What the hell… here’s one more.

Almost there...

I’m at the point now where all of the department heads are showing what they’ve been away working on…

I had to pinch myself! My words have been turned into something tangible. My emotions almost got the best of me, but I have to go press onward. I don’t want to get caught up in how cool everything looks. I probably won’t fully appreciate all of the hard work done by everyone until the very end. I couldn’t ask for  a better crew really.

I’m going to post the photos of the pre-production work once production has wrapped. Something like a before and after sort of thing… just to have something on the blog until the film has been cut.

Everyone has been amazing! We’re days away from the actual shoot…

I’m the least bit excited about producing (more like writer-director/producer/co-editor) my first short film. If anything, I’m at peace.

I feel like life has prepared me for it:

–Being poor. My life since birth had been put at risk. Extremely dangerous neighborhood. Crumby education. Bad diet. Violence on top of violence. To alter this cycle so I didn’t have to continue living this way involved me taking a lot of risks, certain kinds of risk. “Risks” I’m not sure at this point will end up in my memoir.

So ideally being a filmmaker involves taking risks. The subject matter of my short film is quite risky. The pivotal scene has a man tied to a bed post; his genitals are then removed via hacksaw. Very risky! On top of other things like self-financing and adapting someone else’s work.

–Again. Being poor. My mother had to make miracles happen and I’m still making them happen. Rent money is one of them. I’ve always said, ‘Poor people are the best with money.’ We can’t depend on the little that’s coming in, so we have to be creative in how it all gets spent.

You guessed correctly if you’re wondering if I had to stretch my dollars–I am!

–Being a terrible dater. I laughingly call them interviews. You get dressed up to talk a little about yourself and why you would be right for the “job” (boyfriend). You’re then told that there are others applying and that isn’t necessarily you but “other factors” on why you didn’t get the job. That’s to say if you get a call back in the first place about not getting it. In my case, I end up calling and calling to see what’s going on… I’ll quit here, you get the point. [side note: I no longer practice the modern day society exercise known as dating.]

Filmmaking should be categorized under relationships. If done properly, you’ll build relationships with other filmmakers that are for life. But before you get to that point, it involves you having to sit down with a lot of people and getting said people excited about something you wrote at4 a.m.on a Tuesday night in the dark with only the glow from your laptop illuminating the room. The large majority will say “no”. Sort of like dating… *wide smiling grin covers my face* It hurts less and less the more you hear it–the word “no”–and becomes fun and a game all in itself eventually. But like I always say, ‘One yes is equal to a thousand No’s.’ That’s the breakthrough point we all strive for.

–Reading. Thankfully I got in the habit early of picking up a book from time to time.

I heard somewhere that screenwriters of yesteryear read authors so therefore the transition into films was easier on them. In passing they would mention their favorite film reminded them of their favorite book. Not so much the case often times today. Screenwriters of today research by watching other films in the genre specific to the one they’re writing. I’m not at all interested in how someone else would’ve filmed an alien invasion. I would prefer to stretch my mind a little on how something like that would look like. Hence me enjoying books more than movies–still!, even though I want to make movies professionally. Books were there for me when boredom crept in and they have also helped keep my imagination vibrant.

–Listening. Sometimes it’s just best to shut up.

It might sound odd, I’m sure. But for those who understand what I’m writing, listening means absolutely everything to understanding the world and your own imprint on it. I’ve gained so much knowledge by listening. It goes hand in hand with filmmaking, especially me being a novice to it all…

–Decision-making. My job now involves me having to think fast on my feet–literally.

When you’re working long days, especially the amount of hours it goes into making a film, the last thing you need is someone who’s supposed to be your commander-in-chief clueless about what to do next or uncertain about how the lighting and blocking of a shot should look.

————–

And since I’m at peace, that also means I’m a step closer to fully understanding how this organism works. Because filmmaking is an organism. It lives. It breathes. It adapts. It grows. Ideas come, then they go, then come again, hang around for a while, then leave again. I’ve been making changes to this project since March and I’m sure they’ll change again soon. And let me just say here before I go on in the next passage that filmmaking is easy. My one true difficulty has been LOCATION. Location, location, location! It’s like opening a damn restaurant. It’s an issue I’ve already worked out for my next film. I’m turning my living room into a studio, an all white studio. See how easy I make the decision-making process look.

