2nd Story Bookstore: Used Book Heaven

This is one of my favorite bookstores in DC. This is the sidewalk sale at Second Story Books in Dupont Circle. The sidewalk sale only occurs if the weather is at or above about 50 degrees. The books usually sale for around $4 but they sometime go for as low as $2. This picture was taken yesterday afternoon. I didn't buy any yesterday, but I've found some really great used books (sometimes out of print) here over the years. Where are my used book lovers out there?

American Hunger Part 1

"Their constant outward-looking, their mania for radios, cars and a thousand other trinkets made them dream and fix their eyes upon the trash of life, made it impossible for them to learn a language which could have taught them to speak of what was in their or others' hearts. The words of their souls were the syllables of popular songs."  ~ Richard Wright, Black Boy (American Hunger)

 I thought of this passage from Richard Wright as I observed our young people as I was riding the bus this morning. They all had their headphones blasting into their ears the sounds of the Top Ten from 106 & Park. They were oblivious to all that was around them and I imagined that their only goal was to get through this day without a teacher "sweating" them or asking them a question. (Thank God) I am not talking about all of them because there are some bright young people in the classroom that are going to do well in life. However, an overwhelming number are slipping into darkness. Their world is pitch black and all that they seem to relate to are beats. They can explain the beats and recite the lyrics to you verbatim. I don't have a problem with that because my generation (30-40 somethings) were at the forefront of the Hip-Hop scene. In 1984 I was grooving to Run DMC and UTFO. In 1988, I could recite the Jungle Brothers tape, Straight Out The Jungle, from start to finish. I grew up listening to the pioneers, and we were having a party with the likes of Kool DJ Herk, The Sugar Hill Gang, and Grandmaster Flash with Melle Mel. Well, we now know that Hip Hop has gone far over the edge and has entered into another dimension. The problem with its audience is that some of them can recite Mobb Deep, but they read on a 5th grade level at the age of 17. They can perform and do all the latest dances, but when it's time to perform on that math test they don't have a clue. They are falling short and it's not only going to hurt them, but the residual affects of it is going to fall back on us (parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and society). Who really cares? There are some in the government who try, but the rest could care less. The record companies and media damn sure don't care. They are going to continue to promote what sells. So, while the government, president, and record company executives continue to distance themeselves from our problems with their "getaways" and fabulous homes in The Hamptons, we will still be here trying to undo the miseducation of our young as they continue to bounce and bob their heads to the award winning song, "Whoop That Trick!"

Photo Source:  haroldshull.com

Friday Night Jazz

I'm going to check out a little live jazz tonight with my cousin G Bess. It should be cool. There's a free jam session every Friday night at this church in the city. I hear that they also sell fried fish. Mmmmmm Hmm! **grin** That sounds good! Anyway, Have a great weekend all! Peace! I'm out!

Side Walk Shadows

I am so much of a "wannabee" when it comes to photography, but I thought that I would share with you what I see. This is at Dupont Circle in DC near my job.

Tsotsi

Written and Directed byGAVIN HOOD
Produced byPETER FUDAKOWSKI
Based on the novel "Tsotsi" by ATHOL FUGARD

Stephen Bess said, "This is Boyz -n- The Hood and Dead Presidents South African style. A great film!"

I had the pleasure last night of attending a private screening of the South African film, Tsotsi. The film has gained instantly popularity after winning (to name a few) the Thessaloniki Film Festival 2005, Toronto Film Festival 2005, Edinburgh film festival 2005 and recently stole the heart of the American Academy for best foreign film of 2005. The film stars actor, Presley Chweneyagae who portrayed (Tsotsi, meaning Thug) the painfully familiar displaced, disenfranchised, angry, lost thug trying to survive in the shantytowns of a new, but still overwhelmingly poor South Africa. The film didn’t dwell on the important past/present issues of South Africa such as Apartheid and discrimination, but the affects of that system were plain to see in the images presented in the townships. There were also rarely seen images of Johannesburg that skyline could rival any other skyline in the Western world. Although there were some moments of humor in Tsotsi, it is current day South Africa in all of its urban beauty and ugliness.

The film takes a dramatic turn when Tsotsi car jacks a woman just to find that there is a baby in the car. He is forced to care for the child rather than abandon him. The child forces him to deal with the demons of his own childhood and eventually compels him to examine his own humanity. This is when the healing begins. The film also co-stars Mothusi Magano (Boston) who urges his comrades to examine their own “decency” and Terry Pheto who plays Miriam, the beauty that helps calm Tsotsi beast within. This is an excellent film and a must see for all. There are about five different languages spoken in this subtitled film including Zulu, Sesotho, and SA Slang, but it doesn’t take away from an absolutely riveting performance from an outstanding cast and crew. The film will hit selected locations in the United States on Friday, March 10th. Go see this film!

This Is What $1.25 Gets Ya!

