Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice? Um, not so much...

"All right, ladies, fine. You are not a whore. But you are wearing a whore's uniform." - Dave Chappelle, "Killin' Them Softly"


So Monday morning marked the day that adults in Baltimore who travel to and from work via public transportation dread like none other: the first day of school...there goes the peace and quiet we enjoyed all summer long (aside from an occasional drunk or crackhead creating a scene). My ride experience this morning, however, was indicative of an evolving paradigm shift: that it is the girls who have become more disruptive than the boys...

First of all, there is the way these high school girl dress. Jesus me, I thought I accidentally gotten onto a prison bus where the cops had done a sweep and rounded up all the local prostitutes...you had displays of breasts that ranged from titty strangulation by way-too-tight tops all the way to those that were just all out in the open and barely covered at all. Then you had practically every girl wearing the looooow riding pants that gave them all cases of plumber's butt, and half of the girls showing their asses also had on tops that were cut off or tied up so that they were exposing their midriffs along with the plumber's butt - and to be frank, some of those stretch marks and spare tires and blubber bellies ain't got any business being made available for public viewing (well really, at their ages, they should have all been covered up more, especially given that they were going to school, but how the hell do these kids get so damned out of shape?). Even some of the girls that were wearing uniforms made their best efforts to slutty up those uniforms by tying up their uniform tops (again to show off stomachs that were in various degrees of fitness), wearing fishnet stocking with uniform skirts, and in one case, substituting khaki uniform pants with a low-riding pair that also had the legs cut off so short that butt cheeks were spilling out of the top and the bottom of the shorts. I have three questions to all of this foolishness:
  1. How the hell did these girls make it out of the house without a parent knocking them upside their heads and sending them back to put the rest of their clothes on?
  2. How the hell did they get into school without being sent home? And...
  3. Am I sounding like a cranky old fart yet? 
Even worse than the way these young "ladies" dressed was the foulness of their mouths. I remember a time when calling a female a "bitch" was cause for a fight; then it became popular for these young, dumb boys to routinely call young women bitches with little repercussion. Now the guys don't have to refer to them that way, because these are calling themselves bitches - and as a general purpose term, ranging from "That bitch betta not say nothing to me when I see her, or Imma beat her ass"...to (talking on the phone to a friend) "Where you at, bitch, I thought you was catching the bus?"...to "I told that nigga he gonna be sorry, cuz he ain't gonna get no other bitch to be as good to him as I was"...aye yi yi, I need to buy a iPod or something...

But as bad as that all sounded (to me, anyway), the worst of it was a little conversation that got start near the end of the ride, where three little angels got into a discussion over who was the oldest guy they had (or were having) sex with. The one girl whose oldest partner was "only" 17 was was roundly ridiculed by the other two, who bragged of being with men in their 20s and even early 30s, guys who had their own cribs and cars and money they didn't mind spending on them. The girl who was doing her thing with the 17 year old was stupid, they said, for doing the do with someone that young and without proper financial resources. She was giving away her goodies for nothing, while they were proud to have gotten some financial return on spreading their legs...by this point, my head was pounding. What would their mothers think of this conversation? Then again, maybe they are modeling themselves after their mothers...

Well, at least the young men were far better behaved. They mostly sat or stood in a collective daze, headphones on, or engaged in much quieter (thankfully) conversations. And I could tell it was the first day of school, because they all seemed to have bright, colorful new drawers they were showing off under their sagging ass pants...

Whew, I'm glad my kids are grown...

Friday, August 17, 2012

My (formerly) favorite Baltimoron Men's Clothing Store

Whenever I was looking to buy some casual or "smart casual" clothing without resorting to something that would make me look nerdier than usual, one of the first places I would go to shop would be the Turning Point store in Mondawmin Mall.

Mondawmin Mall is itself a quintessential Baltimoron institution. One of the oldest urban malls in the country, Mondawmin was built in 1956, and has had its share of ups and downs over the last half-century plus. In recent years, with the gentrification of some of the surrounding neighborhoods, the old mall has undergone some renovations, including the building of a Target and a Shopper's Food Warehouse, giving the residents of the immediate area convenient access to quality establishments that sold something other than sneakers, hip hop clothing, fast food and music for the first time in who knows when. However, although the Mall's new look has been hailed for creating a diverse range of customers, the truth is that while the Target (and to a lesser extent, the Shopper's Food Warehouse) - both on the periphery of the mall - does indeed enjoy a diverse range of customers, the central part of the mall itself is still a place into which  few White people dare to venture. I guess in that way Mondawmin Mall is like many big cities. But I digress...

