"They Know Something's Wrong.....

but nobody will say it."

That is the sentiment hip-hop artist David Banner is professing in his newest single. The Mississippian addresses the recent, but not uncommon, violent deaths of none other than young black males. Banner specifically highlights the killing of Derrion Albert, the 16-year-old honor student who's assassination took place in broad daylight. Honestly Albert's story would have gone unnoticed - out of sight and out of mind - if it hadn't been for the video footage of his death. The same footage that scored multiple hits on YouTube and your local news circuit. And yet, the media forgot his story for the failure of hosting the Olympics. And I believe Obama has yet to address the issues in his hometown.

But the issue isn't just confined to Chicago. Days later the media storm continued to rain with the story of Kevin Miller, a Queens black honor student on his way to McDonald's; his mother's reward for finishing his homework. In the wake of trouble, he attempts to evade a fight, only to be struck by some punk's bullet. A suspect has yet to be found. Miller's family, like Albert's, struggles to finance an appropriate burial, Jackson and Sharpton have their PR parade, and the camera fades to black to focus on a family bent on gaining reality TV stardom.

Maybe the third time is the charm? How ironic.

Twenty-year-old Jasper Howard, a junior UConn star cornerback with a child on the way, escaped the dangers of his Miami neighborhood, only to be stabbed to death at a Homecoming party last weekend.

Now, do we have the public's attention? Do we have our own attention? Do we realize we can no longer blame "him" or "them?" Do we know we can no longer react? Can we see that Obama is not going to save us? (And he shouldn't have too.) Have we, as a people, ever relied on any other man to solve our problems; to secure our freedom; to teach our children; to love one another; to know black is beautiful; to know we are somebody?

Than why do we do it now. Something's wrong and we are the only ones that can fix it.

Unnecesary Harrassment for Pointing Out Someone's Wrong Doing

Hey everyone. My name is Inisha McCorvey and I want to make an announcement. There was an incident that occurred yesterday afternoon before the homecoming game that really upset me and I want to vent about it a little bit. The dorms I stay in are co-ed but on my floor it's women only and the floor below is men only, however we are allowed guests of either sex in our rooms. I personally don't have a problem with that but I do have a problem with the men using our bathrooms. My R.A. even posted a sign saying women only. But apparently we have people who either don't know how to read or are just inconsiderate and childish to follow these simple rules. I think it's a bunch of little freshmen girls who think that because they think they are grown and are away from Mommy and Daddy that they can do whatever they want. NEWS FLASH PEOPLE: THIS IS OUR BATHROOM SHARED BY EVERYONE ON THIS FLOOR, NOT JUST ONE RESIDENT!!! It's disgusting, unsafe, inconsiderate, and uncomfortable to go in and out of the shower in a towel or robe and there is a huge guy in the bathroom acting like this is his personal bathroom at his house or something. I'm not calling anyone's boyfriend a rapist but at the same time, I don't know him, what he is thinking, or what he is capable of. It's already bad enough we have to share the bathroom with 20-something odd other females who some either don't wash their hands after wiping their ass, leave fur balls in the shower drains, or leave their used feminine products on the floor instead of in the trash been above the tissue paper. That is sick and nasty. So the incident I'm addressing is yesterday my cousin tells me she had to wait to take a shower because two guys were occupying them. So when I go in there and take a shower no one is there but a few minutes before I get out I hear male voices. At this point I'm pissed and I'm not taking this anymore because this has happened before. So I grab my things and cover myself tight and I approach the two guys. I said "Are you suppose to be in here?" They said "Yea, we think so." I said "No, this is a women only bathroom and you're suppose to use the one downstairs with the guys because It's uncomfortable coming in and out of here and there are dudes in a women only bathroom." They claimed they were sorry but I didn't believe them and walked out. An hour or two goes by and I happen to leave the room for something when I notice on my door on my writing board that someone wrote "dirty sluts." My cousin had left the room already so she didn't see it. But when she came back she seen I had a few choice words of my own on the board. She erased it saying don't stoop to their level which she is right about. However, when she left again someone wrote "I love black dick." Now I don't know about you but I find that racist. (Out of the 56 girls on this floor, there are 6 black females and my cousin and I are among them. Now if we were white like almost all of the girls on this floor would "black dick" have been written. I don't think so. I love and accept everyone of all races, ethnicities, and cultures so I'm not trying to make this into a race thing other than the comment that was made towards me and my cousin.) Now, my cousin and I keep to ourselves so we don't associate with anyone on our floor and because of this, no one has ever written anything on our board. I have an idea of who it is because I seen through my peephole the girls and one of the guys I said something to in the bathroom earlier walk by my room. They looked at the sign and one of the girls ran her hand across my response back to them as if saying "\Whatever. Who cares what she says." Plus I heard male voices coming from the other side of the hall where I suspect those girls live. I would very much like to have a floor meeting and call these people out and get to the bottom of this because we are all adults. And just like how I came to those guys nicely (even though I had a little attitude in my voice) and spoke to them as an adult, then they should show me the respect and come to me like an adult if they have a problem with what I said instead of being childish and writting harrassing racist comments on our door as if we are not going to find out who it is. But all I'm saying is, I'm not tolerating harrassment nor racism towards me or anyone especially since my ancestors fought so hard so that I wouldn't have to tolerate it. No one has to. This is an issue that needs to be addressed more and needs to have something done about it immediately. Because I know for damn sure that these females don't know me and they will not be disrespecting me, my cousin, or anyone else because someone was fed up with their bullshit and called them out for what not only myself but other people felt was wrong. 

