What The?: Solange ROCs Jay-Z

As this has been my longest hiatus to date, let me first begin this post with a heartfelt, two-count apology:

1.  Firstly of course, for not being able to condense all my life’s activities into the same 24 hours that God has afforded Oprah, Malala Yousafzai and Kim Kardashian.

2. For climbing out of dormancy to bring you all this bit of breaking tomfoolery.  My husband told me that if I was going to publish this post, I should at least admit that while I do strive to advance myself spiritually, socially and through modes of learning and higher education, the God’s honest truth is that while not completely absorbed by foolishness and absurdity, I do on occasion let the clutches of ratchetness envelop my soul…a tiny little bit (for which I intend to begin my penance shortly).

Now, in the ever-so-clever words of Mobb Deep, “there’s a war going on outside, no man is safe from…” 

Unfortunately, while Prodigy and Havoc were undoubtedly pontificating about their daily struggles on the mean streets of Queensbridge in the mid 90’s, they obviously didn’t realize that in just two short decades, that war would pale in comparison to the one that people regularly fight through the medium of social media and the internet; a war in which NO ONE is spared. Apparently, this has been made all the more evident by TMZ’s recently released “surveillance” video shot (and sold by some dummy who will obviously no longer be gainfully employed) of music royalty, The Carters and Solange Knowles while on an elevator at the Standard Hotel after last week’s Met Gala in New York.  Now, I won’t pretend to know what set off Solange’s mollywop trigger (however, any person with even a rudimentary understanding of addition coupled with a little cause and effect could most likely surmise accurately on the matter…I’m just saying), but as shown in the video, your girl attempts to put in WORK on her brother in-law, while still glammed out in her coral Philip Lim cocktail dress and never askew wig!!

But for me, what was even more bizarre was the fact that although styled, tucked and taped to perfection in her peakaboo Givenchy gown, King Bey made no real effort to intervene or mediate the fracas between her sister nor her husband.  Jay was bobbing and weaving, Solange was throwing up her set, her purse and a karate kick and Beyonce stood silently, lest she crease the organza of her gown.  Seriously, it was almost as if her Ambien-Xanax cocktail chose just that moment to kick in.

I’d be lying however if I didn’t say I was impressed with Jay-Z’s restraint.  If not for his wisdom (or the constraints of arthritic knees, who knows?), the publicity surrounding this melee could have taken a much uglier turn.

So, what say ye?  Should Beyonce have attempted to settle things between her sibling and her spouse?  And, what in the world could have possibly occurred to make Solange behave in such a frenzied manner?  But most importantly, will the Carters add Solange to the line-up now and rename their tour “Family Affair”???  I imagine we will ALL be staying tuned for this one!

Police Deliver Devastating News Via Facebook

From the “What In The Ham Sandwich” Files…

Occasionally you can find me thoroughly entertained by a host of my blogging, social media and even journalism friends (all of whom, hold these posts as real and paying professions) who will from time to time, strongly debate with one another over the merits and pitfalls of utilizing social media as a source for uncovering, reporting and relaying significant news.  And of course, these conversations usually end with dismissive attitudes, elitist posturing and we all inevitably agreeing to disagree.

I do believe however that we were all pretty much on the same page after I emailed this recent story around and we kissed our collective teeth in disgust as the article revealed that a Georgia woman learned of her son’s death through a Facebook message from the local police department.

After searching for almost a month for her son Rickie, Anna Lamb-Creasey received confirmation via Facebook from the Clayton County Police Department that her son had been struck by a vehicle and killed on January 24, 2013.  In an array of news broadcast interviews, Lamb-Creasey told reporters that she did not know that messages from Facebook users who were not on her “friends list” could show up in an “other” labeled inbox.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I consider myself a pretty knowledgeable Facebook user, and I think even I would have found that type of cloak-and-dagger communique enough to either hit delete or report it as spam.  To think that it could have been a message about the status of my child is outrageous and simply maddening!  What’s worse is that Lamb-Creasey said that she was even more confused about the message, because the Misty Hancock Facebook profile picture was actually a photo of  Atlanta rapper, T.I. and his daughter at a birthday party (WHAT?!?!?! *Lil’ Jon voice*).

After twenty days had passed, Lamb-Creasey’s daughter found the unopened Facebook message received by her mother and opened it. The brief correspondence was from a person named Misty Hancock with a message requesting that Lamb-Creasey contact Lt. Schindler.  She called the number referenced in her mother’s Facebook message, and it was only then that was she told of Rickie’s death.

Understandable, Lamb-Creasey and her family are upset at how they found out about her son’s death, and why no constructive effort was made to reach her sooner, and personally.  A spokesman for the Clayton County Police Department said of the Misty Hancock Facebook account that it had formerly been used in an undercover capacity and was not intended to be revealed to the public.  Because of that apparent breach, the department now plans to investigate exactly why it was used to contact Lamb-Creasey.  The spokesperson also asserted that several attempts by officers were made to reach Lamb-Creasey, but they simply could not contact her.

Wait…what?  You mean, between all the Task Forces, Undercover Agents, Detectives, Beat Cops, Meter Maids and DMV records at their disposal, the Clayton County PD couldn’t find this woman to let her know that her child had been killed!?  I will say that I have a certain reverence for police officers and those who put themselves in harm’s way to preserve the safety of me and mine, but that is not this.  That can’t be this!  I will also say that I know that budget cuts and constraints all over the country have led to departmental cutbacks and creativity in how some officers are able to perform their jobs, so I won’t even lob a “desk jockey on point-and-click patrol while eating donuts” insult at the CCPD.

