Everything has a cycle. Its the ultimate measuring tool. Day to Night. January to December. Before the Common Era (BCE formerly known as BC) and After the Common Era (ACE formerly known as AD). Birth to Death. Wealth and poverty. War and Peace. Discovery and annihilation. The human experiment is ever changing, constantly evolving. Some changes take millions of years (ie homo erectus to homo sapien). While others can manifest themselves within a generation.
Natural Selection ensures survival of a species. Humans have survived on this planet because we have been designed to consistently adapt to our environment. Dinosaurs were fossilized because they could not. It is the reason we have maintained our position atop the food chain. As I reflect on the history of humanity I wonder if some of the changes we have made placed us on a path to extinction.
Since the dawn of time life had an order, and gender came with assigned roles. We cry. We eat. We talk. We grow. Boys pee standing. Girls pee sitting. Boy learns trade. Girl learns to nurture. Boy leaves home. Girl cleans home. Boy meets Girl. Girl falls in love. Boy buys ring. Girl says "yes". They say "I do". Husband provides. Wife enriches. Couple buys a house. Spouses become parents. Son emulates father. Daughter emulates mother. The cycle begins anew.
When Earth was gripped in its first global war, victory was achieved because America sent her sons to war and taught her daughters a trade. The unexpected bi-product of this shift in gender roles was a boost in Capitalism. New wage earners created new taxpayers and consumers. The cycle of poverty was broken and the Middle Class was born.
In breaking the cycle did we BREAK the cycle?
Empowered females no longer saw the value in traditional gender roles. Men were only needed for sex. Marriage was no longer needed for security.
Prophylactics ushered in the era of planned parenting. An entire generation of children grew up watching Mommy provide in Daddy's absence.
In the matter of less than four generations there has been a dramatic shift in gender roles. Post WWI Americans demanded more rights. Boys have the right to pee sitting down. Girls have the right to learn a trade. Boy meets Girl but has the right to meet more Girls (or Boys). Girl has the right to never fall in love. Boy has the right to buy watch instead of ring. Girl has the right to become a mother before she becomes a wife. Boy has the right to become a father and never become a man.
Why does that Boy pee sitting down? He learned to pee by watching his mother.
Why does that Girl learn a trade? She was taught by her mother to never depend on a man.
Why does that Boy never commit? He is perpetually in search for the mate that makes him feel needed.
Why does that Girl never fall in love? She sees men as equals instead of embracing their differences and only has a desire to enrich her own life.
Why does that Boy buy a watch instead of a ring? The appearance of wealth attracts more mates than responsibility does.
Why does that Girl become a Mother before she becomes a wife? The various cures for pregnancy have removed the fear of the consequences having sex can bring. Love is no longer a prerequisite for sex.
How can that Boy be a father and never be a Man? He had no male to emulate. He grew up believing that women were supposed to be strong and independent like his mother.
Can the cycle be repaired? Can humanity be saved? Or will we learn to embrace our gender roles with pride knowing that offspring learn behaviors through emulation.
About Me
- UrbanJournalist
- This blog is purely a forum for me to speak about the ironies in life, the things that piss me off, and to quote Peter Griffin of "Family Guy"..."things that grind my gears". Please feel free to visit my website thevirtualsoapbox.com to chime in and read more controversial editorials. I have just released my first book "Twisted Thoughts From a Spotless Mind", it is a collection of several of my poems and editorials. It's for sale right now for $9.99, and I have free shipping. If you would like to order a copy of my book click on the "Buy Now" link below. Thx, UrbanJournalist
Friday, November 12, 2010
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Letter to the President
Dear Mr President,
I want to begin by saying how proud I am of the way you have run this country. America seems to be slowly getting back to her feet. I see fewer new foreclosure signs, the DOW over 10 thousand, troops returning home, terror plots averted, and even some people returning to work. I know it took a lot of work to achieve those victories and I really aplaude your efforts and successes in those areas.
But Sir, you are the President, the leader of the greatest democracy in the history of man. "The Buck Stops Here!" is on your desk; excuses disguised as credible reasons don't go over well with me. I am the rarest of the rare, a young Disabled Black Lesbian Republican...who voted for you in 08. I voted for you because I believed in the change you were describing. When I hear you say things like, "Yes We Can...But..." its disheartening...more black tie excuses. I would much rather hear, "Yes we are working on on...and are facing these challenges."
Deliver that transparency in government that you promised. Not only as it applies to evidence of weapons of mass destruction but also as it applies to those areas of your policy that cause political rifts and those legislators guilty of blocking it from being voted into law. I think you will find that if you let the press along with the American people know what is going on they together they will start to question any representative guilty of holding up progress.