Al, What's With the WWE Appearance?

So I saw Sharpton on WWE Raw right...wtf.  This dude is Rollo Goodlove for real.  He'll do anything for television time.  First he shadowed Joe Jackson through the whole death of the king situation, now he's shaking hands with The Bigshow.  He went there to challenge young people on education.  It was a good cause, but why commercialize it?   What happened to the "I Have a Dream Speeches" at National Mall, or the "I May Not Get There With You Speeches" at the churches.  If he wants to be the so called protege of Martin Luther King Jr., then he has to stick to the martyr's methods.

Al Sharpton has a record of thirstiness for T.V. time as we all know.  No need to get into all of that.  We need to no longer recognize him as one of our leaders.  Although throughout history our leaders attracted attention, the attention they attracted was through action and not thirstiness.  For example, thirstiness is going up to McMahon and saying, "Yo Vince mine if I take my Rollo Goodlove ass on your show."

People Dethrone this him.  Go Jesse...keep it up.  Al Sharpton is just like the preachers residing where I come from: money hungry.  Taking the tithes and offerings and buying a Lexus.

 

--Shawn Major Winston

Vaginal Hygiene Redefined-->A woman’s panacea for lagging sex appeal.

Did you know that over 60% of American women suffer from low bedroom swagger? It’s true. According to a recent GNO poll, men are becoming increasingly dissatisfied with their sex lives (GNO= Guys Night Out). What were their complaints, you ask? Here are the recurring ones and their relative importance (in percents) to bedroom swagger:

*Their lover lacks sexual aggression (25%)

*Their lover never takes initiative to perform fellatio (fellatio means blow job ;-) (30%)

*Their lover practices poor vaginal hygiene (45%)

First, a disclaimer: all of the aforementioned issues are equally important in spite of what the percentages suggest. Hence, you should address all of these issues. Your individual percentage ranking in these areas might be vastly different from those listed above. The percentage ranking listed above is an average ranking intended to give the uninformed woman a framework through which she can analyze her bedroom swagger. This said, the majority of women with lagging sex appeal probably have percentage rankings that mirror those above.

Proceed.

By far, the most devilish saboteur of bedroom swagger is poor vaginal hygiene. OM (Fucking) G. The worse thing that an unwitting man could do is deep-sea dive into a landfill. Unsavory tastes/smells coming from the vaginal orifice is a ‘cardinal sin’ at ‘Bedside Baptist’. Here’s why. There are unspoken rules in bedroom decorum that are designed to maximize sexual pleasure and to fend off “awkward moments”. A few examples: Thou shall not pass gas. Thou shall not laugh while having sex. Thou shall not call thy lover by another name. One of the most basic yet important of these unspoken rules is the one that forbids man/woman from having sex without showering. A violation here is akin to calling your lovers’ mother a whore—to her face! Lol. Maybe it is not that extreme but you get the idea.

