I'm Still Here Suckers

I heard this morning that I died last night. I had to pinch myself. It has been a dream of mine to actually be in the 'rumor mill'.
I have, up till now, lived a life of relative obscurity. Going about my day to day business under the radar.
Not true.
Everyone and their mother knows me, I have succesfully been in three places at one time. I do not know how I accomplish these amazing feats; being the subject of someone's fabricated story is an unusual skill. I will try to pass on what I know to anyone interested in being the subject of a false story.
It helps if you have a controversial reputation built on legendary acts of debauchery and 'devil may care' mayhem.
It also helps if you have an enigmatic personality prone to alienate almost everyone around you.
Talk about science and politics a lot.
Talk about the inequities that have created two distinct societies here in Central New York.
Work with any controversial character you can find and back them up.
Go out at three in the morning and walk the streets.
Get involved with current rumors and help them grow.
Eat a lot. You may wonder why I say eat a lot. The food helps put on pounds . Pounds limit physical movement which increases mental activity. Interest in television, more food, and rumors is a by product of a over healthy appetite. The television helps some people with creativity, but only those who totally lacked it before.
If you are already creative stay away from excess food and T.V. you already have a good rumor ready to be born.

38 For The first time

Tommorow August 5, 2007 I will turn 38 yrs old. By the grace of God I made it this far. I am so fortunate to be alive and relatively healthy.

I think about the wreckage of my past and I have to acknowledge that I am blessed.

In 1998 I was living in Oakland California; I worked for a guy named Bill King. One of his buddies, a crazy redhead, German chess(gun) fanatic named Linger told me. "Dancy, if you make it to forty you are doing something right". It sounded good at the time but as I reflect I realize that survival is not enough.

I have always wanted more but my self esteem told me I could not have it. I am screwed up or I am going to screw it up. I never got in the game because I was scared to play. I always wanted to be 'normal', accepted, liked and valuable. Now I don't care.

I am almost 38 and I am blessed. I thought I would share a few of the moments in time where everything stood still and my very existence hung in the balance.

8yrs old- playing with my sisters friends I end up falling head first down the stairs; I saw white light and was out for a few minutes. Who knows how bad It was.

10yrsold- visiting my grandparents in Utica during the winter we had a blow out on interstate 90. we end up doing four 360's before getting in the emergency lane and actually changing the tire. It was a miraculous act of God that we did not get killed. I vividly remember my mother grasping me and my sister in an impromptu bear hug as the tilt- a -whirl station wagon did its thing. The scariest part was seeing the headlights behind us not knowing how long we were spinning.

8-13yrsold- driving with my father had numbed my nerves to the point of fearlessness. I instinctively gripped armrests and door handles when I sat in the passengers seat. I was in a constant state of 'brace'. To this day I do not enjoy being a passenger. To my father's credit I was eventually able to relax. When I was thirteen he went into recovery. He died sober.

13yrsold- In Richmond California on my way home from school I saw shootout. A big Samoan was shot in the head and chest, he died.

15yrsold- I just bought a fish tank in North Oakland it was getting dark and I had beef with a kid in that neighborhood; he knew I was around, no one else would have shot at me. The scariest part was the whizz of a bullet, it sounds like a fast moving wasp. A bullet tickled my ear that is how I learned what a bullet sounds like zzzzzing.

22yrsold- West side of Chicago I was sitting on the hood of one our friends car, same thing as North Oakland but there were a lot of zzzzings.

The next sixteen years is chock full of action packed incidents that helped strengthen my faith in God.

But the one that stands out the most was March 14, 2005.

I will never forget that day.

She knows what I am talking about

Understand the Misunderstood

Michael Vick is misunderstood

I know I am certainly going to raise a few eyebrows. After all, defending popular culture's latest villian will put me in the same territory as O.J. fans.

Its o.k.

I feel if I thoroughly explain my position you can at least identify with some key points.

For one, Mike Vick is an athlete that engages in the most brutal team sport in the history of man not counting the gladiators and war. It is not a stretch for him to have a little less pity for those engaged in battle. If you have ever played football beyond the sandlot you can attest to the violence of the game. Actually there are some pretty brutal injuries on the sandlot too.

Football is a fight without weapons, a gang rumble with pads and whistles. It is also a multi-billion dollar enterprise at its height in popularity in a country fighting a war. Once again the ongoing theme here is brutality; football is a bloodsport played by noble men pitfighting is also a bloodsport and the dogs in the pit are no less noble.

That is the view of the warrior. Fight to win.

