Community Service

“We cannot seek achievement for ourselves and forget about progress and prosperity for our community... Our ambitions must be broad enough to include the aspirations and needs of others, for their sakes and for our own.”

--- Cesar Chavez

As most of you know, I started this blog/ site to offer an alternative perspective on this rich and storied community. I address the comforts and plagues; the unity and struggle; the exposure and the escape. Many times it’s not pretty or easy to digest, but I love this community. It is a treasure to me and for all of its ups and downs I will defend it until I’m buried in it.

What This Blog Isn’t
I wanted this blog to be void of the penmanship platform that duplicated the stories that flood the magazine racks on your neighborhood check out line. You know, stories like: Brad & Angelina giving birth to an 11 lb. turkey in the lobby of Bill Clinton’s Harlem Brownstone, during a Jewish holiday, with alternate side of street parking suspended because Mayor Bloomberg stole a third term in office. In short, I tried to leave the sensationalism to the detracting traditional media that continues to under serve the (seemingly) undeserving. After all, why would a sensible student tolerate such a media of mass distractions?

Today, however, I’m going to make an exception to that self-imposed sensationalized rule and offer my perspective on Eldrick Tont Woods or as his shrinking list of friends call him.., Tiger.



I never much cared for Tiger Woods and the under serving newsstands and (loosely-termed) 24-hour breaking news outlets haven’t done much to alter those feelings one way or the other.

Naturally, I don’t know him personally or I may have offered some playa tips. My overall, “beef” with Tiger is I just don’t like elitists or exclusionists. I firmly believe God gave this “green” to all of us, not just an elusive group of white males that (for as long as I can remember) thought a hoe was only used for plowing their manicured greens or sharing their Master’s “head” quarters.



Now I know this restricted sport had their man made clubhouse laws long before Tiger came pawing on the pavement of the pro circuit. But for some reason I got the feeling that Tiger enjoyed -- or at the very least condoned -- this discriminatory / exclusive behavior. You know, like he was immune to not-so-subtle racial, socioeconomic, special, sexist governance. Like his shade of black was better or more acceptable than other black people. The same black people that always seem to find the compassion to support people like Tiger even if they are still restricted from walking on the same green to console him. I got the feeling that Tiger felt like his do-do is more valued or smelled better because the bowl he shitted in had a shiny, more elegant flushing sound. Tiger (no matter what he calls himself) is black and (as of this post) is still married to a lilly white woman. For the record, a black man married to a white woman is cool with me, if that’s how you roll.... around.

I mean Charles Barkley may be the only black person left on Woods’ speed dial. My red flagged issue with Tiger’s marital union and transgression (as he nicely put it) is if you are a black man in America and you ONLY date white women EXCLUSIVELY!! That is a concern for me –not a HUGE concern like the abovementioned, but a concern nonetheless. Now, I don’t mind if you like your coffee with a tad more cream and a bit less rhythm than my taste will allow, but my deeper concern is if that’s the ONLY beverage you dance with. That type of exclusion probably says more about him and further fuels my dislike.

As of this post, Tiger’s sponsors still “like” him and are riding with him like a wrecked Escalade. This is “par for the course” as one would expect a profiteer to side with the color green -- not black, white or blond. That’s just good business nothing personal. Some of these sponsors will make statements like: “We offer our sincere hope that Woods and his family find a peaceful way to move forward.” What that really means is “I cannot wait until the pro golf tour starts again, so we can sell more products to the black families that cannot attend our exclusive events, but want to support Tiger in any way possible.” I don’t own any Woods’ paraphernalia and Buick isn’t even in my top 30 of car choices.

I will however keep my eye on the Tiger and keep you posted, as I feel this is my duty to the community and it’s a pleasure serving you.

If only Mr. Woods felt the same.


click on blog title/ arrow for bonus tracks


1 love,
Ray Lewis

Empire Stakes

"Capitalism is the astounding belief that the most wickedest of men will do the most wickedest of things for the greatest good of everyone." -- John Maynard Keynes

I found this statistic simply astonishing…., during the most recently completed NBA season (2008-09), almost 82% of NBA players were black. That 82% was the highest percentage of black players in the NBA in 15 years. Oddly, that fact was not the astonishing part. After all it was the great, black philosopher, Biggie Smalls who poetically described the only black male exodus from ‘hood as: "Either you slinging crack rock or you got a wicked jump-shot!" If the latter in Biggie’s lyrics sing true, the NBA’s personnel statistics support that verse. The rest of Notorious’ rhyme puppets are (either)in prison or resting next to him.


The amazing part doesn’t even rest with the fact that throughout the NBA’s 64-year history, there is STILL only one majority black owner. Yep, the former BET founding father Bob Johnson is the sole, not to be confused with the soul, NBA majority owner and his team is the Charlotte Bobcats. And, for the record, the team name (BOB cats) is not coincidental; but you have to meet him or watch BET to know just how seriously he takes himself and how little he cares about a black plight. The really astonishing fact is Bob Johnson is the only majority team owner of ANY professional team in American sports history!! If there is a slither of a silver lining looming among that empty black cloud it is…, black majority professional team ownership is outpacing black U.S. presidents by 300 centuries. Now that we clearly understand that covert racism, sexism, and collusion are all alive and well, I found the perfect remedy for this situation and it only took 25 years. The answer is.... LeBron Raymone James.

