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

A couple weekends ago, I went out with a group of a dozen or so people to celebrate my homegirl’s birthday. And, as people in the greater Pittsburgh-area are wont to do after a night of drunken, WorldStarHipHop-worthy ratchetness, we went to Eat & Park afterwards to soak up our alcohol with pancakes and half-assed cheese eggs.

While most others usually opt for the menu food, I always choose to buy the breakfast buffet; a vast decrease in quality, but, when it’s 3:13am, quantity has a way of making you not give a f*ck.

There were so many of us there (I’m guessing 15) that the server put three tables together to accommodate all of us. And, since I was the only one who chose the buffet food, it meant…

A) I would be the only one eating food for the next 15 minutes.

B) I’d have to fight off a clawing pack of drunken and hungry zombies every time I returned to the table from the buffet.

The second part actually became a bit of a running joke. I’d go to the buffet, return with some bacon, and I’d have to smack the hands of my friends away as they tried to grab a slice. Sometimes I was successful in guarding my bacon, and sometimes the bacon zombies would get me. (I know this doesn’t sound like a very fun game to play, but we were all five exits past drunk, and the bacon game happened to be the funniest thing on Earth at the time. Only God can judge me.)

Anyway, although the table was filled with people who all were at the party I was just at, I didn’t know a couple of the people sitting at the other end of the table. I’m bringing this up because all the fun and games stopped when, while returning to the table after one of my bacon runs, one of these unfamiliar hands reached and attempted to grab the food on my plate.

When I made it back to my seat, I called this person out, asking what the f*ck was wrong with them (I think my exact words were “What the f*ck is wrong with you? I don’t know you, n*gga“), and basically put a slight damper on the mood.

(In hindsight, it was funny remembering the reactions of the people sitting around me, their expressions going from “Wait, Champ’s not serious, is he?” to “Um, yeah, he’s serious. This is getting uncomfortable. And entertaining. This is uncomfortably entertaining” and finally landing on “Wait, um, we’re not able to witness a couple dudes in suits fight over some bacon, are we?“)

I eventually forgave this person for their indiscretion. (We actually stood up and shook each other’s hands) The next day, as I was reflecting on the evening and remembering exactly how ridiculous that near fight was, it dawned on me that none of that would have happened if he was a woman.

You see, I was perfectly cool playing the bacon game with the people sitting close to me — all women that I knew. In fact, even if dude had been a woman I didn’t know, I wouldn’t have reacted the same way. I probably would have laughed, flirted, or perhaps even tried to steal some food off her plate when it finally came. But, because he was a guy doing something that guys aren’t supposed to do to other guys, it pissed me off enough to have the following absurd exchange with him

“Where are you from?” 

“Don’t worry about where I’m from. I’m from a place where n*ggas don’t take food off of n*ggas they don’t know plates.” 

(I apparently say n*gga a lot when I’m drunk and/or angry. Perhaps there’s another post in there somewhere)

If you’re still reading, you’re probably wondering what the hell a story about two drunk men having a pissing contest over some soggy bacon has to do with feminism, a concept defined as a collection of movements aimed at defining, establishing, and defending equal political, economic, and social rights for women.

Actually, that definition is a bit too bulky to work with. I prefer the one coined by Cheris Kramarae

“Feminism is the radical notion that women are human beings.”

Regardless of how you choose to define it, feminism has some roots in the idea that (most) men, even (most) well-intentioned men, don’t regard women with the same respect we do other men.

Thing is, as shitty as men historically have been and currently still are to women, we are pretty much just as shitty (if not shittier) to men.

As history continues to prove, men will regularly intimidate, embarrass, ridicule, mock, taunt, dominate, and even sexually humiliate other men if given the opportunity.

Think about this: Wherever you’re currently reading this, you’re at a place that was “founded” some time ago as a result of a group of men invading the land of a weaker group of men and subsequently murdering and colonizing them.

Even many “educated” and “domesticated” men still regularly do this in their own way. For instance, as ridiculous as that bacon story sounded, most men reading it probably laughed at first and then thought to themselves “You know what? I probably would have reacted the same way The Champ did.” 

Why? Well, although it may have seemed innocent, that guy reaching on my plate was his way of attempting to assert some dominance over me. His fat ass didn’t want any bacon, but he did want everyone to see him taking a slice of bacon off my plate — alpha male-ing me, in a sense.

I (over) reacted the way I did because, frankly, I wanted him to be scared. Not pissing in his pants scared, but “Hmm. This guy’s tone and body language suggests that there’s a possibility that he might actually get up and punch me in the face. It’s a slight chance, but still. Perhaps I should apologize to him.” scared.

Most people would probably consider bacon boy’s act a violation of some “man code” or some other unspoken kinship between men. While this is true, the creation of “man codes” aren’t really about any male kinship or spiritual brotherhoods or anything like that. We have these rules of decorum when dealing with each other because of fear of possible physical danger, and we treat each other with this tenuous respect because there’s always the possibility that we might get our ass kicked if we don’t.

Now, I’m (obviously) no feminist scholar, but it seems like the root cause behind man’s historically unjust treatment of women has something to do with the control and suppression of female sexuality and sexual freedom. It also seems like the only reason why (many) men are “nicer” to women than they are to other men is because they want sexual access to them, and getting women to agree to want to be with you is the socially acceptable way of gaining this access.

I don’t want to believe that the only things motivating us to be kind to each other are fear and sex, but history and any read of any newspaper continues to prove that this may be true. Am I completely off-base here, or are we (men) too f*cked up to evolve to a point where the majority of things the majority of men do are done, not because we can do them or can get away with doing them, but because they’re just the right and just things to do?