Moving forward…

Me making a short film, and it’s looking like my next work will be a feature, should hopefully demystifies the movie business and/or filmmaking experience. By no stretch of my imagination did I envision myself doing this when I was a child. My imagination was wild, but not that wild! But now that I’m getting ready to take my first crack at it, I can’t help but feel that I belong, that this is what what’s right for me.

I have the actors that I want, the crew that I want and the right mind frame I need to be in. For now, I keep my giggles to myself and am enjoying the ride…

After a months-and-months of discussion, talking, wooing and coaxing, I can now officially say that I am producing a short film. And now I can do one better: say the name/title of that short film. [Drum roll, please...]

THE EUNUCH!

(Applause!, Big Hooray!, Crowd Goes Wild!!)

Not really…

First and foremost, credit goes to the source material, The Intimated Adventures of a London Eunuch by Gavin James Bower.

The Eunuch is a story that I stumbled onto late one night while internet-surfing for articles/essays written by my favorite writer (he shall remain nameless); specifically, ones he’s written about sexuality, relationship and alcohol — often all three combined. It was written in three parts for an online magazine, 3AM Magazine.

I like most of the work on this site which tends to be very transgressive and dark. It  seems like most of what’s written here calls out to me; I’m sure others might find the work here awkward. I especially love the stories here themed under theumbrella of sex. When I say sex, I mean premarital sex — the only sex I know and care to partake in at this point in life. And it’s not just the sex that I’m them reading for, I’m caught up in the journey also — how they (sometimes the stories involve more than two characters) got there whether it involves a reckless night of drinking Chartreuse or something more extreme in the case of The Eunuch.

— Side note —

New Orleans is a little bit more Bohemian than Los Angeles in some regards, definitely in the realm of sex/sexuality. Ask any New Orleanian what goes on at Mardi Gras, or ask one about Frenchmen street on Halloween night, or the great bigSwingers’ convention that rolls through town annually.

Never before have I been in the presence of so much guilt/shame for doing something natural. It’s so confusing. Is it the religious thing? Is it society? What’s going on? We push sex off on everything yet people feel so awkward about discussing it/doing it. Are we really sexually liberated as we claim to be…

— Maybe not —

Anyhoo…

Part of why I wanted to get into filmmaking was because of my interest in human sexuality, exploring ways on how to capture it from all angles: romantic, consensual, shady, etc. It’s the greatest thing that can happen to us, that, and a big tax return.

The Eunuch called out to me. I couldn’t see myself not doing it. I feel like the character feels trapped and his plight resonates with so much going on in my life on all levels.

Expect a wild and crazy ride…

I moved to L.A. in search of a new life five years ago. A part from that it was my love for writing. I always thought that someday the words I wrote alone at night in my room would someday be on-screen.

I’ve been toiling away for 3 years now on a script that I felt had the best possible chance of growing wings. The name of the script isChalkboard and it pretty much summed up my life circa 2007. I was down-and-out, single, lonely and frustrated and just wanted a new beginning, the new beginning I thought I was getting when I left New Orleans to move toL.A.

The story was a bit of a passion project, sort of something I would write for kicks and I really took my time writing it (3 years) because I had quit on writing and I just needed it to be a hobby more or less — the screenwriting that it is. (If a wrote a line, I wrote a line… it didn’t matter if some suit didn’t like it. A month or so, I’d add one; then another — really fleshing things out. No pressure to sell. Just me and my work.)

What's in a name?... EVERYTHING!!

TheL.A.grind had worn me down. I was a novice screenwriter who had written his first script and pitched to studios and such but they were all telling me “no”. It was confusing because it was my work that put me in the room with them in the first place. Anyone pursuing a career in screenwriting knows this, especially those who have pitched before.

