Scary Stuff

Wednesday night, I had the chance to catch the "Ghost Hunters" season finale along with its cumulative show marathon review. If you've never seen the show, here's the gist. The show chronicles the exploits of New England Roter Rooter employees by day who moonlight as paranormal investigators.

On the show, I've seen some crazy things that will rattle anyone's cage and make the most stringent sceptic a believer, but there is one question I Just can't figure out....why is it that only white or rich people of privilege get to haunt?

Every ghost story I've ever heard involves white people or people of privilege. It's always old guy or girl of this family who had an untimely dimise or a possible suicide who decided to not cross the veil and torment the masses with their crazy ghastly shenanigans. why not the millions of slaves and native americans who paved the road for the pilgrams and indentured servants/convicts to turture the people in rural (yes always rural) areas?

My preliminary evaluation is that ghost don't like black people. Just like Kanye West said about President Bush. Them ghouls know when to hold them and when to fold them.

Still, what the fuck?

Here's my thing I want the ghost of the Mandingo tribe to come back and only show there huge penises during their apparitions and scare the fuck outta the people on New England and the South. Do you know how much money would be appropriated towards the paranormal to cut that shit out? Man, every neighborhood would have a nuclear power plant to keep the lights on.

In closing, can anyone tell me why there's only whites have ghost stories? I'm dying to know.

Rouge Rage

Anyone who's ever been in the car with me or on the phone while i'm driving knows I have a bad case of road rage. Not the kind that will end you up in jail mind you, but the kind that gets my blood boiling enough to blow the horn a few times. Lately I've been asking myself, "Ed, why are you so Hellbent on these mofos?" to answer myself and others who think I need a prozac or something, it's kinda simple...I DON'T WANNA DIE OVER SOMEBODY ELSE'S IGNORANCE!

Now before I land myself in a big pit of finger pointing, let me say that we're all prone to a traffic faux pas every now and again. But the infractions I'm talking about are the people who drive offensively, with no consideration of their actions. We've all seen them. There's the cutter-offers, the non-multi-taskers, the my-radio-is-more-important than-my-lifers and my favorite (sorry ladies) I-got-to-get-out-the-damn-car-looking-good-so-I-need-to-paint-
my-mug-while-I-drive-cause-it-gives-me-my-best-lookers." Not only is that later not true, but "damn, wtf!?!"

Here's the rub. There are countless people who are critically injured or killed by people everyday because of these driving incidents. It's just a shame that someone would have to lose their life because you wanted to eat a bowl of cereal while driving or you needed to put your foundation on.

The other half of the anger is the lack of courtesy on the road. It seems that it's a crime against nature to allow a person to pass you nowadays. I've tried to understand the rationale behind it, a person gets in front of you and time will stop, the 12 feet allowed will warp the space-time continuum and you'll instantly be thrown in a scenario that will make you at minimum 30 minutes late to your destination.

The last time I checked when letting someone pass in front of me, it took all of about three seconds, that's about the time it takes to inhale without exhaling. My logic may be a bit off, it could be more like two seconds, but I know it's not over five. Is it simply unbearable for people to be kind for five seconds? It' just fives seconds people...by the time you say "oh hell naw" to the person who wants to get over in your lane, they could have let them in.

I guess we have to have good and bad drivers just like we have good and bad cholesterol or good and bad bacteria. But those things take more than a few seconds to kill you, what will be your excuse. Now I have to admit, i've driven while under the influence and even driven while exhausted. I'm blessed that I've never hurt myself or others while under those conditions. I've tried to curb that behavior as the wisdom stick has been knocking me upside the noggin.

I know I should control my rage, but I just don't get why I'd let someone put my life in danger like that without saying somthing about it. I know it doesnt' make me mister popular on the road, but who cares...i'm still here.

The black eye pea pancake

There are four basic types of cooks. First, you have the Boxer. This is the person who relies heavily on prepackaged foods in order to make a meal. You know the types, they typically make the Rapper's Delight special. If you don't know what I'm talking about, check out the classic rap song by the Sugar Hill Gang and you'll get my point (hopefully, sheesh). Next on the list are the Momma's Little Helpers. This group are the only cook what my folks taught me to cook. Usually over a meal, they'll say "I used to watch my momma cook this. This is one of my favorites." If you're lucky, you'll get the elusive, "I've been cooking this since I was eleven/twelve/thirteen years old." Normally, I'd classify this as "Momma's boy" syndrome, but because I want to be all inclusive on this, well...you get the point.

