the mitchell report has me blue.

i guess the thing to do is for me to put on my sneakers and step lightly. unknown to many is that the mitchell report is not ground breaking, or earth shattering, for that matter. there are other reports that say much more about the world around us. here, for the first time, is the uncut version of the unheralded but vital "goldstein report." what will follow will make little to no sense.

so, what is it gonna be... apple bottom, baby phat, or roca wear? come on people, the fate of western man may depend on what label we choose.

more from the goldstein report later.

christmas rant.

ok, i've held back long enough. christmas represents a battle for me in which my head goes toe to toe with my heart. my head tells me that the holiday has turned into a vile celebration of crass commercialism. on this day, consumerism has conquered all. poor people who live in projects pour their funds into acquiring asinine products, which they then give out as if it were the last day on earth. a student i work with will buy her boyfriend 3 pairs of sneakers, 8 t shirts, and a chain. she lives in a project. i assume her mother probably doesn't need help putting food on the table, but i could be wrong. my head says that this holiday acts as a massive diversion, a collective act of masterbation without the pay off.
and then, there is my heart. my heart says that millions of people look forward to this day. they spend hours thinking of the right gift for the right person at the right time. they too may bemoan the commercial manifestations of modern christmas, but they still find much about the holiday that matters to them, such as sharing time with family, and thinking of others. my heart tells me that it is nice to buy a gift for people you care about, especially when it matters to them that you do so. and although you don't quite see where the fat elderly white man with a beard comes in, your heart acknowledges that there is a nice warm feeling that comes with the holiday.
or is it the other way around? is it that my head says to celebrate it because it wouldn't be worth my trouble to not celebrate it? is it easier to just go along? is it my head that calculates that there is some goodness to it all, enough perhaps to even justify all the baggage. and perhaps it is my heart that says this is a corrupt, juvenile attempt by our culture to further rob and divert the people from thinking about reality.

overload...forget about it. just smile.

OH NIGHT DEVINE.

na is a young black girl in one of the classes that i work in. na describes herself as "jamaican and west indian" and says that she won't date black guys because "they are not going anywhere." i did get her to acknowledge that there are 2 and a half black men she finds attractive. these men are chris brown, (i am really starting to hate this guy) jay z (her eye test will be scheduled shortly. however, if he's good enough for beyonce, i guess he's good enough for na) and derek jeter. na also likes to watch youtube. no, you will not find her looking up the latest tid bit from eric bogosian, or richard pryor. na prefers such classics as "what what in the butt," and a jamaican dancer falling off a stage, only to get up as if nothing happened to finish the dance. na has also watched mya and sean paul, and seemed to take particular offense when i suggested that sean paul was the "only white guy in his videos." "he's not white!" she saul bellowed, to which i stated that he was about as black as snow. i took this time to ask na what happened to sasha, to which she replied "she was dancing in jamaica somewhere." na has also informed me that "white people can't dance." at this, i shot her an astaire and i feigned indignation. "who do you think created the polka and square dancing? you better recognize!" i was gonna show her a clip of gene kelly, but she probably would have told me he was "light skin-ded"
then there is j. j is a hip hop cracker. everyone has an eminem, and he is ours. j is always talking about how he is going "to whip some ass" but somehow never seems to actually get into a fight of any magnitude. he claims that he acts this way because it is who he is. this does not explain his mastery of old english when he is at the dining table.
p is p. i don't know where to start with him. p tells me that he is the king of macintyre land, and the capital is in weymouth. he tells me the rebels are planning to attack his government, and he is trying to figure out if there presence justifies dropping the h bomb. he tells you that his name is not o'brien, even though it is. he says that his aide is from the ottoman empire and that he fought with the russians during world war 2. his aide also fought with the viet cong. p asks you if you remember the teacher next door, and he also asks you if you remember things that happened 5 minutes ago. he remembers tiny details from years ago. sometimes when you pass his desk you will hear him singing rap songs. he keeps talking about the notorious big. i try to explain that it's b.i.g., but he still gets it wrong. p raps in a lame, white, style, but just the fact that he knows the words is startling.

then there is n. n is a young white guy who will look you in the eye and tell you he hasn't showered in weeks. he has a crush on me. n can tell you the year that hundreds of tunes from the 50's and 60's came out. hard day's night? 64. in the ghetto? 69. lonely teardrops? 58 my girl? 65 young girl? 68. cherish? 66. it is insane! just last week, n smeared yogurt on his face in an attempt to get rid of his pimples. after his teacher told him to wipe it off, he apologized and said that he would only practice this remedy at home. n once claimed that he was part black, "not in skin color, but in spirit." he wanted to come to school for halloween dressed as a temptation, but i told him that he would be better off coming as a rascal. i took this opportunity to ask when "i'm losing you" came out.

66.

more later.

peace.