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Welcome!

I love to rant and rave.  I would buy me a mister microphone and stand on the corner berating people if I thought I could make money off of it.  Instead, I have created a blog.  I recently finished writing a book and if I get it published, prepare for some shameless promotion.

About me?  I'm a Hip-Hopper, a Jayhawk, 4 people's uncle, a madman, a writer, an educated negro, and a sexy mother (shut yo mouth)!  I think i know everything, including that I don't know everything.  I'm working on it though.

I love music, people, my loving girlfreind and my family.  I'm probably the world's least religious Christian and least nationalist American.  That's all going to come out in the wash.  Thanks for visiting and prepare to have your mind blown!!!!

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There's gold in them thar crates

Right now I’m listening to Camp Lo’s Uptown Saturday Night.   I don’t know how much play this album got around the nation when it dropped in 1997, but it didn’t get any love in Kansas City, but If you haven’t heard, it is the shit! I don’t know when it became the general consensus that rap music that didn’t come out in the last 6 months isn’t good but we have to remember hip-hop’s history of being the product of people that were willing to dig in those crates. Bargain bins at the used CD store, garage sales and amazon.com all have great CDs that you never heard.   Not to mention all of those CDs with 2 or 3 great songs on them. My point is that great music doesn’t have a shelf life.   Just because Kanye and Jay-Z keep coming out with hits doesn’t mean Reasonable Doubt and The College Dropout aren’t great CDs.   It’s just the opposite.   There has been a long time since somebody referred to a rap album that is universally referred to as a classic.  ...
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Maury must be stopped. No one has profited more from Black people being ignorant than he.   I know the old saying: “Mama’s baby, Papa’s maybe.” But, contrary to popular belief, Black men love their children.   Everyone loves children.   Even if Black men realize that they aren’t bringing much to a household, they know that there is magic there.   That magic might be scary, like all magic, but it’s there.   There isn’t much difference between the love that develops between a man and a child with his D.N.A.   and a man that a child that he has raised. I am my father’s son.   No, I’m not light skinned or a hustler, but I laugh when I hear something funny.   I’ll sit on a porch and dink liquor all Saturday morning.   My toes are extraordinarily long (just like his).   I will see a beautiful woman and take notice just because I am a man and that’s what a man does.   My dad raised me well. When you see a Black man on Maury, y...
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R.I.P. Rusty Hayes

Pretty soon here I’m going to say goodbye to my dad.   I suppose that I already have.   When I walked into the place where he lived and saw him there, dead, with his mouth cocked open in a very strange angle, I realized that I had been saying goodbye to my dad for some time now.   That body that laid there in the nursing home did not resonate my father at all. You see, my dad was a big guy.   Always was to me.   That body there was emaciated and small; so much not the powerful figure that I remember. When I was younger, I remember how much I wanted to grow up to look like my dad.   He was muscular, handsome and light skinned and I was anything but (I still have beef with every negro that got blessed with being light skinned in the ‘90s).   The best thing about my dad, though, is that he had a serious thirst for life.   He always laughed so hard that you had to turn around and wonder what the fuck was going on over there that was so damne...
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