One the big drawing points of the Turning Point establishment, in addition to its selection of clothes and its  prices, was the makeup of its sales force, namely women. And I'm not talking about just any old women, but some seriously FINE, booty- and boobalicious young ladies with clingy outfits, beautifully done hair, nails, and make up, and big, brilliant smiles - well, except for the one young lady who had this one lone tooth that was kind of brownish and stuck out in front of the rest of her teeth. That tooth could be distracting, no doubt, but she may have had the best body of all the girls in the store (and that's saying something), plus she seemed to have the most personality of the bunch, and she was actually still a very pretty young lady - I mean, you know, with her mouth closed. Needless to say, I looked forward to shopping at the Turning Point for more reasons than just its selection of clothing...

So one evening recently I was out doing a little shopping and I decided to duck into Turning Point to see if they had anything I wanted. As I walked into the entrance, something seemed very odd. Where are all the ladies? There wasn't a single female salesperson in sight. Instead there was a Sikh gentleman who nodded and said hello. I almost felt like backing out of the store and looking up at the sign to see if I was in the right place. But I decided to venture in and see what was what.


Not long after I wandered in, I noticed a heavyset 30-something brother wearing a hoodie, long white T-shirt, and baggy, saggy jeans approaching me. I didn't pay it too much mind, but then...I was attacked! I got hit by a Bruce Lee kick square in the nose by his funky ass breath! "Uh hey, how you doin', good evening. Are you looking for anything in particular that I can help you with?"

WHAT? THIS is a salesman? Where the hell are the ladies? How did I end up with this dragon breath over aged yo boy who in no way looks or smells like someone who ought to be doing (legal) business with anybody, trying to sell me some damned clothes? I need to go talk to that Sikh guy to find out what the hell is up...

"Nah, I'm just looking around for right now."
"OK, cool, well let me know if you need any help with anything."
"Yeah, OK", I said, still looking around to see if any of the ladies was there somewhere - or at least a brother who was actually dressed like someone trying to sell some clothes. Oh well...

So I started off looking at some button down shirts, and came across a purple one that I liked, only I couldn't find one that was exactly my size. Some were my neck size but not the right sleeve length, some were the right sleeve length but the wrong neck size, everything else was wrong for me in both measurements. I was just about to move on to look at something else when I spotted Mr. Stank Breath out of the corner of my eye closing in on me - fast. I braced for his arrival, and turned my head to try to avoid the stank- but I was just a split second too late, awwwww damn!

"I see you like that purple shirt."
"Yeah, but I didn't see any in there were exactly my size."
"Oh really, what size you wear?"
"16 neck, 32/33 sleeve."
"Let me look through there again and see what we got."
"Okay, whatever." I moved on to another part of the store, temporarily freed from Mr. Stank Breath, while he occupied himself looking for a shirt that wasn't there. Alas, the freedom was fleeting; Mr. SB was back in my face again, with the shirt I had been checking out, along with a sweater to go with it - a sweater which I already owned one of - and a bowtie.

"What do think of this combination, my man?"
"Well I already have that sweater, and the color of that bowtie is a little off. You found the right size shirt?"
He handed the shirt to me. "Uh, this is a 16, 34/35; the sleeves are going to be too long. This is what I had in my hand when you came over." Dude looked stunned, almost like he thought I wouldn't know the difference, or wouldn't care. Off he went, and I got back to my shopping. A few minutes later, he was back again - with a purple suit (remember, this is a Baltimoron store). I cut him off before he could say a word:

"Man, I like purple, but I'm not wearing a whole suit of it." Off he went again, only to return with a shirt, some grey slacks (which actually were pretty nice) and some shoes -purple, of course, striped with patent leather and suede striping...

"I am NOT going to even try those on", I  laughed. "I like the pants, but purple shoes? I don't think so."
"Man, these are HOT!"  Yeah, a hot MESS...
"Too hot for me. You found a shirt?" He shows me the shirt. "Um, this is 16-1/2, 32/33, sleeves are right, but the neck will be a little loose."
"This is close, though. You should be good."
"Nah, I don't do close on clothes I'm paying good money for." I replied, as I headed for the exit, leaving him standing there with a wrong-fitting shirt and clown shoes.