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

As the title suggests, I want to talk about Trayvon Martin today. I want to talk about his murder. I want to talk about the release of the 911 tapes. I want to talk about how I haven’t mustered the courage(?) to listen to them yet. I want to talk about how I begin to break down whenever I see his picture. I want to talk about the picture attached to this post, and how that baby-faced kid — a baby-faced kid who could have very easily been my little brother, my nephew, my cousin, my neighbor’s kid, my son, or, well, me — had no idea that he was going to be stalked, pursued, assaulted, and murdered before his 18th birthday just because he happened to be black at the wrong place in the wrong time. I want to talk about the fact that his murderer hasn’t been (and may never be) arrested. I want to talk about how, despite the fact that I know hate is wrong, I haven’t been able to think of a word strong enough to convey my hate for George Zimmerman. I want to talk about the effect this murder has had on his family, and how this unbelievably sad story has galvanized the nation.

When we’re done talking about Trayvon Martin, I want to talk about 19-year-old Anthony Scott and 6-year-old Aliyah Shell — the two youngest of the 10 people murdered in Chicago last weekend. Aliyah was killed in a drive-by shooting in broad daylight (3:30pm) as she sat on the porch with her mom. Anthony was called to a vehicle, and shot in the head as he approached it.

I’d also like to talk about 2-year-old Taizon Arin and 11-year-old Donovan McKee, two kids recently murdered by their mother’s boyfriends. Taizon died of blunt force trauma to the head. Donovan was ordered to get the sticks he was beat to death with, forced to clean up the bloody mess he made while his murderer took breaks from beating him to death, and eventually died after being beat over a nine hour span. 

If we have some time, I’d definitely like to say a few words about Kenneth Alford Jr, one of the dozen or so people I’ve personally known who’ve been murdered. It’s been almost six years since he was shot to death, and Kenneth — who was known as “Stubbo” by, well, everyone — was a friend of mine and a basketball rival I’d known since I was maybe 11 or 12.

It’s funny. I was a much better player than him — bigger, stronger, better shooter, better handle, just better — but he always got the better of me when we played against each other. As anyone who’s ever played ball will tell you, some guys just always have your number. Stubbo had mine, and it frustrated the hell out of me.

If he was still around he’d definitely be playing in one of the over-30 YMCA leagues I currently play in. He’s long gone, though — murdered because of mistaken identity — so I’m left to wonder if he’d still have my number.

Actually, I misspoke a couple paragraphs ago. When counting the dozen or so people I’ve known who have been murdered, I didn’t count former students — kids who sat in my classroom when I was an English teacher. If you add them to the list, that “dozen” number doubles.

I feel awful saying this, but I don’t remember each of their names. But, I do remember that I said a prayer for Chandler Thompson, Richiena Porter, Isaiah Talbott, and Stephen Tibbs every night for maybe three years straight.

It’s been a while since I’ve done that though, so maybe we can talk about them for (at least) a couple minutes today, for no other reasons then it’ll make me feel better about neglecting to pray for them and forgetting the names of the rest of their gunned down classmates.

Lastly, while I may be tempted to spark this discussion, we don’t have to talk about my 16-year-old and 19-year-old nieces. They were both shot at a Sweet 16 house party a few months ago, but they were both lucky enough to only suffer non-fatal wounds.

I don’t know where I’m going with any of this. I don’t know why I stopped praying for Chandler, Richiena, Isaiah, and Stephen. I don’t know what to do with all of this emotion, all of this feeling the murder of Trayvon Martin has left me with. I don’t know what do to. I do know, though, that any glance at the “Local News” section of any one of the 100(?) or so major American newspapers will sadly remind us that Trayvon Martin’s murder isn’t the only one we need to talk about today.

 —Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

Panama, with Rahiel of Urban Cusp (his left) after their panel discussion on Black Identity & Culture in Mass Media. Panelists from l-r: Jummy Olabanji, Sekani Williams, PJ, Rahiel, Y'Anna Crawley, Reesa Renee, and Christylez Bacon

So, there’s been a lot going on in VSB land in the past month or so. Won’t go through everything, but here’s some of the things we’ve been up to, both individually and as a group.

There was a seven to ten day window a month ago where you could have gone to a newsstand, picked up Jet, Ebony, and Essence, and saw something VSB-related in each of them. Along with the aforementioned Power 100 love in Ebony, Jet named us as one of the “Year’s Top Web Wonders” along with Awkward Black Girl and They BF, and I was in an issue of Essence, giving predictably cryptic relationship advice.

And, speaking of Ebony, I’m a contributing editor there now. (Gig started February 1st)

Panama has been all over the place as well, writing for GuySpeak, The Root DC, and Sister 2 Sister Magazine (Yes, one of our collective goals is to write or be featured in every single black publication that exists. I think we’re almost there. All we need is a piece in Black Tail now.) 

He’s also hosting and emceeing various events. Just this week he moderated a panel for the Washington Post: Black Identity & Culture in Mass Media

You can read a recap of the event here.

And, when she’s not holding impromptu Bible studies in random bars, Liz is busy becoming a web series maven. Her latest — “How I Made It” — showcases people who’ve made a dent in the fashion industry.

As we’ve alluded to before, there are a few major changes in works here. To assist us with those changes, we’ve hired three interns who are scheduled to start working for us in March.

Lastly, people have been clamoring for us to open the VSB store back up. That’s coming, but there will be a few additions aside from the usual VSB t-shirts and baby tees. We’re still working out the kinks with what exactly we’re going to be selling, but I can definitely tell you that we are going to have a line devoted to “Bougie Black Girl” material, such as this t-shirt modeled by a very drunk yours truly while standing next to my man J-Russ, star of our “Sh*t Bougie Black Girls Say” video. 

Oh, and if still pressed for something to actually read today, check out my on-going “race” conversation with Andrew Cotto at The Good Man Project, “I Suck At The Oscars” — Panama’s latest at GuySpeak, and my interview with Bernie Mac’s widow Rhonda McCullough about “I Ain’t Scared of You: A Tribute to Bernie Mac.” — a documentary featuring clips from Mac’s performances and interviews from family and famous friends such as Chris Rock, Don Cheadle, D.L. Hughley, and Samuel L. Jackson.

