Kevin Durant, making his own personal protest for not winning MVP

Earlier in the week, I joked that a degree in Black Studies is about as useless as thumbs on a roach. Now, I obviously wasn’t serious — I wouldn’t be arrogant enough to dismiss an entire field of study (I’ll let Naomi Riley do that) — but I do think that the Black Studies’ curriculum offered at most universities should expand their horizons a bit and include some things we really, really, really need to get to the bottom of, including…

Why won’t Kevin Durant brush his hair?¹

Is it a silent protest for not winning MVP? Do his naps give him power the same way Rick Ross gets his from his areolas? Did he lose a bet with a genie? Is he allergic to brush bristles? Is he actually just the grown up version of Dookie from “The Wire?” Are him and Russell Westbrook having a year-long contest to “out nerd” each other?

Seriously, I’m actually more interested in why Kevin Durant — a man who happens to be the second best basketball player on Earth — has apparently never brushed his hair than I am in any current unsolved mystery, including who really shot JFK, what the hell happened to Lark Voorhies, and what do vegans eat to make their farts smell like the tree frog from “Pan’s Labyrinth?”

Who invented the booty clap?

Look, while I have an active YouTube account, I’m no expert on bootyology. Despite this, I know that ratchet women weren’t clapping their ass cheeks together 15 years ago the way they all seem to be able to now. (Btw, the only way that link is safe for work is if you happen to work at Waffle House)

I concede the possibility that, 15 years ago, I just wasn’t in the type of circles where ass clapping was frequent, but I doubt this to be true. I get the feeling that if there was ass clapping to be found 15 years ago, I would have found it. I have a nose for ass.

Anyway, since all evidence points to the fact that it’s a recent invention, I’m curious to find out who the hell invented it. Very curious. In fact, I’d greatly appreciate it if somehow could put me in contact with her so I can, um, contact her for an interview.

How did we allow a typical hoodrat Puerto Rican from the Bronx become the most popular character on “Black” TV and the symbol for all that’s wrong with Black women?

Clutch’s Kirsten West Savali already touched on this subject much more thoroughly than I plan to, but really Black America? We have a show created by, catering to, and featuring Black women at their most ratchet, and we allowed a Puerto Rican from the Bronx — the freakin Bronx!!! — to hijack it? What’s up with that? 

(Oh, and for those who want to claim that some African ancestry makes her Black, I’m not claiming her ass. I just barely got over the fact that we need to claim Allen West. There’s no way I’m making room at the table for Evelyn too)

Did anyone ever find Toure’s cousin?

A couple years ago, Toure’ — the world’s newest negro ever invented — caught a bit of heat for suggesting that slaves occasionally seduced their masters. When the heat got too hot, he blamed his cousin for hacking into his Twitter account and making those remarks.

It’s been two years since this occurred, and not only has there still been no sign of this cousin, it seems as if we’ve just stopped searching for him. Perhaps he’s hiding in Kevin Durant’s hair.

Anyway, that’s it for me today. Can you think of any other pressing questions/mysteries that we need to get to the bottom of? Also, if anyone has any answers to any of my questions, please let me know.

¹Why do I get the feeling that the real answer to this question is on some uber-sad “He doesn’t brush his hair because he wants to honor the memory of his dead uncle, who was killed while only carrying a hairbrush”-type shit?

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

***Btw, we’re still receiving submissions for Very Smart Singles, but there’s something I wanted to make clear. While it’s true that each single will get a post devoted to them when we publish the profiles, comments will be closed. I repeat, comments will be closed.  While people here generally behave themselves, I wouldn’t let a person put themselves out there to get critiqued and pick apart. People interested in the single will have to email us at contact@verysmartbrothas.com***

"I'm smiling now, but if you bite my neck again, this'll be the last time we have pier sex"

One of the best (and worst) things about being an adult is the occasional realization that certain things you never wanted to believe to be true are, in fact, true. On a macro level, these realizations are good because they help you grow and see the world for what it truly is and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. But, however good this knowledge may ultimately be, it still stings a bit to learn that you believed some wrong-ass shit.

In the past few years or so I’ve had (at least) two such realizations. One was already touched on by Panama last week in “Is This What Growed Up Feels Like?” But, while P admitted feeling a little ashamed that he was a fan of such ignant rap, I feel no such shame. I’ve stopped trying to explain how the misogyny, nihilism, and overall misandry present in much of popular rap — even rap made by “conscious” artists — is just some sort of postmodern social commentary reflecting on the trails and tribulations of post-industrial inner city society and finally admitted to myself that I just happen to like some ignorant-ass, vulgar-ass, violent-ass music that’s ignorant, vulgar, and violent for no reason. I’m not sure what exactly that says about me, but it’s about time I stopped trying to believe that wasn’t true.

