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Cynique
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Thanks for the feedback, JohnB. Welcome Aboard.
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I'm glad you're reading the book in the spirit in which it was written, "Writergirl". Obviously "The Only One" is not a work of great literary distinction. Let "The Help" be nominated for awards and acclaim. Me, I'm just having fun with a subject that provides good and ample material for a story about the bittersweet travails of black love.
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“I wanna be your lover.
I wanna be the only one
To make you come
Runnin.”
~ Prince ~
CHAPTER ONEIt had been exactly one week since Carole Everly celebrated her 28thbirthday, - an occasion that didn't inspire a lot of enthusiasm for the word “celebrate” since she was an unmarried statistic, languishing in the limbo of her sugar-free social life. And while this wasn't the end of the world, it could put a damper on Saturday nights.But all was not lost and, if looks had anything to do with it, Carole was ahead of the game. Not quite slender, almost pretty, her full lips were shapely, her nose well-defined, her complexion smooth and glowing. As for the “windows of her soul”, they were deep and animated, their stare having a tendency to space out during the craziness she encountered in the world of single-mingling.Seated in the cafeteria of the company where she worked, Carole glanced at her watch and interrupted her reading, not exactly disappointed that her lesson in “thinking like a man and acting like a woman” would have to be put on hold.“I’ll get back to you later, Steve,” she murmured and put her book mark in place, sighing as she ran her fingers through the crisp dark hair that was cropped so short it required little combing.Making her way out of the cafeteria, heading for her department, Carole’s shoulders slumped. She felt drained. It had been a hectic morning, one that challenged all of her customer service skills as one irate caller after another had blown up the phone lines of City-Wide Utilities, the municipal facility that employed her.It was during these times that Carole was left wishing she had completed college. And how many times had she promised herself that she would get back on track by taking some credit course at the community campus located near the apartment she occupied on Chicago’s southeast side. But having a decent-paying job with good benefits tended to stunt her ambition, and no matter how much she reminded herself that with a degree she could pursue areal career,her motivation had never kicked in.Or, had the advantages of earning her BA impacted on her as a starry-eyed sophomore whose return for her junior year at a faraway university would’ve meant trusting her new “boo” to keep his fly zipped. When these insecurities about her boyfriend’s susceptibility to temptation proved justified, her summer romance had, indeed, evolved into an autumn triangle, - thanks to the wiles of a high-school drop-out with a “BJ” degree.Carole's 20thwinter had been a gloomy season. But she learned a valuable lesson about self-esteem. And time marched on…When she was 21, her own introduction to hot sex had brought on a pregnancy scare, and upon hearing that her bedroom jockey had a stable of baby mamas, Carole had kicked him to the curb, telling anyone who would listen“I’m done dealin with ‘dogs’!”But she soon discovered that the canine species included many breeds and they roved everywhere, panting and sniffing and woofing.There had been the fast-talking car salesman, who’d sworn he’d pay back a $300 loan.“I’m good for it, baby,he’d insisted. “I just sold a new Ford and I gotta big commission coming!”After he’d conveniently dropped out of sight, Carole discovered what he really was had been a valet parker, fired for having a suspended driver’s license.Next, was the “misunderstood” married man whose wife had found Carole’s number and phoned.“You ain’t the first skank to try and get next to my man,”she had hissed before threatening to hunt Carole down and kick her ass.After that came the school teacher boyfriend entrusted with a key to her apartment, busted when Carole left work early and walked in on him overseeing the sex education of the 16-year-old daughter of her next door tenant.“She came on to me, and lied about her age!”was the explanation that Carole didn’t entirely doubt as she rolled her eyes and held out her hand for the key he’d sheepishly returned. After pulling his pants back up.And how could she forget the kinky cop with a yen for threesomes.“You have nothing to lose but your inhibitions,”he’d coaxed.Nothing to lose but her dashed hopes for a serious relationship.The beat went on:The “record producer”, always bragging about his latest protégé.“We’re in the studio now and my boy’s album is about to drop,”he’d raved,a claim Carole later learned was a possibility inasmuch as this bungling wanna-be worked part-time as a stock boy in a music store.Then came the buffed, good-looking, health club employee raising Carole’s suspicions when how, after a few drinks, he frequently exhibited an eye for fashion.“I sure like your shoes, and I know they’re Jimmy Choo’s,”was the gushing compliment that finally got this “cross-over” crossed off.Following that was the pre-law student, a hockey fan whose cell phone ring tone was a Beatles song, always bragging about being liberated from the black race’s enslavement to Democrats!“Fox News is actually right about there being no pictures of Obama taken as a boy in Hawaii,”he’d declared before Carole had dumped this oreo from her cookie jar.Finally trying her luck with on-line dating, she’d gotten her fill of the disappointing first dates with sweaty-palmed, penny-pinching dorks bearing little resemblance to their pictures, their height and weight lied about, their conversation boring, their bladders weak.