This discovery might come as bad news for those women with naturally tart vaginas (talk to your family gynecologist). Nevertheless, for all other women, this discovery holds promising implications. While poor vaginal hygiene kills your sex appeal in the bedroom, great vaginal hygiene boosts your sex appeal tenfold! Great vaginal hygiene makes you delicious. It makes you tempting and undeniable. If you think I am exaggerating, try it. I can guarantee that your man will go down on you more often if he has a pleasant experience (the reverse is true if he has a bad experience). Moreover, his estimation of your worth will increase because he perceives you as a woman with high standards and higher maintenance requirements.

Before you go looking for ways to improve your vaginal hygiene, you must consider the following caveat. If you cast a line in the sea of information looking for vaginal-hygiene advice you might be instructed to

*Not douche

*Not wear baby powder

*Not use soap near the vaginal opening

While some of this advice is based in logic (e.g. suggested to prevent yeast infections), you should be wary about how closely you follow it. I say this because advice that, for example, instructs you not to use soap near your vagina has drawbacks (imagine if you never used soap when washing under your arms). Here is what I recommend:

*Talk to your family gynecologist

*Wash your vagina immediately before sex (you can intuit when you are about to have sex…right before that 'special moment', excuse yourself to the bathroom)

*Use pH balanced soap on your vaginal area (see gynecologist for specific advice on soaps)

*Light, perfumes/powders are not the enemy! Use them, in moderation, to enhance your smell

*Clean yourself well after using the restroom

*Do the self-check! (Dip your finger in your own vagina then smell and taste it. This is your proxy for what your lover will experience when he does it.)

The takeaway: Practice good vaginal hygiene. Everyone benefits from it: your lover, yourself (in terms of self-esteem and sex appeal), and your gynecologist (that mask has limitations, lol).

~DonnyBrook

Me, Myself, and I: An Introduction

Milk Shake is the name.  My beloved m.i.l.f. bestowed this honorable name upon me in early 2008 because "my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard."  Ever since, she has called me Milky for short and even got me a ghetto-silver-cursive-name necklace that says: Milkshake.  This nickname has caught like wildfire, so it's not surprising that it has become my identity.  Some people don't even know my real name.  8 times out of 10, I'll introduce myself as Milk Shake, typically in an intoxicated atmosphere.  I figure, hey, there's a lot of Mckenzie's out there, but I'll bet you a dolla that there ain't too many Milk Shakes.  There's a much bigger chance of someone remembering you if you give them something to remember you by.  And I have evidence that I have done just that.  I hope that the art and song suggestions along with any other media I decide to share with you makes me equally as memorable.

For starters I'd like to show off my latest piece:

                                       "Tick, Boom, Explosion"

[click to enlarge]

-Mckenzie Earley

Don't tell me who I am.

        

Nigerian or Nigerian-American? This question comes to mind every time someone asks about my last name. No doubt, I carry my heritage with pride. As a first-generation American, I find myself caught in between two cultures and lacking the qualifications by some to officially claim either one. My parents immigrated to the US in the 1980’s, just in time for my sister to claim her American citizenship by birth. From childhood, my cultural experiences were an odd blend of Nigerian and American expectations.            

           As a Nigerian girl I was expected to respect all elders, learn how to properly prepare Agousi soup, and always put my education on the top of my list. However, my American atmosphere provided a platform where respect to anyone is earned not learned, where the ability to successfully make Mac & Cheese in the microwave was a rite of passage to adulthood, and homework would be done if time persisted. I couldn’t really pinpoint these specific differences growing up, but I did recognize that I was a bit different from my classmates.

           Now as an adult-or the beginnings of one-I have mastered my “double-life” quite well. It’s almost like being bilingual. I can understand both cultures and switch mannerisms back and forth when necessary. For a while, I’ll forget the re-occurring tendency for people to classify me as either a Nigerian or an American. Never both. Amongst Nigerians, I am an American. My voice, my mannerisms, and my lack of ability to speak my parent’s native tongue all categorize me as a ‘foreigner’. However, amongst Americans, my voice, my mannerisms, and my last name classify my as only an African. I got used to people saying, “Oh, you’re not Nigerian,” or, ” Oh, you’re not a American then, you’re Nigerian.” But who’s to classify me, as me?

