Why I Love Being Black.

I love being a part of the greater American culture and I love the diversity of both my background and my friendships, but there are some isms and quirks within my ethnic culture that just make me giddy sometimes. I’m talking, make me wanna squeeze myself with glee over the way a person of color can colloquially flip the word in the most ridiculous way and still have that shit make perfect sense. It’s only appropriate that I celebrate those isms and quirks during Black History Month.

To wit:

Last night I was watching the Jay-Z concert/farewell (yeah, right) movie, Fade To Black, on Showtime.

The film cuts back and forth between Hov’s* final big performance at Madison Square Garden and various scenes of him creating hits and dialoguing (see? is that even a word?) with assorted rap icons and up-and-comers.

There was one scene in particular where Jay and Q-Tip (from seminal conscious hip-hop group A Tribe Called Quest)…

…were talking about the state of hip hop and how it’s changed. Jay pointed to another cat in the room…

…a younger rapper in a do-rag who I probably should know by face but don’t, and talked about how he (the young rapper) did rhymes about guns and shooting things up and what-not. The young rapper said he did them because that’s what the people seemed to want to hear. Jay was like…

…but that’s not really you though, but the kid said he had to take the long route (writing violent raps) in order to establish himself. The others in the room immediately responded with loud dissent. The most quotable protester of all, however, a fellow sitting just behind/beside the conflicted do-ragged young rapper…

…said the following as he looked up from whatever it was he’d previously been preoccupied with:


And you know what? Everybody understood that shit. Not one person blinked. For real.

Happy Black History Month, people. Be da fuck you.


*For those of you who don’t know, Jay-Z’s got more alternate names than you can imagine, way more than Diddy ever even thought about. Jay, Jay-Z, Jigga, Hova, Young Hov, Young, Hov, Jay-Hova, Jay-Hovah, H to the Izzo, Izzo, Jazzy, Shawn Carter, S. Carter, S. Dot…seriously, it’s too many to count. But fans of Jigga (myself included) love him and every single one of those nicknames he comes with, including his latest, Mr. President (o’ Def Jam). Do the damn thing, Jay. Be da fuck you.

Paramount Classics: Fade To Black

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