On the way out, the Sikh gentleman, who apparently had been observing from a distance, approached me. "He is new." No shit, Sherlock, what happened to the eyecandy? He is a little overeager." Ya think? I nodded and forced a smile.

"So you didn't find anything?"
"I wasn't really looking for anything in particular, although there was a shirt I liked that you didn't have in my size." I would've stayed longer and looked at more stuff if Mr. Stank Breath had stayed out of my face...
"Well, we have new shipment coming in next week. You should come back." Will the ladies be working again?
"Yeah, I may just do that." It would certainly help if you replaced Mr. Breath with one of the ladies - even the one with the jacked up toofus...

Well, in the 3 months since then, I've made several trips to Mondawmin Mall, and I always walk past Turning Point and take a peek in the window - no women. A couple times I saw Mr. Stank Breath and got the hell out of dodge with a quickness. I guess eventually I'll go back in and get a little shopping done, although, Mr. Sikh owner, that shopping might happen a little sooner if you make things right with the world and bring back those lovely sales ladies.

Even the one with the jacked up tooth...

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Baltimorons: "Madam, I Believe It's Called WORCESTERSHIRE Sauce..."

So as I'm walking into the neighborhood CVS, about a half hour before closing, in breezes this woman with too little clothing and too much body, in an obvious state of panic. I watched as she practically ran back to the food section, then out of curiosity (and sensing a subject for a blog post) I strolled back to the area to see what the deal was...

"Oh my God, oh my God," the lady practically screamed, "where the hell is the Winchester Sauce?

Woooo boy...I came real close to busting out laughing, but I held it together and kept it moving to go and get what I came in for. But a few minutes later, as the cashier was ringing up my purchase, the security guard approached and asked if they carried any Winchester Sauce. "Winchester Sauce?" the cashier asked, looking totally befuddled. "Yeah, WINCHESTER SAUCE," the lady said breathlessly, still in a ridiculous overwrought state of panic. "Like you put on steaks."

"You mean, STEAK SAUCE?"
"I mean, it's kinda like steak sauce, but different. It's Winchester Sauce. WINCHESTER SAUCE! You never heard of that?"
"Uh, well, we don't carry that, but if you hurry, you can catch the corner store in the next block before they close; they might have it."
"Oh Lord, okay...oh my God, I gotta have this Winchester Sauce for my steak!"

By this point I was too through. The intellectual side of me wanted to scream "Lady it's called WORCESTERSHIRE SAUCE!" while the smartass in me just wanted to laugh in her face. And if she had said "Winchester Sauce" one more time, I might just have done both...

As I exited the store, the woman was standing on the steps trying to figure out where the corner store was. I pointed her in the right direction, she replied by saying, "Oh thank you! I hope they ain't closed yet; I gots to have this Winchester Sauce for my steak!"

I took off in the opposite direction and got away from her as fast as i could...


Thursday, August 9, 2012

Go GABBY!

Gymnastics is, like a lot of Olympic sports, something that I typically only follow every four years. So as this year's Summer Games approached, I started watching the gymnastics trials and reading up on the competitors, and lo and behold, what do I discover, but a young Sister by the name Gabrielle Douglas who was in position to make some serious noise in London. How did I not know this before? All of a sudden, my interest in gymnastics increased exponentially. I mean, there hadn't been a Black female gymnast from the U.S. since Dominique Dawes in 1996 (and my my my, hasn't she grown up nicely), so I was anxious to see how Gabby would do against better known and more experienced gymnasts from around the world, not to mention on her own U.S. team...

Well, everyone around the world with a telelvision, internet or newspaper has known for days how things turned out. Miss Gabby, aka "the Flying Squirrel" (did anyone else think of Rocky the Flying Squirrel from the old "Bullwinkle" cartoons?) first qualified for the individual All-Around finals (beating out teammate and All-Around favorite Jordyn Wieber (although the new rule that only two gymnasts from each country could be represented in any individual competition was pretty bogus), then she helped lead the ladies' team to the Gold Medal in the team competition, and then followed that up with a Gold in the Individual All-Around competition. And just like that, she was a world-wide overnight sensation!