The second realization wasn’t as easy to accept. I was either at my friend’s aunt’s house or outside of a greyhound station bathroom (can’t remember which) when I first remember hearing that “a man should love his wife a bit more than she loves him.”  In both instances, I was too busy making sure no improbably fast six-legged creatures crawled on my chicken to pay much attention to the phrase.

As the years passed, I began to hear it more and more, but it was never actually said with any type of sane explanation. A girl I dated in college once told me that her mom told her never to like a boy more than the boy likes her. When she asked her why, she apparently mumbled, shook her head, and said “because you don’t want to end up with the gout and worms like your grandmother, that’s why.”

Explanation or not, that sentiment just never really sat right with me. A relationship idealist, I believed that the best partnerships were formed when both parties fell in love simultaneously and loved each other equally. Plus, as a young man doing whatever the f*ck I needed to do to stay the hell away from any burgeoning relationship with “friend’s zone” potential, the idea that I need to be more into a woman than she was into me was an affront to my pride and the complete antithesis of everything I “learned” from the baseheads selling jumper cables outside of my barber shop through experience.

I don’t know exactly when or where I started to accept this sentiment as truth, but I do know today that it is undeniably, unequivocally, and uncomfortably true. Thing is, while (many) men seem to reject this sentiment because it seems to balance the dating and relationship scale in the woman’s favor, it’s actually necessary because that part of the game is already balanced in our favor. Us falling first and harder doesn’t do anything but even things out.

To wit, I’m assuming most of the thousands of men who will visit this blog today have been in at least one good relationship, and possibly more. I’m also going to assume that, in at least 50 percent of these relationships, the guy eventually “won” the woman over by “growing on” her. Basically, he was really feeling her, she was “eh” about him at first, but he eventually managed to somehow convince her that he was worth being with/sleeping with/swallowing, etc.

Now, if I were to ask how many of these men ended up happy with a woman that they were “eh” about at first until she convinced him that she was worth being with, I doubt I’d get many replies. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if I didn’t get any.

Because of certain sociological and biological factors largely out of our control, women aren’t really able to grow on men the same way we can grow on them, making it paramount that we (men) are the ones who show the most initial interest. Basically, while there’s a good chance that a good relationship can spring if a guy has grow on a chick, there’s absolutely no chance of it happening if the opposite occurs.

Also, another completely unscientific and unresearched theory to add to the rest of the completely unscientific and unresearched theories presented today is that men who aren’t head over hills about the woman they’re with are more likely to do things that “unsettled” men do — i.e., cheat, be non-committal, stay emotionally unavailable, etc.

Obviously, men in love do still do these things, but I just don’t think it happens as often as a man who doesn’t really feel like he put the time and effort into “winning” anybody. Just as women are more likely to value men who are wanted by other women but chose to pursue them, men are more likely to value the women they chose to attempt to win. It’s a truth I didn’t really want to admit, but I guess learning new shit is the best part about being a grown-up. (Actually, being able to drink moosetracks milkshakes for breakfast while sitting on your couch butt-naked and watching “Miller’s Crossing” without anyone saying a gotdamn thing is a pretty good part about being a grown-up, but that’s besides the point)

Anyway, people of VSB, do you think think it’s true that the best relationships happen when men fall in love a little harder and a little faster than the woman they’re with? (For some strange reason, I get the feeling that the responses will be split along gender lines. I may be wrong, though) 

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

Last weekend, one of my homegirls invited me to go see “The Dutchman” — a 45 minute long one act play that’s intended to serve as an allegory for Black/White relations in America. Since Saturday was the last day it would be playing at the Bricolage Theater — and since my particular form of bougie Blackness calls for me to witness or partake in at least one “serious” conversation about race per month to offset my affinity for bottomless mimosas — I couldn’t pass it up.

Intense, disturbing, (occasionally) melodramatic, and intentionally provocative, the play itself was pretty much what I expected it to be. The most interesting part of the evening, though, was the “talk back” — the planned, hour-long discussion about race that took place right afterwards; a conversation involving cast members, the theater production people, and the audience. The theater only holds maybe 60 seats, and it’s structured so that the audience surrounds the stage on all sides. A quick jaunt to Goggle shows that this is called “theatre-in-the-round” — the perfect format to have a group discussion.