“It’s picky gals like you who will end up regretting the way you reject us plain guys,”had been the parting shot of one of these stammering losers.Unfortunately, the attractive prospects proved to be elusive. “We’ll have to do this again,” they’d purr after meeting for a drink, a suggestion that was followed up by a flurry of text messages that suddenly stopped.And so it had gone; nothing but duds. Talk about “puttin a ring on it”! Putting a condom on it was more like it, what with an epidemic of STDS just waiting to infect - all of which had contributed to Carole’s decision to declare a hiatus and embrace celibacy.No, you couldn’t cuddle with a book but you could hug a pillow, and there was something redeeming about solitude. It was a profound exercise in getting in touch with yourself – on so many levels. Not to mention that there were actually more interesting pass-times than polishing male egos.Furthermore, there was something to be said for leading a life where she could do as she damn well pleased!Still, beneath the wires of her push-up bra, there beat a heart not yet ready to give up on finding a soul-mate...Arriving back at her work station, Carole braced herself, ready to again take on the public. Settled into her swivel chair, she had just adjusted her head-set when her hand stopped in mid-air upon spotting Lillian Moore, the bespectacled, heavy-hipped, soon-to-be-retired team leader plodding along, accompanied by who was undoubtedly going to be her replacement. Have mercy, Jesus.Before summoning her composure, Carole allowed herself to gawk long and hard at the prime specimen of strapping black manhood who was being ushered around. Suddenly revitalized, she could hardly wait to meet the new stud in the stable, and the first thing she noticed as he was being led toward her was that there was no wedding ring on his finger!Reaching her last stop, a weary Lillian Moore cleared her throat before making the introductions, her hesitation giving the soon-to-be-acquaintances a chance to lock eyes.“Carole Everly,” Lillian rasped, “this is Troy Briggs.”Overhead, the ceiling light blinked.CHAPTER TWOStaring at the tiles over the urinal in the lavatory at City-Wide Utility, Troy Briggs zipped up his fly after tucking away the well-endowed penis that was just one of his many assets. A neat hair-line and a sharp moustache, both of which provided a pleasing contrast to the rich color of his chiseled face were among the other traits contributing to his appeal. Never mind that there was a hint of vulnerability in Briggs’ intense eyes, his manner was cool, his demeanor confident, his stature tall and trim.Exiting the men’s room, glad the first day in his new position was over, this up-and-coming young brotha was motivated to square his shoulders and take stock of himself.Recently-divorced, newly-promoted on his job at City Wide Utility, his past had been plagued by problems, - set-backs that had begun when his schooling had been interrupted.Doing what he thought was honorable, he had reluctantly interrupted his pursuit of a college degree to marry his knocked-up girlfriend. In hindsight, all signs pointed to this pregnancy having been part of a feminine scheme to make him her ticket to respectibility.From the moment Coreen Booker pulled him off his bar stool and “backed that bootie up” on the dance floor of the club where he’d gone slumming, Troy Briggs had become the captive of a brassy, sassy, gainfully-employed broad plying him with offers he couldn’t refuse.There was how she’d paid for their dates, kept gas in his car, bought him gifts and, above all, lavished sex on him, lovingly anticipating his every need…“Nothin’s too good for my man,”she’d cooed one evening, squatting on top of his erection. “I was just waitin for the new Jordan’s to come out so I could get you a pair.”“You shouldn’t have,”he’d murmured, sucking up the nipples that dripped off her huge breasts.“That was a lot of money to spend on gym shoes.”But there was no end to the things Coreen wanted her man to have, and a brand new wife topped the list!So, with the announcement of a positive pregnancy test, how could he have not been affected by the tsunami of tears she’d rained on him when he’d balked at marriage?“I can’t afford a wife!”How could he have not been touched by the plaintive declarations of undying love?“You my whole world!”How could he have not been worried about the suicide bluffs?“I don’t wanna live without you.”How could he have not reacted to the desperate pleas that included the threat to abort a 4-month fetus.“You’re taking advantage of my conscience!”Resenting Coreen’s insinuations, considering himself a better class of black man than the low-life deadbeats clowning on Maury’s show, he’d finally given in.Whipped.And no sooner had he moaned“get my balls, too”,than a day later they were huddled before a judge at city hall as Troy’s words uttered in the heat of passion came back to haunt him. At least he hadn’t had to pay for the rings.True, marriage wasn’t that bad at the beginning…True, Coreen was a great balm for the ego that had been crushed by his former love interest, a sophisticated, high-maintenance diva who’d unceremoniously dumped him, coolly explaining that “yourfinancial status and earning potential just don’t meet my expectations”.True, with the $25,000 instant lottery winner Coreen had purchased, the newlyweds had gotten off to a good start. Lucky them.True again, he had tested well enough to be hired for a good-paying new job. Capable him.But, then, falseness had reared its ugly head, when he’d discovered that his bride had lopped 3 years off her age. Devious her.“So what if you younger than me,” she’d dismissed. “Don’t make me no difference.”And there was how she had been secretly selling weed to supplement her income.“Pot-head cops was some of my best customers.”And how she’d lied about resigning from her bank teller job.“Everybody who works around money steals,”she’d scoffed when he discovered she’d been fired.And how the hot steamy sex that had scorched his loins with a frequency that was a tribute to his stamina, was suddenly being doled out on a "just-enough-to-make-him-want-more" basis.