10.20.08
Makin Moves in the Blogging World
This site has pretty much fizzled. Not because I don’t feel loved, but because of all the stuff going on in my life plus the growth of my other site over at Three Ways to Take It. Rather than just writing daily for the sake of writing daily, I’m focusing on growing that site into something special and refining my writing skills. My work situation is also cramping my style nowadays. I figure I can say that much without getting a pink slip.
But the real point of this entry was to make people aware that I had an article posted on a very popular blogging website. If you haven’t been to BlogXilla.com, then you need to check out the post called “You Are Not My Mother”
So yeah, if you want to still read the thunder then you need to peep out my other site and catch me on BlogXilla presenting the fire. This is just beginning.
09.23.08
The Status of the Ramblings…
If you noticed, I haven’t been updating this website as regularly as I used to. At the moment, I don’t have much to say on this blog because I’m so busy creating masterpieces and responding to comments at my other website that’s taking the blogging world by storm. Please check out my collabo blog with 2 other great writers at Three Ways to Take It . I’m going to come up with a new blog posting schedule for this site. Given that I have a job, another blog, and all sorts of other life turmoil, this will probably become a twice a week site. Maybe I’ll do Tuesdays and Thursday. Not sure yet. I’m also getting into some more professional writing ventures that will start cutting into my time. In the interim, check back periodically and I’ll eventually have this sorted out.
-Slim “better than Johnson” Jackson
09.13.08
Slowly Gettin’ Back Into the Mix
So it’s been a week since my last entry, as I said it would be. I’ve been trying to get my regular life back, but the emotional and mental struggle remains active in mind. Despite how many smiles, handshakes, lol’s that I type in conversations, and boisterous laughter in real life that people see, I’m still struggling with the loss. There’s a white NY Yankees hat that I keep in my car near the windshield. Occasionally, I’ll be driving and looking in my rear view mirror. The first thing that I see is the NY baseball cap. When I put it there a while ago, I thought nothing of it. But now that my dad has passed, I suddenly see it all the time. Why is this important? Well, he always wore a Yankees cap. That was his team through thick and thin. Every time that I see that logo, he comes to mind. I don’t think that’s something that’s going to change for a while.
Honestly, I feel like it’s him sitting in the backseat of my car watching over me. Some people may think that’s kinda weird, but that’s the feeling that I have. I look in my rear view and sometimes I just smile at the thought. Overall, I’ve started to see a lot of the positives that have resulted from his passing away. Some of you may be wondering what’s pleasant about death, but if you understood me and predicament that I had to see him in, I’m sure you’d understand.
No more dialysis machines. No more beeping IVs. No more stale hospital smell. No more walking past people who were clearly on their way out of this world. No more watching him suffer through the pains that come with renal failure, high blood pressure, and diabetes. No more not being able to walk where he wanted. No more not being able to carry on a full conversation because the pain would surge, or because he’d forget what we were talking about in the middle of a conversation.
I’m glad that he no longer has to endure this. I’m glad that he is now walking, talking, and laughing again in a better place. I’m glad that my mom doesn’t have to take a bus an hour, then take a taxi cab to see him and make sure he is OK. I’m glad that when my mom calls me, I no longer have that anxious feeling in my stomach and in my heart. I’m glad of all this. Yet still, the pain as a result of the loss remains within me.
As time goes on, I will heal. My mother will heal. My family will heal. I’m hoping that those who have visited my blog recently and read about the tragedies of my life have learned something. When shit hits the fan, you will see who your true friends and family are. I’ve received cards, phone calls, emails, and text messages from a variety of people. it’s interesting that people I’ve never met and haven’t endured this are still willing to reach out and offer their support, while others that I have known for years do absolutely nothing. But rather than go into all the negatives that I’ve learned about people, I want to keep things positive.
As this blog goes on, my entries will return to normal. I will become the regular Slim Jackson that you all know. All I ask is that you internalize every word that type, and realize that at any moment one of the people that you love the most can be taken away from you. As with my last entry, I will not be respond to comments. Hopefully, I can make the transition back to regular entries over the next week. If not here, then check out the Three Ways to Take It blog. Thanks for the support, and I will be back to my regular blogging ways eventually.