By the start of this NBA season LeBron James will be 24 (he'll turn 25 in December). Equally important is by the end of the 2009-10 NBA season LeBron will be an unrestricted free agent. “Free” being the operative word since we are talking about a league that doesn’t believe in black ownership -- no matter how many trillions the teams owners make off of their backs. In fact, those black players better make sure their tie is straight before and after the game. Ask yourself in what (other) industry could a owner MANIDATE what attaire is deemed "appropriate" before you get to work? Better yet, what group of people will ahere to it? I guess the black ownership rant I'm alluding to is probably nothing more than a hoop dream. As I digress.

LeBron James’ pro hoop dreams begun with his hometown Cleveland Cavaliers. But there is ample buzz that Cleveland is not where the bulk of his career will be spent. “Spent” being the operative word; since it’ll cost the Cavs’ owners 3 times what the franchise is actually worth to keep James. Signing LeBron could be really bad for business if the owners inked James to a long term contract and he suffered a career-ending injury or never brought a championship banner to Brownstown — both being real possibilities when you are balancing a balance sheet. Throwing a curve in the basketball equation is... Cleveland has been riddled with double-digit unemployment since the pre Clinton administration, but you’d have to search far outside of a Barack speech to address that fact – "speech" being the operative word. After all, you don't get many presidential donations (i.e. votes) from towns littered with double-digit unemployment.

There are many die hard fans that believe King James should just stay in Cleveland. Those fans translate a King James departure to be more disloyal than the transgressions of his biblical namesake. Now that’s astonishing. James is entering the prime of his career – mainly due to his disloyal departure from attending a college or university that is equally void of black owners. For the life of me I cannot figure out why black people continue to be loyal to people, places and ideas that are un apologetically unfaithful to them. That answer probably rests in the King James version.

There are a minimum of six NBA suitors that have all but tanked this season (which starts tonight at 7pm EST), by clearing salary cap space in hopes of landing James’jock in their draws. Given that there is only one King James (albeit many different versions) there is a good chance five of those jocking teams will NOT be renamed Jamestown. Additionally, two of the most notable suitors reside less than 20 miles apart... one is the the once famed New York Knicks and the other is the soon-to-be Brooklyn Nets.



Look no further than the Barack Bailout addresses to understand the economics of a New York City move. Add the trivial pursuit(ing) fact that Jay-Z -- a (very) minority owner in the Brooklyn-bound Nets has James’number on speed dial just behind B's and just ahead of O’s. Now,(should James leave Cleveland) his destination is probably easier to figure out than your child learning their ESPN’s.

The only way to improve minority anything is for minorities to use their leverage whenever that rare possibilty presents itself. James can sign a contract in a major market and make enough off-the-court endosemennts to improve 10 Ohio cities --even if he had to leave Ohio to do so. After all, what under or unemployed minority cares whether there is a championship banner hanging in a gym owned by a 1% (bailed out) majority? The fact that LeBron has this type leverage to change this at 25 is simply astonishing to me, the fact he may be too loyal to exercise it isn’t!

click on blog title for bonus beats


1 love,
Ray Lewis

THE BOO PRINT 3

"I don't know anything about music, In my line you don't have to." -Elvis Presley

What I really find insufferably painful about Jay-Z loyalists is… that blind cult of apologists feels as if a person does not like a Jigga Joint then that person is immediately dubbed a “hatar!!” This makes three things perfectly clear:

A. Jay-Z has officially reached Barack’s “above-all critique” status.
B. The days of good journalism hasn’t disappeared, it’s simply ignored—which essentially becomes one of the same.
C. Beyonce must (literally) be sitting on a gold mine.



For those of you that fall into categories A or B, I’ll have to ask that you put your Roc sign down, take your Barack outfit off (the flag pin too) and sprinkle some musical logic when reviewing Carter’s regrettable and unoriginal titled Blue Print 3. This is Jay-Z's 11th Hip Hop attempt and I feel the majestic music maker has penned at least two storied classics in his well documented career. The first is the ageless, street slaying Reasonable Doubt.

This debut was (get this).. both a gift and a curse. The gift was an up close, bird’s-eye view of the droppings that plague the inner city streets —- most notably, Brooklyn. The curse is now that Hova has moved into idyllic status his new address won’t allow him to tell those CNN-less stories anymore. After all, all board members care about is sums & totals, not the sum of the totals.
The second memorable LP in Jay’s catalog was the witty autobiographically depicted, Black Album.

Not many Hip Hop artists have the history, the ingenuity or the public relevance to tell their life story on wax without sounding preachy or self-righteous. The Black Album was truly unique in that regard. Jay-Z’s trifecta would be the Blueprint 1.

I’m not sure I’d call this one a classic (necessarily) but J (for the most part) did put the bottles & chains aside and steered clear of the overflowing boastfulness featured in: "In My Lifetime Vol. 1”, “Vol. 2, Hard Knock Life," “Life & Times of S. Carter” and really corny “Roc La Familia Dynasty” —- all of which collectively sold millions and led to this corny LP -- but more on that in a second. For record, if you turned your Hip Hop clock back to the summer of 1989 — 12 years before Jay-Z’s Blueprint 1 — you’ll find that KRS-One released an album called The Blueprint of Hip Hop. Perhaps, Jay was just paying homage with his thrice mirrored title, huh?

