People in America like to talk about how
snitches and rats are bad until they themselves become defendants facing
dozens of years in a cell and then decide snitching and not being in
prison sound just fine.
Very casually over the phone, my friend told
me how he laid his Martin Guitar on the floor in his living room and in
a fit of frustration and rage and with the boots on his feet, smashed
his acoustic guitar into bits and pieces.
Watching the Oscars Sunday night was fun
and fanciful because there’s nothing like watching wealthy, accomplished
white people “acting” racially guilty when they’re really quite
comfortable in their homogeneous groupings.
Not too long ago, the school of thought
espoused by those who liked George W. Bush when he was giving speeches
that sounded as if Ricky from Trailer Park Boys wrote them was
that people who don’t like the president are not American.
Ten-million-dollar baby and NBC newsman
Brian Williams is guilty. He knows better than to insert himself right
smack dab in the middle of the news he’s witnessed or reported directly,
and because he did, he resorted to lying about them and himself.
Sometimes you hear about a particular
thing you don’t care about with such frequency that you wonder if you
are supposed to start caring about it or if those who shape our society
are just hellbent on distracting you from important things that are
occurring in the world we live in.
Finding genuine but previously unknown or
long-lost manuscripts can be a publisher’s dream. Narratives by early
American writers — as diverse as pioneer midwives or former slaves — still create minor sensations and career-enhancing moments for scholars.
There is this joke among black people —
remember first that humor about cultural diminishment ain’t funny and
not all blacks know one another — that says Black History Month is in
February because it’s the shortest month of the year.
I would not trade the liberation of
working for myself — of coming up with ideas and translating them into
paid words, or teaching at the University of Cincinnati or working with
Northside teenagers — for stacks of cash at a more reliable, albeit
mind-numbing, soul-sucking job.