As you may have guessed, the audience was (mostly) comprised of Black people and the type of ultra-liberal, well-intentioned Whites who wear t-shirts with things like “White Privilege Sucks” written on them — basically, the exact type of audience that’s always present in any “serious” and open discussion about race that most of us have been a part of. And, usually these discussions are nothing but us (Black people) sharing our stories and airing our grievances while the Whites in the crowd nod solemnly and occasionally share their own self-depreciating stories about when they first realized that all White people are evil racists.

There was one person, though, who didn’t stick to the usual script. She was biracial (White and Native American), and she shared some not-so-positive experiences and feelings involving Black people. Her statements went over about as well as a fart in a crowded elevator; you could hear people groaning and sighing while she was talking, and everyone there — myself included — couldn’t wait to respond to and rebut some of the things she was saying.

Now, part of the reaction to her definitely had to do with her delivery. There was a certain tone-deaf antagonism attached to what she was saying. Basically, her body language and tone screamed “I’m fed up with y’all niggas, and you’re about to hear why, dammit!” But, on Sunday, as I reflected on the discussion, I realized that she actually didn’t complain about anything we don’t regularly complain about to each other.

She’s a stage manager, and the story she shared had to do with how Black actors are pretty much never on time. Once, when she asked a group of habitually late actors to be more respectful of her time, they felt disrespected and starting showing up even later just to spite her. (I actually laughed aloud when hearing that)

Again, she had the type of tone and assistant principal-esque demeanor that made it pretty easy to see why someone would respond to her the way the actors did. But, I do wonder if we just have a legitimate problem with getting “called out” by White people.

Actually, that’s a lie. I don’t wonder about this. I know we generally do not take kindly to White people criticizing anything that has to do with Black people and Black culture. As stated earlier, the criticism could even be the exact same thing we criticize about ourselves, but a White voice seems to make that criticism invalid.

For instance, in the last couple of months, there have been at least two high-profile instances of a non-liberal White person publicly criticizing something related to Black people and facing serious repercussions because of it.

John Derbyshire’s “The Talk: Nonblack version” — a “letter” to his son teaching him the best way to avoid violent confrontations with Black people — got him fired from his job at The National Review. While Derbyshire deserved to be fired for using shitty science to back his race-based racist assertions, much of what he said in his piece has come out of our own mouths many times.

In fact, three of his pieces of advice — “(10a) Avoid concentrations of blacks not all known to you personally, (10b) Stay out of heavily black neighborhoods, and (10c) If planning a trip to a beach or amusement park at some date, find out whether it is likely to be swamped with blacks on that date” — are things that can be found in our freakin book.

In one of our chapters, Panama jokes that any guy trying to avoid having to fight anyone while on a date should stay away from places that young Black people congregate, like Applebee’s, night clubs, and Detroit.

You could make the same point about Naomi Schaefer Riley, who was recently fired from The Chronicle of Higher Education for writing a piece criticizing the value of Black Studies courses at universities. Was she wrong for flippantly dismissing an entire field of study? Yes. But, raise your hand if you’ve ever joked among other Black people that a Black Studies degree is about as useless as thumbs on a roach.

Granted, Riley and Derbyshire aren’t the best examples to use when making this point. Both were being intentionally sensationalistic, and they both basically got what they were asking for. But, it’s not only the non-liberal Whites who get this type of push back. I’ve read 1000 word long criticisms of Roger Ebert — a man who’s about as liberal, articulate, reasonable, and well-read as a person can possibly be — just because he gave a Tyler Perry movie a (deservedly) bad review, and I can’t count how many times I’ve heard White sports pundits called racist because they had something bad to say about a Black athlete. In these instances, the tone didn’t even matter. It just came down to “You’re White and he’s Black and that means you can’t say shit”

Anyway, that’s it for me today. I’m curious though: Do you think we have a problem with hearing criticism from Whites? If so, do you think it has more to do with the content of the criticism, or the tone/manner used to criticize?

Lastly, can you think of a time/situation where it was ever “Ok” for a White to call out a Black person/Black people in regards to something race-related?

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

So thanks to all of the VSB mothers out there (and all mothers) and I hope that everybody has a great Mother’s Day.

Oh, and treat your mothers right.

Tell ‘em Mr. T!

-VSB P

The Big Ph.D.