Americans have been reminded legislators, Congresspersons and Representatives are OUR voice in government. They have been elected to be the voice of the majority in their area of the country and each area has different values and beliefs. With each area comes a different group of minorities with a different Civil Rights Issue. I happen to be a member of four separate minority groups...blacks, women, gays, and handicapped. I was born a member of all of these groups. I experience more prejudice because I am a Lesbian or due to my disability than I do because of my race and gender and I am tremendously saddened by this.
The Civil Rights of the Disabled are being violated everyday. We have no "real" choice in our treatments. Pharmaceutical monopolies cause us to have to choose between medicine and bills because the extremely tight fixed budget force us to be forever dependent. As a disabled person I have the right to hold my head up in pride because I am self-sufficient. I should have access to that same American dream that each citizen has. The right provide for my family and to be treated with dignity and respect, not pity, everywhere I go.
Why does "marriage" need to be defined?
As American I was promised the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. I have found life and freedom in the arms of a beautiful, intelligent, strong woman but we can not openly pursue total happiness til death. There aren't any laws on the books that allow my life partner to make medical decisions on my behalf, inherit the wealth we build together, adopt my children and raise a family with me, and worship whatever God we choose. I merely want the right to provide for my family in the same manor I would be allowed to do if I had chosen to spend the rest of my life with a man.
Mr. President I believe that you will be the greatest President of my generation. You have the opportunity and the ability to usher in historical change. Your knowledge of Law and compassion for all Americans is unmatched and unparalleled. Your biracial heritage affords you the opportunity through your relatives to see a wider spectrum of human issues and America will be greater for it.
Thank you Sir in advance for all that you will do for this blessed democracy,
UrbanJournalist
I want to begin by saying how proud I am of the way you have run this country. America seems to be slowly getting back to her feet. I see fewer new foreclosure signs, the DOW over 10 thousand, troops returning home, terror plots averted, and even some people returning to work. I know it took a lot of work to achieve those victories and I really aplaude your efforts and successes in those areas.
But Sir, you are the President, the leader of the greatest democracy in the history of man. "The Buck Stops Here!" is on your desk; excuses disguised as credible reasons don't go over well with me. I am the rarest of the rare, a young Disabled Black Lesbian Republican...who voted for you in 08. I voted for you because I believed in the change you were describing. When I hear you say things like, "Yes We Can...But..." its disheartening...more black tie excuses. I would much rather hear, "Yes we are working on on...and are facing these challenges."
Deliver that transparency in government that you promised. Not only as it applies to evidence of weapons of mass destruction but also as it applies to those areas of your policy that cause political rifts and those legislators guilty of blocking it from being voted into law. I think you will find that if you let the press along with the American people know what is going on they together they will start to question any representative guilty of holding up progress.
Americans have been reminded legislators, Congresspersons and Representatives are OUR voice in government. They have been elected to be the voice of the majority in their area of the country and each area has different values and beliefs. With each area comes a different group of minorities with a different Civil Rights Issue. I happen to be a member of four separate minority groups...blacks, women, gays, and handicapped. I was born a member of all of these groups. I experience more prejudice because I am a Lesbian or due to my disability than I do because of my race and gender and I am tremendously saddened by this.
The Civil Rights of the Disabled are being violated everyday. We have no "real" choice in our treatments. Pharmaceutical monopolies cause us to have to choose between medicine and bills because the extremely tight fixed budget force us to be forever dependent. As a disabled person I have the right to hold my head up in pride because I am self-sufficient. I should have access to that same American dream that each citizen has. The right provide for my family and to be treated with dignity and respect, not pity, everywhere I go.
Why does "marriage" need to be defined?
As American I was promised the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. I have found life and freedom in the arms of a beautiful, intelligent, strong woman but we can not openly pursue total happiness til death. There aren't any laws on the books that allow my life partner to make medical decisions on my behalf, inherit the wealth we build together, adopt my children and raise a family with me, and worship whatever God we choose. I merely want the right to provide for my family in the same manor I would be allowed to do if I had chosen to spend the rest of my life with a man.
Mr. President I believe that you will be the greatest President of my generation. You have the opportunity and the ability to usher in historical change. Your knowledge of Law and compassion for all Americans is unmatched and unparalleled. Your biracial heritage affords you the opportunity through your relatives to see a wider spectrum of human issues and America will be greater for it.
