may, sometimes, we simply can't. There are times when we own the issues outright. The titles are in our names – no co-signers. Whether it's a fender bender or a full-on emotional car wreck, ultimately we're the ones behind the wheel and we have to take responsibility for our issues and behavior. I say all that to say – real talk – what's up with grown men wanting grown women to call them "daddy" and, accordingly, what's up with the women who go along with it? This is a psychological doctoral dissertation waiting to happen. For my purposes, the question recently surfaced thanks to Usher's new single, "Hey Daddy", now in heavy rotation.
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Continued: The song, itself, I somewhat like – the music and melody at least. If it were only sung in Portuguese or French, with no available translation, I might be okay. But unfortunately, more often than not, lyrics that we can understand tend to cheapen the experience of listening to music. It's the hazard of popular culture – shallowness. And this song would be exhibit A. With words that include the following, it's hard for me not to scratch my head: "you know your daddy's home and it's time to play.... poke it on out, poke it out right there, I'm a fall back while you work that chair ". Something about the reference to "daddy" in a sexual context strikes me, for the lack of a better word, as nasty. And I don't mean that "ooh, you so nasty" type of nasty. I mean that crossing the line type of nasty that makes a woman say "n!gg@ you nasty, get the hell out of my house!"
Maybe it's me. Maybe, I'm the one who doesn't get it, but I just can't warm up to the dirty daddy talk. I understand that in most cases, it's just that – talk or sexual theatre, as it were. However, let's not pretend that all of it is simply lyrical when we know, unfortunately, in some cases, it's literal. Can anyone say "to catch a predator"? See, what women need to know is any man who inquires to "who's your daddy" and he really isn't your daddy should be treated as a yellow traffic light – proceed with caution.
Personally, I'm just not on that Eve's Bayou sh*t or anything remotely close to it. If Mrs. Jamal was into it, I would have told her I'm going to "ease by you" and keep looking for someone who doesn't have daddy issues. Actually, I presume that most women, who enjoy the daddy talk, are not really thinking about it in a genealogical type of way. At the same time, you can't help but wonder if there are some latent issues from some of their childhoods that still linger in their sub-conscious minds about an absentee father or something. Maybe there is. Maybe there isn't. Either way, call me lazy if you want, but I prefer relationships that don't require psycho-analysis.
And, to be sure, this isn't just a black thing. This cuts across cultural lines – evidenced by the popular use of the word "papi" among Latinos. But regardless of race or ethnicity, the problem is rooted with the men. A lot of these guys are suffering from what I call daddy envy, or the displaced fatherhood syndrome. Sexually, it plays out in the minds of men without children, particularly those without daughters – hell, perhaps those without fathers of their own. He wants to feel needed in that paternal type of way so, inexplicably, he begins to see the woman in his bed as a two for one. Then again, it's totally possible that the waters don't run that deep. Maybe some people, men and women, just like the way it sounds. If so, more power to them, I guess.
Men with children, on the other hand, are also capable of going there but far less likely to. Those, who are involved in the lives of their children, get more than their fill of daddy requests. As with moms, it can take a toll. The last thing we want to hear after a long day is a woman, caught up in the moment, telling us to "work it daddy"! Yeah, that's not doing it for me for a variety of reasons.
As for Usher, I'm not sure he knows any better. He's just following in the footsteps of other male artists who've gotten a little reckless with the daddy talk. It was just last year that radio was blaring a song by Twista featuring a young female voice cooing the words "I'm calling you daddy, can you be my daddy, I need a daddy". But don't stop there. Rewind the tape all the way back to 1961 and we find a little known group of dirty old men called Shep and the Limelites performing a well known classic titled "Daddy's Home". Exactly; this thing cuts across generational lines as well. And I did my due diligence by checking the lyrics. Shep, indeed, was not singing to his daughter. I'm reminded of the old man, who always had a pocket full of candy, back in the day and no grown folk, for miles, trusted him. Usher, on the other hand, is harmless and a bit clueless at times I suspect. Last month, he was on the radio pathetically singing some song called "Papers" as he whined about the circumstances of his divorce and now this. I figured Usher to be a classier than what we've been getting as of late. I guess we're all prone to slip sometimes. One
Few people enjoy a life that’s unvisited by setbacks and adversity. Bad times befall the best of us. Straight talk, sh*t happens. It’s a thread that’s woven into our existence that makes us human versions of inventory found at TJ Maxx; we’re all a bit irregular in some form or fashion. Most of us, however, toil in obscurity with not as much as our next door neighbor knowing our issues. But for celebrities, which I use loosely, it’s a different ball game – lives and careers have an interesting way of coming off the tracks that often makes a farce of fame and fortune that once was.