Third on the list is the kitchen chemist. You've seen them around, you'll find them in the cooking section of any bookstore or library. This group view cooking as an exact science. Every recipe is measured and carefully constructed for optimal results. The good thing is that they have the most immaculate kitchens and the greatest gadgets known to man. The bad thing, if you move the recipe or heaven forbid, the recipe doesn't have a photo. You're in for hours of apologies because it didn't turn out quite right due to lack of reference, or you'll just seen them go in to a catatonic state for lack of direction. In that case, be merciful and take them out back and shoot em' in the head...it's the right thing to do.

Lastly, we have the cook. This person is the one who can watch a tv show and replicate it, see something in a restaurant and break it down to cook at home. This talented group can even create stuff on a whim. I'm part of the latter, specifically...I like making shit up.

Confused? Here's where I'm going with all this cooking stuff.

Friday night on my way towards home, I had a craving for black eye peas (whacko, right), and as I started my grocery list in my mind I began to think about what I could do to take it up a notch. Well, I decided on making a pancake out of black eye peas. I got so excited with the concept. I did what I had to do and went to bed. I was tired and figured the sleep would get me worked up on the idea. I spoke to several friends about the concept who are chefs and food enthusiast as well. They gave me the look/silence when I mentioned it. The concept was just too far out there for them to grasp. Now it wasn't like I planned to make fresh off the toilet stew or anything, it's friggin' peas! I chocked their lack of imagination to an improper upbringing and made a mental note to seek revenge at a later date...just kidding (or am I, hmm...).

Sunday was the big day, I decided to make the meal I was so ridiculed about for a freelance client who was coming over to discuss a project. As we talked particulars about the job I was contracted to do, I did my thing in the kitchen and he gave me the look/silence, too. I would have said something, but I get paid to be nice to assholes. Eventually I got the meal plated. The dish was a black eye pea pancake topped with a lemon pepper chicken cutlet with celery relish, topped with an asian infused broccoli salad.

He loved the dish and so did I, but it needs some tweaking. The pancakes were not at the consistency I'd like them to be. Also, I don't think I'd pan fry the cutlets this time, chicken cutlets tend to dry out too quickly.

I'm writing this to say that sometimes, the only thing that holds us back is ourselves. In some situations you have nothing to lose and everything to gain. All that's required is a little imagination, determination and belief in your own abilities. To my foodies and friends alike, try the pancake...or at the very least, the lesson I learned from it.

'nuff said.

There are four basic types of cooks. First, you have the Boxer. This is the person who relies heavily on prepackaged foods in order to make a meal. You know the types, they typically make the Rapper's Delight special. If you don't know what I'm talking about, check out the classic rap song by the Sugar Hill Gang and you'll get my point (hopefully, sheesh). Next on the list are the Momma's Little Helpers. This group are the only cook what my folks taught me to cook. Usually over a meal, they'll say "I used to watch my momma cook this. This is one of my favorites." If you're lucky, you'll get the elusive, "I've been cooking this since I was eleven/twelve/thirteen years old." Normally, I'd classify this as "Momma's boy" syndrome, but because I want to be all inclusive on this, well...you get the point.

Third on the list is the kitchen chemist. You've seen them around, you'll find them in the cooking section of any bookstore or library. This group view cooking as an exact science. Every recipe is measured and carefully constructed for optimal results. The good thing is that they have the most immaculate kitchens and the greatest gadgets known to man. The bad thing, if you move the recipe or heaven forbid, the recipe doesn't have a photo. You're in for hours of apologies because it didn't turn out quite right due to lack of reference, or you'll just seen them go in to a catatonic state for lack of direction. In that case, be merciful and take them out back and shoot em' in the head...it's the right thing to do.

Lastly, we have the cook. This person is the one who can watch a tv show and replicate it, see something in a restaurant and break it down to cook at home. This talented group can even create stuff on a whim. I'm part of the latter, specifically...I like making shit up.