Thank you Sir in advance for all that you will do for this blessed democracy,
UrbanJournalist
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
The Legend of the Well-Behaved Kid
"Your kids are soooooo well behaved" is what so many middle-aged white strangers say to me, with sympathetic nods...hope oozing from their eyes, after having a chance encounter with the three of us...my clones and me. I smile with pride while I thank them for their compliment and walk off thinking 'dem kats know better than to embarrass me in public!' My "in public" kids are usually happy, engaged, volume-controlled, polite, nice to their siblings (remember I said "in public" because the ride in the car is not public) with love oozing from their pores...while standing in line for the register. The kids that come home with me don't even notice me unless they want or need something. Once they miss me...they rediscover me in the next room and interrupt the peace and quiet I so desperately search for at the end of each day. Those guys...my clones, yeah they have learned that there are things that momma just won't tolerate "in public", and every now and again just before I take my key out of the ignition in the parking lot...I turn and remind them what the "splurge level" is for that day. If its in the green you can buy up the store (which only happens on tv) but if its in the red you might as well sit this one out in the hot car...because that trip to the electronics section in Walmart is gonna leave you suicidal and me psychotic. Most times we live in the yellow ($5 under) or orange ($1 budget) and if I don't have to call your name with my MJReid face(my mom, for those who don't know and for those who do...I know you are quite familiar at that face because my mom wasn't afraid to use it...no location withstanding)...we were good.
For some reason those strangers are getting younger and younger...looking like thirty-somethings like me, and the parade of compliments that came at the optometrist today (one of them came from someone who sought me out) got me thinking. Not about my sons NOT causing a scene but that they were subconsciously expected to be unruly.
My people have long cried foul when derogatory comments are made about our race but have we really taken a good look at how we represent or should I say misrepresent ourselves?
When did the well-behaved child become extinct?
I think it began to happen some where around the year 2000...when the teen moms of the 80s and early 90s started becoming grandmothers. Teenagers and young adults lack the commitment and patience to parent effectively. I am probably the laziest parent I know...reserving actual punishment for the third offense. Sometimes I really screw things up and I was 21 when I became a parent for the first time.
Parenting in the late 70s and 80s really was a commitment. We were the first generation of kids that didn't have to work to help support our families. We had so much idol time on our hands after school. Whooping my ass, unraveling my diabolical schemes, and administering a healthy dose of "healing oil"...instead of First Aid for the debotched backyard chemisty experiment that went horribly wrong...was MJ Reid's full time job.
Healing oil- virgin olive oil, kept in a bottle that looks 50 years old, used by pentacostal christians to activate the "help me God" beacon located in the center of your forehead, just prior to them placing their hands on you for prayer
Everyday after work she received her daily threat report from my snitch-loving older sister, and she would plan her response. Diplomacy was rarely used because the stuff I did always risked injury to myself or my two favorite chemistry assistants, my younger brothers...force was sometimes necessary. Proverbs 13:24 was on a plaque above my bed. But it wasn't just my mom like that. I'll never forget when I discovered that my best friend's mom was crazy too, it was one of the first times I felt slightly normal. If a kid was acting up in the store in the 80s, everyone knew without looking that kid was white. Now when you see that lady with her house shoes and hair scarf and the 3 young kids running around her in a circle, while she loudly has a Rated R conversation as she shops...you know without looking that lady and her kids are black.
Today we live in an age where laws prevent parents from using all the weapons in our arsenal. The asswhoopin' is like a nuclear warhead...if effectively placed it can wipeout all traces of disobedient behavior...past, present, and future...but if uncontrolled it can yield fatal results. Some of us parents have a stock pile of nukes, daydreaming about what it would be like to occasionally use one. But if we would stop focusing on the fact that we can't use our nukes and realize that we have a few heat-seakers at our disposal our parenting tactics will change and our kids behavior would undoubtedly improve.
My freshly minted teenager and reluctant tweener test me in some way everyday. I need to do more reconnaissance in an effort to be more proactive and use diplomacy in tandem with my CIA operatives to diffuse situations before they turn into scenes. It saddens me everytime I witness a parent use (what I deem) to be borderline excessive force or when I see a parent be verbally abused by their kid. It sickens me when I have to acknowledge that more often than not the people acting out those scenes are black. I can only imagine what everyone else forced to witness is thinking. Today I got an indirect glimpse of stranger's thoughts and was proud that my clones did their part to keep the myth that well mannered kids still exist alive. There is even a pair being raised by this quite handsome middle-aged disabled lesbian with MS, and if you hang out in the electronic department on a Thursday afternoon in Walmart...you might have a chance to see them.
