A good friend finds herself irritated by the incessant chatter about the "single black woman" phenomenon. She confides that she recognizes the challenges that many black women face in pursuit of love and she feels for them, but she's coming from a different place. At age 38, she has no interest in walking down the aisle, settling down or raising children. She never has. Therefore, the logistics and statistics for finding a good (black) man don't mean a lot to her on a personal level. Perhaps, she's a bit of a loner that way, but she's definitely not alone in how she feels.
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I remember the first time a woman suggested I roughen things up. She asked me to grab the leather paddle in her closet. I was in my early twenties and shocked. I was a neophyte to this sort of sexual behavior. It flew in the face of everything I thought I knew about sex and what I thought was acceptable. Things changed after that. I learned the physical expression of our sexuality is a mere masquerade for the truth that lies beneath. What many of us enjoy more than act itself is the mental stimulation of pushing the boundaries by way of foreplay, fantasies and fetishes. And like a drug we continually ratchet up the dosage in chase of a high. For some, that addiction reveals itself in the form of rough sex. Click Here to Finish Reading
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I’m not a big college basketball fan. I’m more of an NBA guy. But with ‘March Madness’ in full swing, I found it difficult not to catch a few games this weekend. Clearly, it’s been a while since I paid much attention to the collegiate game, as I was struck by just how long and exaggerated the shorts have become. I realize the NBA set the standard for the more relaxed and roomier uniform fit, but some of these undergrads have taken it to the point where the shorts are beginning to look like parachute pants. It’s a little too M.C. Hammer-ish in my opinion.
Don’t get me wrong. Basketball fashion has changed for the better. I remember very clearly the day in 1984 when ...
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(CONTINUED) Don’t get me wrong. Basketball fashion has changed for the better. I remember very clearly the day in 1984 when my 7th grade basketball coach handed out the uniforms the night before our first game. I thought there is no way in hell I’m wearing these polyester butt huggers. Back then, mini-shorts were still the norm. Think Bird and Magic. But these shorts were borderline hoochie-mama and unapologetic about it. I’m surprised coach didn’t issue matching garter belts to complete the ensemble. Needless to say, I went home that evening and I frantically stretched them for hours trying to achieve a little more southern comfort in the man region as it were. I seem to recall it being a futile effort.
It was about this time that Michael Jordan reportedly asked the execs at Champion sports apparel to elongate his shorts so he could have something to hold on to when he would bend over during breaks in the action. Not too long afterward, University of Michigan’s Fab Five (which included Chris Webber, Jalen Rose and Juwan Howard) brought the look to the collegiate hardwood.
And minus a few “purists”, who feared the growing hip hop influence, the new look was widely embraced by fans. Michael Jordan was not only the best player to play he be credited for changing the entire aesthetic of the game. There was one holdout, however. Until he retired in 2003, John Stockton of the Utah Jazz refused to give up his daisy duke shorts. Every night for 82 games a season, he hustled up and down the court in his cheekies as he paid homage to those who came before him.
So as I was saying, I get it. I too prefer the longer shorts, but there is a point where it begins to look absurd either way – too short or too long. One
I'm on one for the remainder of the week - a mental vacation. I really lament not being able keep up the rapid fire pace of posting my thoughts for 52 weeks a year. When I have these moments, I feel like I'm letting my readers down. However, my doctor recently informed me that I am human. A second opinion was sought and so it is; I'm human. It was a bit of a blow to my ego, yet it helped me to put things in perspective. I'm susceptible to the ebb and flow of life like everyone else. I hate that, but it comes along with being mortal I guess. Anyway, enough said for now. Back to my hiatus. Check for me on Monday as always. Thanks for reading and for your continued support of how I put it down. One
At best, Ben Roethlisberger is guilty of exercising bad judgment and, as a result, he finds himself as a wrongfully accused victim of his own celebrity caught up in a situation of ‘he says’ but ‘she says’ louder. At worse, one of the NFL’s biggest marquee stars and one of its most successful franchise quarterbacks is a serial sex offender. Not good. A lot of us have our suspicions, but we really can’t say with any assuredness one way or the other. Personally, I prefer to let the legal system sort that out. But one thing is for sure. The picture to the left from his recent press conference, to discuss the “reckless allegations”, makes us all witnesses to a terrible crime of fashion. Click Here to Finish Reading
Continued: By now, if you’re a regular reader, you know how I feel about spaciously wide pinstripe suits. They’re a little too Al Capone-ish and New York Yankee-ish for my tastes. But even more troubling, in the way of material evidence for this crime of fashion, is the absurd presentation of his pocket square.
There are many ways a man can stylize his pocket square should he choose to wear one – ranging from the dashing and debonair to the buffoonish and barbaric. For the sake of brevity, I prefer a classic square fold or the more improvised and spontaneous look of the puff pocket square.
This bear claw of fabric peering above Ben’s suit pocket, however, looks like a weaponized handkerchief. The problem begins and ends with Ben’s attempt to rock a multi-point pocket square. Let the record show that I hate the multi-point pocket square. People speaking persuasively should have multiple points. Pocket squares should not. In fact, the best stylized pocket squares, for my money, have no points at all. They are role players. They’re not out there to make points.
The pocket square should be simple, yet sophisticated. If it’s been stylized in such a manner that it resembles a gang sign or, even worse, a deadly device used by Bruce Lee in “Enter the Dragon”, one needs to consider other folding options. The only thing worse is when no other folding options are available because the multi-point pocket square is purchased pre-cut and ready-to-wear. It’s a real head-shaker. The pre-cut ready-to-wear pocket weapon is the little brother of the clip-on tie. Bottom line – if you can’t tie it, don’t buy it. If you can’t fold it, they shouldn’t have sold it. Jesse Jackson can now have his rhymes back.
Look, I can’t speak to Ben’s innocence or guilt in regard to the two sexual offenses that he’s been accused of over the last several seasons. But I do know that when it comes to the multi-point pocket square, he’s definitely a serial killer of fashion. See this photo for Exhibit B. Someone needs to tell Ben that “no” means no and that when he goes before the media and public to defend his reputation, its one awkwardly delivered declaration at a time. Leave the ill-advised fashion statement for another day. One
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
Roll Tape!
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