But alas, whenever new-found fame arrives, bullshit is right behind it, nipping at its heels.I'm a person that thinks the label "hater" is about as over- and mis-used as a term could possibly be, and I generally try to avoid using it, but in this case, there were some serious haters standing in line waiting to get at Ms. Gabby - or at the people who were either close to her, or proud of her success. I got my first taste of this in reading various message boards, as well as Facebook, and Twitter. Why, many White folks ask, must a fuss be made over Gabby being the first African-American to win an individual All-Around Gold? Why must her race be mentioned at all? Why must Black people be termed "African-American" at all; why can't they just be called "Americans"?

Well, the simplest answer is that Gabby's gold medals were historic achievements in the realm of the Olympics. Although Balcks have long made their presence felt in the Summer Olympics as a whole, gymnastics has been an area where we have not had a whole lot of participation. So yes, Gabby's first-ever Gold Medal for a Black woman in the All Around competition (and the first by a Sister in the team event since Dominique in '96) was both a newsworthy achievement and a great source of pride for many Black folk. And if you think it strange that an athlete accomplishing something in the sports world that is rare for someone of his/her ethnicity would create a stir, then you obviously weren't paying attention to the whole "Linsanity" craze from earlier this year (and funny, I don't recall too many White people complaining about that...). And I have a few questions of my own for those who question why Gabby's race should be mentioned:

First, if you have such an aversion to a Black person's race being highlighted when they achieve something great, do you also have the same reluctance to race being mentioned when a Black person does something wrong? I mean, I've heard and read an awful lot of complaints about the need to better highlight the statistics that show Blacks comitting crimes at a rate disproportionate to their population; and I hear and read plenty of commentary that greatly exaggerate the criminal behavior of Black "thugs" in the NFL and NBA, yet Gabby Douglas wins two Gold Medals, and suddenly we shouldn't put any emphasis on identifying her race? And second, why is it a bad thing for y'all to hear someone say that America's newest sweetheart is Black? Is it so hard for you admire the accomplishments of someone Black that you have to put your mind in some state where the only way you can see someone like Gabby Douglas as a hero is if you pretend you don't notice her skin color? You can only celebrate a Black person's achievement if no one burdens you by mentioning that the person is Black? I don't get it...

Well, now that I've covered some White folks' bullshit, let us now get to the petty, silly assed, skewed priority foolishness of some of our own people. Of course you know that I am referring to the jackasses that took to Twitter because they decided that Gabby Douglas' performance at the Olympic Games wasn't nearly as important than the fact that she hadn't gotten her hair did in the latest style before heading off to London. Well to this nonsense I say, how was her hair fixed any differently from anyone else's in the competition? Let's take a look:



I dunno, maybe it's me, but it looks like everybody's hair is fixed exactly the same way to me. Nobody's hair looks any better or worse than anybody else's. You know why? Because those young ladies weren't going out to the club; they didn't travel to London to be in a Bronner Brothers hair convention; they were there to compete in the O-freakin'-LYMPICS! Even though they were in a "glamour" event, complete with nice shiny outfits, those outfits are designed first and foremost for function; the same applied to their hair. To those who had crap to say about Gabby's hair, you need to get your priorities straight. If some of y'all cared as much about the condition of your bodies as you did about the condition of your hair, we might be in better physical condition overall as a people. Then again, I guess there ain't much motivation for some sisters to get in shape when so many of us brothers (many of whom need to do better at keeping our own bodies in shape) ignore your waist-lines to drool over your be-hinds. As for me, give me a woman with her hair pinned back and working it out in the gym or on the track over one who has a fly hairstyle, but also cottage cheese thighs and an overlapping belly any day of the week and twice on Sundays...

The final bit of hateration came from the media, in the form of questioning Gabby about her mother's finances. Seems Natalie Hawkins filed for bankruptcy earlier this year, and that bastion of virtue and good taste, TMZ, broke the story in the middle of the Olympics (as they also did about Gold Medal swimmer Ryan Lochte's parents' house being up for foreclosure), and reporters couldn't wait to hit Gabby with questions about it. Seriously, though? Why would you ask a 16 year old about her mother's financial matters? And even if there was justification in doing so as the price of her new fame (as more that one talking lamely claimed), you couldn't wait until she was done competing? Gabby, as always, handled herself with grace and class (more than one can say about the reporters), but it was small wonder that she wasn't herself in her last two events.



