Showing posts from September, 2017
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True Story©... The Shit-In

     I am a lover of breasts.  This is documented on the internet. Trust me. No, seriously, trust me. Sunday September 17 th , I--… No, wait…  Did y’all ever catch my piece on about FB Groups?  Here it is , check it out and come back.      Okay.  Sunday September 17 th , I am chilling at the end of my Sunday, slightly dented from family time activities on the one day of the week I really allow myself to do such things keeping in line with weight loss goals.  Dammit, I am careening off topic again.  It is the end of the evening, about 9pm and I am winding down after getting the mini in the bed.  I hops on FB and into one of my favorite groups, which you can infer on the contents of based upon the above-linked 2015 post.      I share an image to the group which MIGHT (or perhaps might not…  we will never know now, will we?) have prominently displayed lady nipples.  THREE SECONDS LATER, like as quickly as the image could have uploaded, my app has go
1,210 Days

Hotep Hollywood... Good Times

     “Good Times” What ‘good time’ there to be had when you literally can NOT escape the projects under any circumstances?      Hollyweird.  Hates.  Us. Is that becoming a constant around here?  It should be, since it seems to always a proven point.      In one of a few instances where a Black family is shown with both parents present as a constant, they seemed to find themselves mired in far-fetched bullshit to show off that they couldn’t catch a break.  Of 133 episodes of Good Times through the years, the Evans family (no relation) – as an ongoing plot focus – made several attempts to get OUT of what is implied to be Cabrini-Green. I won’t even bother with why they were even IN Chicago when the show was spun off of Maude, which was set in NY. Anyway…      A black family making due with no substance abuse, extramarital children, no babies having babies an artistic older son, a daughter on her way to school and a young son who is interested in the issues.  Sh
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Phood Phun With Phlip... Pardon Our Dust

     Please bear with us this week, folks.  Two kitchens are becoming one, so all of our stuff is somewhere in the in-between.  Tuesday posts are the ones we have not yet built a cache of yet, so that means we are without a post this week. We will use this opportunity and space to recap the things we HAVE done, though.      Spaghetti Zoodles and Sauce : An intro to substitutions.  Properly used, zucchini will become one of the most versatile things in your entire kitchen.      Fried Chicken Breakfast Sliders : Speaking of switch-ups…  We’ve been frying chicken wrong our entire lives.  All of us.  Also, “low-carb” doesn’t necessarily mean “no bread” either.      Cauliflower Croquettes : A dish I created with potatoes a long time ago goes over JUST as swimmingly with cauliflower.      Curried Fish and Spicy Ginger Cabbage : Phlip: “WE MUST CURRY ALL OF THE THINGS!!!” Mimi: “let’s not”      Lottery-Winning Chicken : This chicken filling will become one of t
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Tighten Your Circle

     People judge you for the company you keep.  You may want to say “fine, let ‘em…  fuck them too!” but the fact of the matter is that they’re well within their rights to do so.  The best judge of character of an individual is to look at the company they freely keep.      That girl who is constantly in and out of relationships with some dude she met and first-nighted?  Runs in a CLIQUE of women who either do the same thing or are far too willing to cheer her on as she does.  All of them share the same conversation about how there are no good men left.      That dude who SEEKS that woman because he knows he can get at her gooey bits easily?  He is hedging his bets and has a group of homies who know the game just the same. Look, we’ve all been young and dumb.  There is nothing written anywhere that says we can’t grow and change.  There IS something that suggests that breaking cycles and letting go of ill associations is a necessary ends to that means. Also, we all kn
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Is it Trickin'? Lessons from our Elders

     You ever listen to two old men bragging about being sugar daddies?  Like that is some shit to be PROUD of? I am getting gas on my way to my sister’s a couple Sundays ago.  The station I went to was one of those Asian-owned joints with the illegal video poker machines in the corner.  Stationed at two of the five machines were two old (65-70ish) men, each nursing a Miller Lite (before noon on a Sunday!) and chatting each other up the way boys tend to do when they’re drinking and playing.      I was grabbing a drink for myself in addition to gas, so I had to go right by the duo and their conversation was HILARIOUS to me.  My nosy ass slow-walked to the case and fiddled with my phone for a reason to listen to them trying to impress one another for women that weren't around anyway. #1: “Sheeeeeit, n**ga.  I got me a coupla dem young tenders right now.  Them young girls love me man!” #2: “I hear you” #1: “Just like I told my grandson a couple days ago, it don’t
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True Story©... Lyrical Misappropriation

( photo credit )      Sometimes when I am all alone, I make up new lyrics to existing songs and repeat them until I remember them.  When the REAL song is on, I will sing  my  lyrics (loudly) and watch for people’s reaction. Misappropriation is not the same thing as misquoting, which is a different (but actually innocent) fun.      I cannot imagine either of you reading the above three sentences without wanting examples, so there is really no reason for me to continue pussyfooting with any lead-in here. One time I’m in my car with my nephews.  I have a radio that is effectively a 6” android computer of sorts, so I have a SanDisk Cruzer in it with all my preferred music on it.  As I picked them up, I was listening to UGK. Album:  Too Hard To Swallow , track 3…   Pocket Full of Stones . I let Bun B’s verse ride right through without issue, but when verse two started… “Back in the days they used to run up saying Pimp C what ya know? I tell 'em get your scones
1,217 Days