So why for come ain’t nobody not tell me that Shaquille O’Neal got a Ph.D. in some Ph.D. sh*t from Barry University?

By the way, that last sentence was brought to you by publicly funded education.

So the homey Cheekie sends me an email talking about Shaq getting his Ph.D. last weekend and I immediately hit her with the virtual Chris from Family Guy, “Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa?”

Let me tell you something. That made me smile. Big and wide. Kind of how I like my white women. With there being so much drama in the LBC, you rarely hear stories about athletes making vast educational achievements. Turns out, the Big Aristotle also has an MBA. Sure its from the University of Phoenix-Online, but hell, do YOU have an MBA…from anywhere? (If you do just shut up and sit there silently as to not destroy my point. Thanks. — Management)

I feel like its very to easy to read article after article about low graduation rates from college for athletes. Especially basketball playing (read ninja-like) athletes. But I’m fairly certain that if it wasn’t for Twitter, I wouldn’t know about Shaq getting a Ph.D. (from Barry University in Miami) in leadership and education with a concentration on human resource development. What does that mean? I don’t know. But I’ll bet the other folks with Ph.D.s in that know.

I feel like stories such as this one should be well reported everywhere. I remember some years ago when Vince Carter decided to possibly miss a playoff game to go to his graduation from UNC. People were in an uproar. How could he not be devoted to his teammates at such a pivotal time. Vince Carter was like, “dude, this is my life. You go to college to walk across the stage and graduate, and that’s what I’m going to do.” I couldn’t be mad at him or blame him. The NBA, is his job. Getting an education is a life goal that so many of us have and that achievement gets acknowledge by walking across the stage so that friends and family can witness what was such a lofty goal for so many of our ancestors.

I also remember some years ago when Myron Rolle, from Florida State, ended up becoming a Rhodes Scholar and decided to go to Oxford for a year and pasing up the NFL draft to get a Master’s degree first. His coaches, some players, and analysts thought he had lost his damn mind, but he was very focused on his education and getting to his ultimate goal of becoming a doctor. He plays in the NFL now. And is well on his way. Hell his Wikipedia page might be the most interesting athlete page ever.

I did a google search trying to find out how many professional athletes have graduate degrees (or hell degrees period) and couldn’t find anything. But if I wanted to know which school didn’t graduate the most athletes I’m sure that’s available (my guess is Kentucky). And this isn’t a race thing. Athletes, especially, professional athletes get credited as being dumb jocks a lot but the truth is that a lot of them (not all, obviously not all) do value getting an education. And finish those degrees. It’s just some rich white man was willing to pay them millions of dollars to hold a ball. I remember telling my father that if I had a chance to play professionally, I’d finish college first and my father looked at me like I was crazy. He said if somebody’s willing to pay you for that, school isn’t going anywhere. So the incentive to roll out is substantial.

But numbers of these guys go back and finish their degrees. Which is why hearing that Shaq has a Ph.D. is such a great story to me. I don’t even know him and I’m proud of him. He knows the value of an education and kept at it. You go Shaq.

I think I wrote all that to just say, “you go Shaq!”

Yay.

So, happy Friday! Um…isn’t that great?

By the way, I do realize the inherent “low standardism” that I displayed by being excited that an athlete actually got a degree. Maybe that says a lot about me. Maybe that says a lot about how I view athletes. N.E.R.D. has a song called “Maybe”.

*takes ball and goes home*

The floor is yours.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. TAKES BALL AND GOES HOME aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

Also, I feel like I should introduce for those who haven’t been, an interesting webseries that I’m sure all of you cubicle-n*ggas can understand and relate too: The Unwritten Rules. Peep the trailer then go check out the two episodes. It’s worth the watch.

Evolving in this context is such a funny word. Evolution by definition alludes to continued growth. To say that his thinking is evolving almost implies that he had to grow as a person to acknowledge the truth of the situation, which is that marriage is for two people who loved and supported each other. The sex of those people should be secondary, if considered at all.

Let me state up front: I’m all for same-sex marriages. I have no qualms with it whatsoever. I think its a travesty that people are willing to fight SO hard to keep marriage “as it was intended” by the Bible.

I don’t mean to get all heretic or anything, but in my opinion, the Bible is a great book full of a lot of great stories. It’s the greatest quote book ever and the life lessons involved are definitely intended to help one live a fruitful and righteous life. Basically, the Bible is the extended version of the poem entitled “All I Really Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten” I feel like nearly everything in the Bible is subject to interpretation. I’m also not alone in this thinking since nearly every religion and denomination has seen fit to interpret scriptures to fit their own leanings.