UrbanJournalist
For some reason those strangers are getting younger and younger...looking like thirty-somethings like me, and the parade of compliments that came at the optometrist today (one of them came from someone who sought me out) got me thinking. Not about my sons NOT causing a scene but that they were subconsciously expected to be unruly.
My people have long cried foul when derogatory comments are made about our race but have we really taken a good look at how we represent or should I say misrepresent ourselves?
When did the well-behaved child become extinct?
I think it began to happen some where around the year 2000...when the teen moms of the 80s and early 90s started becoming grandmothers. Teenagers and young adults lack the commitment and patience to parent effectively. I am probably the laziest parent I know...reserving actual punishment for the third offense. Sometimes I really screw things up and I was 21 when I became a parent for the first time.
Parenting in the late 70s and 80s really was a commitment. We were the first generation of kids that didn't have to work to help support our families. We had so much idol time on our hands after school. Whooping my ass, unraveling my diabolical schemes, and administering a healthy dose of "healing oil"...instead of First Aid for the debotched backyard chemisty experiment that went horribly wrong...was MJ Reid's full time job.
Healing oil- virgin olive oil, kept in a bottle that looks 50 years old, used by pentacostal christians to activate the "help me God" beacon located in the center of your forehead, just prior to them placing their hands on you for prayer
Everyday after work she received her daily threat report from my snitch-loving older sister, and she would plan her response. Diplomacy was rarely used because the stuff I did always risked injury to myself or my two favorite chemistry assistants, my younger brothers...force was sometimes necessary. Proverbs 13:24 was on a plaque above my bed. But it wasn't just my mom like that. I'll never forget when I discovered that my best friend's mom was crazy too, it was one of the first times I felt slightly normal. If a kid was acting up in the store in the 80s, everyone knew without looking that kid was white. Now when you see that lady with her house shoes and hair scarf and the 3 young kids running around her in a circle, while she loudly has a Rated R conversation as she shops...you know without looking that lady and her kids are black.
Today we live in an age where laws prevent parents from using all the weapons in our arsenal. The asswhoopin' is like a nuclear warhead...if effectively placed it can wipeout all traces of disobedient behavior...past, present, and future...but if uncontrolled it can yield fatal results. Some of us parents have a stock pile of nukes, daydreaming about what it would be like to occasionally use one. But if we would stop focusing on the fact that we can't use our nukes and realize that we have a few heat-seakers at our disposal our parenting tactics will change and our kids behavior would undoubtedly improve.
My freshly minted teenager and reluctant tweener test me in some way everyday. I need to do more reconnaissance in an effort to be more proactive and use diplomacy in tandem with my CIA operatives to diffuse situations before they turn into scenes. It saddens me everytime I witness a parent use (what I deem) to be borderline excessive force or when I see a parent be verbally abused by their kid. It sickens me when I have to acknowledge that more often than not the people acting out those scenes are black. I can only imagine what everyone else forced to witness is thinking. Today I got an indirect glimpse of stranger's thoughts and was proud that my clones did their part to keep the myth that well mannered kids still exist alive. There is even a pair being raised by this quite handsome middle-aged disabled lesbian with MS, and if you hang out in the electronic department on a Thursday afternoon in Walmart...you might have a chance to see them.
UrbanJournalist
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
When We Were Young
When I was young I thought 35 was old. I thought I would be living in that fully automated house I used to see on Tom & Jerry and that we would be walking around in space suits like The Jetsons. (Diddy already DID that which further proves to me that he has lapped the field...say what you want about dude...his social intelligence is unmatched in this generation. Everyone else is following his urban mogul blueprint.). Man I knew I was gonna be ancient when the 2010 arrived...I mean I was born in 1976...and ten years past 2000 seemed like it was millions of years off in 1987. Michael J Fox only traveled to 2015 in "Back to the Future II" and I don't think Nike has created Jordans that can tie themselves yet. The world I live in looks nothing like the world in that movie.
The government COULD have it's best and brightest working on some new eco-friendly civilization somewhere (it's possible...I've got my fingers crossed) but its more likely they have them working on more efficient ways to control us... imbeding cameras and tracking devices in every object we carry; all the while convincing us that we need internet on our TVs and cameras so we'll rush out and buy this technology with our tax refunds no matter what the cost. Why do we even need internet on our cellphones? Do we even use them to "talk" to people anymore? Has anyone noticed how much easier it is to collect state's evidence? We transcribe ourselves through our text messages, emails, IMs, BBMs, Facebook and Twitter. Skype has allowed them unprecedented access to millions of homes worldwide, thanks to Oprah. Cable companies now offer security service with a live video feed. Do I really want to watch someone murder my family or my children suffer while they are burned to death trapped in a house fire? Tripping the alarm would have been enough to alert the police or fire department, what the HELL can I do from my cubicle at work accept be traumatized. When I call the pizza man and give him my phone number he knows my address. If I dial 911 from my cell they don't need me to tell them my location, even if I've driven off of a cliff. I can purchase an app that can give me the GPS location of every phone on my mobile plan at every moment of the day. If wives and girlfriends suspecting infidelity can track their significant other's movements with an accuracy of a few feet, what makes us think Big Brother can't do it to?