        People are only given the opportunity to categorize you if you hand them a blank label. So let me take this chance to label myself, before anyone else does. I am Elizabeth. I am Nigerian. I am American. I am Igbo. I am Ishan. I am me. So take this as your opportunity to write your label. Who are you?

~Elizabeth Uduehi

Pedestrian Privilege

        In the wake of three tragic accidents, leaving one dead, pedestrian safety has become top priority on IU’s list. Many are mourning the tragic death of sophomore, Peter Duong. As a fellow Hudson and Holland scholar, I interacted with him on different occasions. Now the thought of his non-existence on this earth seems too unreal. Reflecting upon his death and its cause, it brings on the issue of pedestrian privilege. IU is declared a walking campus, so we all have gotten use to the 15 minute walks from class to class. However, what bothers me the most about this “walking campus” policy is the lack of safety measures taken to protect those that follow it.

        Yes, there are stop signs and bright little symbols that allow you to come and go, but it is no surprise to even the Bloomington Police that students j-walk using all types of strategies to bypass oncoming cars. With this reality, it’s sad that it takes 3 tragedies within 48 hours to spark administrative interest. I may not have lived in the Northwest neighborhood, but I’ve been there enough times to know how dangerous it is in many different aspects.

        Hordes of students are constantly crossing Fee Lane, buses are coming and stopping, and overzealous drivers are whizzing past Foster, McNutt, and Briscoe showing everyone what Mommy and Daddy bought them this summer.

Amongst these behaviors and actions, something would have to give. Unfortunately, a life was the wakening moment for not only IU administration, but students as well. So as we head out of our apartments, dorms, and classrooms, be cautious whether you are driving or walking.  And as juvenile as it sounds, look BOTH ways! Don’t think that as college students we are exempt from child-like mistakes.

In respect and memory of a great human being-- I notice that in the wake of a death, it's amazing how priceless everything becomes. For at least a brief period you begin to cherish the ones that love you and forget the ones that never have. -R.I.P. Peter Duong

~Elizabeth Uduehi

The Re-Education of Hip-Hop

Shout to The Urban Daily for this uplifting post. According to them via ABC News, Roc Nation’s newly signed J. Cole graduated from college Magna Cum Laude. This is incredible for hip-hop, a culture that has recently promoted a no school zone policy.

Historically hip-hop has been the voice of those marginalized. Individuals who have experienced life with a lack of economical, political and social power to make changes in their community. There was a time when these issues were the focal point of rhymes, but the mainstream appeal of “thug life” has occupied the mic for the last 20 years, or as long as I have been alive.

You always had your artists who spit more than your average rapper, touching on politics, gender roles, anti-violence and pro-education rhetoric. The Chuck D’s and Talib Kweli’s evoked a sense of hip-hop lost in the array of bullets, drugs and sex of the mid-90s and early 2000s. Then something changed. A confidently insecure college dropout, turned producer, turned rapper pushed the envelope as to what hip-hop could be.

He hadn’t sold drugs and he loved his mama. He spoke out against the atrocities of the government and of our own detrimental behavior as a people. He cried for Jesus to walk with him even in his daily sin. He brought an individuality to an art form that had lost its creativity. He opened the door for hip-hop to explore its horizons, to grow up.

Thus, we have artists like Lupe Fiasco, who’s The Cool was an entire retort to this life of destruction young black males and females are leading in the name of hip-hop. This culture of illiteracy is being challenged. The fact that J. Cole graduated from college speaks volumes to where the future of rap music is headed. And I am sure he isn’t the only one with a Bachelor’s in something other than making it rain. Only now these artists, the Asher Roth’s and Wale’s, have a platform to stand upon, and we the listeners are all ears.

~illist90skd

Listen up Ladies: If you want better men, endorse better men.