Anyway VSB nation, that’s enough about us. Does anyone have anything new and exciting (or old and boring) that they want to share? The carpet is yours and sh*t.

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

1. There’s absolutely no rhyme or reason to the way I react when hearing about a person dying. None whatsoever. It’s completely unpredictable, completely arbitrary, and completely dependent on… whatever the hell it’s dependent on. I have absolutely no clue, and I’ve stopped trying to figure it out. There have been times when a one paragraph long news story about some random area murder induced tears and haunted me for weeks, and other times when family members have passed and the only time I got worked up was when I forced myself to get worked up because I felt bad that I hadn’t.

This “reaction unpredictability” extends to celebrities as well. I felt nothing when Michael Jackson — a person who I was a huge fan of — died, but the deaths of Amy Winehouse — a person I was “eh” about — and Patrice O’Neal still resonate with me. I still can’t listen to “Rehab” or watch “Elephant in The Room” without getting chills.

Knowing how unpredictable I can be about this should make me immune to surprise. I mean, If I’m capable of any reaction, there shouldn’t be a reaction that surprises me. Despite this, I was (and still am) surprised at how affected I was by the news of Whitney Houston’s death (When first clicking the TMZ link to the news of her death, I literally stared at my monitor with my mouth agape for two minutes and could see my heart beating through my shirt) and how interested I was in the goings-on (and the public’s feelings about the goings-on) of her funeral.

Although I wasn’t able to catch the first hour and a half or so (I started watching when Stevie Wonder was singing), I sat there captivated like I was watching the 4th quarter of game seven of the NBA finals. And, as if this captivation wasn’t enough, I logged on to Twitter and Facebook to basically give myself a sensory overload.

I don’t know what any of this means, or why I even felt the need to share it. I don’t know. I do know that it’s been (over) a week and I’m still surprised that I still don’t feel any different.

2. There have been myriad different accounts of the events that led to Bobby Brown leaving (or getting kicked out of) Whitney’s funeral, so I won’t go into any of them. I will say, though, that I feel worse for him than for anyone else who was in Whitney’s life. Losing your ex-wife (a woman I’m sure he still loved and may have still been in love with) is bad enough, but being the popular scapegoat for the decades-long spiral leading to her early death has to be a bitch of a burden to carry. History will not look kindly on him. Regardless of what he does for the rest of his life, his primary legacy will be that he, to put it bluntly, killed Whitney Houston.

Now, whether this legacy is actually fair is another question. We assume that Bobby was the bad influence, but while Whitney was America’s Sweetheart, she wasn’t exactly an angel herself. Also, as influential as Clive Davis was reported to be in her life, who’s to say that he didn’t have a hand in her downfall?

Obviously, this is all speculation. None of us know exactly what led to Whitney’s substance abuse problems. And, since none of us know, perhaps we should place a collective moratorium on “Blame Bobby.”

3. I happened to be at my parent’s house when the funeral was being aired. When R.Kelly came to the podium, all three of us said “Wait. Is that R.Kelly???” at the exact same time. No bullsh*t.

And (in my best Forrest Gump voice), “That’s all I’m going to say about that.”

4. I know many people had an issue with some of the “So, America, make sure you’re recording so you can see how these exotic-ass Negros celebrate the dead” -ey comments from some of the non-black members of the news media covering the event. In particular, Piers Morgan sounded like he was covering at an event at Jurassic Park.

I didn’t have a problem with this, though. I mean, aside from random Nike commercials and Tyler Perry movies (which white people don’t watch anyway), this probably was the first time many of them had seen a homegoing at a black baptist church, and I think most of the non-white reporters found the proper mix of reverence, respect, and curiosity.

Also, aside from the celebrities involved, Whitney’s ceremony wasn’t all that atypical. Seriously, if you substituted “random white co-worker who seems out of place but makes up for it with a poignant speech” for “Kevin Costner,” “aunt who does her thing on the organ even though she tends to forget words to certain songs” for “Stevie Wonder,” and “neighborhood family who no one wants to fight because there’s like 25737848 of those motherf*ckers and you know if you fight one, you’ll have to fight them all” for “The Winans,” this funeral was probably exactly like any other baptist funeral any one reading this has ever been to.

5. I’m not sure if the fact that I simultaneously ”experienced” the funeral with over a thousand others on Twitter — all with their own running commentary about the event — was a good or a bad thing. Actually, I’m pretty certain it’s neither. It’s not disrespectful or distant or progressive or indicative of anything, either. It just is. That’s just the way we deal with things today. While other generations had their own forms of collective consumption, we just do it in real time.

6. So, ever since a certain post I wrote a few weeks ago, I’ve been more willing to let certain people take a look at articles I write before I submit them, just in case they pick up on something that I may have missed. Don’t fret. You’re not going to get a neutered Champ or anything. This is something I’ve always done. Just do it a little more often now.

Anyway, last Friday, I let one of these friends see an article I wrote for Ebony about Chris Brown. That article contained a somewhat off-color joke about Tyler Perry. Her response:

“I dont usually discourage Tyler Perry jabs, but this m**therf**er just flew Whitney Houston’s body to her family in his private jet. HE ALWAYS DOES THIS SH*T. Like, whenever I want to take a shot at him, he adopts some orphan or saves a kitten or some sh*t and makes me feel bad afterwards. Anyway, you should probably leave that out.”

I (reluctantly) listened.