As I approach 35 I began reflecting on my life and the way I lived it and I began to feel depressed because I seemed far too immature for my age. I still will catch an episode of 106 and Park every now and then. I LOVE "iCarly" and play Guitar Hero on XBox 360; holding all the high scoring records and is far and away the best electronic guitarist in my house despite having 13 and 10 year old sons. I still get a little too heated by a conversation on FB and get "rahrah" in my response to them. "Meet me at the bus so I can kick ur ass" could easily close out some of my comments and posts. My top five favorite programs are still animated shows. I love laughing more than I do saving money. I still wrestle with my sons. I don't even sound like an adult to myself. I started to feel sorry for my sons as I wondered when I would ever grow up.
Then it hit me...my father looked and acted a lot like me when he was 35...so I can't be that far off track because my Pops is someone I really respected as a man and breadwinner. I NOW consider a weekend at home without the kids a great date. I have WISHED that some teenager racing to the red light in the lane next to me would turn down his loud rap music or wondered how some random girl's mother LET her out of the house dressed "like that". I go to bed just after 9 and watch or should I say attempt to watch all my favorite shows from the bed. Maybe just maybe being grown and responsible isn't synonymous with Old fart with no life as I so passionately thought all the way into my mid-20s. But what if I THINK I'm cooler than I really am? My father looked rather lame with those colored tube socks pulled up to his knees and those daisy duke track shorts with the white stripe on the side, but he insisted that I "was crazy" and that it "was the style". I can think of several occasions my outfit has been met with the question "Ma...THAT'S what you're wearing" by my 13 year old. Am I that old fart to him? I don't care if I am because 35 just AINT old to me!
UrbanJournalist
The government COULD have it's best and brightest working on some new eco-friendly civilization somewhere (it's possible...I've got my fingers crossed) but its more likely they have them working on more efficient ways to control us... imbeding cameras and tracking devices in every object we carry; all the while convincing us that we need internet on our TVs and cameras so we'll rush out and buy this technology with our tax refunds no matter what the cost. Why do we even need internet on our cellphones? Do we even use them to "talk" to people anymore? Has anyone noticed how much easier it is to collect state's evidence? We transcribe ourselves through our text messages, emails, IMs, BBMs, Facebook and Twitter. Skype has allowed them unprecedented access to millions of homes worldwide, thanks to Oprah. Cable companies now offer security service with a live video feed. Do I really want to watch someone murder my family or my children suffer while they are burned to death trapped in a house fire? Tripping the alarm would have been enough to alert the police or fire department, what the HELL can I do from my cubicle at work accept be traumatized. When I call the pizza man and give him my phone number he knows my address. If I dial 911 from my cell they don't need me to tell them my location, even if I've driven off of a cliff. I can purchase an app that can give me the GPS location of every phone on my mobile plan at every moment of the day. If wives and girlfriends suspecting infidelity can track their significant other's movements with an accuracy of a few feet, what makes us think Big Brother can't do it to?
As I approach 35 I began reflecting on my life and the way I lived it and I began to feel depressed because I seemed far too immature for my age. I still will catch an episode of 106 and Park every now and then. I LOVE "iCarly" and play Guitar Hero on XBox 360; holding all the high scoring records and is far and away the best electronic guitarist in my house despite having 13 and 10 year old sons. I still get a little too heated by a conversation on FB and get "rahrah" in my response to them. "Meet me at the bus so I can kick ur ass" could easily close out some of my comments and posts. My top five favorite programs are still animated shows. I love laughing more than I do saving money. I still wrestle with my sons. I don't even sound like an adult to myself. I started to feel sorry for my sons as I wondered when I would ever grow up.