Good morning,
I just want to share my morning commute. Every morning I race out of the house trying to catch the 7:05 am metro bus headed to subway station. This morning I had to jog in order to catch it. Anyway, I usually get on the bus and search for a seat as I carefully screen the faces of the passengers. It's a habit. This morning was no different. There were the same people on the bus of diverse backgrounds. It's always mostly women. Roughly, its made up of 50% African/Black, 30% Latino, 10% Asian, 5% Caucasian, the rest are men. Well, this morning I noticed a rather peculiar man on the bus. I say peculiar because he sort of sat there with a blank stare. I'm thinking that I don't need to sit near him. As I looked at him he reminded me of the boxer "Butter Bean" so that's what I'll call him. He was your average big, fat, bald white guy. He was surrounded by hefty bags on his left and right. Actually, he had two on his side and one carrying bag sitting on the floor between his legs. Again, I felt that there was something strange about him and I didn't want to be near him when he "did his thing." I didn't know what that "thing" would be but I had a funny feeling. The bus pulled up to the next stop and more people boarded the bus. Seats filled quickly, but Butter Bean still had his hefty bags sitting in a potential seat. This is when Butter Bean starts to do his "thing." A woman walks up to the seat and says politely, 'excuse me can you move your bag so that I can sit down?' Butter Bean keeps his eyes forward and does not reply. The woman ask him again and he remained silent. All of a sudden this African woman sitting directly across from him yells, 'move your bag and let the lady sit!' Butter Bean instantly removes his bag and although silent he begins to shake. Meanwhile, I am giggling because it took this African mother to make Butter Bean do the right thing. Okay, that's over....no it's not! All of a sudden I hear someone shout, 'this is what $1.25 gets ya!' It was Butter Bean and he was red and upset. I looked and I giggled some more with the woman that was sitting beside me. He said it over and over, 'this is what $1.25 get ya!' The women that were surrounding him all began to look at each other with a perplexed look. Some of them were giggling as well.

Things seemed to calm down a bit until the bus pulled up to another stop. Passengers boarded and by this time Butter Bean sat again staring straight ahead. Another woman walked up to him and asked if that was his bag sitting on the right of him. 'No!' The woman smiled and said, 'excuse me?' 'This is what $1.25 gets ya!' Butter Bean shouted as his hands began to shake. I giggled again. 'Move that bag and let that woman sit!' scolded the African mother. Butter Bean moved the bags, but by then the woman wanted to stand. 'Go on and sit down honey,' the African mother said. 'No thank you I'm more comfortable standing,' the woman responded. Anyway, Butter Bean still removed the second bag and mumbled some things as his skin descended from it's beet like appearance. The bus finally made it to the subway station. Everyone scrambled to get off while Butter Bean gathered his hefty bags. I watched him get off the bus and he started his walk down the walkway. He went up to a trash can and threw the two hefty bags into a trash can. He took his garbage on the bus????

Just Me

Good morning!
I don't have much to say today. I'm chillin. My picture looks like I'm in a sort of pensive state, but I'm really just chillin'. I took that picture about 30 minutes ago at my desk. Otherwise, I am just waiting for 5pm to roll around. Have a great day!

Fri 3/3/06 442 pm
Have a great weekend! I plan to have a relaxing weekend because I have been full speed ahead for the last few weeks. Here's to rest and relaxation. Peace~

My Enslaved Past

In honor of Black History Month I wanted to post a little note that I left on the Roberson Family guestbook. The Roberson family owned my ancestors who were slaves on the Cross Roads Plantation in Martin County, North Carolina. This fact is known because my family never left that region after slavery and still reside there today. As a matter of fact, my grandmother was raised on the same plantation her grandfather worked as a slave. Her great uncle is the late Rev., William Drew Robeson, who is the father of actor, activist, and singer, the late Paul Robeson. This is a part of my history that I continue to study and I am finding out more and more as time goes on. I hope that you will find this as interesting as I did. I wasn't angry at them for their part in history. I just wanted them to know the names of those people who were affected/infected by their part in history.The note:Stephen Bess
Tuesday, 12/23/03, 8:07 AM

Happy holidays!! I am a descendant of Ezekiel Roberson who was a slave on the Cross Roads plantation. I feel that your website is really important because it gives me a sense of connection to my ancestors in Martin County, NC. I am fortunate because there are many African Americans in this country who have no idea what land their ancestors worked and tilled. My grandmother, Eunice Roberson Best grew up in Robersonville and she taught me all that I know about that area and our family. She joined our ancestors in April of 1999. Her memory will live on forever along with the memory of those who preceded her.

From:
Washington, D.C.
P.S. By the way, a member of the Roberson family did contact me and thanked me for leaving that note. He is a business man in the Raleigh Durham area. He also encouraged me to continue my research. I thanked him.

click the post title for a link to the Roberson Family website

Poetry: Complex Identity

I'm am re-posting this poem that I originally posted in April 2005 when I first began blogging. Bougie Black Boy discovered it in my archives and thought that readers would be interested. Thanks Bougie! I read this poem for the first time in months and decided to change the title.

This poem came to me as I was getting off of the subway train (originally posted: 4/17/2005)


I am Ghetto
I am Bourgeois
I am Elitist
I am Sexist
I am Voyeuristic
I am Spiritual
I am demonic
I am racist
I am Capitalist
I am a purist
I am all these things in alchemy
Forming a cosmic blend of Native-Afro-Neo-Euro-Old soul-Negro
Rising above stereotypes and perceptions
Frequent erections remind me of my potent nature
Spewing fertile life
producing seedlings that grow
Following the aftermath

Malcolm 3:10

El-Hajj Malik el-Shabazz (Malcolm X) died on this day in 1965 at the Audubon Ballroom in NYC. It was a Sunday afternoon in February. The time of death was 3:10 pm. His death really resonates with me this year because he was only a few months older than me when he was shot and killed on that Sunday afternoon. I've never been shot(thank God), but I can only imagine his thoughts as he was taking his final breath. He must of thought of his wife and children. He thought of his hopes and his dreams that he would no longer be able to pursue. Finally, he must of thought of rest and to never again have to await this impending doom.

Questions On A Monday Afternoon

Do you ever think about the fact that you don't have total control of your life? Perhaps you do? Oh, we'd like to think that we have it together and that we're in complete control of our lives, but are we? I'm thinking this because I know that there are plans and activities that I have in my mind to execute, but my body and spirit won't budge??? This leads me to believe that there is an opposing force holding me back. Perhaps it's just me?