Listening to Morning Edition on
WVXU, I was struck by a black Baptist pastor’s word choice when asked about the
Supreme Court 5-4 ruling on same-sex marriage. He helped crystalize something
that has been bothering me about the whole debate: “Holy matrimony.”
I detest summer in Cincinnati. Whenever I hear sirens — and living on a boisterous corner of Woodburn Avenue for the past 13 years I hear plenty of sirens — I think: Cincinnati police must be taxed and overworked.
Many Americans grew sick and tired of
University of Kentucky fans bragging and acting like they were the ones
boxing out and draining three-pointers during the Wildcats’ impressive
undefeated run through the regular college basketball season this year.
If Charles Bukowski had a cousin who was
slightly less self-destructive, not at all a womanizer and who lurked in
the deeper shadows of Bukowski, writing in the margins, it would have
been Larry Gross.
Rachel Dolezal’s adopted black brother said: “It all started with the hair.” If she weren’t in the news for being
black but really white, I would say that “starting with the hair” would
most definitely make the recently resigned president of the Spokane
chapter of the NAACP a black woman.
It can’t be ignorance; I introduced an Enquirer
reporter to the recently reopened Clifton Natural Foods on Ludlow
months ago and told him how it was a return to almost the same spot
after decades in Clifton Heights exile. But according to a co-owner of
Clifton Natural Foods last week, the Enquirer hasn’t written a thing about this business success story or a merchant returning to her old neighborhood.
As Cincinnati Police Chief Jeffrey
Blackwell prepared to hand in his city manager-ordered 90-day plan to
curb this city’s outburst of violence, black folks from Avondale to
Westwood, Walnut Hills to Bond Hill to Winton Hills and even murderous
black parents under the jurisdiction of the local branch of Ohio Jobs
and Family Services behaved as though their black lives — and no others —
mattered worth a damn.
If there is one thing that American
grocery stores can agree on, it’s that they would rather see most of
their unsold yet edible food go into the dumpster than the digestive
system of people who for one reason or another can’t afford to purchase
Meg lives in my apartment building here in Covington, and
she’s a nice, older lady who is always friendly to me, and I’m always
friendly right back. Sometimes I think — actually I kind of know — she
would like more from me, but thankfully I don’t see her all that often.