It sounds all too familiar:  A good woman with a good job and a good upbringing dates the “bad boy”.  Sure, in the short-term, the idea may seem sexy, dangerous, and exciting but what happens in the long term?  Infidelity?  Prison?  Death?  Abuse?  Some other undesirable outcome?  More often than not, this devilishly tempting relationship ends up in disaster. Yet the same women who date such men are often the most vocal about the dearth of “good men”.  This is interesting indeed, but what is more interesting is the effect that women’s demand for bad boys has on men and their self-concept.

Rewind.  Go back to elementary school.  Try to remember the most popular boys in your class.  What type of boys were they?  If your grade school experience was anything like mine then they were usually the class clowns, the truants, and the thugs—or, for lack of better words, the bad boys.  Comparatively, the honor-roll listed, future physicians that sat in the front of the class were probably the “geeks” that were the minnows for the bad boy sharks (illogically, much to the girls’ glee).  What type of impact does this have on the male psyche? 

Men, let’s be honest.  ALL of our strivings are intended to attract women in some way, shape, or form.  If we desire to build muscular bodies, it is because we heard some woman shriek about a hot-bod actor she saw on television (think Brad Pitt, Vin Diesel, or Morris Chestnut).  If we pursue high-paying jobs, it is because we know that women value men that are “balling”.  When (if) we shop for cologne, we purchase whatever the heavily powdered saleswoman behind the counter recommends. My point is that no matter what we do, we seek to maximize our desirability among women at all times.  This point holds important implications for women—especially those in pursuit of good men.

Fast forward.  What happens to the aspirations of those physician-bound boys that attract little, if any, female attention throughout elementary school and even throughout middle and high school?  Might they be tempted to “repackage” themselves to be more desirable to women?  Of course!  They will not be officially “balling” until they are done with medical school—which will take YEARS.  Fortunately (and unfortunately) for them, there is a way they can boost their status among women before they finish medical school!  How so?  Become thugs! This way, they can earn quick cash and street credentials thereby appealing to the instant gratification appetites of the women they seek to attract.  Few men can deny trying to “be tough” or “look cool” to boost their status among women.  Unfortunately, for some promising boys this comes at a cost.  Some of these newly “thugged-out” boys are beyond repair.  They get involved with the wrong people and the wrong things.  They effectively become the bad boys that they originally saw the hottest girls pursue.  As a result, the “thug population” increases and the pool of “good guys” that most “good girls” eventually decide to pursue shrinks.  Allow me to put this in its proper context.  It is common knowledge that there are more women than there are men in the U.S.  It is also common knowledge that women are increasingly achieving higher educational levels than their male counterparts are.  Therefore, in Macroeconomic terms, women find that the demand for “good men” greatly exceeds its supply.   They had better chances of nabbing a “good guy” in elementary school before the harmful effects of peer influence set in. 

What am I getting at? Ladies, if you want good men, endorse good men.  Teach your nieces, little sisters, and daughters to desire “high potential geeks" over “thugs”.  Place value on men who demonstrate academic achievement and/or who display other abilities that translate into income generation and fatherhood prowess.  This way, through your magical feminine powers over the male psyche, you increase your chances of mating with the “good guy” that you need and deserve.  Leave the thugs alone!  You are only exposing yourself to heartache while also shrinking the pool of quality men who would love to date you! 

~Donny Brook

I Miss You : Aaliyah Part 2

Here are, as I promised, my top five songs by Aaliyah. Thank you for sharing this stroll down memory lane to pay tribute to such an unforgettable talent.

5. Rock the Boat - Aaliyah's final video shoot captured one of her best tracks. Hype Williams directed this sultry yet tasteful visual on location at the Bahamas. Who knew it would capture some of her last moments.

4. Never Givin' Up - Though Aaliyah may not have had powerful vocals, she knew how to control her own to present the best, never seeming to try too hard. This ballad from One In A Million is an incredible showcase of her talent.

3. Are You That Somebody - Again Aaliyah & Timbaland create another hip-hop/R&B classic, which became one of the hottest tracks of the year. In addition to the killer production and sassy lyrics, the bomb was dropped with a killer cool video. The choreography was too sick. I still remember basically the entire routine.

2. Come Over - One of her posthumously released tracks featured on the compilation I Care 4 U album. The Tank-penned song eases like a Sunday morning, as Aaliyah describes finding the love she's missed. Subtle sexy sounds.