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”) 

***Oh, check out the Chris Brown piece I just referenced — “The (Biggest) Problem with Chris Brown isn’t Chris Brown” — if you get a chance. (#teambreezy, beware)***

What a difference a month makes

As any NFL fan (and most New Yorkers) undoubtedly know, there’s an annual ritual that occurs somewhere between the 3rd and 8th weeks of the NFL season each year. The New York Giants will be struggling, a few anonymous sources from the team will leak quotes to the media about how much the entire team hates head coach Tom Coughlin, and a few prominent beat writers and reporters will pen articles about how the team has tired of Coughlin’s rigid ways and that it’s time to make a change.¹

Seriously, if you were to look up the term “hot seat” in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of a red-faced and exasperated Coughlin in the middle of the same exaggerated head shake/eye roll combo an assistant principal at a high school would make after hearing that the gym locker room toilets were clogged again.

He’s never won (and never will win) coach of the year. Whenever Sports Illustrated or ESPN.com does one of those anonymous player surveys, he’s always the choice as “the coach I’d least like to play for.” He’s not regarded as an evil genius like Bill Belichick, a guru like Jon Gruden, a master motivator/player’s coach like Mike Tomlin or Pete Carroll, or even an “old guy whose best days are behind him but still has something in the tank” like (the extremely overrated) Mike Shanahan. He is actually a stereotypically bad assistant principal — a micro-manager whose obsession with mind-numbing routine and authoritarianism ends up undermining the power he already has².

But, as of Sunday night, Coughlin is the head coach of two Super Bowl champions, a feat matched by few others. A man many wouldn’t consider a great (or even good) NFL coach has twice bested the man thought of as the best football coach of his generation.

Today, the Coughlin narrative is that he’s an underappreciated motivator and technician. The end results (two championships) have justified any means, and 50 years from now, no one will remember that he came within a hair of getting fired every year. All they’ll see is “Tom Coughlin = two-time Super Bowl champion” and they’ll assume that he was a great coach.

Now, there’s an obvious parallel between coaching and parenting (and teaching, even), and I brought up Tom Coughlin’s career because it ties directly into a question I’ve always had about parenting.

What exactly makes a “good” or “great” parent?

This seems like it should be an easy question to answer. A good parent is a selfless individual who loves their children unconditionally, stops at nothing to provide for and protect them, teaches them whatever needs taught, and models good behavior.

But, if the ultimate goal of a parent is to make sure their offspring are productive, capable, and well-adjusted members of society, what’s to make of “good” parents who were, to put it bluntly, failures?

How do you gauge the parental merits of loving, selfless, and upstanding individuals who’ve raised kids who grew up to be liars, deadbeats, thieves, rapists, murders, and Laker fans? Would you consider a parent “good” if they were successful and happy and well-adjusted, but their children were the exact opposite?

Perhaps, like a “good” coach who just wasn’t able to find a way to motivate his team, maybe a good parent with sh*tty offspring has all the proper parental tools but just didn’t apply them properly…making them bad at being a parent

On the flipside, what do you make of people who’ve managed to succeed in spite of what looked to be lackluster and/or deficient parenting? The man who’s managed to become a renowned surgeon despite his overbearing and still hard to please alcoholic father? The woman who never received a single compliment from her ruthless and manipulative mother but ended up being a caring, successful, and well-adjusted lawyer and mom herself? The kid from the projects who, after seeing how heroin tore apart his family, got a PhD. in neuroscience to study addiction and help make sure what happened to his family doesn’t happen to any others?

On the surface, no one would say that any of these people had good parents, but you can’t deny the fact that their relationships with their parents helped motivate and inspire them to become who they are today. Again, if parental merits depend on the offspring you send out into the world, the “sh*tty” parents definitely succeeded. Perhaps these parents, bad as they may have seemed, were only doing what they thought it took to ensure their children’s success as adults.

And, just as you probably won’t hear any Giants complain about Coughlin’s rigidity or out-of-touchness today, you’re probably not going to hear any of the people from the last paragraph complain too much about how they were raised.

If the Giants don’t make the playoffs this year, Coughlin gets fired. Now, though, each of his negative characteristics become pluses through euphemism. (i.e.: “he’s a micro-manager” turns into “he’s steadfastly committed to excellence”)

If these people don’t turn out successful, the drunk dad is an asshole, the manipulative mom is a bitch, and the kid with the addicts in his family just had too much on his plate to overcome. If successful, though, the asshole dad becomes “a guy who believed in tough love,” the bitchy mom is just a “perfectionist who wanted the best for me,” and the kids from the projects reflects on all the sacrifices his people made to help him make it.

I guess I’m trying to say that whether a person is a good parent or not is completely arbitrary, completely variable, and completely dependent on the quality of kid they produce. But, to be honest, I don’t even really believe that. A part of me still thinks that, despite what I’ve tried to prove today, good parenting is like pornography — you can’t really define it, but you know it when you see it. 

Hmm. I forget which Gladwell book it was (actually, it might have been “Freakonomics.” I really have no idea), but I remember a passage in it that basically stated that the best parenting is done before a kid is even born. The genes you pass on to him and the financial situation he’s born in do waaaaay more to help (or hurt) him succeed than anything you can do as a parent.

If this is true, perhaps coaching and parenting are more intertwined than I thought. As any Giants fan will surely tell you today, “good coach” is just another way of saying “he was lucky enough to have some good ass players.”

¹There’s an article at Slate.com that goes much more in-depth on this “ritual.” I remember reading it there, and I know it’s somewhere in here, but I couldn’t find it yesterday.

 

²No shots at any assistant principals reading this

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

I’m bringing this up because all of this success has undoubtedly made my already large head even bigger. I’ve become more secure in my voice and my ability to articulate, amuse, and entertain, but with that came an arrogance that leads to days like yesterday.

I think I can (and should be able to) tackle any topic, so when I was browsing through different websites Monday afternoon, looking for something to write for Tuesday, I came across Zerlina’s article about rape, read the comments, and naturally thought “I think I’ll offer a (slightly) dissenting viewpoint. I might upset a couple people, but it’ll be no big deal. They (our readership) know and love me already, so the people who do happen to get upset will forget all about it by 3pm Tuesday afternoon.”

I was wrong.