“Baby, I just ain’t feelin it right now,”she’d whimpered one night in bed.“My back is killin me.”“Cat got your - tongue?”he’d grumbled, groping his groin,“Naw, but the dog sure got yours,”she’d grumbled, turning her back on him.A sign of things to come as, with Coreen’s advancing motherhood, Troy had started to be turned off by the sight of her bloated figure and her swollen nose. He’d become impatient with her nagging and cravings and pouting, not to mention how when conversation became the substitute for copulation, he could no longer overlook what he’d been in denial about: you could take the girl out of the ghetto, but you couldn’t take the ghetto out of the girl…“I been thinkin ‘bout what to call the baby,”she’d said on another night, crunching on a dill pickle, reeking of Noxema, and wheezing with bronchitis.“We could combine our names and come up with somethin real cute.”“Like what?”he’d asked“How you go for 'LaTrocorette' ?”she’d suggested.“You gotta be kiddin,”he’d winced.And so it went until finally Coreen’s time came and after 3 days of her complaining and cursing and conniving, to the extreme relief of the entire maternity ward, Troy had taken his wife and newborn home.In the weeks that followed, his patience had been stretched to the maxim. Like a deflated balloon, there was a sniveling Coreen, waddling around in a dingy shapeless gown, her pendulous boobs leaking, her unkempt hair exploding, her whining incessant.Then there was her loud, bossy momma treating Troy like an intruder. “Y’all dumb mens don’t know nothin,” she’d regularly informed him.Last but not least was his scrawny infant daughter, resembling an alien from Mars, spitting up milk, grunting out slime, and bawling day and night.Under these trying circumstances, marital discord took on a life of its own perhaps because, as Coreen accused, Troy had become hyper-critical of the wife he found increasingly irritating.“Why you always hatin on me?”she’d moped one morning. “You ain’t all that, yourself.”“That’s not what you blubbered when you begged me to marry you,”he’d muttered, still ruminating over how he’d allowed himself to be trapped.“Nigga, kiss my ass!”she’d vented“Your fat butt will never feel my sweet lips,”he’d snorted.In the dark, however, under the sheets, when creaking bedsprings were the only agitation and gasping outcries the only communication, truces could be called, and at least Troy was doing well on his job, having just gotten another upgrade.The following year, however, things took a turn for the worse when tragedy struck. His precious little sickly daughter had been diagnosed with a rare affliction that included progressive retardation and a life expectancy of no more than 3 years. If hearing this shocking news had devastated Troy, it had demonized Coreen, possessing her to viciously lash out at him …“If you hadn’t always been around puffin them cigarettes when I was pregnant, this woulda never happened!”she’d snarled.“And your guzzling Nyquil for every little sniffle couldn’t have helped matters,"he’d spat, wishing, indeed, that he had kicked the habit sooner.On and on it went. Stressed out and guilt-ridden, eventually focusing on the best available option, Troy had finally made the decision to take advantage of the tuition reimbursement program offered by his job, burying himself in the studies that helped to take his mind off his dying daughter and his deteriorating marriage.Sadly, his acquiring a degree had coincided with his losing a child, causing a grief-stricken Troy to withdraw even more after his pitiful little Treena had lost her struggle.It was while slumped on the side of their bed one evening that he’d snapped out of his mood, watching as a half–naked Coreen announced that it was time to start trying to make a “normal” baby.Stung by her choice of words, he became revolted as she began to perform a lewd belly dance, top-heavy and dimpled with cellulite, her grinding pelvis coaxing her stretch marks to crawl around her flabby gut, her neglected hygiene offending his nostrils. And then he knew. He’d had his fill. The time had come. The only thing he wanted to make, - was a walk out the goddamned door!Their divorce had been bitter and spiteful with Coreen getting everything but his car, his lap top, his exercise bike, and, only because her feet didn’t fit them, 4 pairs of Michael Jordan athletic shoes she’d bought him.Facing each other outside the courtroom, she had sneered at him, doing a good job of distorting what was left of her cuteness. "You gonna miss this good ol pussy,”she predicted, twirling the ends of her flowing new weave around the tips of her long, glittering fingernails.“I’ll manage,”was all he’d said, unmoved by what her low-cut, too-tight dress revealed. Then he’d turned his back and walked away, tuning out the spate of vile names she'd called after him.Those had really been trying times, Troy Briggs thought as he came to the end of a hall and entered the small nondescript office he would be now be occupying.Then, for some reason, Coreen’s parting words about missing sex came back to him. If she could see him now, he mused.Comparing his work place environment to that of a rooster in a hen house was not a stretch. Everywhere he turned, provocative prospects were ogling him, and already a perky little chick had put his pecker on alert.Yep, things were finally looking up.-
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Hi,
Starting tomorrow Monday, February 6th, installments of my novella "The Only One" will be appearing here on AALBC. To set the scene, and introduce the main characters, the first 2 chapters will start things off. Thereafter, depending on how long they are, either one or two chapters will run once a week.
I invite you all to tag along on this trip through the lives and loves of people all in pursuit of that elusive dream that delivers their "Only One". You'll smile, you'll sigh, you'll identify. But, most of all, I hope you'll enjoy. See Ya.