1. I Care 4 U - This is to Aaliyah as "Diary" is to Alicia Keys. The emotion and intimacy evoked in her voice are cemented in the listener's mind. Probably one of her finest moments. sidebar: I remember this song being featured in an episode of All My Children that year, when Dixie left Tad.

~illist90skd

I Miss You : Aaliyah | Janurary 16, 1979 - August 25th, 2001

Her name said it all; the best; exalted. In her 22 years on this earth, Aaliyah Haughton mastered the art of a potential triple threat; singer, actress, entertainer. Her albums remain R&B classics, with her 2001 Aaliyah showcasing true artistry. There will never be another one like the A-a-l-i-y...a-h. In honor of the 8th anniversary of her death, I present my all-time Aaliyah songs. This was definitely not an easy task sighting she has several classics. I managed to edge the list to ten - five today and five tomorrow.

10. At Your Best (You Are Love) - A cover of the Isley Brothers slow jam, Aaliyah, with the help of then producer R. Kelly, remixed the album version strictly for the jeeps.

9. It's Whatever - A beautiful song on her self-titled album, Aaliyah always managed to perfect being sexy without being raunchy.

8. Street Thing - Another off her debut. Towards the end she exercises her vocal abilities. The bridge always sends me in.

7. I Can Be - Probably one of Aaliyah's most darker toned songs from her third album, this rock ballad tells of a woman's love for an other woman's man.

6. One In A Million - Her sophomore album's titled track, Million is the epitome of the Timbaland/Missy production that made Aaliyah's sound unique. Poorly imitated, never duplicated.

Why do my white friends call me black, but my black friends call me white?

Maybe it’s everything about me! By stereotypical standards, I look nothing like a typical black guy. I ask my white friends, why do you call me black? The usual answer is this: “your skin color is black and I can’t tell you from a distance from any other black person except maybe by the way you dress.” Obviously, the next statement that comes out of my mouth is “hmm… I wonder why that is.”

To get more color on this (please forgive the pun), I pick up my phone, call my black friends and pose the same question: “would you consider me black?” And to my surprise, they all utter emphatic NOs!! Then I ask why do you say so? And the response is, “well, you don’t dress like the typical black guy, you speak very proper, you wear shirts that fit your body, and you like to read and study.

Whoa! Did I just get accused of abandoning the race by which I’m classified simply because of the way I look, act, and dress? What does that say about the stereotype of a black person? Are we pant-sagging, baggy clothes-wearing, slang-speaking, and education-hating black folks? And is that really what Martin Luther King Jr. sacrificed his life for? Is that what the Civil Rights leaders who sweated on pulpits of Alabama, the brave Rosa Parks who sat up front for freedom, the black brothers and sisters who endured lynching, dehumanization, and segregation aimed to accomplish? Like my black friends, I dare utter emphatic NOs!

Today, America is proudly led by one of the brightest minds in the world who just happens to be a well educated and well mannered black man named Barack Obama. He was that “Oreo” that was proud to spend his free time reading books rather than playing football contrary to what the stereotype paints. He was proud to understand the universe much like Galileo and Einstein did. He was proud to walk in the footsteps of Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther King Jr., and Frederick Douglas. He was proud to reach for the sky without the bounce of Air Jordan shoes, but with the bounce of his white and gray matter. He was proud to define his own destiny rather than allow the stereotype to mire him down. He was proud to be a “different” black man!

The media bombards us with unflattering images that helps form the American public’s schemata of the black man.  Images such as “angry” black men who allegedly murder their white wives, rappers proudly serving jail time for felonies, football players carrying loaded guns in clubs or killing dogs for fun all lend tacit support to these schemata. And what picture of a black man do you think is being painted?  Maybe it looks like this: a black man is an uneducated sub-human who defers to anger and violence in their day-to-day degradation of society’s morale and should be eternally housed within the four walls of penitentiary systems that are being privatized for the financial benefits of already wealthy bastards. Yes, I know this is a very harsh statement, but I think many Americans would admit (albeit in private) that this is their “picture” of a black man.

