Barack Obama is Half-black Too!

As most people know, Barack Obama was elected president last November and assumed the presidency on January 20th, 2009. Like many white Americans, I watched on with humility and pride as Barack became the 44th consecutive president who was at least 50% white. Though I can’t help but thinking that we as a people have finally arrived, a piece of interesting information is being glossed over by the media. Barack Obama is half-black. With all the talk of how his mother was a white lady from Kansas and how he was brought up around his white grandparents, the fact that his dad was Kenyan has been omitted from the story time and time again. I’m not saying that we as white Americans should not feel a certain degree of pride for the election of Barack. We definitely should. But we should always remember that Barack is not just the 44th consecutive president who is at least 50% white, he’s also the first president who is 50% black. That’s kind of important too.

Disney's Aladdin is Not Realistic

We all love a good flick, and Disney is generally good at delivering such entertainment. But every once in a while I see a Disney movie that is so unrealistic – so farfetched – I’m not able to enjoy it. I know that all those kids’ movies are based on fairy tales and supposed to stretch our imagination, but my imagination can only be stretched so far.

We all remember how Aladdin succeeds in winning over Jasmine despite her initial hesitancy. He goes to enormous lengths to impress Jasmine and her father, the Sultan, but even after he tricks Jafar into trapping himself in a black lamp for thousands of years, Aladdin is unable to marry his lover. It was a matter of law: princesses can only marry princes, and Aladdin was just a “street rat.” So the Sultan takes it upon himself to change the law so Jasmine can marry anyone she chooses. Of course, she chooses Aladdin and they live happily ever after.

As if. The tradition of arranged marriage has deep aristocratic roots, and it is unlikely that the Sultan would simply cast away this royal tradition to placate his little princess. Royalty are groomed to be leaders, to study law and hold themselves in service to the public. For this reason, and to preserve the integrity of the throne, royal youth should marry only within their caste. Occasionally, an arranged marriage takes place over any objections, even if punishment or disinheritance is necessary. Marriage in Aladdin’s time was really more of a business exchange than a function of love. And while Jasmine was blinded by desire, her father was in a position to make a more pragmatic decision on her behalf. Because she was the Sultan’s only child, the future of the kingdom was in her hands. That the Sultan would cast aside tradition and honor and change a longstanding law to appease his daughter’s lust is ludicrous.

Disney, you really had me going with this one. I was really feeling the magic carpet rides, the little chattering monkey and the outlandish blue genie. But the ending? Unacceptably fantastic.

This relationship should stay platonic

Look, I'm not trying to tell anyone how to live, but I don't think this relationship should progress to the "more than friends" phase. I know a lot of people don't believe that its possible for a male and a female to have a totally plantonic relationship, and urges can be hard to fight. Things happen, right? But, still, I'm just saying - ideally, these two won't move past the platonic stage. If things were to advance, I think there would be a lot of obstacles, and I'm guessing both people would wind up regretting it.

Whenever it rains, my hair gets wet

Maybe I was born under a bad sign. Maybe I did something to deserve this. I'm not sure exactly why, but every darn time it rains, my hair gets wet. Now, maybe this problem is specific to me. After all, I have a very temperamental texture of curly hair. But I suspect this problem happens to other people too; its just that no one likes to talk about it. Well, I'm here to say now, loud and proud, that I'm not perfect. And neither is my hair.

I've learned to deal with it throughout the years. There are a panoply of quick fixes such as rainproof coats with hoods, hats, umbrellas, anti-humidity hair spray, etc. But these don't solve the root of the problem: when drops of rain fall from the sky and touch my tresses, they get saturated, limp, and begin to curl in unexpected and unflattering ways.

If anyone else is also experiencing this very personal and embarrassing problem, please feel free to email me. I'm here to talk.

Diabetics Are Not Trustworthy

Forgive me if this post is a little too intuitive for your tastes but I just need to share this. After many hours of careful consideration, I'm going to say what isn't said often enough: diabetics can not be trusted.

My research indicates that there are two types of diabetics. Type one (or "juvenile") diabetics are born with The Sugar. Type two (or "Testicular") are people that eat so many gumdrops and human placentas that their body can no longer produce insulin. It's sort of like a raver whose done so much Ectasy that their brains can no longer recognize shitty music.

So every diabetic you met was either marked by a vengeful God from birth or is being punished by said God for eating too many Ho-Hos. (Just think about how many Ho-hos that would take! It's not like eating Ho-hos is inherently evil in the way cotton-poly blends are.) So either way, these people have been singled out by a vengeful God. And I'm supposed to ride the same bus system as them? Fat chance. (Pun intended.)

And this not just a moral issue (although it certainly is that). Diabetics are simply not dependable. You see, diabetics frequently fall into what the medical community calls "diabetic comas". There is no consensus at the American Medical Association as to whether diabetics fake these episodes or if they are genuine symptoms of their malady. Either way-don't even thing about making plans with one of these Sugar Babies. I mean let's say I have plans to golf with Wilford Brimley. But then he goes and throws a hissy-fit/coma and next thing you know, I'm stuck paying his god damn green fees. All the while, he's laying on his back with an intravenous supply of pixie sticks plugged into his disease-addled vein. And if he does show up, all you'll hear about is oat meal.