Cynique
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Hi,
Starting Monday, February 6th, installments of my novella "The Only One" will be appearing here on AALBC. To set the scene, and introduce the main characters, the first 2 chapters will start things off. Thereafter, depending on how long they are, either one or two chapters will run once a week.
I invite you all to tag along on this trip through the lives and loves of people all in pursuit of that elusive dream that delivers their "Only One". You'll smile, you'll sigh, you'll identify. But, most of all, I hope you'll enjoy. See Ya.
Cynique
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Hi,
Starting Monday February 6th, installments of my novella "The Only One" will be appearing on this board. To set the scene, and introduce the main characters, the first 2 chapters will start things off. Thereafter, depending on how long they are, either one or two chapters will run once a week.
I invite you all to tag along on this trip through the lives and loves of people all in pursuit of that elusive dream that delivers their "Only One". You'll smile, you'll sigh, you'll identify. But, most of all, I hope you'll enjoy. See Ya.
Cynique
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The young black people of our inner cities are so void of hope and vision that sex and violence and "the bling" are the only things that command their attention. Guns empower young black men. Motherhood gives teen age girls a sense of status. Material possessions are a substitute for self worth. Getting an education is a challenge.
When it comes to changing things, nothing seems to work. It's very depressing to realize that in the scheme of things, sometimes a turn-about never occurs until things get so bad that the only place to go is up.
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Writing is what writers do. They have something on their minds and they find the words to express it. We don't have to a Will Shakespeare or a Toni Morrison to put our stories out there. We just have to have a love of the craft and an appreciation for the readers we are able to connect with. Thanks, Felipe, for sharing your tale with Thumper's Corner. You contributed to the goal of making this literary forum a diverse one. Good Luck with your book!
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This is such a no-win situation. In addition to everything else, the kid who was shot was autistic.
Meanwhile, - the other news story making headlines in the Chicago press had to do with a prestigious suburban white high school, with a national reputation for excellence, currently being on lock-down because of the rampant drug dealing going on there. Authorities even confiscated the cell phones of all the students, as part of an investigation. Their parents are all up in arms considering this an invasion of privacy. Interviewed-on-TV-students seemed very nonchalant about the availability of drugs at their all -American high school...
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This poem is reminiscent of the haunting ballad that Billie Holiday made famous. It was entitled "Strange Fruit"; an allegory for black men hanging from trees.
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I've been occupied with the task of updating "The Only One" since it was orginally written 10 years ago, so I'm behind in my reading, not to mention that I've developed a short attention span, too. But checking out your book "The Velvet Closet" is on my" to-do" list.
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Black women and religion are hot button topics of mine, too, Writergirl.
I'm amused at how you and Kola seemed to have bonded. Why? Because she is the poster girl for self promotion and you, - who I've had to figure out just recently released a book, yourself, - have refrained from the hype, seemingly reluctant to plug "The Velvet Closet" You are modest to a fault, girlfriend. I am outing you.
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Hello,
Recently I was invoved in a project sponsored by a group known as ACAM, an organization which invited authors to utilize its site to make monthly installments of their books available on a pay-as-you-go basis. This plan, while innovative, was plagued with the gliches and complications that made its implemation problematic. So, now, I have elected to withdraw from the ACAM experiment and, instead, take advantage of the exposure provided by this site.
Thanks to the kind indulgence of AALBC’s founder, Troy Johnson, starting next Monday, I will be serializing my novella in a chapter-a-week format, right here on "Cynique’s Corner".
Hope you'e curious enough to check out "The Only One" episodes. Especially since the only thing you’ll have to spend is about 15 minutes a week of your time. Thanks!
Cynique
Carole Everly is bright, attractive and a lover of books. In fact, when it came to her romantic fiascos, she could’ve written one. Carole is also versatile which is why, in the absence of a steady boyfriend, she has currently found other diversions to embrace. These diversions suddenly take on a new twist when Troy Briggs swaggers into her place of employment and instead of deferring to the favorable reaction of Carole, he yields to the alluring distraction of their co-worker, Debbie Marlowe.
Recently-divorced, the survivor of a stormy marriage, cool, handsome Troy Briggs is back in the mix, hungry to sample a different flavor of seduction. Enter Debbie Marlowe. In addition to her luscious blond hair, and creamy vanilla skin, what Troy sees in her inviting blue eyes is what really stirs his appetite!
With the characters all cast, the stage is soon set for "the plot to thicken", and as the book unfolds, “The Only One” tells its story of how, with Troy Briggs as the prize, a plucky “sista girl" vies with a perky “Barbie doll” in the competition to nail this stud who makes their hearts pound.
Also stalking the plot is a vicious serial killer who has his own way of dealing with the rocky road to romance, and Carole Everly is just his type!
Full of drama, suspense, and humor, “The Only One” is an urban-contemporary slice of life, - a compelling novel that explores the complicated relationships that define black love.
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Hello,
Recently I was invoved in a project sponsored by a group known as ACAM, an organization which invited authors to utilize its site to make monthly installments of their books available on a pay-as-you-go basis. This plan, while innovative, was plagued with the gliches and complications that made its implemation problematic. So, now, I have elected to withdraw from the ACAM experiment and, instead, take advantage of the exposure provided by this site.