 But you know, putting aside those instances of nonsense, this was a great moment in time for young Gabrielle Douglas. She was the best in the world at what she did, she made history, gained worldwide fame, got her face on boxes of Corn Flakes, and set herself up to make a nice piece of change in future endorsements. All in all, life is looking pretty damned sweet for Ms. Gabby; now maybe someone can come up with a better nickname for her. And as for the haters, well, y'all can go have a bowl of Corn Flakes and a smile...





Wednesday, August 1, 2012

I'm All Ears...

Ever wonder why a baby or toddler with an ear infection screams uncontrollably? Simple: because it's a friggin' miserable, non-stop painful feeling! I've had a few ear infections over recent years, usually in the winter, and each occurence pretty much unfolded the same way: scratchiness in the (always right) ear, as well as in the throat, followed by the onset of an aggressive, unyielding pain and a stopped up feeling in that ear, leading to a visit to the doctor's and a prescription for some antibiotics, and the whole mess is over with (until the next time) in a few days...

Well, a couple weeks ago, it happened again, only this time seemed a little different. For one, it happened during the middle of the summer. Also, whatever I thought was a painful earache was nothing compared to what was hitting me this time. My right ear felt so stopped up and full, it was like my inner ear was going to come exploding through my right temple. My jaw felt like I was a Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robot that was one more punch away from getting its head lifted up off its body; by the time I made it to the doctor, I was reduced to eating nothing but yogurt, soup, and ice cream - and even the chunks of chicken in my chicken noodle soup were torture to chew.

So I got my antibiotic drops, with the instructions to call the office if nothing improved in a few days. This was on a Saturday; by Tuesday, not only was the right ear not feeling any better, but the left ear was now going through the same set of symptoms, to the point where I could barely even hear at all. Yes, it's ear infections in STEREO! On top of that, I was staggering around in a haze of vertigo, had a fever, and to top it all off, a particularly active case of diarrhea. To sum it all up, I was live and in 3-D: deaf, dizzy, doo-dooing. So back to the doc I go...

This time I saw my regular doc (the first trip was on a Saturday, so I got the doctor that was covering that weekend), so I had to run through the whole sequence of events from the beginning, followed by a bunch of questions from him about what symptoms I had or didn't have, when each symptom appeared, and how severe each one was. Then just when it seemed like the Q&A was done, I mentioned the diarrhea, which sparked another round of questions (who knew bowel movements would be of interest in ear problems? I mean, I know some people about whom it could said have "shit for brains", and some more that are so full of shit, it ought to be running out of their ears, but still...), and some contemplation and a quick internet search by the doctor.

"Mr. Angry Nerd, could you take off your glasses for a moment?" the doctor asked. I'm going to hold one finger up in front of you, and I want you to follow it with your eyes only as I move it around." Simple test, right? One we've all done plenty times...but I absolutely could not do it this time. First I was moving my whole head, then it was moving my eyes in a delayed reaction, then, when I tried to bear down and focus, that made it even worse; my eye's were just out of control. I don't believe I can't do this!

"Well, Mr. Angry Nerd, it would appear you have a condition known as Meniere's Disease. It's an inner ear order that affects your hearing and balance."

"Never heard of it."

"You have all the symptoms. Check it out on the Internet when you get home," he said, handing me a post-it note with the name written on it. "I'm going to give you prescriptions for a different antibiotic ear drop, another ear drop for pain, a pill for dizziness and nausea, and some prescription ibuprofen."

Aye yi yi! Four medications? I'm too absent minded to reminded to be trying to remember when to take all that crap...

So off I went to get all this stuff from the pharmacy. And wouldn't you know it, the one I needed the most - meclizine, for dizziness (I've had enough injuries that I can function with pain; spinning rooms are another matter entirely) - was the one that my insurance didn't cover. "I won't fill it if you don't want to get it," the pharmacist said.

"No, no, that's the one I need the most," I said (and I'm sure some of you probably think I should've been taking something to prevent me from being dizzy years ago LOL); and next thing I know, I was strolling out of the pharmacy with a big bad full of drugs...

And as for the part about being too absent minded to remember when to take all this stuff? Well, symptoms have a way of reminding me...

So for all of you who have asked me about my condition, there you have it. Thanks for your concern, and hopefully it wasn't TMI. But I figure if you read this far it wasn't TMI (and you didn't get turned off by my shit talking LOL). Besides, anytime I can turn feeling like crap into a blog post, I gotta do it...