And don't be fooled by this picture. They're also not very good at fellatio.

Harrison Ford and Calista Flockhart: Not as gross as you might have thought

It was announced recently that Harrison Ford and Calista Flockhart are engaged. I bet most people around the globe thought, "well that's pretty gross," upon hearing the news.
The thing is, it's not THAT gross. Well it is gross, but not as gross as I initially thought. Like many of you, until very recently I thought Harrison Ford was like 85 and Flockhart was in her late 20's. As my former gf would say, "vom." But as it turns out, Indy is 66 and Sticks is 44, leaving only a 22 year age gap. Sure, if I dated someone 22 years my junior they'd lock me up and throw away the key, but we're talking about a guy who, in his last movie, survived a nuclear bomb falling basically on top of him by jumping in a refrigerator. The man can do anything.
And it is legal. She's consenting. And c'mon people. If they have love, who are we to judge.
So, in closing...Harrison Ford and Calista Flockhart: Not as gross as you might have thought.

Hey kids-Put down the guns and read a book

(Adults, please bear with me. This post is geared toward the adolescent gang banger, who, believe it or not, has been a targeted demographic of ours since day one.)

Hey kids, how’s it going? It sure is a beautiful day today. Did you see the Final 4 last weekend? Crazy, huh? My name is Steve, and I’m writing today to discuss your futures and the options you have. Before you think I’m a pedophile or some freak who takes an interest in children in general, take one step back. I don’t care about you per se. I just don’t want you guys to kill me or my kids some day. So put down the gun and read a book.

I was once like you. Lost. Angry. Armed. There was a time when, if anybody said boo to me, I’d shoot them in the face. We’ve all been there. It’s really nothing to be ashamed of. What’s done is done. What you can control, what we all can control, is tomorrow, and the rest of our days. So let’s turn the page…literally. Put down your gun and read a fucking book. It will change your life.

I’m sure you’re wondering, “how will this work?” Well it’s simple. Instead of living a life of crime out on the streets, you should become a literary scholar instead. Can’t quite picture it? Let me take you through an average week in my program and show you the differences between guns and books.

Imagine it’s Sunday. What do you usually do on a Sunday? If you’re like I was, Sunday was for sobering up, burying the bodies, and getting a new stash of the good stuff to sell during the week. Pretty busy and stressful day. Digging sucks. Anywho, imagine that instead of doing all that, you’re curled up on a couch in Borders reading Pride and Prejudice. All your worries wash away. You start thinking about love. You cry maybe, but in a good way.

OK fast forward to Monday and Tuesday. Shitty days for a gang banger. Robbing liquor stores and holding your turf on the corners, running from cops and making sure people pay up. Shit is hard, man. Now imagine you and a female companion reading Romeo and Juliet by candle light. You could easily make it through the play in two nights if you acted it out. You might even have time to make sweet love between acts. Just remember to use a condom. You probably have some blood-borne diseases she doesn’t need to know about but does need to be shielded from. After all you’re not an animal. Now look, you’re only three days into the “read a book instead of shoot people” plan and you’re already loving life.

Wednesdays and Thursdays are pretty much identical to Mondays and Tuesdays for gang bangers. I know when I was “bangin’ (that’s what we called it, no big deal), I didn’t even know what day it was half the time. Pick up the shit. Sell the shit. If the boss says push a button on a guy, we push a button on a guy. If the boss wants milk, you ask 1% or 2% and do what he says. It’s a terrible existence. But you don’t do that shit anymore. You’re reading, baby. You start the day by reading to your illegitimate kids. They’re back in your life-hey you’ve cleaned up. Maybe you read some Berenstein Bears or your personal favorite, “Where the Wild Things Are.” You’re starting to feel as if your life has meaning. As the kids drift off to sleep, you pick up the day’s New York Times. You read the Op-Eds first. You like some. You could go without some others. You skim through the articles on the front page. Oooh the president has just given a speech. You learn all about it. You’re getting smarter by leaps and bounds. You go to the crossword. It’s hard as hell, even for non-gang bangers, but you put up a good effort, completely filling in one corner and getting some other words too. Life is fucking good, gang banger. Reading, man. Shit yea. You put down the Times but you’re not done. You hunger for knowledge. You pick up “Stamos: The Autobiography of John Stamos,” read it for a while, and drift off to sleep. Your life is getting better and better.

Now it’s Friday and Saturday-the end of the week. If you were still “bangin,”, these would be particularly dangerous days. Friday and Saturday are your collection days. If guys owe you or your gang money, you go collect. If they don’t have it, well we all know what’s going down. You’ve had some close calls. You’ve had partners not come home from days like this. It’s tragic. BUT it doesn’t have to be this way. Remember, you’re reading now. You’ve started “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.” You are at peace with the world. You are in the moment. You’ve completely changed your life around, and in only one week. Can you imagine what would happen if you did this shit every day. You could do big things.

So take a look. In a book. It’s Reading Rainbow. You can do anything!