Thanks to the kind indulgence of AALBC’s founder, Troy Johnson, starting next Monday, I will be serializing my novella in a chapter-a-week format, right here on "Cynique’s Corner".
Hope you'e curious enough to check out "The Only One" episodes. Especially since the only thing you’ll have to spend is about 15 minutes a week of your time. Thanks!
Cynique
Carole Everly is bright, attractive and a lover of books. In fact, when it came to her romantic fiascos, she could’ve written one. Carole is also versatile which is why, in the absence of a steady boyfriend, she has currently found other diversions to embrace. These diversions suddenly take on a new twist when Troy Briggs swaggers into her place of employment and instead of deferring to the favorable reaction of Carole, he yields to the alluring distraction of their co-worker, Debbie Marlowe.
Recently-divorced, the survivor of a stormy marriage, cool, handsome Troy Briggs is back in the mix, hungry to sample a different flavor of seduction. Enter Debbie Marlowe. In addition to her luscious blond hair, and creamy vanilla skin, what Troy sees in her inviting blue eyes is what really stirs his appetite!
With the characters all cast, the stage is soon set for "the plot to thicken", and as the book unfolds, “The Only One” tells its story of how, with Troy Briggs as the prize, a plucky “sista girl" vies with a perky “Barbie doll” in the competition to nail this stud who makes their hearts pound.
Also stalking the plot is a vicious serial killer who has his own way of dealing with the rocky road to romance, and Carole Everly is just his type!
Full of drama, suspense, and humor, “The Only One” is an urban-contemporary slice of life, - a compelling novel that explores the complicated relationships that define black love.
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Don't underestimate the power of symbols, Troy. They are the pillars of an empire. Wars have been fought and power usurped under the banner of symbols and what they represent. The cross is probably the most powerful symbol in the western world.
Or am I suggesting that Obama give Miz Ann any undue attention. Obama is not the problem. Nobody is disappointed because he exercised restraint. One symptom of the "current state" of which you speak, is embodied by the conservative Republican governor of Arizona who, in her zeal to scold the president, ended up debasing the presidency. Obama-haters may love this, but concerned parties see this as a breakdown in tradtion that could be the start of a bad trend. Some kind of decorum has to be maintained to preserve the sanctity of the government, just on a matter of principle.
I didn't need too much encouragement to sit out this upcoming election, but you certainly make a good case for doing so, since putting Obama back in office will just be an exercise in futility inasmuch he will be beholden to the monied. Sounds like it makes more sense to vote for somebody like Romney who won't be at odds with Wall street, and can then get the country back on track because a healthy economy is good for capitalism and what's good for capitaism is good for the rich, Whatever. I'm done...
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Well, Troy, it can't be said that the presidency is the tool of corporate America which was proved by how Obama bailed out the banks and the auto industry, and then make the claim that Republicans oppose him because it's all about money. Seems to me that politics is what it's all about, and the best tool Republicans have in re-capturing the white house is to appeal to the fear and baser instincts of white American voters. Race still matters.
Kennedy got his brains blown out and he became a martyr by default. HIs short time in office was riddled with missteps and vascillation and tainted with infidelity and cronyism. Because of his death, we'll never know whether he would've lived up to the myth that keepers of the "Camelot" flame have crafted for him. And he may have not even been re-elected because of the Vietnam war, a conflict which was escalating because of America's need to portray itself as the good guys with a mission to destroy the Communist boogie men. Extricating this country from that war proved to be a formidible task as LBJ found out, - all of which is why he declined to run for re-election. Agreed, Kennedy's terrible fate was bad for him, but great for his legacy. Obama may yet live out his life, safe and sound, but destined to go down in history as an ineffective head of state who failed in his mission to bring change for the better.
And polarizing is not about alienating Obama's followers. It's about pitting the left and the right against each other, creating a state of affairs that is not in the best interest of America's future progress.
So what if the governor of Arizona acted out? As an elected official she should've known better, but her disregard for respecting her commander-in-chief came across as a courageous gesture to anti-government right-wingers, and her finger-wagging played into the simmering resentment of Republicans, frustrated with an uppity black president who has threatened to override certain Senate rulings.
As for Obama's reaction to this incident, he did what he had no choice but to do. Which was to walk away because he didn't dare retaliate against "Miz Ann". He at least tried to preserve the dignity of the office.
Yes, every president is vulnerable to personal and physical attacks by those who know how empowering it is to bring down the holder of the highest office in the land. So, it's about symbolism. That's why there is so much outrage when protestors burn the American flag. Once you start devaluing what this country stands for, the nation is in deep trouble. I am not a rabid patriot or an Obama champion but if America falls, it will begin with acts defiance against the esteem of the presidency. And if America falls, the proverbial shit will hit the fan.