Hotep Pussy... Revisited

     Y’all remember before I met Mimi and had it stuck in my head to get at a Hotep chick and she wound up slowly ruining my life? Sure you do. Lemme remind you. Caught up now?  Let me continue… So I am chilling at work a couple of weeks ago.  I gets a text message from a number I had apparently not saved or had since deleted.  If you read the link above before continuing here, then you know I deleted it instead of simply not saving. Texter: “Peace Yakub ” Me: “Huh?  Who dis?” Texter: “So you just gon act like you don’t remember me?” Me: “Well, I got a new phone/carrier in October.” Texter: “Oh, okay…  It’s [redacted].” Me: “OHHH!!!  But, um…  Yakub?” Texter: “Oh, I forgot, you was faking shit.  Normal coon-types say ‘hey bighead.’” Me: “Watch that coon shit, I can block you just as easily.  You were the one who had me in crocheted pants and shit.” Texter: “Chill.  I was just checking in on you.  Hadn’t heard from you in a while.  What you been up to
1,218 Days

Phood Phun with Phlip... Citrus Pepper Wings and Cauliflower Florentine Bake

     This week will be really simple.  In the blitz of life-changing maneuvers and being busy with work and life in general, sometimes cooking needs to be kept as simple as possible.  I am just going to apologize/not apologize right out front.  We normally plan these on the weekend coming into the week, but one of the most important people in my life got hitched this weekend so we were busy celebrating. Yet, we must still eat good to live good. Lemon citrus pepper baked chicken wings and cauliflower Florentine bake. Let’s start with the wings: Chicken (duh!) 1/3 cup lime (or lemon if you prefer) juice 2 tbsp olive oil Onion Powder, lemon lepper seasoning and salt all to taste Plan ahead.  Cut the wings into sections and place into a large bag then mix the above wet and dry ingredients for a marinade and mix well.  Put it aside in the fridge and leave the house for several hours.      Once back in the kitchen, pre-heat the oven to 375°.  Spread your wings on a
1,219 Days

Conversations with Dog

     No one ever taught me to pray. I know a whole life of hearing other people do it and it always felt so…  rehearsed.  The frustratingly long altar prayers in every Sunday service.  Grandma squeezing the color out of your hand for fidgeting during the altar call.  Standing by famished when that one uncle everyone only sees twice a year "performs" grace over Thanksgiving dinner.  "Lawd Jesus, take me with you!" at a funeral.  None of it felt quite standard. I know I was always told “come as you are,” and I totally took that to mean that God as I understood him would meet me where I could understand him.      So sure, we know The Lord’s Prayer, repeat mitzvahs, we know standard graces over meals and we’re advised to pray regularly, but my question has always been “how?” Get slapped enough for unintended-but-perceived disrespect just for asking that question as a child and the adult in you just doesn’t ask anymore even if the question never goes away.
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True Story©... Flash Mob

     My best ideas are most often poorly received and fall flat on their faces.  It is not a result of poor planning or ill intentions as much as it might be simple bad luck or planning shit with the wrong fucking people. Not gonna kick myself about it, though I do that from time to time unfairly to myself, but it is the nature of a mind like mine.      Anyway…  This is True Story©, not “shit on Phlip” time, so let me quit fucking around. As a great many of the two of you know, I was once (briefly) married and I am currently involved with a pretty fucking awesome lady.  What y’all don’t know though is that I proposed one time before either of these women existed in my life. It was late 2002.  I had finally shaken the funk of my previous ex moving away for law school and the fact that we couldn’t work through an indefinite long-distance relationship.  Shit happens.  I had met and fell for someone new and we were giving each other literally all of the time that a couple
1,224 Days

Hotep Movie Moment -- Lean On Me

     Y’all know one of the Hotep-est movies ever made was based on a real-life event, right? In the 1989 classic film Lean On Me , Joe Clark (above right), portrayed by the voice of everyone’s conscience Morgan Freeman (left) is tasked with the tall order of being the cleaner of beleaguered East Side High in Paterson NJ.      Hollyweird norms would serve it that he would fail MISERABLY in this task and eventually need to be saved by someone whose skin is much paler than his own, but be-damned-lieve it or not, he succeeded! He went up in that school and he yelled at people, he bullied the crackheads, he threatened the dealers and risked his own freedom to keep those kids safe and get those damn test scores up! Hoo-fuckin’-ray Hollyweird!  One time in the then-76 years of motion pictures featuring sound, they let a Black man come into a shit situation and make it a NOT shit situation without first involving a White Savior™. AND this shit was based on a real true story? S