As I rose out of my slump, I picked up the script last December (2010) and I remembered how funny, and how genuine of a place I was writing from and felt the need to complete the process — take all of those notes and scenes that weren’t attached and finish the back-end of the thing. It wasn’t until late into the semester (2011) that I realized I wanted to submit it to the Sundance Screenwriter’s Lab. I was in Economics class and my teacher made a comment. He said, “To declare ‘I’m hungry’ means absolutely nothing unless you perform like someone who is hungry.” which was in the letter I wrote to Sundance. And in one instance, the past four years of my life shoot down this tunnel and it hits me: I’m sitting on a really good script that would make an even better movie. Follow the damn thing through!

As for the story…

It’s sort of a farewell tour to L.A./Hollywood with a slight romantic comedy edge to it. This character, Scoot, is frustrated with his life. He’s stopped painting and he’s terrible at dating. He receives a call from home saying he must leave Los Angeles, but on a fluke he catches feelings for a hipster. Two people from opposite backgrounds. He’s sort of working class African-American, she’s anL.A.underground Asian D.J.-hipster. And as we watch the world of this character (Scoot) unfold, we see how his immaturity hasn’t prepared him for something down the line — failure, accepting failure. He wanted so bad to be a world renown artist, but he realizes that it won’t happen.

And it mirrors my life as well as those who pursue careers that are very, very challenging — acting, dance, writing etc… where the stakes are high. That’s why I felt the need to see it through. Those of us in SoCal — the select few in SoCal will get our dreams out, the others; well we know where that road heads.

My dilemma:

To date two people have seen it. I sent an earlier rough copy to a friend in San Francisco. The girl I’ve been seeing off and on as of late has seen it and I also read it aloud to her ( she genuinely likes it ).

And then Sundance… I doubt I got hacked!!! I hope Sundance is planning on sending me a letter saying I got in!!!

Because when I mailed it off to Sundance a while back AND when I picked the title four years ago, there was no motion picture/short film/TV movie/Web Series/TV Series on IMDb.com with the word “chalkboard” in the title; seriously, none were listed or existed — definitely not a single word title. Tonight I’m scouring IMDb because I like to see if the titles I come up with are there, wanting to be original (the title I’m considering naming my next short doesn’t exist which is how I found this alarming news) and that’s when I see —> CHALKBOARD (2011)

I gasped!! It’s one thing be named Chalkboard, but 2o11! The exact year I completed my version… I call bullshit!

Again, I can only hope that Sundance has a letter coming in the mail for me soon. I’m blogging about this now so that it shows I was well ahead of this thing. It would really suck if someone makes something remotely close to my script, because I already know where they got the “source material” from.

Yes, I’m overreacting, but when you pick a name like Chalkboard, c’mon! And for four years keeping mum on it, not saying anything…

All I can say is, like when I set out on this screenwriting endeavor, my Hopes & Dreams are/will be crushed!

Dear Hollywood:

Can you make my version of Chalkboard and not someone cheesy, half-way put together, watered-down version of my work?

Sincerely,

The original writer of Chalkboard, Gregory A. Netterville

p.s. — update the main details page. I’d like to ask the “writer” for their “inspiration” on how they came up with the title!

Self-Portrait...

I’d like to move off topic (re: name of blog) for what most likely will be the rest of the 2011 calendar year to build awareness and provide content for my upcoming short film project. Information is scarce (not really – just sounds cool to say it is) and is also shrouded in secrecy (this is so true, though) at this point because the “ink hasn’t dried” yet. Don’t worry; I’ll get ‘er done — promise!

The road less traveled... that I traveled!

All sorts of emotions swirl around inside of me right now, but I’ve been told that everyone always feels this way when they finally go after thing they want.

It takes an incredible amount of nerve to do thing I want to do. It also takes a great support group of friends who want nothing more to see you do things they know you’re capable of. I’m happy to have these people in my life.

Who am I? — I’ll know for sure after the summer…

Where are the chairs for the Q&A, dammit?!