Granted, the Bible is a bit more clear when it comes to homosexuality and marriage. However, it’s a man-made document. And plus, what if I’m an atheist? (I’m not). But if I don’t believe in the Bible or God for that matter, why should I be constrained to the principles therein. A government that purports to separate church and state altogether gets to decide my martial status, effectively based on religious traditionalism? I have big problems with that.

And hell, what if I do believe in the Bible but still can’t help but be who I am? Gay people don’t think that being gay is a choice. So if God made me this way, is God also saying that he created me as an abomination and I’m effectively a reject from God’s kingdom? Hey God, it’s me Panama…inquiring minds would like to know.

It’s very big of Obama to make such a statement. I’m fairly certain that he’s the first sitting president to make such a bold statement about such a contentious issue. Though he did temper it a bit by immediately stating afterwards that it shouldn’t be a federal issue but a state issue. I’m not sure I agree with that. I’m aware that each state has its own set of rules, but marriage seems like such a cut-and-dry thing. Either you can or you can’t. Why fiddle with states rights in an issue as loaded as this; instead, just make a blanket across the board stance. That could be my Big Brother hat on though. I’ll acknowledge this.

I realize that there are significant numbers of people, probably even people who read this blog who think that same-sex marriage is religiously wrong (arguably true), and spiritually amoral. And everybody is entitled to their own opinion. I don’t think that same-sex marriages dilute the institution of marriage anymore than allowing 19-year-olds into the NBA dilutes the quality of play (debateable).

Are there lingering issues that needed to be sorted out? Sure. But it seems like gay people want to get married for the same reason straight people do….love, tax breaks, and benefits. Everybody should have a chance to the game the system, not just straight people. Plus, straight people have been f*cking up this whole marriage thing for a while now….shouldn’t we let somebody else have a chance?

Anyway, what do you all think about Obama making such a bold statement as President? Does it matter? Do you think it could ruin his chances come November for re-election?

Thoughts? Opinions? The floor is yours.

Talk to me.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. OBAMA SAID WHAT? TURN THE CHANNEL BOO! aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

I see PRIDE! I see POWER! I SEE A BAD ASS MUDDA WHO DON'T TAKE NO CRAP OFFA NOBODY!!!!

I remember the first time I heard the theory that people are more intimately familiar with who they think they are than who they actually are. Okay, that’s not true at all. I don’t remember when I first heard it, but I do know that when I heard it I immediately said to myself, “self, that’s true”. It makes sense if you think about it. We spend so much time thinking about who we want to be and how we think we come across that reality is like getting slapped in the face with one of Aretha’s areolas, your two ho’s, and a bottle of rum.

With that in mind, over the course of time I’ve come to some conclusions about myself based on what I thought I wanted or who I thought I was and how reality is playing itself out. Some way down like where the signifying monkey used to hang out. Others more shallow than Kim Kardashian in a kiddie pool kickin’ it with two koalas on Koval.

Allons-y.

I thought I wanted to be one of those folks who likes to have deep conversations. It turns out that I want to be one of the people who has deep conversations about ignorant sh*t.

You know Savon from Love Jones? Yeah, I want to be him, except talking about thongs and the importance of Puffy to the fabric of society. But I SO want there to be a drum present. When I buy a house, one of the first things I’m doing is going drum shopping so I can have a truly Black household. All convos will include the drum. I want to talk about how Kool-Aid is truly the key to life and pop culture. I don’t want to talk about important things unless I feel like it. And only on special occasions…like when white people are present. Or in front of Barack Obama, though I’m fairly certain I’d probably talk a little ignant around Obama. The man sings Al Green songs for cripe’s sake. He cool.

I thought I wanted to date women with big hair who had the big hair angst and social justice guilt and conscience who were artsy and blah blah blah. It turns out I just like big hair.

Seems that I couldn’t care about their activism. I just like big hair. Hell, I might actually prefer big haired bougie women. The type with big hair and Coach bags who are as superficial as chicks with perms. I just wanna lay in their hair without the guilt of recycling. Basically, while I love Freddie from A Different World, I’m sure she would have gotten on my last damn nerves when I told her that I thought “Rack City” was empowering to women.

I thought that because I’m a writer and a rapper and an author and talker and because I communicate often I was a good communicator. It turns out that’s not true.