While I think this conversation needs to be had, I’m not well-versed enough with this topic to even take the chance to articulate the types of thoughts I did yesterday. And, even if I was a rape issues maven, this isn’t the type of topic that someone like me — a snarky, sarcastic, (somewhat) insensitive, and (too) pragmatic asshole — should attempt to tackle by myself.

Perhaps I may get there eventually, but I’m not there yet, and it took a day like yesterday to drive that point home.

Also, it was a poorly crafted post. The title was unnecessarily incendiary and sensationalistic, the premise was drawn from a flawed inference (more on that later), the examples I used to make my point were lazy, insulting, and (very) hurtful, the conclusion was completely tone deaf, and the post-post 11 am edit was an abject fail.

Plus, as Panama stated in a conversation we had yesterday, because of the nature of VSB — we occasionally get “serious,” but most of our topics are meant to be light-hearted and entertaining. also, we usually touch on one topic one day and keep it moving. — this isn’t really the place for the type of discussion this conversation warranted. Honestly, if yesterday’s post didn’t blow up the way it did, today’s topic would have either been a (super-late) NBA preview or something about first date etiquette.

For instance, a glance at the screen while writing this tells me it’s 2:54 pm. In three hours, I’m meeting a couple people to create another “Sh*t___Says” YouTube video. And, lets just say that people who plan to spend entire evenings filming videos titled “Shit Diva Dudes Say To Bougie Black Girls” probably shouldn’t post potentially explosive pieces about rape two days before this silly-ass video debuts.

As much as I spoke about common sense Tuesday, the decision to post a controversial opinion about women and rape didn’t exhibit very much of it.

I do not apologize for possessing the feeling I was attempting to convey. But, I do apologize for being too arrogant to realize how wrong it was for me to attempt to convey it here yesterday. It’s an issue too touchy, too sensitive, too nuanced, and too volatile for a person without a master understanding of the topic to address on a platform as big as VSB’s.

2. Judging from what Google Analytics currently says (it’s 3:08 pm now, btw), yesterday’s post will probably generate 10 to 12,000 unique visitors. A year ago, this would have been one of our highest traffic days ever. Today, it’s maybe the 6th or 7th highest day in the last two weeks.

Both Panama and I (and Liz for that matter) have had some difficulties dealing with this increase in readership and reach; some relatively easy to handle (increased server costs, needing to hire interns, etc), and some that’ll take a bit more brainpower to solve.

One of these “difficult” problems is the fact that increased readership means that there’s a greater chance that someone not at all familiar with you will find your link on Facebook or Twitter, and it’s been a struggle trying to straddle the line between “opinionated and editor-less blogger who can say whatever the hell he wants with no repercussions” and “person who may need to be more cognizant of his words because he’s not just speaking around friends anymore”

With this growth comes an increase in responsibility, and I know I seriously let some people down yesterday. I can’t promise that it won’t happen again. You can’t be successful at this without taking some chances and (occasionally) upsetting people. But, going forward, I do promise to be more conscious of the effect my words can have on people.

With all that being said, although I was genuinely surprised with (and hurt by) the reaction in the comments (and on Twitter), I really don’t want anyone to think that today’s piece and yesterday’s mid-morning edit are me back-tracking or trying to elicit any sympathy. Yes, I feel bad that there are some people who’ve never heard of VSB before and are going to use yesterday as their first (and, likely, only) impression of us, but this is what I signed up for when we decided to build this blog, and if I accept the praise, I have to handle the criticism too. I said it, signed my (real) name to it, and whoever doesn’t like it has a right to call me on it.

3. After re-reading Zerlina’s post for the umpteenth time yesterday, I realized that I definitely reached for the inferences I made. Because I followed the discussion about it on Twitter before actually reading it, I read it with an agenda, looking for a few things that weren’t actually there. I know how shitty it feels to have people make conclusions about something you’ve written before actually reading it, and I apologize to Zerlina for doing that to her.

4. You’ve probably noticed that I haven’t actually said anything about yesterday’s content yet, and I don’t plan to. That ship has sailed. I will say though, that as hard as this may be to believe, I actually did appreciate yesterday’s discussion. Perhaps the best part of VSB is the Very Smart readers, followers, and fans we tend to have, and yesterday was one of those days where I could sit back, read, and learn from them.

Among these things I learned was that there is a major disconnect among some very smart people about issues such as consent and rape/crime prevention and the definitions and proper applications of terms like accountability and responsibility. I don’t know if anything was “solved” yesterday (or if they ever will be), but I don’t think I was the only one surprised by how far apart many of us are when these topics are brought up.

I’m sure yesterday cost us some fans and dissuaded people who would have been fans in the future. That’s unfortunate. For those who did come back today, thank you, and lets continue to entertain (and educate) each other. My eyes and ears feel a little more open today, and I hope yours do too.

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”) 

So happy togetherrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Or not.

9:59: As I begin to prepare for my second annual minute-by-minute recap of the season debut of “The Game,” it’s probably not a good sign that it took me three minutes to find BET on my cable box. I feel extremely white right now. (And by “white” I mean “grown”)

Anyway, as “Lost In The World” — the Kanye song I listen to whenever I want to think about my dead goldfish — is playing in the background, they’re in the middle of an montage of things that made me wish I’d actually watched more than one episode of “The Game” last year so I can know what the hell is going on.

Confession time: You know how you’ll be watching some trailer for some sh*tty movie, and you’ll see a “much too established to be in this sh*tty movie” actor in it, clearly just there to collect a paycheck and go home?

Well, that’s how I feel about writing this summary. I have absolutely no interest in this show, but I’m only writing about it because I know people are going to want to read about and discuss it tonight and tomorrow. I’m officially a sell-out.

10:00: Another confession: I was kind of stressed about doing this. Live blogs, while fun, are pretty difficult to navigate because you’re watching, thinking of clever/relevent sh*t to write, and writing simultaneously.