Confused? Here's where I'm going with all this cooking stuff.

Friday night on my way towards home, I had a craving for black eye peas (whacko, right), and as I started my grocery list in my mind I began to think about what I could do to take it up a notch. Well, I decided on making a pancake out of black eye peas. I got so excited with the concept. I did what I had to do and went to bed. I was tired and figured the sleep would get me worked up on the idea. I spoke to several friends about the concept who are chefs and food enthusiast as well. They gave me the look/silence when I mentioned it. The concept was just too far out there for them to grasp. Now it wasn't like I planned to make fresh off the toilet stew or anything, it's friggin' peas! I chocked their lack of imagination to an improper upbringing and made a mental note to seek revenge at a later date...just kidding (or am I, hmm...).

Sunday was the big day, I decided to make the meal I was so ridiculed about for a freelance client who was coming over to discuss a project. As we talked particulars about the job I was contracted to do, I did my thing in the kitchen and he gave me the look/silence, too. I would have said something, but I get paid to be nice to assholes. Eventually I got the meal plated. The dish was a black eye pea pancake topped with a lemon pepper chicken cutlet with celery relish, topped with an asian infused broccoli salad.

He loved the dish and so did I, but it needs some tweaking. The pancakes were not at the consistency I'd like them to be. Also, I don't think I'd pan fry the cutlets this time, chicken cutlets tend to dry out too quickly.

I'm writing this to say that sometimes, the only thing that holds us back is ourselves. In some situations you have nothing to lose and everything to gain. All that's required is a little imagination, determination and belief in your own abilities. To my foodies and friends alike, try the pancake...or at the very least, the lesson I learned from it.

'nuff said.

Searching for common sense....on Pluto

Recently the New Horizon's mission to Pluto set underway to go where no man made object has gone before. Typically, things that have anything to do with the word Pluto get stepchilded. Think about Mickey Mouse's pet dog Pluto, the only character in the Disney animated world who doesn't speak. Personally I think Mickey bit him and after a fever, he lost his angelic voice, but I digress. There's also the jacked up and often ridiculed Eddie Murphy film "Pluto Nash." If that doesn't prove my point, well you need to get in a hot tub of "nigga are you crazy" and soak for a bit.

Now there are some advantages us spending billions of dollars on this mission. We'll finally have a snapshot of yet another uninhabitable planet in our solar system. Plus finally they can finish the explorer stamp series from the United States Post Office. Pluto is the only planet in our solar system that has not been explored. In fact, there's no real image of the planet at all. All images we've ever seen of the far off world has been artist renditions. I think they do a great job of illustrating a place I'll never be interested in going. It's like asking someone to paint Hell frozen over... but in space.

I searched the NASA website to make me feel better about this expensive endeavor and found some things I didn't know. The major scientific question they're searching for is how did Pluto come to be a part of our solar system.

Let me exlain.

Pluto is not only the farthest planet in our solar system, but it is a phenomenon in our system. unlike the other planets beyond the asteroid belt which are gas giants (planets that are have liquid cores and no solid mantle like Earth) the ninth planet in our solar system has a solid mantle. There's a lot of controversy to this date on whether Pluto is actually a planet or wayward debris from the Kuiper Belt . Yeah, I know it's fascinating and will keep you up at night, but in the big scheme of things, does kinda make you a little smarter, so there.

Knowing what you know now, doesn't it make you feel good? Hell Naw!

On Monday of this Week, President Bush released the 2.7 trillion dollar budget . Here's a breakdown of some of what we're facing:
Community development block grant cuts - $1.6 billion
Public Housing Modernization cut - $401 million
Local Law Enforcement Grants Eliminated - $1.1 billion
Community Policing cut $275 million
Safe and drug free school programs eliminated - $437 million
TRIO, GEARUp scholarships cut but $683 million
Adult Literacy cut by $16.4 million
Low income energy assistance cut by $103 million
Social services block grant cut by $300 million
Support of community action agencies eliminated $630 million

I looked for any references to NASA space programs, but didn't see anything on the initial analysis. So, what this means is the NASA's search for extra terrestrial intelligence (SETI ) efforts will continue, but kids won't have safe schools and the drop out rate will continue. We'll move forward on colonizing the moon, but won't do anything to help people who live in poverty find their place on this planet. What the Hell, or should I say Charon, the Roman mythological underworld is going on here. As a science buff, I love reading how we make progress everyday to improve our way of life, but i'm always perplexed on how life never really get better.