Then it hit me...my father looked and acted a lot like me when he was 35...so I can't be that far off track because my Pops is someone I really respected as a man and breadwinner. I NOW consider a weekend at home without the kids a great date. I have WISHED that some teenager racing to the red light in the lane next to me would turn down his loud rap music or wondered how some random girl's mother LET her out of the house dressed "like that". I go to bed just after 9 and watch or should I say attempt to watch all my favorite shows from the bed. Maybe just maybe being grown and responsible isn't synonymous with Old fart with no life as I so passionately thought all the way into my mid-20s. But what if I THINK I'm cooler than I really am? My father looked rather lame with those colored tube socks pulled up to his knees and those daisy duke track shorts with the white stripe on the side, but he insisted that I "was crazy" and that it "was the style". I can think of several occasions my outfit has been met with the question "Ma...THAT'S what you're wearing" by my 13 year old. Am I that old fart to him? I don't care if I am because 35 just AINT old to me!
UrbanJournalist
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Gone But Never Forgotten
This afternoon I am going to pay my final respects to the second greatest man that I have had the pleasure of knowing since my father; Mr. Michael Dixon.
Mr. Dixon is my nephews grandfather and they adored their Papa. It is through them that I had the privilege to get to know him. Every time I saw Mr. Dixon he always had a smile and he was always leaving or returning from somewhere. He always greeted me with a hug and asked about my health. It always impressed me that he knew about my disability. He would always encourage me to stay strong and told me to be blessed.
As I reflect on his life Im inspired. Mr. Dixon' actually made a difference. He transformed his love for people into actual action and did things to affect change in his community.
He was a regular guy and his life affected so many in a positive way. Im just a regular person with a love of humanity too. I hope that through my writing and my all out assault against Multiple Sclerosis that I provoke a thought or stimulate a smile or someone is encouraged to fight against their adversity.
Mr. Michael Dixon your legacy lives on; you may be gone but you will never be forgotten.
UrbanJournalist
Mr. Dixon is my nephews grandfather and they adored their Papa. It is through them that I had the privilege to get to know him. Every time I saw Mr. Dixon he always had a smile and he was always leaving or returning from somewhere. He always greeted me with a hug and asked about my health. It always impressed me that he knew about my disability. He would always encourage me to stay strong and told me to be blessed.
As I reflect on his life Im inspired. Mr. Dixon' actually made a difference. He transformed his love for people into actual action and did things to affect change in his community.
He was a regular guy and his life affected so many in a positive way. Im just a regular person with a love of humanity too. I hope that through my writing and my all out assault against Multiple Sclerosis that I provoke a thought or stimulate a smile or someone is encouraged to fight against their adversity.
Mr. Michael Dixon your legacy lives on; you may be gone but you will never be forgotten.
UrbanJournalist
Monday, July 12, 2010
The Most Wonderful Time of the year - originally posted on September 09, 2007
It's the most wonderful time of the year!
When the linebackers blitz, and the running backs twist, and ten thousand drunks cheer!
It's the most wonderful time of the year!
Gridiron season is finally here.
I love fall. The crisp breezes, jackets, the colors, the long nights, the trees, the leaves, the pollen, Thanksgiving, candy corn, "The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown", football every Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, two months until Basketball. Watching sports on all levels (high scool, college, professional) is it's most enjoyable at this time of year. I have even been known to watch baseball in October. Golf still has some shine too.
Everyone thinks that spring is the season of life, but fall is where the preparation is done. You can find squirrels and ants busy as hell this time of year. Shit, I sat on my porch yesterday and had a drink with a squirrel while he was on lunch break. We talked about the importance of building a future for your family; you know making life better for your kids. Trees send their seeds into the breeze with hopes they will find fertile ground. Bears stuff their faces so they cant get ready for their winter nap.
What do humans do in the fall?
Some of us congregate and live vicariously thru a group of individuals that possess the talents we all wish we had. Warriors that battle thru heat and cold, rain and snow; both on the field and in the stands. Football makes us believe that hard work and preserverance will eventually pay off. It makes us believe if we cheer hard enough we can push our team thru to victory. Talent can be dominated by the monentum gained from one improbable play. David can defeat Goliath; it happens every week when the underdog wins.
If I had a Y chromosome, I would have played football. I would have been a linebacker. Laying the hat to anyone who dared to enter my domain. There would be a highlight reel of my hits from high school thru college. I would have made my way into the league and made my mark on special teams. Doing the dirty work. Dominating my oponent play by play. Causing momentum changing fumbles in every game. I would be the fan favorite. Thousands of kids would be wearing my jersey. But females cant play football. So I have to live vicariously thru Lewis, Urlacher, Ware, and Merriman. I fell in love with football watching LT at Carolina when I was a kid. My father, the ultimate Carolina fan, would watch all their games on TV on Saturday. LT of course was too fierce. Broken bones lay in his wake. Cowboy fans all over love him for laying the most punshing hit on a Redskin ever!