But, since BET has five minutes of commercials for every three minutes of air time, I’m surprisingly good. Thanks Debra Lee!

10:01: I’ve never not been entertained by an Underworld movie. Just wanted to put that out there.

10:02: The show begins with Twin Mowry and Derwin Davis in a hospital. I really have no idea what the f*ck is going on right now. This — me not knowing what the hell is going on — will be a recurring theme with this summary.

10:04: Do laugh tracks make anything better? Seriously. Have you ever seen something funny happen in real life (i.e: a fat man in a little coat slipping on a patch of ice) and thought to yourself “Damn. This is funny as hell. You know what would make it even funnier? A gotdamn laugh track.”

(Ok, I actually have thought that before, but I think you get my point. Laugh tracks suck.)

10:05: As Derwin and the good Doctor McWhateverTheHellHisNameIs have a pissing contest, I’m reminded of something a few of my soon to be PhDed friends joke about all the time.

According to them, doctors (surgeons especially) usually are a few sandwiches short of a picnic basket, and aren’t exactly the smartest people on Earth either. They’re known as the dummies in the advanced degree world. I have no idea why I’m telling you all this. Perhaps I think you’d find the years long MD vs PhD feud to be more entertaining than my summary of this scene.

10:07: We see Jason Pitts for the first time, as he’s completing a mid-day booty call with some onesie-clad chick named Gloria. Don’t bother asking me why someone would have sex, put a onesie on, and get back in bed, because I have no answers for you.

She chides him about his pattern of not dating black women (I smell a recurring theme!!!) before inviting him to a wedding. Hmm. Shouldn’t booty calls make baby steps when they’re trying to score some “lets do something in public now” time? I mean, a wedding? It usually takes at least 20 sessions to even make it to a Wendy’s drive-thru.

10:09: Seeing Rick Ross on screen reminds me that his “Rich Forever” mixtape may be the best mixtape I’ve ever downloaded. (And yes. You just read a hip-hop purist put “Rick Ross” and “best ever” in the same sentence. If you have a problem with that, I’ll levitate on all you p*ssy n*ggas)

10:10: Pooch Hall Malik walks in while carrying a drunk hoochie, and the drunk hoochie is carrying 15 pounds of ass and 115 ounces of weave. This probably won’t end well.

10:11: Sign #3453 that I’m getting old: I remember when Anne Marie Johnson — the mom in the Kevin Hart Ford Explorer commericals — played the token hot chick in all of Robert Townsend’s movies, and the plastic woman in “I’m Gonna Git You Sucka.” I wanted to sleep with her before I even know what “I want to sleep with her” meant.

10:13: Derwin Davis is having his Emmy moment as he speaks to Twin Mowry. Nostrils are flaring. Cheeks are flushed. Voices are cracking. This is some high-level, Inside The Actor’s Studio-type sh*t right now.

10:14: Checking to see if they were joking about the show being an hour long.

10:14: Finding out that it is actually an hour long, and that I’ve already committed to writing this entire f*cking recap

10:14: Contemplating suicide.

10:15: The producers of “The Game” must have ESP, because as soon as I was thinking about giving the peace sign to life, they threw on some Kanye to snap me back to reality.

10:18: Brandy the bartender tries not to peek at her cue cards while exchanging barbs with Jason. Honestly, is there a 30-something celebrity with a weirder and more random resume than Brandy? She was a legitimate pop star, Kobe Bryant’s prom date, actually killed someone in a car accident, has been surpassed in pop culture relevancy by her much less talented and likable younger brother. It’s like her Wiki page was written by a dyslexic.

10:19: I have to say, Jason is easily my favorite character on the show, and since they give him all the best lines, he must be the writers’ favorite character as well.

10:22: Wendy Raquel Robinson (“Racks on Racks” for short) is in great shape, but I think she may have gotten to that strange point some women get to when they work out so much that they’re in danger of going from “she looks good” to “find the nearest methadone clinic”

10:27: Literally nothing important happens in the five minute span from 10:22 to 10:27.

10:27: I misspoke. Something important did happen. My feelings about the laugh track have gone from “very annoyed” to “I wish a plague on the family of whoever thought this was a good idea”

10:28: I’m going to put my serious hat on for a second and say that the relationship between Racks on Racks and Pooch Hall Malik is what happens when moms fall in love with their sons. Please, single mothers out there, if you ever find yourself falling in love with your son, suckerpunch him in the eye. Trust men, in 20 years, you’ll be a better woman and he’ll be a better man for it.

10:28: Since when does “naked chick found dead from an overdose” = “cue laugh track?” Am I missing something here?

10:32: As I’m beginning to get progressively more bored with the show, my mind begins to drift to more important things, most notably have Twin Mowry and Derwin Davis ever slept together in real life.

(I don’t think so. In fact, I hate when people say things like that. (pot meet kettle) But, I wouldn’t be surprised if they did.)

10:33: Abortion Bombshell!!!!!!

10:35: Gotdamn. These two really go for the jugular when they argue with each other. Am I just naive? Do people actually argue like this in real life? Seriously, they say things to each other where the only rational response would be murder.

10:35: Cue Kanye again as Twin Mowry gets her own Emmy moment. I kind of like her’s better.

10:36: Really? You’re going to stop in the middle of giving the OD-ed weave monster mouth to mouth and argue? Really, “The Game” writers, you thought this would be a perfect time to add some levity?

10:38: Even Dead Ray Charles can see that Jason and Brandy are going to start dating. Perhaps he’ll even hit it tonight.

10:39: Or get married

10:41: I feel like I should be mad about this, but this KFC “wingman” commercial may actually be the most awesome thing I’ve ever seen. My favorite part is the slow motion face shimmy while one of the women is eating a wing.