Any who, I will deliberate with anyone on the planet that Jay is the author of two (maybe three) Hip Hop classics and he is one of the top 25 emcees ever. Those facts should virtually exonerate me from being labeled a Jay-Z “hatar" right? Well, just stay tuned…

The Blueprint 3 by all accounts is WACK—even by a school bus strapped helmet standard. The tracks are laced with gimmicky, corn ball beats and underscored with Keisha Cole-ish choruses, which is a far cry from Song Cry. The track featuring Young Geezy is only missing rhyme rivals: Sneezy, Sleepy, Grumpy, Happy, Bashful, Doc and Dopey -— the latter doubling as producer.


The creative control handed to Kanye West was about as wise as a Kanye acceptance speech. Sprinkle producers; Tiny Timberland, Al Shux, the Incredibles, Swizz Beatz and The Neptunes and you have the equivalent of a Christopher Reeves' dance team. This is one of those unfortunate projects that suckered legendary Chi-Town producer, NO I.D. in and regulated his work on this CD to clichéd and corny status. Hope he invests wisely.

As usual, no matter how bad the music, Jay always seems to spit his ever-clever tête-à-tête. His wit was especially evident on his braggadocios, not-so-subtle, middle finger dagger, directed at a grade-school teacher, who apparently, said Shawn Carter wouldn’t amount to much. Maybe the teacher was just referring to this CD. Nevertheless, the Pharrell-propelled track is tolerable, but the lyrics on “So Ambitious” is the only thing that saved this CD from my plastic recycle bin.

Jay-Z The Blueprint 3, "So Ambitious" verse 1

I felt so inspired by what the teacher said/
Said I’d either be dead or be a reefer head/
Not sure if that’s how adults should speak to kids/
Especially when the only thing I did was speak in class/ I'll teach his ass/

Even better what my uncle did/
I popped my demo tape in start to beat my head/ Peeked out my eye, see if he was beatin’ his/
He might as well said beat it kid,/
He’s on the list/ It’s like im searching for kicks/
Like a sneaker head/ You gon’ keep pushing me til I reach the ledge/
And when I reach the ledge, I tellem all to eat a d----/
Take a leap of faith and let my eagle wings spread

Trust me, no matter how corny this CD really is you’ll be treated, by Jay’s loyalists, to many unjust justifications like…”you have to listen to it on Thursday with the kitchen window open and your left foot in the sink”. Or, as one of Hova's Hoes told me, after six Long Island’s, I thought the CD was banging!!

Side bar: after six Long Islands, it’s probably best to remember who you were bangin’ not what!

Fans of radio spins and sound scan swipes will need no justification, but you may need some ice and a designated driver.

click on blog arrow for bonus beats


1 love,
Ray Lewis

THE REAL VIC TIMS

How did you know that what you sought was redemption and not righteous vengeance?

---- PETE ABRAMS

If you listen closely you’ll hear Mike Vick apologizing (yet) again. And, to be honest it is starting to get on my last nerves. On the other hand, it’s hard for me to (get this) “feel sorry” for someone that in the next two years (or so) will probably net over $7 million dollars. Further punctuating the Vick apathy are people that cannot get a job as a Wal-Mart greeter because of a felony conviction on their permanent record. Those holding their breath waiting for the fairness ship to arrive should probably rent a room in one of those now-infamous dog kennels.

And, what the f#@! is PETA doing? I saw a fat female protester (I’m assuming that eats meat) showcasing her disgust. How ironic! Instead of holding up a sign, she should have considered a mirror. The fact that she had on leather shoes underscores this nation’s blatant hypocrisy. I often wonder if PETA considers transporting dogs in a cage an inch wider than the animal, sticking them in a cargo space under an airplane, all while their “masters” sip coffee in coach any less humane than Vick's crime?

And what in the world was James Brown doing?

Once considered a decent pregame football analyst, in this interview, I feel that James put the Uncle in Tom during his 60 Minutes cameo.


[view the entire interview here]

http://www.cbs.com/primetime/60_minutes/video/video.php?cid=927554855&category=episodes&play=true

All Brown needed was a gavel, a black robe and a Coke with pubic hair on the can's rim. While Brown peppered Vick with questions that my 6-year-old nephew had to answer after spilling milk on the floor... lost were the more prominent questions like:



What type of relationship do you have with the “friends” and family that ran the operation with you?

What would you do if you could NOT play football again?

You mentioned turning to God and reading the Bible; was their a particular passage that stood out for you?

Would you consider donating a portion of your salary to helping other convicted felons finding a job—outside of pro sports?

How has this experience changed your definition of friend?

What part of society (other than speaking to family) did you miss the most?

What do you think of Maxwell’s latest?
No matter what the situation, levity normally puts it in its proper perspective.


Shouts to Tony Dungy who continues to put a face on grace and to Eagles quarterback, Donavan McNabb who clearly knows a bit more about job security that your average 9-to-5er.

The moral of this story is always the same—race plays a part in everything you do in this society—only to be trumped (occasionally) by money, fame, PETA, or house Negros. And, for that....

I’m truly sorry.


1 love,

Ray Lewis

MAX WELL?