08.22.08
It’s the Weekend. Praise Be to the Big Man Upstairs!
Honestly folks, I’m tired. I’ve been working somewhat hard at work, and even harder to keep up this blog and the new blog over at Three Ways to Take It. If you like what you see on this site, then make sure you check out the one I just linked you too. In just over 2 weeks we’ve had more than 800 visitors there, with many returning on a regular basis as we get better and better. We just went through a series of entries called “The Double Standard of Men and Women”. It’s getting pretty serious on the blogging front and I need to run a few errands this weekend for my non-internet life. I’ll be back here and on Three Ways to Take it on Monday. In the meantime, have a great weekend. I will be responding to and approving comments. So if you do have something to say, please say it. We/I need comments from people. It’s what keeps things interesting. I’m out. Peace.
Slim
08.21.08
Honesty Box. Promoting Cowardice Since 2005
I tried to avoid talking about Facebook for a bit, but it’s just as popular in everyday life as Barack Obama taking a sh*t. Today I wanted to discuss the Honesty Box, since there has been a lot of recent geeky chatter about the glitch that exposed its code. For those that aren’t aware and need to be schooled, the Honesty Box is an application on Facebook that allows people to send you comments “anonymously”. A stalker person can go to your page, check out your profile, then tell you how they really feel about you without any repercussions. At least in theory that’s how it should work. In an ideal world, the Honesty Box would be used for people to confess their secret love for that special somebody who they haven’t built up the courage to tell them in real life. Unfortunately, people are inherently evil and/or crude and use it for a variety of sexual and offensive other purposes. I don’t have one on my page. I have enough enemies to fill the box up with unpleasantries that might actually almost hurt my feelings. Here are some examples of comments people have/will/just recently left in honesty boxes across the country:
- I wanna splash all over you.
- You are ugly and look like *insert some ugly animal or cartoon character*
- You ain’t nuttin but a ho. Stay away from my man!
- Can I beat?
- I saw you leave Lamont’s (I always use this name) room/apartment last night. I hope he burnt ya ass like he did me. B*tch!
- I heard you got that good thang. Can I filet your mignon?
- I love you and always have. Why won’t you just be with me?
Yes, people say stuff like this thinking it’s all peachy…and the last example is peachy unless it’s your stalker. But what happens if the system ever has a glitch and comments and identities are exposed? Stutter, stutter, stutter…”I was just playin. You know I ain’t really mean that.” How quickly the cowardice rears its ugly head. The big and bad, become tiny and sad. Only the truly gangsta would be able to honestly admit to “anonymous” comments they made. “Yeah I said it. And what?!” would be truly bold. But just how many people would actually have the balls courage to say that? People often overestimate the extent to which technology can protect their identities. I wish the glitch had exposed all the Honesty Box comments across the world. There would be a lot of sweating, umming, and “I’ve felt the same way about you! I love you too!”.
I Am Not the Chocolate Skin Delegate
There is nothing that simultaneously irritates and humors me more than being the go to guy when someone of another race has a question about black people. “Hey Slim, you’ll probably know this song.” or “Hey Slim, what do you think of Barack?” What do I think of Barack, OR what do I as a black person think of Barack? There are other questions that have been cautiously worded that I can decipher through to see exactly what the real question is. Depending on my answer, there will be an attempt to bond or an attempt to show me where we share similar views. God forbid someone is ignorant enough to drop the infamous “you people” in a heated discussion. That’s grounds for me to act exactly how I am expected, angry and hostile.
Now I’m not saying people shouldn’t ask me questions, but it’s the approach and where it’s done. Putting me on the spot in a group where I am the lone chocolate (Some would argue caramel) delegate is never a good idea. Add to this the fact we are probably not good friends…if friends at all, and you’ve set yourself up to get cursed out feel the non-violent wrath of the ABG. If we are having a cultural discussion to begin, you’ll know if I want to participate. The life that I live is not indicative of the overall plight of Black America. Yes, I saw the CNN special a few weeks ago, but please don’t mistake this as an opportunity to say “Gee Slim. I didn’t know that it was like that for your people.”
Unless you want to see how truly angry I am. The End.