10:42: Two things this Mexican honeymoon scene makes me think about:

1. How much money did they have to pay “The Hangover” people to borrow their phone camera montage trick?

2. Why does Brandy look like she’s wearing a sock in her panties? Seriously, forget about camel toe, it looked like she was hiding the camel’s entire f*cking face in her draws.

10:45: Who’s going to cry for the poor little yellow kid who couldn’t get rhythm from a sister? Who’s going shed a tear? Are you going to cry for him? You?

10:48: This new movie “The Vow” was great the first time I saw it, when it was called “50 First Dates.”

10:51: Brandy. Race. Jason. Brandy. Race. Big Booty Keisha Jackson. Race. White women. Race. Black Women. Taye Diggs.

10:55: Awww. Derwin and Twin finally made up. BTW, is it just me, or does seem like Twin Mowry always dresses like she’s from the future?

10:56: You know, I’ve been thinking if this — my girl telling me she got an abortion a decade ago and the baby actually wasn’t mine — would piss me off. Honestly, it would. Don’t know why.

10:58: The chick from everyone’s favorite Progressive State Farm commerical makes her annual appearance as Derwin’s baby-momma, which reminds me of problem my dad has with “black” commercials.

He thinks that white casting agents don’t know how to cast black couples in commercials because the women are always much too good-looking for the men they’re with for it to be believable. When I told him once that it was actually realistic because this — getting with women who rate much, much, much higher on the “looks scale” than I do — was the story of my life, he said “You played basketball, though, so you don’t count.”

10:59: Seriously, who ever is the lacefront technician or weave grip on this show must make like $200 an hour.

11:00: As Derwin ends the show by killing a guy in his driveway and running his bag of presents (That was actually some gangsta-ass sh*t), I’m left to wonder how much longer “The Game” will stay on the air. I don’t actually want it to be canceled again. Many people I know seem to like it, and even though I’m still kind of salty that their write-up on the Ebony Power 100 was like 1000 times longer than ours, the husband/wife team of Salim Akil and Mara Brock Akil seem like good people

But, snark aside, it feels like the show is on auto-pilot right now, and I’m not sure if it can be fixed or if they even want to fix it. Perhaps “The Game” is the game they’re running on black America because they know we don’t have sh*t else to watch.

 —Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

A “He Said”/”She Said” Analysis on Dating, Love and Relationships

"My girl grillin' me. I got to go. This isn't going to end well."

What happens when you ask a group of women to tell you about some of the worst habits that men from their past have shared in common? They instantly become great writers, historians, and comedians who don’t shy away from exclamation marks and ALL CAPS. Here’s a short list of things guaranteed to drive 99.9% of good women away and how a man might justify doing these things, from two people who have been there (or who at least know someone who has).

1)    Habitually “checking in” and then falling off

Rahiel: His nickname is Mr. Check-in. Why? Because he’s the king of “I’m just checking in.” Rain, sleet, or snow – he’s guaranteed to call, text or email to ask about her day, family, and current affairs (like conflict in the Middle East). But it never amounts to anything (dates, a relationship, meaningful dialogue) besides him soon falling off of the face of the earth. Only to resurface weeks or months later – just in time to “check-in” again. He has seemingly devoted his life to keeping a foot in the door until she finally figures it all out and tells him to “checkout” or simply gives him a taste of his own disappearing act.

Panama: Is it really men’s fault that we like being cordial? In fact, it’s women’s fault for assuming all of those convos are supposed to lead anywhere. Plus, only in a woman’s mind does a man calling to ask sincere questions about how she’s doing and what she’s up to come across as rude and disingenuous. If it was your insurance salesman, you’d be pleased as punch. Your dentist calls every six months, but if we do it, then we’re playing games? I’m calling shenanigans on this one. We “check in” because you crossed our mind – plain and simple. Be glad somebody’s thinking about you instead of being upset that somebody out there in this great big world thought enough to send a simple, “I hope all is well.” I’m convinced that women and bobcats are the only species on the planet who believe that every single action has to lead to something. Live like the honey badger. Besides, you’ll be dead soon enough and nobody will text you then.

2)    Doing the bare minimum

Rahiel: He asks her out on a date, she accepts, and he responds, “So, figure out what you want to do and let me know.” This is what one of my girls had to say about that: “Why do I now have to plan everything?  Wasn’t this date your idea?  I think it says a lot if a man at least puts forth the effort to suggest something you could do on your date OR God forbid actually has everything planned. I think the complete lack of effort is either laziness, lack of leadership ability, or a sign of a self-centered man who does not think he needs to put forth any effort all.” This doesn’t mean that the blueprint has to be laid out, but where’s the initiative? Having ideas in mind and having made efforts to plan things out suggest interest, responsibility, and consideration for others. And those things never go out of style – even if you think chivalry has.

Panama: I totally agree on this one. Any man who won’t put at least a little effort into planning probably isn’t really that into you. I’ve been that guy before and I honestly feel bad about it sometimes. I’m almost sure I owe a few apologies too. But you live and you learn. You know what though? You have to be careful with this one as well – not to read too much into it. Some guys are just chock full of knowledge of random and interesting things to do because they like doing them. Of course, those guys are a win for you. Just remember, you might feel special, but he took a chick hang-gliding yesterday too, boo. But in general, the least a man can do is plan a day or an evening that you’ll spend together unless it’s agreed upon that you’ll just be streaming Netflix movies and ordering take out. Or watching reality television. Or yada yada yada.

3)    Acting like a “sweatbox”

Rahiel: Growing up in DC, there were particular words you never wanted associated with your name. After bamma and hoodrat, sweatbox was high on the list. The term has historically been used to reference a man or woman who excessively admires another individual – to an embarrassing (for all) extent. Somewhat of an unsolicited hype man. Sweatboxes weren’t cool back then, and they’re not cool now. Women may vary in what they deem as an “acceptable sweat level,” but no one (in their right mind) wants to be contacted so much by you that it borders on stalking and begs the question: you don’t have anything better to do in life than worship the ground I walk on? 