"Use the talents you possess, for the woods would be very silent if no birds sang except the best." - Henry Van Dyke

I have been listening to Maxwell’s new joint off & on, then on & off and right back on again. As a matter of fact, this went on for roughly 11 days straight…and my review is still a wee bit muddled. First and foremost, this nigga can BLOW!! And honestly, what more would one require from an extremely dope lyricist, whom by even the most average account, is a song writing machine? Ah, if it were only that simple.

Maxwell is on another planet when it comes to making memorable melodies — and that certainly has not changed. Add a near decade-long layoff and fans of this “liner notes lion” won’t critique this one very lightly. I was savagely eager to cut the plastic seal on Black Summers’ Night — all the while marinating on what I already knew Maxwell is capable of cooking-up... and this approach was a sure recipe for disaster. Trust me, you will be better served feasting on this methodical (three-part)mystery like you gorged on other (domestic) new artist debuts from Jill, India, Erykah or D’Angelo. Impossible approach in this case? Perhaps? But you’ll thank me for that tip later.

If you make the mistake of thinking urban hair Maxwell, you will be in for an “on/off” spin cycle that you may never untangle. As it stands “Playing Possum” is my absolute favorite track on this LP—possibly ever by Max.. but I've been told that I tend to exaggerate from time to time. Not this time...

Come back from the dead
You left my, my heart here
Say what you will and won't forget
Express disappointment, speak your regrets, yeah
Or baby call out my name, I'll be where you are
I'll be very still, step down to my heart and mend this broken
If only you'd wake up from your constant possum playing
If only you'd wake up
I'm begging you sugar, have some leniency
Call the president and ask him baby, to pardon me and bring you back to me
Oh, oh, oh, oh oooooh
Amend this broken
If only you'd quite this nonsense of your possum playing
If only you'd…..

This song takes a very, very long and deliberate approach to begging, and I mean BEGGING for a resolution to a relationship that left an everlasting scar right across the heart! Then, after two minutes and 50 seconds of complete pleading, some live horns join the track to underscore Max’s pain and sorrow. Clearly I haven’t the faintest idea who the girl is that crushed his heart, but I’m pretty sure she’s awake and drafting an apologetic retort. That is unless she is getting some really bad legal advice.
Maxwell owes no one the slightest act of contrition for the first of this love trilogy, but I may be in the minority in that assessment. Naturally, I don’t want you to take my word for it, especially since he took nine premeditated, reclusive—almost introspective tracks to do so himself. If I could draft a new category to put this one in, it would be something along the lines of Complicated Soul.



If this is the worst of Maxwell, it is still WAY better than anything on your local radio station right now. That is unless the Michael Jackson tributes are still spinning. And, if that’s the case, even Maxwell will understand your spin cycled patience… I think he's earned at least that much.

(dim the lights and click on blog title)

One Love,
Ray Lewis

One Day In The Life……

Success is to be measured not so much by the position that one has reached in life as by the obstacles which he has overcome.

Booker T. Washington

The year was 1981 and the sun was pelting down on the concrete like a wide-nosed hose attached to an ocean. The urine scented streets made the unbearable heat…, unbearable. Clearly only the strong could survive such a hot and sticky atmosphere. Nevertheless, these city streets, as well as the surrounding Bronx blocks, made up the actual birthplace of Hip Hop. If a tree never grew in Brooklyn there are some unexplainable roots in the Bronx.
On this day, the Hip Hop culture was being cultivated on the corner of 163rd street and Union Avenue. And, by mid noon, the sun was hotter than a Do The Right Thing scene. The boogie down curtain opened in 23 Park, and as far as the eye could see the park is simply littered with litter and people littering. Twenty-three Park was so named for the public school that once rested adjacent to the playground. Now the (former) school is a part of the litter. It was not long ago PS 23 was the pick of the litter for parents choosing an educational facility for a young child. Rumor has it that the former Secretary of State, Colin Powell attended PS 23—severely challenging that tree growing in a concrete city theory.

There is a silver chain-linked fence that surrounds the basketball courts that are laced with variety of self-titled playground legends. Onlookers peeked through the fence at all of the ballers that are donned in low-top sneakers and high-top fades. At this juncture Nike, the Portland-based sneaker factory, was still a half a decade away from infiltrating this park—the NBA seemed even further. No time or space for advertising, just raining jump-shots drizzling from the blue collar hands of the likes of: Pee-Wee Smalls, Ivan Jackson and Morris High School legend, David Crosby. Spectators from all over the city watched as countless jump-shots and endless finger-rolls, rolled softly in the air, sometimes ricocheting off the metal backboards to a chorus line of ooohs and ahhhs. Witnessing the ball handling wizardry of Willie Mitchell underscores the gap between corporate interest and community confines.

Not far from the basketball goals—not to be confused with goals of playing basketball—are mounds and mounds of neighborhood kids statistically doomed for the grave or steel cage by 21. These kids are dressed in anything but swim wear, but that doesn't stop them from playing tirelessly in the front of an open hydrate. In some states this open hydrate "activity" would be illegal, but here in the Bronx its just another day in the life. The water “sport” that's taking place is just further proof that necessity has always been the mother of invention. The police cruised by, in police cruisers, overtly praying that they were anywhere else—on a cruise, perhaps. Almost simultaneously, the neighborhood B-boys stare back, each side not remotely trying to hide the mutual distain—sort of like a West Side Story script. On this very hot day, the ice grilling almost seems welcomed, if for no other reason than to add a chill to the mugging air. The chilling disdain from the two groups of people (that will never formerly meet) seems unreal—but is real. And, the light blue, Buick duce-and-a-quarter cruising in the one car parade, proves just how real, with the Shalamar hit blaring to a slow speed….