08.20.08
What You Don’t See by Seattle
It was like any other day. I was on the train, swaying from side to side, clinging to a metal rod as people boarded and disembarked. Students, businessmen and women, people sneaking home after a late night with their significant, or non-significant others, and countless other conspicuous characters were all climbing into the chilled car. Looking to escape the thick, humid summer air. Nothing new. That is, except for this one older gentleman sitting in the front of the car that grabbed my attention. I couldn’t escape it really. After all, he was filling the chilled car with his random thoughts for all to hear. So for a brief second, I took a listen.
From the random sputtering of his unintelligible words, it didn’t take very long for me to realize that this man was incoherent. Either drunk, mentally handicapped or just demented. Regardless, I didn’t want to figure it out. So I let my gaze wander around the car. Only to see the rest of the passengers in the car completely enthralled by this man and his actions. They were intently staring, glancing occasionally or fighting themselves from taking a look at the growing spectacle. They just should’ve.
At the moment, I didn’t quite understand what was so captivating about the man. He was just like every other slightly off person that happens to step on the train early in the morning or late at night. That is until he did something that even I hadn’t seen before.
It could’ve been the coldness of the air conditioned car or the pollen floating in the air that day that caused it, either way the sneeze that this man let off left even me disorientated. And nauseous. It was as if he learned how to turn his nose into a faucet, but didn’t yet know how to turn it off. The amount of goo that erupted from this man’s nose was immeasurable. All hanging from his nose like a suspended Niagara Falls. If this is making you sick, imagine how it was to see it live and less than a foot away from your face. The accompanying blow and splat from the rocket he let loose on the subway car was just as appalling. I had never been so happy to be above it all. Or so I thought.
Suddenly realizing his stop was approaching, the questionable man wiped his nose, and the remaining contents, stood up and lurched at me, grabbing me for support. Never had I been so upset. He gets to leave the train while I have to deal with having all those dregs on me for the rest of the day. As do the next passengers, like the nice woman that grabbed me soon after he left, picking up countless germs as she held me ever so tightly. Only to pass them onto her friend as she grasped his hand to leave the train.
In the moment I couldn’t say it to her, so I’ll say it to you. Next time you’re on the train, be careful what you grab a hold of. You never know who was there or what happened before you.
08.19.08
Black Politicians Should Not Text
Detroit Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick can answer this one as he gets a taste of the legal system thanks to his many indiscretions with the ladies. The fact that he has been frolicking with women other than his wife is not the shocker, given the actions of Wild Bill Clinton, John “Terrible Human Being” Edwards, Elliot “I cheated on my wife because she was a” Spitzer, and even going back to John “I popped bottles with models and no one cared” Kennedy back in the 60’s.. Not only is Kwame “Smooth Fingers” Kilpatrick a Black elected official, which always makes things exciting. He is a texting machine. This, faithful readers, is his gift and his curse.
He resembles a pro athlete that just won a title or a rapper doing community service. Learn from his texting mistakes.
Any seasoned veteran of the text game, male or female, knows that deleting sketchy text messages is the key to keeping things safe on the homefront. Sending sketchy text messages is even more dangerous because you can’t control what the other person does with them, and God forbid he or she decides to ruin your life. However, text sex is a bit more acceptable for the average Joe and Jane. More than likely, their text messages will not be dumped (retrieved) from some random database…unless she was involved with Kobe Bryant of course. But if you are an elected official, your best bet is to steer clear of texting anything inappropriate all together. The only messages leaving your phone should be about loving your job and loving your family, especially if you’re a Black elected official since people probably expect you to be smooth anyway.
Kwame, what the eff were you thinking?! Did you really believe you were above the game because you’re the youngest mayor in the history of Detroit? You’re now dealing with allegations such as obstruction of justice, perjury, infidelity, and conspiracy. That’s a nice combination of misdemeanors and felonies. Your rap sheet reads more like that of a commercial rapper than an elected official. But you have taught us a lesson in the process as we will now be weary of our text messages even if we delete them. Hopefully, people will think before they send questionable messages. Instead of “What Would Jesus Do”, people can just say “What Would Happen to Kwame Kilpatrick?” Hmm, does that fit on a keychain?
08.17.08
NYC Is Not Really for Me
It’s very rare that I make 2 trips to NYC within 3 weeks. This excursion was more so for leisure, and reaffirmed reasons that I couldn’t live there, though I wouldn’t mind visiting more often. I figured I’d recap the trip for this small city fellow.