Football is such a huge part of my life. I was taught the love of the game by my father. We spent countless hours together watching games. I hope one of my sons chooses to love this game the way I do. I cant wait to pour my love of the game into them.
I miss my dad the most during this time of year. He lives on in me. I cant wait to watch the game with him tonight. Cowboys and Giants in primetime.
Daddy I got the Boys by 10 over the Giants, who you got?
UrbanJournalist
When the linebackers blitz, and the running backs twist, and ten thousand drunks cheer!
It's the most wonderful time of the year!
Gridiron season is finally here.
I love fall. The crisp breezes, jackets, the colors, the long nights, the trees, the leaves, the pollen, Thanksgiving, candy corn, "The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown", football every Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, two months until Basketball. Watching sports on all levels (high scool, college, professional) is it's most enjoyable at this time of year. I have even been known to watch baseball in October. Golf still has some shine too.
Everyone thinks that spring is the season of life, but fall is where the preparation is done. You can find squirrels and ants busy as hell this time of year. Shit, I sat on my porch yesterday and had a drink with a squirrel while he was on lunch break. We talked about the importance of building a future for your family; you know making life better for your kids. Trees send their seeds into the breeze with hopes they will find fertile ground. Bears stuff their faces so they cant get ready for their winter nap.
What do humans do in the fall?
Some of us congregate and live vicariously thru a group of individuals that possess the talents we all wish we had. Warriors that battle thru heat and cold, rain and snow; both on the field and in the stands. Football makes us believe that hard work and preserverance will eventually pay off. It makes us believe if we cheer hard enough we can push our team thru to victory. Talent can be dominated by the monentum gained from one improbable play. David can defeat Goliath; it happens every week when the underdog wins.
If I had a Y chromosome, I would have played football. I would have been a linebacker. Laying the hat to anyone who dared to enter my domain. There would be a highlight reel of my hits from high school thru college. I would have made my way into the league and made my mark on special teams. Doing the dirty work. Dominating my oponent play by play. Causing momentum changing fumbles in every game. I would be the fan favorite. Thousands of kids would be wearing my jersey. But females cant play football. So I have to live vicariously thru Lewis, Urlacher, Ware, and Merriman. I fell in love with football watching LT at Carolina when I was a kid. My father, the ultimate Carolina fan, would watch all their games on TV on Saturday. LT of course was too fierce. Broken bones lay in his wake. Cowboy fans all over love him for laying the most punshing hit on a Redskin ever!
Football is such a huge part of my life. I was taught the love of the game by my father. We spent countless hours together watching games. I hope one of my sons chooses to love this game the way I do. I cant wait to pour my love of the game into them.
I miss my dad the most during this time of year. He lives on in me. I cant wait to watch the game with him tonight. Cowboys and Giants in primetime.
Daddy I got the Boys by 10 over the Giants, who you got?
UrbanJournalist
Irony - originally posted September 22 2007
irony (noun) an event or result that is opposite of what's expected
Thank God that helping with fourth grade english has brought the dictionary back into my life. Big shouts to Chaos and Mr. Good's vocabulary assignments. Anyway, I got to thinking bout the word that most defined my life. As you can see that word for me is irony. Here are the ironies that define my life.
It's ironic that God gave me a woman's body and a heterosexual male's brain.
It's ironic that my son's call me momma, but my relationship with my son's is more like my relationship was with my father.
It's ironic that I had to turn to drugs to discover myself. ("Iz u rollin'.....bitch I mite be")
It's ironic that my ex-husband, father of my sons, and man who threatened to murder me when I told him that I loved women; is becoming my best friend.
It's ironic that I thought that I was healthy then July 4th came and was raped by multiple sclerosis.
It's ironic that I rediscovered my life while lying in the hospital afraid I was going to die.
It's ironic that the product of that moment of weakness was a strength that I never knew i had. (Na Na Now Dat that don't kill me, can only make me stronger....)
It's ironic that I really found love on the dance floor. (Luv plus, Baby)
It's ironic that 50% of left handed people are twins and a unknown number of twins die in the womb; I think my twin lives on inside my mind. Let me introduce you to us formally, I am Tian William (Bill) and my sister is Tianna Lynette.
It's ironic that I am the offspring of a bi-polar lefty, and so are my children. (We are just like our parents, if we are lucky we have evolved slighltly)
It's ironic that I've always believed I was a mutant and wished for the power to move shit with my mind like Carrie; and the nerve altering pills I take to treat my MS gives me a hyper state of consciousness, and I feel like if I take these pills everyday for 10 years I'll be like Professor Xaiver of the X-Men.