It’s got to be real/ girl, I can write a book on how you making me feel.

The contempt for both the police and the neighborhood B-boys can be cut with a knife—and sometimes it is. On the south end of the park sits a 25-foot high, graffiti –tatted, handball wall. The wall divides couples playing the inner city version of tennis or racket ball (minus the racket and tennis ball).

The ball of choice is a hard, pink rubber Spalding slightly larger than a plum. The Bronx is not far from the U.S. Open, which is annually held 7.4 miles away, (in Queens); but watching this game, that distance seems like 400 years.

As the night begins to creep in and the non-residents creep out, a white moving van (of sorts) pulls up. If U-haul were to do an inventory spot check, I’m pretty sure there would be one motor vehicle missing. Finding the truck wouldn’t be hard either, this despite the spray-painted attempt to hide the brand name. The driver (totally ignoring the NO PARKING sign), hops the curb and pulls right into the middle of 23 Park. About a dozen guys unfold from the two row seating and spill out into the park. Some people stare, while others just ignore them as they ignored the parking restrictions. One of the guys moved to the back of the truck, opened the lift and started to unload a cabin full of equipment. The unloading began: massive speakers & rolls of neatly wrapped speaker wire, a bull horn, lights, turntables, an eight-legged table, a mixer, night lamps, amps, a couple of receivers, another amp, an industrial fan, a orange extension cord, a police barricade—yep a police barricade, and 10 milk crates of records are all amongst the hurriedly emptying equipment. In less than 20 minutes, the crew is set up and ready to perform for the TOTALLY unsuspecting and now semi-circled crowd.

In an instant, with the equipment snuggly plugged into the tax payers street lamp a neighborhood kid from PS 23 named, Melvin Glover picks up the mic and spits….

Broken glass everywhere/people pissin’ on the streets ya know they just don’t care/I can’t take the smell, I can’t take the noise got no money to move out/I guess I got no choice. Rats in the front room, roaches in the back/junkies in the alley with a baseball bat/I tried to get away, but I couldn’t get far/cause the man with the tow truck repossessed my car.

For the rest of the world it’s apparent that a Hip Hop legend is born, but in the Bronx, this is simply just another day in the life.

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1 love,
Ray Lewis

POLITICS FROM A –to- Z

In a recent fire Bob Dole's library burned down. Both books were lost. And he hadn't even finished coloring one of them." —Jack Kemp

More and more often people have been asking me: “Why do I judge President Obama so harshly?

Not lost in this irony…. Is the fact that the essence of the question is fairly judgmental. I simply love people. The fact of the matter is I don’t judge any man—not even Barack. I take my salary-free job too serious.

Side bar: raise your hand if you are equally committed to a monthly task for no commission…, other than your community.

More times than I care to count, I turn down money for a Ghetto Proverbs post. My fear is compromising the authenticity for my perspective. So, to think that I would judge Barack personally, would be extremely insulting to me…, that is if trading wits with an unarmed person could be remotely insulting.

My universal task is to analyze, critique and offer constructive criticism on any man, woman or organization posing in a position of aid to the community—my community, and the birthplace of this inner city truth. You know, just like Hip Hop.But, I am sure you knew that just from this blog title. That is unless your chamber is empty.

The ultimate goal is to be a voice for the voiceless, while trying to get my community to understand why they feel the way they do. Honestly, I think I have more fun than they do. One day the feelings will be mutual. I have too much faith to believe otherwise.

I think Barack is an interesting person—almost fascinating. This is why he is mentioned in this blog more than any single person on earth. He is an extremely polarizing person. Barack is neutral (unless it’s popular)—then he’s assertive (that’s politics for ya). He’s witty when he has to be and charming (which is very popular) especially during an election. Barack is articulate (which is insulting when you think of the covert assumption). He is athletic (albeit horrible at basketball, bowling, and golf)—thus making him a fan more than an athlete. He is a smoker, which (of course) is almost never mentioned since it will nibble at his popularity—and no one with an unloaded chamber wants that, right? In fact, my dear sweet, sister once told me that Barack is a role model, but she thinks Pookie from New Jack City isn’t because he smokes. Sometimes life is truly stranger than fiction.


Barack denounced his life-long role model Jeremiah Wright, because Minister Wright was upsetting his popularity.I am so glad my mom didn’t take that (Barack) approach when I boo-booed in my pants during a tightly-fitted, close proximity church service. I think true friends and family are with you for life, regardless of how popular or unpopular. Clearly, politicians have different standards—making the title role model ever so quizzical.

Nevertheless, (and despite all the odds telling me otherwise) I decided to tackle this Barack phenomenon philosophically—from A-to-Z. When, I’m done hopefully, we all would have learned something—even if that something is…., how much of your stimulus check will be owed when you file next year’s taxes.

Ready?

A) Have you ever heard a white person described as articulate?