What is worth saying however is that Anna Lamb-Creasey and her family deserved better than a fake-me-out Facebook message that thank God her daughter bothered to read (again, thinking it was a solicitation, I can’t say that I would have even entertained it)!  I cannot even begin to imagine the stress of living with uncertainty for almost a month, only for it to be compounded by discovering that that uncertainty was now a reality…delivered through the host site of Farmville.

#DoBetter

More Than a Slap On The Wrist

Listen…

When I first heard this story last Friday and since having read up on the most recent developments, Digital Underground has been playing in my head.  Loudly.  On repeat!

Now, I do get it about being flustered at having to share space on a long flight, with a crying child within the confines of a constricting passenger aircraft.  I mean, I’m not proud of it, but I’ve prayed for God to mute a baby a time or too myself, but to go so far as to become so unhinged that spewing a racist tirade and striking a child was the best resulting idea for resolving the matter?  Utterly unacceptable.

To me however, the problem wasn’t so much with Joe Rickey Hundley having these views; as disgusting as they are.  The problem was him feeling justified in articulating his views in an incredibly public and violent matter, and against a defenseless minor no less.  Sure, he and his defense attorney have been siting his distraught sensibilities that day due to him traveling to visit an ailing relative, and his alcohol intake (used to quell those sensibilities) which adversely effected his otherwise “glowing persona”, but the truth remains, in this “post-racial” (loose air quotes used here) American in which we live, he called a 19-month old baby a n*gger and tried to slap the child into submission.  Again, utterly unacceptable.

The story however, does have a silver lining.  Whether yielding to the court of public opinion, or displaying zero-tolerance for offensive and donkey behavior or simply in an effort to distance themselves from a drunkard and troubled individual, Hundley’s bosses effectively pumped the brakes on his employment this past Sunday.  In a released statement, President and CEO of AGC Aerospace and Defense Al Hasse characterized Joe Rickey Hundley’s behavior as disturbing, contradictory to the company’s values and revealed that the unit executive was no longer an employee of the company:

“We have taken this matter very seriously and worked diligently to examine it since learning of the matter on Friday afternoon.  As of Sunday, the executive is no longer employed with the company.  [His behavior is] embarrassing and does not in any way reflect the patriotic character of the men and women of diverse backgrounds who work tirelessly in our business.”

Presently, Hundley has been charged with simple assault, which if convicted, could lead to a maximum term of one year in prison, so he certainly isn’t “off the hook.”  It truly speaks volumes however; that since he likes slapping so much, that he wasn’t just slapped criminally, but also in his wallet!

You’re Welcome.

The NBA Finals: Game 1 and Why I Can’t Wait for Russell’s Post-Game Interview

While it is true that I (along with most Americans not residing in the Sunshine State) have become more and more enamored with the basketball team formerly known as The Seattle SuperSonics, their dominance, resilience, youth and imminent Game 1 win (crosses-fingers), is not why I am looking forward to Russell Westbrook’s post-game interview.

The truth is (just like one of my Instagram-mers @karlmeloanthony hilariously pointed out) I can’t wait to see if maybe, just maybe Russell will take his eclectic styling to another level and bless us all with this throwback Gordon Gartrell tonight!

The Measure of a Man

Okay, really guys?  Stop blinking rapidly and refreshing the webpage!  It’s really me!  I know that my posts for 2012 have been few and FAAAAAAARRRR between, but seeing as how we’ve discussed my various power moves as of late (promotion, anyone?), I trust that you all understand.

What’s funny is,  I’ve been a little skeptical lately as to how I would find time to get back into blogging, and if I would still have anything poignant to say, but truth be told, I’d forgotten how cathartic this practice is on a daily basis, so I imagine that I will be doing better to make time!

At any rate, with my new responsibilities and the annihilation of anything that even remotely resembles a structured daily schedule, it hasn’t only been me who’s had to adjust.  While my honey and the big Pack Kids have been supportive (who knew that after a thankless 10-hour work day, “the twins” would have warmed up left overs for themselves and run a load of dirty dishes without being asked to do so…the fact that the clean ones from the morning were still in the dishwasher is neither here nor there…), it’s been The Baby Child who’s antics have let me know how truly missed I’ve been between 8 and 6.  Whether it’s sitting up under me until bedtime, requiring that we act out the latest Dragonball Z fusion fight stances or helping me to sort his fruit juice splattered laundry, once I’ve crossed the threshold, the kid is basically not letting me out of his sight until bedtime.

The other night after I’d made him a fruit salad, The Baby Child insisted that he sit in my lap and share his fare with me.  This of course entailed serving each other all “Coming to America” style, sans the large ostrich feather fans and handmaidens.  When The Honey got home, it was all he could do not to burst into laughter.  Instead, he popped a grape and told The Baby Child that it was his job to feed me fruit and for me to sit in his lap because he was my man.  The Honey proceeded to shake his head at me, chuckle and change out of his work attire into his sweats.

After our palettes were thoroughly satiated, I convinced The Baby Child of what great quality time he could spend with me before bed by helping me to sort some white laundry (don’t judge me).  After getting half of the clothes in the washing machine, I caught sight of him intently inspecting, then snatching up a shirt and gleefully running up to his room.  Days later when I got home from work, The Baby Child greeted me at the door with kisses, an inquiry into what was for dinner and fully dressed in his “good clothes” from head to toe, but with that missing white undershirt billowing over his own toddler wear.  Taking the bait, I asked him why in the world he was wearing his father’s beater.

“Because mommy, I’m a MAN and I’m gonna get all the girlfriends.”

Uh, whaaat?

So, clearly I am not sure at what point my baby opted not to fill his father’s shoes but instead his undershirt, and in doing so, equated that with being “a man”; or even in being “a man”, that meant being imparted with girlfriends, but it is apparent that although this child is extra times ten, I must say, at least he has modeled his mini-manly self after a pretty wonderful prototype.

Now, if I could just get them both to put the seat down!