Happy blogging -

I used my 2 ½ hour bus ride home Saturday night (really Sunday morning) to think deeply about how miserably boring my life has become. The travel times to and from my apartment in the San Fernando Valley—both identical—provided the perfect bookend for the evening considering where I put myself mentally. All of this was endured, by the way, so that I could be in West Hollywood at midnight for the start of a 90 minute documentary about sex.

It’s funny the places and situations I find myself in when my minds starts to churn. This time I happened to be riding along with a few of my fellow Angelenos, more specifically, some of the City of Angel’s less fortunate who will forever remain dependent on late night (early morning) public transportation to return them safely to their one bedroom, and considering that I sat in on the late, late, late show, their cardboard boxes behind The 99¢ Store. (It’s merely an observation. Don’t blame me for life’s inequalities that almost always tend to be so blatant.)  It’s been a tough battle but I’ve come to grips with the way buses are scheduled in this town. I’m not going to complain about how if I were to take this eight mile trip “over the hill” into the rich man’s playground (The Sunset Strip) during the day, I could’ve easily saved myself two hours on travel time. Then again, maybe I just did…

And please cynics reading this don’t tell me to buy a car!

When I’m not thinking about the millions of dollars being siphoned away from the poor, working class here in Angel Town, I’m usually looking for ways to keep my mind dwelling on things that lean towards positive, things that are upbeat. And more often than not I usually find something positive on the faces of the people I’m in contact with the most—other poor people. Because through all the hypocrisy, the oppression, and the exploitation they still manage to gather enough energy to eek out one more smile, one more squint towards the heavens in hopes that a ray of light will be shown unto them that guides them to economic freedom. (No time soon, unfortunately.) Only the poor people on this bus ride home were a little more beat than usual. It being a weekend night and all probably meant they had to work extra hard during the day. I recall only seeing shut eyelids on all of their faces. Hell, they were even too tired to snore.

Poor me! I was left there, in my own thoughts, ready to start spewing out everything that’s wrong with the world and with the bourgeoisie, but got lost in a black hole in the back of mind. I was unable to water my evil garden.

I’m not sure the output is fitting of the return…

5 hours for 90 minutes! – Five hours ≠ 90 minutes…

But that kind of math doesn’t affect me anymore. It seems that lately I’ve grown quite comfortable with it—with this! These random trips to nowhere!

When the fuck did I get so boring?

Excuse me. How do I get out of boring?

I’d like for it to be more romantic, but I’m telling you, nothing happens. The movie was, eh! The Q&A was brief, if anything.

But all of this encompasses my life right now.

Boring — a boring bus ride home, made possible by a boring person.

I need to pick things up!

The only thing that saved me from my line of thought Saturday night (early Sunday morning) was that I had a few kernels lodged in gums. So before I rolled over for bed I had to get up and brush my teeth. It was the only way I was going to get some rest.

As a disclaimer: This blog post sends all sorts of mixed messages.

My response to a blog entry for the person who writes at waitinginvegas.com. It seems like it’s addressing an “issue”, but it really isn’t. I just wanted to contact this person. My new favorite writer for 2010. Please write a novel or a screenplay. Please!!!

And my posting of the latest issue involving a black server is just to showcase how easy it is to get money. (Why won’t this fortuitous opportunity come my way?)

Here are some websites to check out:

http://www.waitinginvegas.com/

– This fine gentleman waits tables in Las Vegas. He is very entertaining and I will continue to look out for his posts.  Again, I hope he gets a movie deal!

http://www.emnnews.com/featured/no-black-waiters-people-of-color-or-foreign-accent-says-white-british-couple-who-reject-black-people-in-america-hotel/

– An article about a guy suing the Ritz-Carlton because a British family didn’t want to be pampered by any of the hotel’s black service staff.

All this led to me writing a lengthy note to the blogger at waitinginvegas.com So, I decided to post it here on my blog. Enjoy!!

How May I'ze Helpya, Sir?