B) Why is it that black people never refer to Bill Clinton as the first black president anymore? Either he wasn’t and the comments were dim-witted or the chamber is jammed, searching for an answer.

C) Name an unarmed Caucasian male that has ever been shot in the back by a police officer. Take your time.

D) What do you think will happen first.., Pontiac will make a come back or (unaided) Barack will mention Darfur in a press conference?

E) How did Clinton lose his “black president” title, but more than half of Barack staff members are ex-Clinton members—including his wife or soon-to-be-ex?

F) Who do you think speaks more to the plight of black people, the largely popular Barack or the marginally popular Farrakhan?

G) I’m still waiting for Hollywood to release a major theatrical with a black man starring as God. FYI: this may be the only job Barack couldn’t apply for since his name is Islamic. Maybe life is stranger than fiction.

H) Who do you think make up the majority of Heaven’s, population democrats, republicans or activists?

I) …. probably, have been invited to my last Barack party.

J) Who do you think Barack will name as the new Supreme Court Justice?

K) Who do you think will win a political battle between Karl Rove and David Axelrod?

L) Lemmie guess how many people voted for Barack, but wouldn’t know the difference between David Axelrod or Axel Foley.



M) In the next 4–to-8 years, Michelle Obama will appear on more “Most Influential People List” without a job, than she would if she did hold one.

N) Never go to law school if you have an opportunity to marry a half white president. After all, the latter is far more influential (see M for more details).

O) Someone reading this just crossed me off Oprah’s book club.

P) If the President’s slogan is change, why did America skip the Geneva Convention on Change? Maybe, “CHANGE” is regional.

Q) I am grading these questions on a curve.

R) During the next election, it’s important to remember that change rarely (if ever) works from the top down.

S) I think it stinks that an American can vote without (first) passing a test in social studies, political science, philosophy, psychology or Greek mythology—especially since capitalisms could never exists without them.

T) Ever wonder why 99% of all media outlet’s headlines only have three words in the title? (i.e. War on Terror).

U) Most portable devices that you own make it much easier for your Barack-led government to keep you under surveillance. FYI: for the device(s) you don’t own, The Patriot Act will take care of that!

V) I saw an “apology expert” on CNN that was analyzing Mike Vick’s face to determine whether Vick’sapology was sincere.

W) WWJD? I saw this on a bumper sticker on my way home from church on Easter Sunday. Maybe the driver left before the pastor got to the resurrection portion of the service.

X) After this post, I have a feeling that X-Ray will take on a whole new meaning.

Y) What are you supposed to YELL if there was an actual fire in a movie theater?

Z) I pray one day that the Zip Codes in America will one day regain their value.

My main man Robert Carter taught me to always end on a positive note. (Z) was just my way of saying thanks, bruth. Rest in peace.

click on blog arrow title for bonus beats


1 Love,
Ray Lewis

Warn er Brother

Slaves lose everything in their chains, even the desire of escaping from them.

Jean Jacques Rousseau

If someone stopped me on the mean streets of Lithonia, Georgia and asked me who I believed are the best musical artists of my 44-year generation…





I’d first say, hey man, where’s your Obama shirt?

When I got a bit more serious, the names: Stevie Wonder, Beethoven, Marvin Gaye, Miles Davis, Billie Holiday, Quincy Jones, Ray Charles, Earth Wind and Fire or (my personal favorite) but not necessarily my final answer, Omar, would probably come to mind.






However, if the street talker asked me who the most relevant artist of my generation was or is? My answer (without hesitation) would be Prince.

While his live show is simply a must for the living, his recorded music is (for the most part) hit or miss with me. I rarely toggle through my music collection and pull a Prince joint off shelf. However, I love his middle finger industry swag so much that you’ll find countless discs of his in my assortment of artists.



On Tuesday, March 31, The Artist Currently Known As, added another gem to his storied catalog. This time, unveiling the pop life’s protégé, Bria Valente, as a bonus disc to this neatly completed electronic trifecta, just in time for spring break. Aside from the outstanding and refreshing new music, the soon-to-be 51-year-old musicologist just continues to shatter the realm of conventional [industry] wisdom, while driving a stake through the radio slave owner’s counterproductive heart. That fact alone earned my recession-friendly, $11.98 and honestly, it’s worth twice that. Most gems are. His latest sparkler, LotusFlow3R, was unleashed with an exclusive distribution deal with local retailer, Target, and the Purple One’s member’s only website. You don’t have to be a fan of Prince’s music, but rather a champion of revolutionary change (there’s that word again) to understand why his pivotal positioning is paving the way for aspiring artists not even born.

The head-nodding, down-tempo (78 BPM), rock-laced Colonized Mind is currently my favorite, but that could change at the next listening session. Right now, the headphones sound like this:

If you look, you’re sure gonna find
throughout mankind’s history
A Colonized Mind
the one in power makes law
under which the colonized fall
without God, it’s just the blind leading the blind

Quite naturally, when you are digesting lyrics of that magnitude, it becomes increasingly difficult to listen to a melody about an umbrella. Prince’s not-so-passive “rain” on commercial radio’s formulated success is greeted equally with your local radio station [and corporately held entity] shunning any FM rotation spins from anything outside his Warner Bros contract. And, to think they lock Bloods and Cripps up for being gangstas. Now that’s funny.