So, despite my uber sharing ass nature, in intimate settings, I can be quite walled off and anti-vulnerable. How’s that for some sh*t that makes no sense. I’m like the Great Communicator Of Useless Information When It Matters Least. I’m Alex Trebek for Dummies. For Relationships.

I thought that majority of my relationships ended because of compatibility issues. It turns out that most of them probably stem from that little communication problem I just shared a few lines ago. No coca-ina.

Now that’s not to say that every relationship that ended didn’t need to end, they probably did. But my inability to communicate properly was probably as culpable for the beginning of the end as any compatibility issue or constant nuisance that I either created or initially found cute but eventually found grating.

I thought that I was one of the few mixed kids who didn’t have an identity issues. It turns out that I do.

Yeah, I can’t decide if I f*ckin’ rock or if I’m f*ckin’ awesome. It’s a conflict that only people of my pedigree can fully appreciate. It’s hard out here for an cool mulatto. Or a culatto.

I often thought that because I was enlightened that I was above certain negativitisms. Turns out my enlightenment helps to inform my ignorance.

This woman cut me off in traffic today. I didn’t call her a b*tch while shaking my fist in my car behind my glass windows. Nope, I called her a wench. Mostly because I like the word and second because I thought calling a woman a b*tch because she’s a woman who pissed me off would make me like every other ignorant man. So wench it was, which I’m fairly certain achieves the EXACT same end as the b-word. I felt bad. But if I didn’t read, I don’t think I’d know the w-word either. Damn you education system for teaching me how to get around general use pejoratives for learned ones! I definitely call ni**as the n-word though.

Anyway, those are some of my self-awarenesses. Sharing is caring people. What you got?

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. STEAL YOUR CURL aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

The only NWA I can get with nowadays! Take that Dr. Dre!

Personal growth is a motherlover. Especially when you don’t see it coming. And in some ways it can make you ashamed of who you were just hours before. Or make you call into question decisions you made that led to you making it to the point where you could realize growth that you now have hours later that you didn’t have hours before you experienced said growth.

TCBY.

What am I talking about? Glad you asked.

The other day I was rollin’ in my ’64. Actually it’s an ’07 but who’s counting. Well except for me. Moving on. So I was rolling down the street smoking indo, sippin’ on gin and juice (none of that is true either). As of late my favorite thing to do is pick a Pandora station and kill the battery on my iPhone. Usually its set to either the Patrice Rushen station or the David Axelrod station. Well this fine day, I decided to roll down my windows and blast some of that good ole ignant music I love so much. So I punched in three letters that are world famous:

N.

W.

A.

One of my favorite albums of all time is EFIL4ZAGGIN. Dr. Dre was at his producerial essence on this album and despite its themes (put a pin in that, we’ll get back to this shortly) its a hip-hop masterpiece of beats, rhymes, and life and is sonic perfection. So anyway, I punch in NWA and Eazy E’s “Boyz N Tha Hood” comes on. Okay. Dopeboy anthems have always been one of my favorites and especially since I’m a West Coast music head, there wasn’t much better.

Then it happened.

“Just Don’t Bite It (She Swallowed It)” came on.

Oh. My. God.

Dude, this has to be at LEAST one of the 5 MOST ignorant songs in hip-hop history. Ever. Hell, so is “Automobile” off the same album. Actually so is “Find ‘em, F*ck ‘em, and Flee” on that same album. You know what, f*ck it, EFIL4ZAGGIN is one of the most ignorant pieces of art ever created and sold in commercial outlets. Like seriously…gotd*amn. As I listened to this song (and I know the words by heart) I almost felt ashamed of myself.

Actually, I did feel ashamed of myself. In that one song is rape, statutory rape, complete and utter disregard for women, rampant and blatant misogyny, etc etc etc. Honestly, I kind of wondered how ANYBODY could make a song like that and then say to themselves, “wow, this sh*t is dope.” Dumbfounded. I’m the blast my music loud type of mofo. I turned my stereo ALL the way down as I listened and thought about what I was listening to. I don’t know if it’s because I’m a father to a daughter now or what, but man…

…WHO DOES THAT???

Randomly: I’m not from the West Coast, but it seems like a common theme in nearly ALL early 90s West Coast hiphop involved running trains on women. Um, what the hell is wrong with ninjas in Cali??? Even Ice Cube, arguably the more sensible one of NWA, and the only one to give any of their music any type of substantive element was full of statutory rape and just outright violent disregard for women. I’m not gonna say that it was a West Coast thing, it has been a hip-hop thing, but the abject clarity spoken on those songs is almost disturbing at times.