[Original Post - 5/8/2010 - 10:27a.m.] <I posted this on, “That Little Black Kid”>

In defense of aspiring black waiters. I digress briefly… (This is in response to black waiters lack of visibility in American restaurant culture, or what I’ve not-so-cleverly labeled today as: “trendy restaurants”; from one of your past post, and hopefully what I’m saying is also in comparison with this post…)

Continuing; I’m a black waiter (cities I served in: New Orleans, Dallas, Atlanta, Las Vegas, Los Angeles) and my theory of why we’re (blacks) not present and accounted for is because of the palette of white people.

What’s reported:

Wikipedia estimates that today 2.2 million Americans wait tables. This number, however, is inaccurate or at least I believe it to be so. It’s closer to 19 million based on an article I read years ago (4 yrs.). Of that number, under 1 million are African-American (this includes FOH & BOH employees; Yikes!). Let’s assume this number has increased since then. I’ll go 1.4 million.

Way too nice for me to work at...

These statistics were reported in a very interesting article in Dining Guide Magazine (may or may not be the correct name) back in 2006 which I read when I lived in Las Vegas after I relocated there from New Orleans, post-Katrina. (I was 1 of only 2 African-Americans on a staff of 130. So, until I arrived there was 1 of what you like to call “token black guys”. I ruined it for him.)

In this article–again it’s been years since I’ve read this–African-Americans who would like to wait tables expressed frustrations with the (1) hiring policies of high end establishments and (2) the aesthetics.

Broken down:

1) If a black person walks into a prominent Manhattan or Las Vegas steakhouse and doesn’t see any other African-Americans working there, he or she vacates; and if he or she decides to fill out an application/go through the interview process they feel in the back of their mind they won’t get the position–case in point for your outlook on the service staff at your restaurant, restaurants in general, and mine also. (5 African-Americans on a service staff of about 80, which is a lot for a downtown Los Angeles restaurant in general. Downtown L.A. is primarily Asian and Hispanic; plus white, obviously.) [Stroll the Sunset Strip and see if you can get that number in any of the establishments (5).]

2) The aesthetics of these places are overwhelming. $25 dollar stemware, Amazon wood flooring, 14 feet ceilings, crown molding, etc. A black person looking to have a part time job that pays for odd things (car insurance, cell phone) isn’t sure if he or she will fit in and if so will this place compromise his or her culture and lifestyle. Black people like any race of people want to have pride in who they are, collectively and individually. Cutting your locks, undoing your cornrows, or feeling insecure for speaking “improperly” (if they have an accent: Haitian or any out of the Caribbean, or use southern vernacular) hurts at the core of our being, especially knowing this country’s way of making people box themselves in and Americanize yourself. [You and I know at least on Korean with an English first name or nickname so that Americans can "pronounce" it].

Kesha, what does beurre blanc sauce mean to you...

*) Now as a side portion the article threw in our (African-American) history. The fact that pre-1960 there were black cooks, maids, servers and that as Blacks/African-Americans have “progressed”–whatever that means (that would be for a different argument altogether)–those numbers have dwindled to where they are today. Moreover, our parents/mentors/pastors have discouraged this generation of blacks from taking jobs in the service industry. They’d much rather us dunk a basketball in a ten foot high iron basket than dunk a Darjeeling tea bag in cup of hot water.

All reasonable right…

Again my theory: The white palette. I now toil in the entertainment industry which is supported by my work, still, in the service industry.

Same thing: no blacks, or hardly any to speak of. (Thanks, Denzel.)

The canvas of life white people have painted for contemporary (today) living doesn’t include the use or fair use of all colors (sometimes in black culture we get caught up and think it’s just about us. Asians, Native Americans and Hispanics have the same frustrations). Most whites are blind to this assessment and when I bring this point up around my white friends, it makes them uncomfortable. Oh, I’m on to something here. “COMFORTABLE”.

Business owner have opted to go for “comfortableness” rather than diversity. How can I make you (white people) comfortable and separate you from your dollars at the same time? [Again, I tell my homeboys this all the time. The 1990s decade was the last great decade for black programming. An abundance of shows were littered across network TV with all black casts. Today, it's one black person on every show. It's the proportionate amount of chocolate ice cream for today's palette for white people.]