I think people have gotten so complacent and indifferent to some of America’s subtle, yet shackled conditions that an independent artist is the equivalent to an Independent. Sadly, you’ll never live long enough to see either center stage in the White House.

click on blog arrow for bonus beat


1 Love,
Ray Lewis

It's About Time

There is never time in the future in which we will work out our salvation. The challenge is in the moment; the time is always now.

James Baldwin


In a feeble attempt to save what’s left of the earth’s ozone layers every spring and fall we mere mortals fine-tune our time on earth by flipping our clocks back and forth like a NaS single. Man, I sure hope Jesus has a sense of humor... but doesn’t wear a watch. Apparently, not even saving energy was a good enough reason for Americans to toy with time. So, in the fall of 2008, we delayed the seasonally scheduled time change to fire up our deteriorating economy.

Wouldn’t you just love to meet the stimulus scholar who penned the amendment to convince the earth’s Creator to delay Daylight Savings by four weeks, just so we had more time to frequent shopping malls? Now, that’s taking In God We Trust to a whole new level.

Along the shores of the U.S., the cloudy economy has overpowered the warm and fuzzy sentiments that usually greet our spring-forward daylight savings. And, from the porch & patio views on Wall Street, this appears to be the only savings plan in America still in tack. In fairness, I haven’t read the entire Stimulus Package, so I trust there just might be a provision in there to bail out the sun too.

Side Bar: Can a package be (both) a Bill and a Stimulus?

Isn’t that humorously ironic fact the equivalent of Chris and Rihanna recording a HIT on domestic violence?



Hmmm, a stimulus bill??? That's almost as funny as losing a pie-eating contest to Paris Hilton? Or, obtaining video footage of a police officer shooting an unarmed white kid in the back.

Side Bar 2: Did you know that Chris “Ike” Brown and Rihanna "Left Eye" Fenty's single drops next month and a Body Guard II movie deal is pending for Rihanna... further proof that there is no such thing as bad publicity.

Speaking of Barack….

The other day I was in the grocery store and a neatly packaged lady was on line in front of me. She was very cute and built like a seldom traveled Himalayan mountain. In the interest of full disclosure, most Saturdays in any southern grocery store is flooded with such scenic wonders.... However, underscoring the theory of quality vs. quantity is the fact that this sista was donned in a black velour Barack Obama warm-up suit. The mobile mural of President Obama on the back was simply impossible to ignore. This would probably be a good time to mention my NO such thing as bad publicity hypothesis.

As she turned her back to me, I presumed that I was chuckling to myself. But as luck would have it, she (over) heard me and asked, "What's so funny?" Ignoring the obvious retort, I said…, "Ah, nothing!!" Then I said, "So…., I see you are a HUGE Barack fan."


She rejoiced with a thunderous, "Yep, and I would’ve voted twice if I could." I smiled at the Floridian voting irony and thought (this time firmly to myself)…, I would have voted for a different clothing selection. Apparently, my silent thoughts grew increasingly uncomfortable, so she turned to me…., stared for a second, and sharply asked: "Aren’t you a Barack Obama fan?" Not alert enough to phone a friend who actually might be, I shot back… "ah, I’m more of a NY Knick fan... the outcome of their games are far less predicable."

[Had the hoop conversation ensued, I would have admitted Knick games are much less entertaining than her jogging suit]. Lucky for both of us that conversation never materialized — no pun intended.

She (obviously annoyed by my actual response) said, "All you Republicans are all alike." Brilliant observation, I thought, even though I am not actually a member of any political party. Afraid to burst her false assumption I shot back, "How do you know I am not an Independent?" She said, "I don’t care how many people live in your house, Barack is the only real option we black people have."

I thought, hmm, I moved my clock forward, but it’s still going to be a long summer.

As we walked towards our cars in the parking lot, an old school Chevy Impala cruised by playing a really loud (loosely-termed) song that sounded more like a Lil' Wayne auction. At this point, I offered my buggy and suggested she looked both ways before crossing.

She probably thought I meant the street.


click on the blog (arrow) title for music clip

1 love,
Ray Lewis

Black Epilogue

Black people have always been America's wilderness in search of a promised land.
-- Cornel West,


Whew, 2009.

More often than not, some well-educated people (a very relative term) have approached me with this youthful exhilaration about the first black president of the United States heading to the Washington, D.C. in a couple of weeks. Am I alone in the humorously ironic fact that these well-intended, euphoric-laced, enthusiasts are celebrating a black man, headed into a (haunted) white house, in the nation’s murder capital? I didn’t have the heart to remind these blind loyalists that (less than a decade ago) they celebrated the same ritual in “honor” of Bill Clinton—who they foolishly dubbed the first “black” president. Bill is starting to find there is much more to this race thing than your home address. In any event, this blog would be much more difficult without the unsolicited input of some of my black brethren—whom I love and pray for every day.