And I realize that in the hood, things happen. A lot of women involved are willing participants. But who the hell commits sh*t like that to immortality via master recordings? I suppose the same goes with the violent, murder murder murder stuff too.

Obviously, this was is all very conflicting for me because I’m a hip-hop head to the heart. But some of that sh*t just crossed/crosses the line and I’m really curious as to how ANYBODY could make that music. Like, if I could interview MC Ren right now, I’d say, “Ren take me through your thought process when you wrote the lyrics for “Just Don’t Bite It 2 (She Swallowed It)”. Does any of it strike you as not right?”

I’m trying not to chastise my beloved hip-hop and it’s not like I’m going to stop listening to it, but listening to that song shamed the motherf*ck out of me because I couldn’t believe that I used to love it H.E.R. and also that somebody actually made that…somebody with a mama. Maybe this is what growing up starts to feel like. Maybe I already did seeing as how I haven’t listened to anything N.W.A. related in years at this point, partially for this reason and because I have a daughter that I have to raise to love herself.

But egads man…what a lesson. So I wonder, good folks out there, have you had any similar type of “aha” growth moment? If it involved NWA, you and me? We >< here.

Talk to me.

-VSB P aka PETEY WHEATSTRAW aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

911 Emergency. Reconnect The Community.

I’ve made a lot of interesting discoveries since I became a parent. I’ve learned that the Disney Channel has a lot of cool shows. I know who Selena Gomez AND Demi Lovato are and could identify them on sight…in public. I also learned that Phineas and Ferb f*ckin’ rocks and there are some very very good children’s albums.

I’ve also learned extreme patience and the importance of clearly explaining myself for the most effective results.

Which brings me to yesterday and the most interesting lesson I learned: birthday parties do seem to differ by race.

Okay, that might not be completely accurate, as my sample size seems rather small, however, I’ve never let facts get in the way of a perfectly good sociological discovery and analysis, so why start now.

My daughter is a toddler. She’s *this* many years old. So at this point, I’ve been to my fair share of birthday parties. But until yesterday, I hadn’t thought about the fact that, for the most part, nearly all of the party goers were of the ninja persuasion. You see, for the first time, I took my daughter to a birthday party where I was the only ninja participant. My daughter goes to a very diverse daycare/pre-school and has taken a particular liking to a certain Caucasian classmate who is the same age. They *heart* each other. It’s actually cute.

Being the professional observationist that I am, I noticed so many interesting tidbits. For instance, I had to be the youngest parent there. Which struck me as odd since I’m fairly sure that I looked like a teenage parent compared to the other parents. And it wasn’t just my spirit. I think I really just looked that young compared to the rest. That was very different since, well, whenever I go to a bday party of color for my daughter, everybody is pretty much the same age or a little younger than I am. I don’t feel young is the main bullet point.

The next thing that jumped out to me is that all of the parents kept talking about work and travel plans. Literally, I heard more conversations that involved taking a dog overseas than I’ve ever heard in my life. It was all, “my proposal” this or ” this week in July” that. It was interesting because at all of the colored parties I’ve been to, I can’t remember anybody having an in-depth conversation about those things. Not that they don’t happen, I’ve just never heard that.

Most of the birthday parties I’ve been to are full of life conversations as well, but I suppose since most of us know each other very well, they don’t come across as “professional” so to speak. It’s like a regular party with your homeboys or homegirls. But I did know for a fact that these folks all lived very near each other. Hmmm….perhaps its the age thing. Maybe me and my friends are just ignant and the rest of the world is having meaningful and substantive conversations at toddler birthday parties. Maybe…just maybe…Hennessy ISN’T part of the toddler birthday party experience.

That last line is a joke.

No really. I don’t even drink when I have my daughter nor will I ever around her. She moves too quickly for me to have any type of impaired athletic abilities.

Even though they either didn’t realize it or wouldn’t think anything of it, I felt like I got a cultural experience just from going to an upwardly mobile white toddler birthday party. (The white parents at the school where my daughter goes are largely well-to-do hippy, earthy-crunchy, tree huggers with money that affords the ability to be novelists and random artisans). And I immediately thought about how interesting it would be to invite a few of those parents to my daughter’s bday party with a bunch of ninjas with kids the same age as theirs but likely 10 years younger that featured music that included the clean version of “Cashin’ Out” and the catalog of the seminal talent, 2 Chainz. (I actually really mean that, like, how can anybody NOT like 2 Chainz? He entertains me. SIMILAC! Oh, and that Ca$h Out ninja is one ugly motherlover. Like Cash Money Records 1998 ugly.)