Oh yeah, a 10th planet has been discovered in our solar system. To the scientific community, it's a great find, to me it's just another $150 billion dollar postage stamp.

The Dream Scheme

For the past few days, I've been getting an earful regarding the Martin Luther King, Jr. episode of The Boondocks aired on Cartoon Network. If you're not familiar with the episode, here's quick synopsis. Huey narrates a dream in which the late Martin Luther King, Jr. was shot and injured instead of killed. He's in a coma and wakes up in the present day. He's slow adjusting to the new world he's confronted with. Naturally, he's the talk of the town and has the support of the nation behind him. This soon fades when he makes a comment to not retaliate against terrorist regarding the 9-11 attack. Suddenly his popularity takes a nosedive and he's more of a pariah than a savior. Huey rallies the people to have a celebration for MLK that ends up being a VIP hip-hop celebrity throw down. King himself had problems getting in to the event. The show builds up to an amazing speech where he addresses the audience and the world, calling the black participating and watching "Niggers." He walks out and tells Huey, he's tired and moving to Canada. Okay, you got the gist. If you need more, I suggest you just watch the damn thang.

After the airing of the episode, the reverend Al Sharpton holds a press conference denouncing the episode and demands the shows creator, Aaron McGruder offer a public apology for the, in his words "tasteless and offensive" episode.

Now I must admit, I'm a boondocks fan. I don't think it's the funniest show in the world. Nor do I think it will have a long run (in short, it's just not that good), but I applaud the bold, straight-out-the-gate direction the show has taken. It's like seeing your favorite potty-mouth, wanna be drawn up and put in front of you for 30 whole minutes, well 22 if you don't count the commercials. I can go on an on about the pros and cons of the show, but let's address the issue at hand, did he go to far with the "I had a dream" episode.

Friends of mine have taken the stance that he was well within his rights to produce the show, which in their opinion is one of the most brilliant tributes to King since, uh...well...ever. They also think that Al Sharpton is an oil-slicked storefront minister who just likes his time in front of a camera. Here's what I had to say about this bag of hornets.

While I don't agree with the Rev's comments on the "tasteless" Dr. King episode, I do feel that brings to light a point that I think Aaron was trying to make us wake up to how we see ourselves and how much progress we, the younger generation has made since he and our forbearers championed the issue.

Al Sharpton is a necessary evil so to speak, he does voice his opinion and uses his clout to bring several issues to the media's attention. Sometimes it sounds that pressed and slicked brutha is in left field, but one thing I can say is that he keep the "man" in check by calling him out on so many issues that affect African Americans. Consider this, ABC, CBS and even "The Daily Show" mentioned during the Democratic National Convention that he was the only person worth listening to. His views are typically not rhetoric and voices the concerns of the black majority.

I also agree that he should do more to voice the concerns of the plight of the delta and use his influence to make a bipartisan solution to rebuild the area and provide more opportunities for people to the area.

Watching the show, I felt ashamed of my contribution (or lack thereof) to efforts brought about by Dr. King and several others to ensure I have the opportunities I take advantage of today. Reading the entry, I tried to imagine myself as an older person who participated in the civil rights effort and how would I feel about the episode. I could see how someone COULD be insulted by the show, but it is just one person (and his production company's) view on the matter. I wonder what the sentiment would have been if this was a "Family Guy" or "American Dad" episode. Would you be standing beside the Rev or still against him?

My last point is this; no one in our generation has taken the mantle of leadership since the civil rights. In that point the episode was very clear on. What have we done as a people to deserve the liberties we're given? If everyone who enjoyed the Boondocks episode were to donate a dollar, we could have saved the King Memorial in D.C. Just one dollar would speak volumes, but still the project is struggling to make 11million dollars for its construction.

Just something to ponder.
To all who read this, I’d like to think we're still moving forward and not stepping back. Who's really the martyr in this issue? Watch the news and then decide. Okay, I'm done. My dogs think I have better things to do.