Lucky Star Bus/Fungwah
Aside from the trip taking well beyond 5 hours because of traffic, the ride was pretty reckless. Every time I went to sleep, I was woken up by the bus driver slamming on the breaks or whipping the wheel around a tight curve. If I was a wearing a heart monitor, it could be seen that my heart rate periodically soared between the hours of 6pm and 1130pm on Friday. You can’t beat the $30 round trip, but it does come with a non-monetary price.
Subway Shenanigans
This was the first time I took the subway in NYC. I utilized Hopstop.com to get pedestrian directions, and found myself lost in an area where I could’ve ended up without my shoes and my wallet. Got back on the train in the wrong direction. Got off that one, went above ground, and realized I was somewhere else I didn’t want to be. I re-entered the subway and was begged for money 2 times on one stair case. The heart monitor would have shown an increase in rate around this time as well. Throw in the Angry Black Guy that sounded Jamaican, who was preaching a message of kill whitey and anybody who disagrees can S his D. This was more so comic relief for me, though the white folks down the platform looked a bit edgy. Rightfully so. Acorn woman was pretty cool though…
ACORN Woman
Real name Marilyn. She assumed I was a basketball player, and I didn’t really deny it. She saw me struggling to find my way around and eventually told me what I needed to do. I was also informed that looking like a deer in the headlights would surely get me got. Marilyn happened to be getting on the train as me, and began telling me about how 82% of the homes where she lived in Bedstuy were in foreclosure. According to her, it used to be one of the wealthiest black neighborhoods in the country. Unfortunately, the home owners have now become tenants. Her facts seemed believable since she is part of ACORN, which is a housing progress organization. She also told me about her 2 daughters. One went to college for three years in Rhode Island before getting home sick and developing Lupus. The other one is packing up to begin college at Howard University. Marilyn’s finances were extremely tight, but she explained to me how education is the only thing someone can never take away. Therefore, she will do whatever she can to make sure her daughters get a good one at all cost. I felt inspired despite my heart rate on the train. I didn’t tell her that she would become part of my blog entry though.
Car Got Crunched
Once I got to Brooklyn, I was riding with my friends when we saw an 18-wheeler body a car. It was trying to turn into a McDonald’s well after midnight and didn’t calculate the correct turn angle. A car was parked in front and the 18-wheeler pretty much ran over it with it’s back tires. The angry car owner came outside, cheeseburger in hand, and ran up to the truck shouting an array of expletives that if posted here would elevate this blog’s rating to R. Can’t have that.
Underaged This and That
I saw a lot of youth doing a lot of reckless stuff. One girl, no older than 13, cursed out a man at a bodega because he grabbed the wrong cookies for her. Other kids, no older than 15, were drinking and smoking an array of substances…well, only 2 substances. I’m sure you can guess what they were. Neither of the substances were white in case you’re wondering. Given that I live in the suburbs (somewhat), it’s amazing for me to see things like this sometimes. We, black folks, have come such a long way and still have such a long way to go. I tried to sympathize with what I saw in comparison to when I was younger, and a lot of this was just stuff I wouldn’t have done. As much as I’d like to blame single parent households, I just can’t bring myself to pass off the degenerate behavior on that somewhat typical reasoning. It’s even more bothersome that the behavior is considered socially acceptable…”Kids in the hood just being kids in the hood.”
Canal Street Scramble
After hopping on the Long Island Rail Road to Penn Station and scrambling for a local train to Chinatown, I found myself scrambling through the masses, sweating and tired, trying to get to my bus in time. As I weaved through people, I noticed gambling game schemes going on (three card monty and that thing with the ball and the three cups), people selling stolen goods, and bums huddled in corners. These are the things that lead me to say NYC isn’t for me. Just to get to my bus I felt like I was really in the concrete jungle. I know this isn’t representative of all of NYC, but it was enough to convince me that this isn’t the city for me. I will visit again and again, but as far as living there, it’s simply not an option.
Now when I say NYC isn’t for me, it isn’t because of the misguided youth or foreclosures. Those things may be unpleasant to see, but there is too much hustle and bustle for my personality.