Granted, this was just one party. And it was at a park. So alcohol was prohibited. But this seemed very natural. And it was cool. I enjoyed the learning that took place even thought it wasn’t intentional. So I assume that there must be other areas where folks have had similar experiences, right? Doing one thing with your peoples and the same thing with other folks peoples and immediate differences (good and bad) surface?

It’s Monday, let’s be cultural…what experiences have you folks have that mirror mine? Learn me something. Learn us something

-VSB P aka MR. BDAY EXTRAVAGANZA aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

Writing books, throwing parties at the SAME. DAMN. TIME!!!

A year in a half or so ago, I wrote an entry talking about our plans to launch Very Smart Singles — a service created to help the thousands of single members of VSB nation connect with each other, date, (hopefully) copulate, and (maybe) spawn a race of big-headed VSB babies.

Unfortunately — well, fortunately for us, but unfortunately for Very Smart Singles — “Your Degrees Won’t Keep You Warm At Night” was released a month later, and that pretty much took up all of our attention and energy.

Anyway, we have quite a few things planned for the next couple of months, and the return — and follow through — of Very Smart Singles is one of them

Here are the details:

A person (male or female) submits a picture and a short (150-200 word) and witty (well, as witty as you can be) bio to our email address. Included in the bio should be their general location (i.e.: DMV, Greater Atlanta area, etc) and the name they prefer to have on their profile. (For instance, if your name is Kimberly Johnson, you’d be “Kim J”, “K.J.”, or “Kimmers”)

We’ll then post the pic and the bio on VSB as its own entry. (We’ll eventually have a Very Smart Singles permeneat sidebar, but for now this’ll do) People interested in possibly meeting the Very Smart Single will email us, and we’ll then contact the Very Smart Single, giving them the contact info of whoever expressed interest. From that point, they’re on their own.

We plan to launch this in a few weeks, but we’re currently accepting submissions so that we can hit the ground running. If you’re interested, email a hi-definition picture, a short bio, and your location to contact@verysmartbrothas.com, under the heading “Very Smart Singles.”

Also, if you already sent something in during the first go around, please resend if you’re still interested.

A couple more things…

After receiving over 500 emails, we ended up choosing three interns — Mylon M., a D.C. resident who actually was one of the baby-haired kids in the Just For Me ads that used to run on BET in the late 90′s, Natalie D., a Princeton student and former female pro wrestler, and “Stalls,” who won’t allow us to print her real name because she owes the IRS $19,000. These lovely ladies are needed additions to the VSB team, we’re glad to have them on board, and we apologize in advance for all the shit we’re going to put them through and all the Greyhound station Bible study classes Liz will drag them to.

A couple weekends ago, Panama drove up to the Burgh so that we could record an audio version of “Your Degrees…” at Ya Momz House, the recording studio owed by my man Emmai Alaquiva. All of the final engineering and production was completed this week, and we’ll have it available shortly (possibly by next week). Stay tuned and shit.

There’s something else really big in the works that I’m not allowed to talk about right now. Lets just say that you’re going to be seeing a lot more of “us” in the very near future.

It’s still not to late to cop a limited edition VSB sweatshirt from our partnership with Coliseum Apparel. Forget about the fact that it’s supposed to be like 90 degrees everywhere on the entire east coast this weekend. Cop it, and literally be the hottest dude (or chick) in the club.

Lastly, if you’re in the D.C. area this weekend, come through to #REMINISCEDC, the party dedicated to all 90s music at Liv Nightclub in DC!!! Straight hip-hop/r&b/dancehall brought to you by Very Smart Brothas x Shine On Me x Just Cause Events. Come party with us THIS Saturday, May 5, also know as Cinco De Mayo (rock your sombrero), FOR FREE! It’s FREE before 11pm with RSVP (reminiscedc.eventbrite.com) and $10 after, there’s an OPEN BAR from 930-1030PM (sponsored by Courvoisier) and NO DRESS CODE. It’s cheaper to come out and party!!!! After you down all the Coronos and Margaritas you can, come party with us! Plus, we’ll have $5 drink specials all night long. Really, you can’t beat it.

Anyway, VSB nation, does anyone have anything new and exciting (or old and mundane) that you want to get off of your chest? The carpet is yours.

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)