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Continued: Add YouTube and reality television to the mix and one’s dignity can descend at a rapid refund type of rate. Over the past week, I’ve been acutely reminded of this phenomenon via two male R&B artists, who other than their meteoric fall from the charts, actually couldn’t be more different.
In one corner, sporting an unmanaged mohawk and a surplus of flab around his waist is former R&B superstar Bobby Brown – now a contestant on VH-1’s Celebrity Fit Club. In the other corner, “donning” a disheveled off-the-rack suit and drinking a bottle of Budweiser is former Quincy Jones’ protégé Tevin Campbell – now starring in a series of YouTube videos shot in what’s plausibly Toronto’s Chinatown . This can’t be good for either one of them.
Look, I’ve never walked in their shoes, but I can’t help but think that one knows that his pre-millennium R&B career has irreversibly careened off course when he finds himself on Celebrity Fit Club or singing his trio of hits in some nondescript Chinatown cabaret.
Personally, I’m a Chinatown connoisseur. If a city has one, I’m there. However, if your name is Tevin Campbell and you were groomed and produced by the legendary Quincy Jones, who once touted you as the next Michael Jackson, things have gone terribly wrong when you pick up your Blackberry Pearl to learn your manager has just booked you for a gig in the dance hall right right above the Hong Shing Chinese Restaurant. And you know it’s bad when a guy, presumably returning from the restroom, cuts across the stage right in front of Tevin to make his way back to the floor, while Tevin continues to talk to the crowd as if his career isn’t in a complete freefall at that moment. But things don’t get much better, when Tevin, scraggly beard and all, takes a swig from his bottle of ripple Budweiser, in the middle of the song. Yep, nothing suggests the next Michael Jackson as does taking a gulp of Budweiser, to the head, between lyrics.
Note: Patron cuts in front of him few seconds in. Chugs beer @ 2:40 in.
See first few seconds of video below for the sea of young Asian faces.
Not to be outdone in absurdity, however, is Bobby Brown, the former self-proclaimed “King of R&B”. Obviously, Bobby’s life has been, shall we say, a lot more colorful than Tevin’s more tepid existence. So unsurprisingly, Bobby, the undisputed “Celebrity Champ of Sh*t Gone Wrong”, retains his title in this match-up against his much younger foe by offering the most egregious misstep of the two. It's as if Bobby is saying “step out the way youngin’ and let me show you how a grown ass man circles the drain”. Seriously, subjecting himself to a show co-starring Kevin Federline and a drill sergeant named Harvey, who in a full-throated manner, barks one liners like "move your flabby asses and go to the mess hall to get some chow”, is a blinking neon sign that the career is not headed in an upward trajectory. It’s clear that Bobby has gotten real cozy with the desperation of doing almost anything for money. He has to be when in the premier episode Harvey, the drill sergeant, is bragging about a training program that’s used by Marines, Navy Seals and – wait for it – “Vikings”. Not as in the football team, but as in the actual Scandinavian dudes, who raided and colonized parts of Europe in the eleventh century – thooooose Vikings. This is what it’s come down to for Bobby Brown. But what I can’t figure out is how the decision was made, other than a coin toss, whether to cast Bobby for Celebrity Fit Club or Celebrity Rehab, another one of Vh-1’s train wrecks.
What I know for sure is a series of bad breaks and bad decisions have absconded with the self-respect these two, Bobby and Tevin, once had. It’s a damn shame. One