Every dog has their day...puppies too

Sometimes good intentions are the best course of action. Today I rescued four puppies that were abandoned near my best friend's tool shed. My typical response to such things is to call animal control and have them net the pups and hope that they find them good homes. I would have followed this action again except; 1, it wasn't my property and 2, my friend's neighbor was threatening to put poison out near them to kill them all.

My first instinct was to go cuss the crazy cow out and throw the rat poison pellets at her ass. But being that we're still in the spirt of Buddy Christ and all the principals of Kwanza, well, I just chocked it up to her being a retard and i'll put her on my "you ain't shit" list to utilize if ever the situation presents itself.

Now these puppies have developed some survival skills. They're at least five weeks old, with a healthy set of teeth and a nice wooly coat to keep them warm during these crazy Winter nights. From the moment I saw them, they were on high alert - barking and keeping a defensive posture protecting the brood. When I tell you they acted as if they had military training, I'm not joking. One bit me and created a distraction while the others tried to get away to safety. It took me and two friends to wrangle them all.

After we got them out of the shed, I temporarily placed them in my friend's kennel to give them food and water. From there, I just watched them. It's then I noticed each one's unique markings and initial personalities. Furthermore, I was able to watch each one do a particular job and now realized how they were able to survive.

First, there's the caramel-colored boy. He was the first one to the food - he's much bigger than the others and checked everything out. There's not much to say about him, he checked out the food, started to eat and then sat there waiting to be petted. He's definitely the nicest of the bunch, but you know the old addage, the fastest way to man's heart is through his stomach...guess that includes puppies. If I were to name him, I'd call him "Stump" he just has that look about him, don't you think. Most people prefer boy dogs, so he'll find a home pretty quickly.

Next comes the caramel-colored girl, she has a lot of sores on her. I imagine they are from scurring through the holes in the shed they made home. This little girl spent most of the time checking the perimeter, looking for a way out. She went around the entire kennel three times, jumping and pulling and sometimes digging to find a means of escape. when she didn't find one, she howled for a bit then went and joined the others. Whoever get's this dog will probably have a digging problem. Once settled down, she's very friendly and likes to be petted. I'll see what I can do about the cuts and sores on her, they don't look severe.

The remaining two puppies - both female, appear to be twins. They're lighter than the other two and have beautiful, ice blue eyes (the other puppies have brown eyes). I think their roles are the most interesting because they work in concert. One of the girls, THE ONE WHO BIT ME is the protector. It's her job to keep the clan safe. She growls non-stop and barks. I was surprised to see she wouldn't back down and held her own, as much as a puppie could anyway. Now her sister is the communicator. While in the kennel, she constantly howled and cried out, hoping the mother would come to their rescue. She moved from place to place, each time in a different direction - I'm not making this up, she had it down to a science. I also noticed that she would cry whenever her twin sister moved away from her which wasn't that often. It's amazing to see how symbiotic their relationship is, I have a new found respect for twins now.

I got them boxed up and brought them home to a nice warm place they can temporarily call home until I find placement for them in a rescue shelters in the city. My oldest dog Nike is very maternal and would like to get close to them, but they're not having it. The protector has already stood her ground and snapped at Nike, so she's keeping her distance but cries a lot because she wants to nurse them. Baxter looks at them as a threat so he's become my new best friend, never leaving my side and giving me the "I'm still your number one, right" look. It's going to be a long couple of days.

I'm going to give them a bath and hopefully get them adjusted to people and other dogs within the next few days, that is if they don't stage a coup while i'm sleeping tonight.

My big tree: the Saint Nicholas massacre

For the past few days, I've working on what I can only describe as the biggest fucking Christmas-Holiday-Non-jew-Kwanzarific, 9 ft. tall tree. I bought it kinda as an oversight (no pun intended) because it was sitting in the 6-7 ft. bin. Upon getting the tree situated in the stand, I measured it at 10.5 ft tall. In short, I have a mall tree in my living room.

Now as things usually go, I decided to take the "tree whisperer" approach to decorating the tree — let the tree decided what "IT" wants to look like by communicating with me on a spiritual level. You people with any percentage of Native American in you (at least 1/32nd) can appreciate what I'm talking about.