The dogs thrown on the scrapheap, dead, half dead or suffering are terrible casualties. In my mundane world it is unfathomable to even think about a regular dog disposal method.

How do you think an NFL general manager decides what to do with a useless player who sacrificed his body and future health to win a few extra games and play a few extra snaps. They are discarded,symbolically, in the same way. There are plenty of guys who played football that probably would have lived a lot longer had they not played the game.

I won't even get into the growing popularity of mixed martial arts. When the UFC first came out it was equal in brutality to any pitbull fight. They had to pass legislation to prevent death.

These are people fighting!! Two men , eager to get it on. The first one to lose consiousness or tap out loses. Sounds just like a pitbull fight.

Boxing has the same rules, two men ,eager to fight, the loser taps out or loses conscience.

Pitbulls, like or not, have been bred for a few hundred years to do what they do: pull down cattle and fight. They like to do both. They actually like it. I have seen dogs after a fight with a light in their eyes that can only be triumph.They gain a wisdom through victory, answers to problems you never would want to solve.

It is the same for the forty year old boxer who relies on his wits more than his speed, all his knowledge acquired at the expense of his lower left jaw. Then he loses. Its over.

Over for good.

Vick sees himself in everyone one of those losses; he knows some day he will be thrown on the scrap heap. When he can't run as fast when he can't throw as far they will throw him away just like a pitbull that's to old to scratch(fight).

I'm pretty sure Mike has one or two dogs that he has retired.

Now they are studs.

Unemployed and Loving It?

I was informed last week that my current job is being eliminated. I just got back from vacation; before I left my boss threatened to suspend me for a week for taking a long lunch and being insubordinate(I live right down the street from the office).

The fact is I am underpaid, I have been for years but I do not have a leg to stand on because I should be grateful to have a job. Suspending me was ridiculous especially if you can't pay me anyway, that is the way things turned out- no vacation pay- they got their free hours out of me and I should be grateful to hang around and use the computer. I don't want to even get into advertising commissions and the upcoming storm developing around that. All I know if anyone is getting paid and I'm not, it is criminal.

I am valuable to my organization because of my low wage. If I had a degree I would have more market value; I would also be a financial burden. It is a catch 22. I would rather just volunteer, come in when I want, not be obligated to do anything; then I would not complain.

Because of all the promises I can be justified in my frustration; I could wallow in the truth of MY story. I like what I do regardless of money. What I don't like is being taken for granted and I cannot help but feel that way. I have watched other people step in and make more than I do with half the responsibility after I was promised a raise multiple times.

It went from "Hell, we'll take out a mortgage on our building ,you are going to get your raise" to "Guys I don't know how we are going to pay you" in seven days.

All the while daycare just increased to $145.00 per week. It is no secret why people turn to crime. My rent is due and I have no vacation or regular paycheck. Oh yeah, I got an 'advance'? on my commission. That translates to you are getting no more money. It will be a MIRACLE if i get paid.

For some of you this may be TMI but I have to vent or I will snap.

Two years ago I took the responsibility to help facilitate The Study Buddy Club. At the time it was sixty kids, some not even in school or chronic truants. The program was in disarray, in fact, I am sure if it would have continued without some sort of intervention the program would have been cut short. Study Buddy would surely be gone.


I got rid of the riff-raff; I was riff-raff so I am qualified to make that assessment. We set some standards for grades and behavior.The framework, was there-the program was in its third year- but the manpower wasn't; that is where my value comes in. I basically did it for free. I was liberated as a result and found myself enrolled in a powerful idea.

My needs have been lost in that idea I am becoming the very charity case that we deal with. People that need jobs, education, help paying their rent.

It is sad. I am now a charity case.

Barry's Day

It's Barry's birthday!!!! His first birthday. I am beside myself with joy. The first year of his life has been the most important year of my life.

Despite being flat broke we have been able to keep him warm, clean and happy. My primary job is to keep the world at bay until he is ready for it. So far so good.

His mother, God bless her, has been there to clear an obstacle free path to his toddler stage of development. I play it by ear I know he is going to fall on his butt more times than I can count but his mother is determined to minimize that number.

No matter what, he soldiers on, stumbling through the living room with his favorite dumptruck as support; a sort of 'child walker'. He gives us a blow by blow commentary on his activities
as he expertly positions his feet to deftly lower himself and maybe pick something up.

I know a lot of kids his age are already walking. Barry is different, he knows he can get assistance and will vocally request any time he feels the need. In fact, I have left him standing in the middle of the room- out of his mothers view of course- he would look at me , frown up, then make a bee line straight to my legs laughing the whole way. You know, the guffaw laughs only kids can do. I am sure he is smarter than I was.