In reality, the fact of the matter is that a black person does not need the media to determine what he/she should look like, dress like, talk like, or even the kinds of people they should befriend or have sex with. Further, there is no law in any book (from fiction to non-fiction, Bible to the Quran, or any other interesting read) that limits quality education and individualistic civility and freedom to only white people. It is only coincidence that the Americans who are able to afford strong educations, who have deep-rooted family and support networks, and who also maintain the vision and drive to propel each subsequent generation forward are the upper/upper middle class made up of the white majority.

We as black people need to see ourselves for who we are. We are not animals whose only method of communication is anger and violence. We are not just consumers of rap music.  We are not wearers of graffiti-scribbled baggy clothes sagged down to our ankles because we like to imitate the thugs we see in music videos.  Neither are we even just all football and basketball enthusiasts. We also are Barack Obamas, Oprah Winfreys, Will Smiths, and Maya Angelous.

Just like any race or ethnicity, black people fall within different social classes. Unfortunately, media portrayals would suggest that all blacks fall into one social class—the lower class— consisting of poor, helpless, and ignorant people.  But we are more than the media!  We are more than color! We are individuals with deep cultures and traditions! Nonetheless, because many of us do not know what our cultures and traditions are, we are somewhat encouraged to conform to the nasty stereotypes created in our absence and without our permission.

In the end, no matter what society says, you have a choice to say YES or NO to societal stereotypes. Where do you stand? I choose to be an “Oreo” as they call it… much like Barack Obama in his youthful years…much like Fortune 500 CEOs in their library-hibernation years…much like our future prolific authors who dared read a book than pick up a basketball…and much like our future leaders who will be accused of acting white today.

I want to leave you with one message: DEFINE YOUR DESTINY BY CREATING IT!!!

Michael Sampson-Akpuru

What is "good" hair?

What’s good hair? I think the meaning differs across various cultures. Amongst certain ethnicities where straight hair is genetically dominant, ones with curly hair seem to find themselves rushing to Wal-Mart to buy a hair straightener to flatten those ‘undesirable’ curls. As a young black woman, ‘good hair’ has a very interesting cultural meaning. Growing up, my mom always put my hair in braids. That’s all I knew. I mean, I saw other black girls in my class with relaxed hair but it seemed foreign to me and to ‘exotic’ to try out. It wasn’t until my junior year, that I finally convinced myself, and then my mom, to relax my hair. Now many have asked for the reason for relaxing my hair after so many years of being ‘natural’. Quite frankly, there is no answer. It was just something new I wanted to try. Now what the hairdresser and encouraging friends failed to inform me was that relaxed hair takes effort and maintenance. Indeed, it was not long before I felt like I had stepped into a completely new world. Take my first night with my ‘new hair’ for example. After multiple failed attempts at wrapping my hair, I succumbed to my failure and went to bed with my hair unwrapped and prepared myself for a bad hair day the next morning. I barely slept as my cosmetic doomsday crept closer.

Now after two years of relaxed hair, I have thought a lot about the term ‘good hair’. Chris Rock’s recent documentary, “Good Hair”, which premiered at the Sundance Festival in January, highlighted interesting points about the topic. To those who are not familiar with black hairstyles, textures, etc. it was informative to learn about the different methods black females use to match the definition of “good hair”, such as weaves, relaxers, and wigs. To me, ’good hair’ can be defined as the following: straight, long, thick, and bouncy. But you know what? I say forget that. My hair is curly, short, thin, and never quite bounces the way Michelle Obama does. So whether you rock an afro, dreads, a relaxer, or braids, I say do you, be you. Only you can define ‘good hair’. Don’t let the stereotypes or social norms be the boundaries to your self-expression. So what is ‘good hair’? I don’t know, you tell me…

- Elizabeth Uduehi

Class of a Decade

It’s hard to believe we’re approaching the first decade of the millennium. The last day of the 20thcentury, our nation was uncertain if we’d make it to 12:05 a.m., with fears of that Y2k bug debunking mainframes worldwide subsequently ending our existence. But fortunately, it was like any other New Year’s: resolutions were made, attempted, broken, and pushed back to next year. Still, what we didn’t expect were the changes we’d encounter.