Panama: Again, I’m calling shenanigans. This is complete and utter nonsense. And do you know why? You only feel this way about the guys you’re not interested in. If you are feeling him then he can’t call you enough. If you like him he can text you 1,000 times a day and you’ll think each one just shows how much he likes you. You’ll rave to your friends about how much communication you all share. THEN you’ll always be available whenever he’s available. This is only an issue when the dude you aren’t interested in keeps calling you. That dude is a nuisance. That dude doesn’t get the message that you’re not interested. That guy is the “sweatbox”. The guy you like? That guy is thoughtful and charming and can’t seem to get enough of you. That guy treats you like a queen… and worships the ground you walk on and you love it. Miss me with this one.

4)    Talking a good game but never following through

Rahiel: He didn’t enroll in “How to Keep a Woman Happy 101” while in school and therefore doesn’t know that he should never tell her he’s going to do something and not actually do it. To him it’s just a phone call that he neglected to make (for the 100^th time nonetheless), but to her it’s an epic failure and betrayal. Why? Because if she can’t take his words to the bank and trust that she’ll get a return on them, then they’ll quickly become null and void to her.  And we all know that if you’ve lost a woman’s trust, you’ve ultimately committed relationship suicide. One word sums this all up: integrity. One female friend informed me that a lot of her girls have resorted to launching hi-tech investigations on new men that come into their lives.  This entails checking all social media sites,  wedding websites, and the registry lists of popular stores for wedding and/or baby registries. Really? It’s THAT serious now? What ever happened to full disclosure?

Panama: Seems to me like you’re talking about two different things: follow through and honesty. Now yes, they are related, but obviously, some men don’t follow through because they don’t mean it in the first place. Blame the first woman who ever let him off the hook: his mama. Plus he’s probably only saying what he thinks you want to hear and it isn’t worth it to him to follow through because what he wants from you and what he gets are one and the same. No need to do better for you because he isn’t convinced that he can’t do better than you. Now on the honesty side of things, well, we all lie. Or rather we all tell versions of our own truths; women too. Y’all don’t tell men upfront that you’re crazy just like he didn’t tell you that he had a wife. Equal trade off? Nope. But you’ll probably both end up dead in a few months dealing with each other anyway so whoopty do. By the way, while I do understand the desire to do a Google search on anybody you meet, some women take it too far. If you keep trying to find something wrong, you WILL find something wrong. Real talk, what happens in Mexico that ends up in the press, STAYS in Mexico. Oh and miss me on the full disclosure because very few women are going to put their nonsense in the street while expecting the man to let her know everything she needs to move forward. Women are information hoarders without wanting to do the same. Stop it.

***

Ladies? Fellas? What’s your take on those situations? Talk to me.

-VSB P and Rahiel Tesfamariam

Check back tomorrow on Urban Cusp for Part 2 of this series.

Meet Urban Cusp’s founder/editorial director Rahiel. You can follow her on Twitter @RahielT. Follow Urban Cusp at @UrbanCusp and join Urban Cusp’s fan page on Facebook.

We know. Thanks for the compliment, though

So, there’s a strong chance that things are going to be a little different around here in the near future. Don’t be alarmed. This isn’t a bad thing. It’s just that our diabolic plan for world domination is making us quite busy nowadays, and we may be adding (and subtracting) some aspects to VSB.

How busy? Well,�I won’t divulge everything that’s going on behind the scenes just yet, but for now…

Let’s start off with the lovely Liz Burr, who’s producing a new web series for Moguldom Media Group. Titled “She’s The Boss“, it features one-on-one interviews and profiles of successful black business women in NYC. �(I think it’s just a contrived way for Liz to eventually interview herself on camera, but don’t tell her I said that)

Panama and I have begun working on our second book. I won’t tell you exactly what it’s about yet, but I’ll give you a hint: I touched on the topic in an post this week.

And speaking of “Your�Degrees�Won’t Keep You Warm At Night“, we’re thisclose to signing off on something pretty amazing. Just waiting for a couple of lawyers to, um, do whatever it is that lawyers do before we can publicly say exactly what it is.

You might recall �me mentioning a few months ago that I was named head editor of an online New Yorker-ish magazine that’s launching in the fall. Well, that magazine has a name now — The Hill Review — and a launch date (Sept. 12th). Our�web designer (Yup. Huny. We’re rocking with the best.) is still working out a few kinks on our yet to be completed homepage, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t add us on our brand spanking new Twitter and Facebook pages right now. Also, although our super snarky submissions policy�isn’t ready for public consumption just yet�(Seriously, this thing is a work of art. It’s especially funny if you read it with Russell Brand’s voice. ), I wouldn’t let it stop you from sending us something at submissions@thehillreview.com if you’re interested in contributing in some manner. “Some manner” could be a poem, an excerpt, a piece of fiction, an essay, a query, a pitch, or whatever.

Don’t worry. We do bite, but they’re (usually) non-lethal.

As usual, Panama and I have been making our way around the web as well.

Panama was recently interviewed by The Statesman for a look at online dating�and social media. Don’t forget that you can find him at The Stir and GuySpeak as well.

My “Ask A Very Smart Brotha” column at Madame Noire is still going strong. This week, I addressed the futility of being a “ride-or-die” chick and why you shouldn’t kill your man’s dreams.

Also, Latoya Peterson of Racialicious asked me to take part in a very, very interesting roundtable discussion about interracial dating. Split into four parts, you can find the first part of the conversation here.

Lastly, yesterday’s conversation about race and tipping and waiters with superiority complexes will continue next week at The Good Man Project, as I agreed to let them repost “The White Person�s Guide To Black People, Part 5″. Mosey on over there on Monday if you still need to get some things off your chest.

Anyway, that’s enough from me today. Does anyone else have anything new and exciting and sh*t that they want to share? The carpet is yours.

—The Champ