The Importance of Having A White Dude Signing Your Checks Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Let me preface all of this by saying that nothing is more important than getting to the stage of going into business for self and signing your own checks (but I ain't on that... yet); however, I did have a little freelance/consulting thing going on for a minute and that gave me a lot of the experience of someone who runs their own full blown business.

Working for the establishment, while not giving you the greatest comfort in job security, does give you an ultra-secure feeling on payday. You are guaranteed to be paid for the work you did during the pay period. I learned from freelancing and consulting (I mainly worked with Black-ran nonprofits and the occasional White dude-ran operation) that on Fridays, White people got your money; Black people got excuses.

As Black people (raised on healthy amounts of Black pride and self-hatred; both taught by White schoolteachers), we learn at an early age not to do business with other Black people. We're taught that our own are always late, lazy, and lackadaisical; that doing any type of business with a White man is generally a more pleasant experience. So of course, with me rejecting most things that society has thrown my way in an elaborate game of Social Values Hot Potato, I brushed my shoulders off with that notion (odd as it seems, I didn't feel anymore like a pimp than I did before doing so; Jay Z is a liar in this regard).

That was until I became an adult and started doing business with my people.

This isn't an ode to White Jesus or anything, but more like a calling out of how we have to do better. I can't tell you how many times (actually I could; my Shit List record keeping is quite thorough like that) I've shown up to collect my dollars from a Black organization, only to be told that they ain't got it. Or worse, have one of these jigs straight try to avoid me; as if I would somehow forget I'm owed money. And the excuses I'm oftentimes given, generally speaking , have nothing to do with me.

This one guy I used to work for would straight up avoid his office on payday (good thing I know how to pawn seven year old office computers). Why do niggas think ain't nobody got bills to pay but them? And have they ever considered that the people they promised money to on payday are part of the bills they need to pay?

But now I work for the miseducation system where I'm sure there's some old White dude who, in between drawing up Willie Lynch-type educational policies and writing down the names of all the students he thinks would make excellent degree-seeking candidates for the Public School to County Jail Scholarship Program (free room AND board), finds the time to sign my damn checks.

Damn it feels good to be a gangsta.

[Editor's Note: The only thing worse than working for my people, is working at an establishment whose accounting department is ran solely by White women who don't wear glasses; don't ask why, it just is.]

Black Man's Handbook to Dating: Rule WWW - Things Yo' Silly Behind Ought Not Be Doing Online Monday, August 17, 2009

A lot of you dudes, in your hastiness to be slick, are messing up the game for everyone. I've never been a fan of meeting women online per se. But Myspace/Facebook allows you to implement the 'friend of a friend' code (if I have to explain how that works, you may need to find one girlfriend and hope she never dumps you). I'm a huge proponent of ethics; there has to be a code or there's chaos... and chaos between men and women leads to slashed tires, unavailable cell phone calls, and that vaguely familiar black Camry rolling past with an even more familiar woman's voice screaming out '... gone and be with that bitch then!'

Anyone?

Begin.

Stop setting up separate Facebook/Myspace accounts that use different names, but the same damn picture. Really fam? Really? First of all, if you think your girl hasn't mentioned it and therefore she doesn't know about it, then you clearly know nothing about women. They're all private investigators. I know chicks who can't find the Sports section of the newspaper, but can go through your browser's cookies and figure out the name of your favorite porn star.

Her not saying anything is not the equivalent of ignorance to the facts. Matter of fact, you might want to check her cookies.

Moving right along.

You got to stop 'Super Poking' these broads then immediately writing on their wall 'HA HA HA! I just Super Poked you!', and thinking your girl (who is also on your friends list) ain't gone come see you bout that. There's dumb, and then there's LOL-Smiley-Frickin'-Face dumb.

Another thing that's catching a lot of playas up is that whole relationship status option of 'It's Complicated'. See to you it may be a little foggy, but I'll bet a dime to a dollar it's relatively clear-cut in the mind of the woman you living with fool!

Also, slightly related to that... don't put your relationship status as 'Open', when it's closed as hell. Real talk; that'll get your shit sat on the curb, and then you got to break back in the house to retrieve your PS2, but that don't matter cause she done set the games on damn fire, and let the dog chew on the controllers, so you still out some money (anyone?).

Lastly, but not leastly, you dudes need to quit sending yourself off. I got a gang of women on my friends lists that I may chop it up with when I'm bored at work (also known as being unemployed). But some of you dudes, from the instant a chick you vaguely knew in high school/college accept your little friend request, get to planning trips out to the West Coast and whatnot. Here's a new rule: if you got to leave the state to maybe possibly potentially get some play (though we both know that you won't), then you may want to consider working on your interpersonal communication skills... you know, how folks used to meet women back in the day.

And now if you will excuse me... I got walls to write on, women to poke, and statuses to update.

Don't Trust Dem New Niggas

So I'm starting over yet again. Recently just moved from the Chi, back to where it all started... the college town where I learned to a. be man, b. smoke weed (without coughing up a lung), c. lie to women, and d. backtrack out of said lies to said women. I've decided to go back into the field of education; and if there's one thing I learned from previously working in the field of education, it's that all resemblances of a social life go out the window.

Ear Hustlin is what I started when I was King of the Red Line and hearing shit that was too good not to share with the group. Now I'm thinking about changing the name of my blog to 'Go to Work, Come Home, Drink the Beer, and Poke Fine Women on Facebook' (don't be so modest babygirl, I do mean you). And a lot of people have asked me why would I ever leave such a wonderful city like Chicago for Smallville. My answer: you ain't live where I lived.

You ain't lived (or died) until you've played Roseland's version of the 'Grand Prize Game'... some folks call it a drive by. Scratch that. This is how you know we living in a recession; cause there's been way more walk bys than drive bys. You really have to have a certain amount of disdain for the next man when you shoot them, and the best exit strategy you can come up with involves escaping back to Big Mama's house on foot. Can you imagine the prep talk someone gives himself before committing a walk by?

'I ain't got no car... but this nigga think he good... nigga think he can whoop me, and I know he can't whoop me... the nigga's whole style is chump!' (bonus points if you can name that movie)

But I mean, gun violence was only a minor determining factor. Freelancing/consulting had dried up for a sec, but even when it was good I still need that stable money because Uncle Sam was getting more and more suspicious of my tax returns (prove that I earned more than a hundred dollars over the last three years).

Also, while some people find teaching (which isn't exactly what I'll be doing) stressful, I like the fact that working in a school means that I don't have a boss who's above getting cursed the hell out (now, runteldat!). I had a disastrous cursing match with this one principal a few years back. I don't remember the details of what led up to it, but I'm sure it revolved around the fact that he was a cracker-ass cracker that hated black kids (but don't quote me on that; it could've been because he was a cracker-ass cracker who just hated my black ass).

So umm yea, I'm going to be throwing chalk at people shorter than me working with the kids for the next year or two I suspect. No disrespect, but... all these other dudes is good artists'ses; but Castro is for the kids!