The class of 2010 was just mere sixth-graders, adjusting to junior high school: lockers, homeroom, gym uniforms, and more than one teacher. We were the guinea pigs for reality TV, captivated by the realness of contestants being shipwrecked for cash on a deserted island. What was once a budding trend is now the norm for television networks, ranging from the captivating (The Amazing Race) to the crude (Flavor of Love and other VH1 dating romps). Our obsessive attraction to life drama expanded with the advancement of technology.

In the Information Age, everything is documented in real time. The ability to receive, send, and duplicate information with the click of a button has been our greatest achievement, and one of our greatest challenges. As teenagers we helped eradicate pay phones as cell phones gave us the chance to ask “Where You At?” on the fly. Now we just don’t make calls: we share our lives through photos, messages, and live footage. We followed the historic re-vote of Gore and Bush, yet could not escape the devastating coverage of the 9/11 attacks. Now what happens in our backyards cannot only be seen by snoopy neighbors, but anxious viewers in front of their YouTube screens.

We followed the rise and fall of Napster and are reaping its rewards: Mp3s, iTunes, and digital ring tones. We witnessed corporate history and the spawning of a media mogul monopoly, when Time Warner bought America Online. The merger of the cable TV giant and the people behind “You’ve Got Mail” opened the doors to relentless new endeavors we today take for granted. Emails became texts, texts became statuses, and now statuses are tweets.

We journeyed into the second year of the Iraq War and sparred with each other on whether or not the government was being honest with us. We had friends and classmates serve their country in honor of our freedom. Now we struggle to properly care for their livelihood as the war follows them home. John Stewart became a beacon of truth amidst the myths of the war. And Michael Moore became public enemy #1 with his provocative documentary investigating the government’s role in the new war on terror.

In the last four years alone, a culmination of all these events has occurred. Viewers now contribute as a part of the entertainment with various online outlets replacing the television as the main source of information. Facebook opened the door for countrywide communication without leaving one’s neighborhood. The war continues with the possibility of an end in sight as a new administration takes the helm—an administration led by a bi-racial, Hawaiian-born, Harvard Law School Chicagoan with change on his mind.

In ten years we’ve witnessed history, and we’ve relived it. The gains and losses, big and small, created a better, more unique America. And as we prepare for full blown adulthood, finalizing our plans post grad, what we do will determine what changes will occur in the next decade. Class of 2010 this is our year to show what we’re made of: a design of a decade in action.

~illist90skd

How long is a lifetime?

Is 29 years enough? I think so, albeit regrettably. My big brother died at the tender age of 29. He leaves behind a cuddly son with satellite ears and curly hair. He leaves behind a loving family. He leaves behind a supporting cast of friends and associates. He leaves behind smiley-faced memories. He leaves behind a legacy. So was his life, as some would say, “cut short” or did he live long enough?

According to the Center for Disease Control and Prevention, the average life expectancy for a male is roughly 75 years. Put in these terms, my brother only lived a fraction of his life. However, because I have never been one to place a lot of stock in chronology when it comes to valuating life’s moments, I will cast that statement aside. Age does not determine much at all—it is merely a metric that helps us communicate meaningfully with one another. In this context, it should become clear why I think that my brother lived “long enough.” He laughed. He cried. He experienced the entire spectrum of the human emotional experience. Sure, he never “got married”, owned a house, or reached similar markers that seem to communicate to others that one is “living life to the fullest.” But who cares. These markers are social constructs, not sure-fire indicators of a life being lived to the fullest.

I never looked at life this way before. Prior to my brother’s death, I viewed the human life span as a marathon—so anything short of that, say a 10k or a half-marathon, was tragic. The funny thing is that 10k and half-marathon runners get the same thrill and enjoyment from running their races as the marathon runners. Moreover, all runners, irrespective of race length, have to cross the finish line.

When we place too much stock in chronology, we panic. We fear that if our life happens to be the 40-yard dash that we may not have achieved all that we should have. Fuck that. What, exactly, do you need to achieve? I think that a life lived to the fullest is a life that makes a lasting impression—even if that impression affects only one person, even if it only takes one day. So how long is a lifetime? As long as it takes…

~ Donny Brook