It's ironic that I just realized the the middle name that I grew up hating, Wilynetta, is "the best representation of who I am William + Lynette"; and when I was fortunate enough to actually ask my mother why she gave me that name that was her exact response.
It's ironic that it took Gemini sperm to finally split the twins minds that lived inside of me; Chaos and Deuce are both sides of me manifested.
It's ironic that I learned more about my father's life after he died than I knew when he was alive.
It's ironic that I've learned the most important things about myself by watching my kids.
It's ironic that I spend so much time watching everyone else and don't ever see who's watching me. (I'm a Rock Star Baby....)
It's ironic that I just realied that I have had more coversations with my mother than I realized. I wonder how strong her telepathy is. I'm going to help my boys develope their telepathy and ESP early use it to their advantage.
It's ironic that after 31 years of being angry with my bioligical mother for leaving me when I was two; I realize the sacrifice she made for me, and I want to thank her.
It's ironic that I just realized that Kesha is my rainbow momma. Thanks for loving me better than my stepmother ever could, and ushering me through the most diffucult times in my life.
It's ironic that everytime I go against my gut, the results are negative. (Spent a few moments in police cars as a result)
It's ironic that the results are not always favorable when I go with my gut; or maybe its not favorable because I don't act quickly enough.
I'm wrappin this shit up, cuz I've been sittin here way too long living my myspace dream.
Brilliant minds are fatally fragile and often misunderstood. Am I crazy, or is the ultimate irony the fact that I am destined to be misunderstood?
UrbanJournalist
Thank God that helping with fourth grade english has brought the dictionary back into my life. Big shouts to Chaos and Mr. Good's vocabulary assignments. Anyway, I got to thinking bout the word that most defined my life. As you can see that word for me is irony. Here are the ironies that define my life.
It's ironic that God gave me a woman's body and a heterosexual male's brain.
It's ironic that my son's call me momma, but my relationship with my son's is more like my relationship was with my father.
It's ironic that I had to turn to drugs to discover myself. ("Iz u rollin'.....bitch I mite be")
It's ironic that my ex-husband, father of my sons, and man who threatened to murder me when I told him that I loved women; is becoming my best friend.
It's ironic that I thought that I was healthy then July 4th came and was raped by multiple sclerosis.
It's ironic that I rediscovered my life while lying in the hospital afraid I was going to die.
It's ironic that the product of that moment of weakness was a strength that I never knew i had. (Na Na Now Dat that don't kill me, can only make me stronger....)
It's ironic that I really found love on the dance floor. (Luv plus, Baby)
It's ironic that 50% of left handed people are twins and a unknown number of twins die in the womb; I think my twin lives on inside my mind. Let me introduce you to us formally, I am Tian William (Bill) and my sister is Tianna Lynette.
It's ironic that I am the offspring of a bi-polar lefty, and so are my children. (We are just like our parents, if we are lucky we have evolved slighltly)
It's ironic that I've always believed I was a mutant and wished for the power to move shit with my mind like Carrie; and the nerve altering pills I take to treat my MS gives me a hyper state of consciousness, and I feel like if I take these pills everyday for 10 years I'll be like Professor Xaiver of the X-Men.
It's ironic that I just realized the the middle name that I grew up hating, Wilynetta, is "the best representation of who I am William + Lynette"; and when I was fortunate enough to actually ask my mother why she gave me that name that was her exact response.
It's ironic that it took Gemini sperm to finally split the twins minds that lived inside of me; Chaos and Deuce are both sides of me manifested.
It's ironic that I learned more about my father's life after he died than I knew when he was alive.
It's ironic that I've learned the most important things about myself by watching my kids.
It's ironic that I spend so much time watching everyone else and don't ever see who's watching me. (I'm a Rock Star Baby....)
It's ironic that I just realied that I have had more coversations with my mother than I realized. I wonder how strong her telepathy is. I'm going to help my boys develope their telepathy and ESP early use it to their advantage.
It's ironic that after 31 years of being angry with my bioligical mother for leaving me when I was two; I realize the sacrifice she made for me, and I want to thank her.
It's ironic that I just realized that Kesha is my rainbow momma. Thanks for loving me better than my stepmother ever could, and ushering me through the most diffucult times in my life.
It's ironic that everytime I go against my gut, the results are negative. (Spent a few moments in police cars as a result)
It's ironic that the results are not always favorable when I go with my gut; or maybe its not favorable because I don't act quickly enough.
I'm wrappin this shit up, cuz I've been sittin here way too long living my myspace dream.
Brilliant minds are fatally fragile and often misunderstood. Am I crazy, or is the ultimate irony the fact that I am destined to be misunderstood?
UrbanJournalist
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