So, as I sat staring at it waiting for some sign, I had this random thought of myself being this huge, farmed tree minding my own bee's wax when, WHAM! Joe "Crazy Cutter" Stranger comes and chops off my footing and only essential life support. Then he and his cronies do a quick grab-and-dash, putting me, a force of nature at 9 ft. in a tiny plastic netting breaking limbs and making me uncomfortable.

I go into shock and pass out. Passing out is nature's way of saying "Damn, that's fucked up...go to sleep, baby."

I come to moving in a truck filled with my brethren, stacked one on top another heading away from my homeland (Sounds kinda familiar, huh). I ask, "what's going on, what's happening to us?" No one knows All around me I see is green and feel the horrible sensation of my own tree sap leaking from my butchered stump.

We arrive at a marketplace, already I can see others already lined-up and being looked over. Some are pushed aside while others are sorted by size and features then placed into holding cells. At this point I'm pretty shaken by the ordeal, I want to rustle my way to freedom but alas, I'm trapped while I await my fate. Several hours pass, someone comes by and hoses us down. If feels good, but so unnatural. I'm exposed and at the mercy of their every whim. There's only one thing on my mind at this point...K-I-L-L the man who did this to me - ooh wee, somebody's gonna get a splinter!

For days I sit, the routine never changes. people come by, look and stare. Touching and grabbing, pushing and turning over and over, time after time...there's no reprieve. Still crammed in my netting my options are limited. I begin to study my enemy, their roots are mobile, each a different type and color. They look pleased to own one of my kind, a trophy as it may. I sense my opportunity for freedom, I must play "tom" to the "man," it's the only way to make it out of here.

The next day, I initiate my strategy. I stand straight and use my height and weight to push my brothers down. My stature and sheer size makes them look small in comparison. More touching and prodding, I realize my plan is working. Next thing I know someone picks me up and takes me towards a bargaining table.

These "people" speak a strange tongue. They use remnants of my ancestors as barter to trade me to another. The shop keep grins and lays me flat on the table. I then hear a familiar sound...the buzzing of the stomp cutter is back. I scream in terror, but no one hears me.

The buzzing gets closer, I want to move but can't...nowhere to go. I draw myself inward, maybe I make it go away somehow by just fortifying myself. My efforts are in vain, again they cut away at my flesh, the pain unbearable, I slip into unconciousness.

I awaken this time standing upright. The human who now owns me has placed me in a healing bath. I sense a kindness and respect for my situation, at this point I decide to break the silence, plead with it for my freedom.

"HELP ME, PLEASE!"

It says nothing.

"I DON'T BELONG HERE, I WAS TAKEN AGAINST MY WILL."

Still, nothing. It walks around looking intently at me.

"FOR PITY'S SAKE, HAVE A HEART...PLEASE HELP ME." I'm angry now and my tone gets more severe. "GODDAMIT, LET ME OUT OF THIS HELL HOLE!"

Again it just stares. I hate these people, I want them all dead.

The throbbing of my bloody stomp is a constant reminder of my ordeal and I look for ways to comfort myself. The water is soothing and the sunlight is a welcome feeling - although it's a cruel reminder of my forceful capture and enslavement.

Over the next few days I realize I'm a token and will become the fodder of the man's sadistic ways. As I sit slowly dying, he adorns me with ceremonial beads, ribbons, ornaments and hot beads of light. Cloth is draped around me to hide the hideous remain of my stump and items are placed in triumph around it. Rhythmic chanting can be heard all around me.

"O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum, how lovely are your branches," I hear throughout the day. I loathe this chanting, it's a true mark of my ultimate demise.

Ok, I admit it's a little morbid, but I did have that flash when I started thinking about my tree. Now whether it was just my twisted mind or the tree speaking through me, you decide.

Anyway, to memorialize the senseless killing of it and it's kind, I chose a red and gold theme. Yeah, it's gonna die a slow death, but on the bright side, it does look really good.

Next time you see a Christmas-Holiday-Non-Jew-Kwanzarific tree, think about this tale of the tree that (may have) spoken to me and it's sacrifice and say, "thanks" for taking one for the team.