MOVING ON UP [insert the Jefferson’s theme]

There is a plethora of pastoral pews packing black church parking lots and loading buses and heading to D.C. for this “historic-themed” inauguration. The District of Columbia must be that one exception to that separation of church and state rule. In fact, a former co-worker told me she was going to take the week off and head to the White House, credential-less. I can only assume that CNN must have lifted her recent probation for excessive absenteeism. You know, for a color so rich and uncompromising as the foundation of the Black race, my people sure make tons of effortless concessions for people that could care less about them or the slave ship of free labor the nation was funded on. Yeah, I know Barack is different. He is going to bailout the auto industry, save the economy, reform the school system (by the way his kids are headed to private school) correct the housing market, put an end to war and terrorism, and spit on a Puffy re-mix. If that sounds ridiculous, wait until you see the black church parking lots on January 19th. I actually like half of Barack. After all, he is unflappable, well-spoken, consistent, nicely attired, and very valiant. Of course, so is my accountant, but......

TIME FOR SOME REAL CHANGE

Just imagine if all of the Barack bandwagon ballyhoos decided instead of flooding D.C. for a media-driven photo opt and cormorant dinner plates; they decided instead to cut a credit card in half
and refuse to apply for another one unless the interest rate was fixed at 5% (or less) for the duration of Barack’s tenure in office.

What if my black people decided to protest all NFL games for one year because they felt Michael Vick’s treatment was excessive.

Imagine if we decided to put all of our direct-deposited checks in one community-invested bank (of our choice) in exchange for an interest-free loan on all big ticketed items (regardless of credit score). The only caveat is all interest-free bank loans must be automatically withdrawn to ensure timely payments. The bank will be able to invest the direct deposits of 13 million people starting January 21 and the community has a real jump-start to improving one’s credit score.


Imagine if this rich uncompromising color decided to donate 5% of their annual income to save Morris Brown College—whose campus, as of this writing, is water-less. Can you believe that? In exchange for the community’s good will, Morris Brown would waive the first year of tuition for all incoming freshman, who agreed to help revitalize the campus (based on the student’s field of study) up to 10 years after graduation. Each one, teach one would be my motto.

How about all of Barack’s Baptist backers donating 3% of their income to General Motors in exchange for an interest-free loan and 75% off the reduction off a GM car that is currently rotting on a neighborhood lot?

Finally, what if we all agreed to donate 4 weeks of our professional time—on a rotating shift—to help rebuild New Orleans?



In exchange the volunteers (in conjunction with the corporate workforce) will have their 2009 income taxes waived for a year—you know like real public servants. One day we will understand that the government works for the people, not the converse. I cannot wait for the day that Black people stop using their color to promote silly, political deception and start using it for the intended purpose, pure dominance…, no chaser. Happy New Year. (click on the blog title for video bonus)

One Love,
Ray Lewis

THE LIGHT

You can measure a nation by the way it treats the least among them

The comical political euphoria that is gripping black America is almost knee-slapping funny to me. Because of my outward smirk, people often ask me, [make that, people often TELL ME]… Ray, why don’t you like Barack, man? As if I am breaking some silly fraternity Faux Pas. The internal giggling intensifies when I respond with: First of all I could never dislike someone that I have never met. That would be ignorant. An objective voter would assess it would be equally ignorant to proudly and blindly support someone they have never met either. But, I digress. As crazy as (local congresswoman) Cynthia McKinney was (and still is) at least she came to my house for a pledge and support. So if I were to try to defend her at least I have a REAL, first hand foundation. Starting to see the light?

Nevertheless, its this type of social observation that got me ushered out of an Oprah book club meeting, when I simply stated, I think Oprah lowers that standard of journalism. Can you believe they kicked me out of the meeting for that? And, the meeting was at my house. I have come to the conclusion that Barack and Oprah have managed to elevate their social platform so high that they are above CONSTRUCTIVE criticism. Think about that for a second! They have not only circumvented the First Amendment Right, they are now reached mythical proportions. Like that of Gandhi, the Pope or Jesus Himself. Actually, I hear people criticizing the latter three all the time and defended much less. Imagine that Heavenly round-tabled discussion.

I think the saddest part of this commentary is layered with irony. For starters, it is my belief that Barack would warmly welcome an open conversation about some of the issues that I have raised (on this site) and that most loyal supporters are in total oblivion to. His two-time Patriot Act support would top that list. I believe his concerted effort to remain race-neutral is worth a lunchroom discussion. Especially since big, fat white women still clutch their purse when I enter an elevator and I am not going to raise anyone’s taxes. We’d probably need more than a lunch to discuss, The Point System, World Banking, Katrina, the real predators behind 9-11, and finally, the consolidation of banks that are being neatly veiled as a “middle class” Bailout. Barack, is so smooth, I almost fell for that one. ALMOST!! We would have to go to sleep-a-way camp to discuss why black kids are moving target practice for white police officers. My rabbit ear antenna must have failed when Oprah did that show.

Now, I know what you electric sliding Barack line dancers keep telling me… Man, just wait until he gets into office, he’ll address all of that and more. Funny, these same loyalists said that about Bill Clinton.

Remember him? Yep, that dumbly dubbed “Black President.” That's right the same president that called your boy…, Boy!! Oh, boy! Clinton and Barack appear to be boys, again. It is amazing what a 30-minute infomercial and a singing, fat lady (warming up an Oval Office) will do for a friendship. Man, politics make for strange bed fellows.




Rest well, Barack. I know black people and their euphoria…. it can turn like an off-key Mary J. concert or a crowded Barney revival. If that happens give me a call man, you know I’ll listen. After all that’s what REAL friends are for.

Click blog title for video, underscore.

1 love,
Ray Lewis