I sang happy birthday to him this morning and he knew what day it was. I am happy for him.

My son.

Family Reunions

I love family reunions, I have been going to them all my life. Back in 70's we traveled thousands of miles during peak summer with no air conditioning to go to reunions.

To me, at the time, enduring these extreme conditions was more a reflection of my fathers need to be macho. I was wrong, my father new our history as black folks in America; enduring a few hot summer days to connect with family was something we HAD to do.

I know other ethnic groups in America have family reunions but with Black America it is a phenomenon.

Some of my European(white) friends can trace their family roots back five generations or more. Due to historical circumstances we can't even get an accurate birth certificate for my Grandmother. The challenge of keeping family together during slavery was also impossible. My father was always disturbed about not really knowing where we came from. The family reunion provided a means for him to stay in touch, to keep the blood bonds strong.

I saw it as another situation where cute girls were untouchable. As an adult I can appreciate the importance. I did not fully realize how important until I learned our shared history as slaves, slaveowners, victims and victimizers.

We have made it, we are stronger today than we were yesterday. Despite all the grim statistics about black health and achievement I have examples right in front of me that we are here to stay and the world is a better place.

I hate when people talk about 'the good ol days' you will never here that talk at a family reunion. Today is 'the good ol' days' we celebrate that journey that we have made as Americans . We will spend billions annually to hold our reunions in places that would not even let us work thirty years ago. Many of us have enjoyed a couple of generations of prosperity
and the level of preparation has improved. The macaroni salad and accompanying upset stomachs of the past have been replaced with catered events leaving out the possibility of salmonella. The cooking wasn't that bad but you know what I mean.

We are networking with each other and are establishing new lines of communication. The growth curve is getting steeper and future generations are going to benefit. We have been part of something good, we are part of something good and it is getting better.

I know where I am going because I know where I am from.

Gangs: Who's problem is it?

When I think of streetgangs in Utica the first question I ask myself: Do I know a gang member? The answer: I don't think so.

Crips, Bloods MS13 don't seem to have a chapter here. I think even the Freemason's may have problems recruiting in Utica.

I could be wrong, but I do not think there is practical way to measure gang activity outside of jail.

Drug dealing, murder and drive-bys are the informal earmarks law enforcement looks for. But what do you do in a community that already had those earmarks sans the gang graffitti? I think it is a matter of perception. There have been people in Utica combatting streetgangs for fifteen years. They thought there was a gang problem then.

Crime and Gangs are nothing new to Utica what is new is the awareness. It is not as if Utica suddenly woke-up and the Gangs snuck in over night.

Gangs were, that is , they used to be, a by-product of disenfranchisement, during a time of rampant institutional racism the average black man was condemned to the inner city by segregation forced to compete amongst his own for few meager scraps (limited living wage jobs).

Different groups of men from the same neighborhood, with nothing to do all day, began to hang together, a charismatic member of the group gave them a name, then they began to talk about their dreams and their realities and , most important, their struggles. This scenario played out all over the American inner cities during the civil rights era. The revolutionary rhetoric, the dream of total freedom,was being lived through these groups. They didn't fear police, they lived according to and created their own set of rules and laws. They created their own governing bodies. The original mission of many 'Nations' was independence from 'the man', protection from the police and peace of mind.

Police behaved a lot differently in the city back in those days. The noose of racism has loosened its death grip but the marks remain, gangs account for the societal scars endured by generations of people cheated out of their dreams.

Gangs are by-product of poverty, illliteracy and indifference. They survive on cynicism, hopelessness and greed. Now they are profitable. Not only on the streetcorner but Wallstreet as well.

Gang culuture has gone corporate, just look around at all the products our young people are wearing. The gang symbolism is rampant everywhere and for the well informed, it appears to be a mainstream phenomenon.

What are your kids wearing. Do they know the 'crip walk'? Do all their friends wear the same colors and do funny hand shakes?

The sciences of sales and marketing has been applied to 'do-rags' , bandanas, and even prison apparel. The street culture has redefined what it means to be a 'gangsta'. They are after your kids, corporate America says: "there is money in this gang thing just like the grunge thing".
Stay tuned for Crips cereal" Crips are for kids!!!!

The suits of 'The Dapper Don', the traditional gangster image, have been replaced with oversized jeans, giant chains, and even bigger medallions. The richest and most successful thugs in Americsan history on the wrong side of the law will never be known; that is gang culture.

Do all these things exist in Sin City er' Utica?