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Come on, Troy. The guy who threw the shoe at Bush was an irate Arab at a foreign press conference. In addition to the instances Writergirl cited, no president in recent history has had their veracity disputed by a senator during a state of the union address. Yes, there have been disgruntled wackos who have made assassination attempts on presidents, a few of which were successful, but the "old white lady" getting in Obama's face was the conservative Republican governor of the state of Arizona. Not only did her stance endear her to a certain segment of the population, but by blemishing the tradition of respecting The Office, if not The Man, it also offended many white citizens. Its polarizing impact in an election year is why it remains newsworthy.
This woman has now become the poster girl who will go down in infamy for doing what an assassination would not have done: Instead of turning Obama into a martyr, her demeaning gesture turned him into a "dissed nigga".
If black folks have overreacted to this gaffe, it's because such incidents reinforce their perception that racism is at the core of Republican opposition to all of Obama's proposals.
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Has anybody not seen this hilarious video??
Check out the below commentary on the Arizona governor finger-pointing incident.
1.) He is the President. She is being disrespectful. As hell. Period. Point Blank. End of Discussion.
2.) White privilege conditions white people not to see white rage. However, it makes them hyper-aware of Black threat. Newt Gingrich is white rage personified. And for it, he gets loads of applause. So is Jan Brewer, but usually we think of white rage in masculine terms. Gender stereotypes condition us not to see white women as being capable of this kind of dangerous emotional output. We reserve our notions of female anger for Black women. Such hidden race-gender logics allow Brewer to assert that she “felt threatened,” even though she was trying to handle the situation “with grace.” Now look back at the picture: who is threatening whom? Couple white rage with white women’s access to the protections that have been afforded to their gender, and you have something that looks ironically like white female privilege. Yes (yes, yes), the discourse of protection is based upon problematic and sexist stereotypes of white women as dainty and unable to care for themselves, and yes, these stereotypes have caused white women to be oppressed by white men. But remember, gender does not exist in a racial vacuum. It is performed in highly racialized contexts, and history proves that what constitutes oppression for white women in relation to white men, dually constitutes privilege for white women in relation to Black men. (I’m not spoiling for a fight today, so anybody who feels uncomfortable with such assertions should probably go read some Patricia Hill Collins, Black Sexual Politics and then try again.) What I know is this: 100 years ago (less than, actually) a Black man even standing that close to a white woman would’ve gotten him lynched. (Seriously, I just discovered that even accommodationist Booker T. Washington was beaten in New York in 1911 for talking to a white woman.) And I know that if a Black woman had wagged her finger at Bush II or even Bill Clinton, we would have seen her faced down, handcuffed, with Secret Service swarming. When your race and gender grant you opportunities to be treated with dignities that others don’t have or conversely, to heap indignities on those people, that is what we call privilege. Deal with it
crunkfeministcollective.wordpress.com
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What a compelling discussion this thread has turned out to be, mainly because the subject is so timely. I just wish that my attention span wasn't so short, contrary to way it used to be when I was a young avid reader. Which is to say, I now have a difficult time getting through long books, particularly fictional ones. So, I certainly appreciate Minnie E. Miller's review of "Braver Deeds", and envy how, as a woman in my age bracket, she read this book so fast. You go, girl! As usual, Writergirl's incisive input was on point, and of course Troy’s contribution gave a spin commensurate with his expertise. Kudos to everybody who participated in this debate.
The question that has lingers in my mind in regard to this discussion is that if I criticize a white writer for writing about blacks, could a white person criticize a black person for writing about whites?
Maybe. But in my opinionated view, I tend to believe that black people know white people better than white people know black people. Why? Because for 400 years Blacks have had to operate at a disadvantage when interacting with Whites, and in order to cope with the entitlement and assumption of superiority that white people don’t even realize they have, Blacks have had to figure out the white psyche, and come up with ways to manipulate it. Hence our double consciousness. White people, however, are in many way clueless when it comes to scoping out Blacks. So, yes, when it comes to fiction, the story transcends the ethnicity. But when it comes to portraying characters of another race, black authors have the edge.
As for the Alex Cross character in James Patterson books, I haven’t read all of the entries in this series but I was never completely impressed with the handling of him. The aim came across as a token gesture in its attempt to cast Alex as a guy whose race was incidental. Doing this, however, requires no writing skill and does nothing but rob Cross of his uniqueness.
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Interesting, writergirl. You are certainly a welcome contributor to the aalbc forum, particularly because you give a personal touch to the posts wherein you express yourself so well. Slavery was such a blemish on America's history, wasn't it?
It was recently called to my attention that conspicuous in its absence from the 10 Comandments is the forbidding of one person keeping another one in bondage. This kind of begs the question as to where Americans of West African descent would be today if there had been no slave trade. It's like slavery was all a part of grand plan that went wrong. Too bad our forefathers could not have immigrated to the Promised Land the way Europeans did. Too bad also that being indentured sevants was not an option for them. Then maybe there wouldn't be this slavery hang-over that contributes to the negative things about our present life style and its mentality. What doesn't kill you has been touted as being that which makes you stronger. Slavery didn't kill its survivors, and while this may have something to do with making Blacks stronger, it also played a part in damaging our spirit.
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What I discovered over the years is that all problems don't have solutions. And sex, unfortunately, has evolved into such a problem because nowadays it can be hazardous to your health. Livin in the moment, enjoying mind-blowin sex can end up blowin your mind, indeed, if you get herpes or HIV or worst yet - A BABY and the dead beat daddy that comes with it.
Condoms a deal breaker? Trojans have come up with an alternative for vulnerable single women by now putting out a line of personal massagers, a product for which this reliable old brand is currently running an ad campaign on TV. Have times changed, or what? I've just become de-sensitized to graphic ads for tampons, - and now this. Vibrators, y'all. Booty calls challenging your resistance? Just conjure up a fantasy and crank up your ol handy titillating dildo.
(Like I need to tell anyone this.)Life is full of little ironies. Seems like everything we enjoy is bad for us! It's like De Lawd is punishing us for not being uptight and chaste until we decide we want to fulfill our duty to be fruitful and multiply. It's enough to make you lose your religion.
What needs to be developed is a vaccination that would immunize humans against STDS. Then everybody could just enjoy themself doing what comes naturally. A pregnancy vaccine ain't a bad idea, either, if it could be reversed when just cause is given for bringing a child into this crazy world.
Beat Newt to the punch, Obama, and include this agenda in your re-election campaign, White people would vote for you in droves since they think this deterrent would only apply to black folks.
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AMAZING!! I assuming that Layton was a Tuskegee airman because that's where all of the black airmen were trained. At that time there was no Air Force as we know it today. Back then, the air force was a division of the Army. I can still see Roosevelt, now, wearing his leather bomber jacket with its fleece collar and an "ace cap" with goggles pulled back on his head. Thank you!
BTW, I only mentioned the Spielburg /Lucas thing because Spielburg has a controversial history in regard to black movies due to his affiliation with "The Color Purple" which met with disapproval by many in the black community because it portrayed black men in a bad light. I think after that, Spielburg became a little gun-shy when it came to directing black movies...
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Troy, you keep giving Steven Spielberg "credit" for this movie which he had nothing to do with. His "Star Wars" partner George Lucas is who financed and produced it. I understand that the 19 million dollar second place box office take was twice the amount "Red" Tails was projected to open at. Black ticket buyers were probably the major audience this movie attracted, and they are apparently content to be entertained, caring nothing about cliches and stereotypes or critical reviews or who reaps the profits. Consumerism not capitalism is what defines the black community. Too bad that when it comes to "spending", money on enjoyment rather than time on education is what it involves.
As an aside, during WWII, my older sister met a Tuskegee airman at a USO center in Chicago and he became of of her many penpals when he went off to war. He sent her a picture of himself in full flight gear, and it sat on her dresser all during the war. I don't know whatever happened to him or the picture, but I certainly wish it had been saved. Little did I know then, that the good lookin guy staring out from that frame was someone one who belonged to an elite and legendary group that would one day become famous. I do remember his name. It was Roosevelt Layton. And 70 years later, I salute him. Better late than never.
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"The Help" 's white author did give a fairly accurate portrayal of the white characters, but I would agree that she only succeeded in making the black protagonist sympathetic, an obligation she fulfilled by portraying her as humble and long-suffering, the kind of black person white people love to relate to .
Now, Viola Davis is being showered with awards that will probably include an Oscar nomination for her role in "The Help", a part which was really nothing more than that of a latter-day mammy. This is no reflection on the talent of Viola who is a fine actress but I do think it's kinda patronizing to pat her on the head for doing an adequate job with a role that simply required her to repress her fortitude and exude meekness.
Critics and audiences also appreciated supporting actress candidate Octavia Spencer's feisty black woman character, another way Hollywood likes to feature actresses of color. Oh, well. That's what the powerless have to deal with. I suppose we should just be grateful for how the bad ol white antagonist got her just desserts in this movie and the god-fearing black maid survived to endure another misty-eyed day.
Bonus Chapter of "The Only One"
in Culture, Race & Economy
Posted
CHAPTER 3
Relaxing on a plump leather couch, tired from her day’s work, a hungry Carole Everly was the centerpiece of a cozy room where, all around her, tables held lamps, house plants bloomed, a diverse collection of art work lined the walls, African figurines occupied the nooks, and dozens of titles filled the book cases. Home sweet home. Her 4-room apartment.
Forking up the last of her shrimp fried rice before gobbling down her egg roll, as soon as she read what the fortune cookie had to say, Carole would be ready to enter the second phase of a daily ritual which would begin with a phone call to her mother for an up date on the latest family news.
Hanging up after suffering through a rambling report that rarely revealed anything of interest, Carole would then log on to her computer, check her e-mail, scroll down her FaceBook page, skim over The Huffington Post blog, browse through the African American Literary Book Club forums, and maybe Google somebody’s name or consult Wikipedia about a subject she’d come across and was curious about.
After pouring herself a goblet of Merlot, she’d next flip through the channels and decide which TV show to leave on. As for actually watching, this would be an exercise in multi-tasking, sharing attention with her favorite pass-time: reading.
From as far back as 3rd grade, Carole had established a love affair with the printed word, and over the years, reading had become her love, her passion; maybe even her compulsion. So she read. And read. And read. Everything. Popular fiction as well as best-selling nonfiction, classic literature, biographies, memoirs, historical documentaries, self-help books, magazines, tabloids, newspapers. In fact, her mind was so saturated with knowledge and trivia that she was able to call out an astounding number of correct answers when watching JEOPARDY!
“Carole, Carole, Carole,” was what amazed friends would say, repeating the name that was the only way to define her. She was, who she was. Carole.
Heading up her reading list this evening was her newly-arrived ESSENCE magazine. Skimming its table of contents, then searching through a haystack of high fashion layouts and ads for cosmetics and hair care, she finally found the needle: an article about office romances. What advice would be offered when, upon meeting your new supervisor, your coochie quivered???
A bit later, article finished, question unanswered, daily crossword puzzle worked, wine glass emptied, Carole reached for her phone, ready to touch bases with Wanda Ewing, the BFF who someone had once described as being “Carole on steroids”. An apt observation since the slight resemblance between Carole and her bigger, bolder pal could create that impression.
Working at different branches of the same parent company, Wanda’s specialty was harassing customers who were behind in their bills, something for which she was obviously better-suited than Carole.
“Hey, girl,” Carole greeted when Wanda picked up on the third ring. “What’s up?”
“You,” Wanda replied, taking a drag off her Newport.
“I’m up all right,” Carole confirmed. “In fact, I’m almost levitating because, would you believe, my libido got a jolt today?”
“You're doing what because of why???”
“I was just settling in, tired and stressed.”
“Settling in where?”
“At work!"
“Oh.”
“I told you Lillian Moore is retiring, right?"
“Right.”
“Well, they brought a replacement in today from the north side branch.”
“And?”
“He’s a brotha. ‘Looks to be in his late 20s or early 30s. And he’s fione!”
“Single?”
“He wasn’t wearing a ring.”
“Thought you were on hiatus.”
“I’m on a mission to screen eligible men, not reject them. And you know how I believe in fate. Maybe this Troy Briggs was sent to me by my Spiritual Muse!”
“Uh-huh.”
“And you know what else?”
“What else?”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“No shit.”
“Yeah. If a twice-divorced male comedian can write a book advising ladies how to ‘think like a man’, then I can write one telling ladies how to masquerade as femme fatales.”
“Something for which you likewise have no qualifications.”
Undaunted by this dig, Carole resumed. “The first step would be to get a guy to fall in like with you! Once you win his fondness, proceed to seduce him with your brain instead of your vagina, - let your smartness clue him to the thin line between intimidation and intimacy, - excite him by making him wonder how this would translate in the bed - turn curiosity into arousal, - surrender into satisfaction, - lust into love!”
Carole closed her eyes. “I just have a feeling this Troy-person would be an ideal guy to test my theory on, and produce not only a best-seller but a hot new boyfriend!”
Wanda grunted. “Maybe you ain’t been divorced twice, but at least you got the comedian part down pat.”
“Very funny.”
“Runnin a game like that only works for ho’s like - Cleopatra.”
“For all you know I might have been Cleopatra in another life,” Carole said, a possibility she’d been fantasizing about, having just finished a book about the Queen of the Nile.
“Yeah, and I was your girlfriend, Nefertiti,” Wanda quipped.
“Or the asp that bit me,” Carole said in reference to the snake that had finished off Mark Anthony's "main squeeze".
“In hopes that you’d forget about wastin your time tryin to intrigue some knuckle head, " Wanda explained. "You know damn well while a broad's brain is talkin, a dude's dick is listenin.”
“Nobody could ever accuse you of being a romantic.”
“Just tryin to keep you grounded, Cleo.”
“Well, - you can’t blame me for wanting to capitalize on the old reliable formula of selling new ways to dispense old wisdom.”
“If this Troy-nigga is all that, he probably already got him somebody,” Wanda said, squashing both her cigarette and Carole’s enthusiasm before changing the subject.
Tuning out Wanda's grumbling, idly staring down at the little slip of paper resting on the end table next to her, the fortune cookie’s message caught Carole’s eye: “Man’s mind is not a container to be filled but rather a fire to be kindled.“
Take that, Nefertiti.
Later, ready to retire, Carole changed into her PJs and while applying cocoa-butter moisturizer to her freshly-scrubbed face, she saw that NIGHTLINE’s lead story was “the prison industry” and as the TV camera panned in on a jail corridor where an assembly line of predominately-black, pumped up, dick-swinging, hot-eyed products of institutionalized racism were shuffling along, going no place but to waste, Carole sympathized with all the lonely losers, in and out of jail, everywhere, each one probably telling himself that if…
…anybody could make a bitch scream it was him, the figure pulling out of a quivering body was thinking as he and the Miles Davis CD finished their performances at the same time. Now, it was getting late. Time to dump his exhausted guest.
“Silly-ass heifas,” he muttered, removing his condom. “Too bad they have to learn the hard way that plain guys can fuck, too.
Settled into her bed, Carole thoughts again turned to the plight of lonely people, - the female ones, all alone, snuggling up with their dreams, each one telling herself that she was just what a good man needed to rock his world!
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Don’t miss Chapter 4 when Carole Everly and Troy Briggs have a face to face encounter….