Anything else and it becomes ethnic food. (Thai, Jamaican, Soul food, Korean, etc.) And in keeping with #1: If more blacks (or any race for that matter) work, AND play in the same spot, the spot isn’t hallmarked for diversity, it becomes a spot where “a lot black people hang out” (or Asians, etc.). It’s funny because in business there’s this cliche that is supposed to be followed, “the only color that should matter is green”. Well, I believe there is such a thing as white flight in restaurant culture also.

And no one has gotten into the niche of taking solely black money. Hell, black business owners don’t just want black money! (We sort of freely give it away already, sparingly judging by all servers’ (black, white, brown) view of the one or two tables a night of upwardly and not-so-upwardly mobile African-Americans dining in high end establishments. (We’re dumping $182 billion into the marketplace so freely nowadays.)

<next paragraph I’m referring to blogger>

My guess is that you work in one of those “trendy restaurants”. I didn’t see Jerome’s Soul Food Shack in any casino I went into while there in Vegas. I believe that if there were an influx of black people the staff and patrons would slowly slide to the next spot. I’d pay to see an experiment like that take place.

Crazy right… In 2010 and at least on the west coast, blacks and whites won’t occupy the same restaurant together with comparable numbers for each side.

In summation, I watch black guy after black guy come into my restaurant and get turned away–the ones that don’t get overwhelmed by the decor at least. If getting jobs for blacks is a concern of yours, piggy-back them in off your name, or encourage your boss to bring about “diversity” in the work place…LOL

But seriously, there’s nothing you can do. My friend hates this idiom, but I love using it in cases like this. ‘It is what it is!’ Nice, right?

Thank God for the NFL. There open for business and overcrowded with blacks. They’re starting to turn them away, damn!

See you on Sunday!!!

World Famous New Orleans Street Car

I recently spent an enjoyable Saturday afternoon entertaining a friend of mine who is living out the rest of his 20s away from his beloved New York City (Yonkers). He and I nibbled on creole cuisine in Los Angeles of all places (thanks Uncle Darrow’s). He keeps me sane, though I’m unaware if he realizes that, as I endure my time here on the west coast.

Fast forward to a few hours ago. I finally found the time [and confidence] to watch the behind the scenes featurette for the show depicting my hometown: Tremé. (As for the show: I don’t have the heart to watch it yet. [What gives?] I was there, so it brings up a lot of repressed memories, okay!)

Moving on…

My good friend loves when I talk about New Orleans. He says it’s the only time I’m alive. It pained me to watch the featurette.  Then again, it pains me to live in Los Angeles.

Both experiences, unmistakably different, but with a general theme–New Orleans–weigh heavily on my heart. I wanted to squeeze out an emotion for each occurrence, but my “toughness” for wanting to handle difficult situations in life (Hurricane Katrina & my exodus from New Orleans) kicks in and shuts me down.

It’s funny though. Each time I had this silly little grin on my face though. It occurred to me how much of a fish out of water I truly am. I’m robbing myself of  living out my spry, healthy liver, free-flowing days and years (four) in a city that doesn’t offer me much. Yes, I’m outgoing and fun to be around.

Still in ice...

Yes, I’m open minded, etc. Why wouldn’t I be? I’m from New Orleans.

I spoke to my friend for a good hour out in Marina del Rey this past Saturday and to myself for several minutes on the couch tonight about wedding cake/spearmint snowballs with condensed milk, half fried shrimp/half fried soft shell crab Po-boys, Lee Circle, second lines, 7up cake, and what quality gumbo should taste like (thanks Uncle Darrow’s).

Yum, Yum..

So, I need to stop pussyfooting and go home. I need to see her! I haven’t smelled vomit in the morning air from the prior night of locals & tourists drinking way too much and for a long ass time…in unison!

I’ve made the west coast my current place to operate my life from until I return home to the Crescent City. But, I’d like to say I didn’t let the middle part of my 20s go to shit because I was too lazy to hop on a plane and reconnect with the one thing that’s a certainty in my life, the one place that lets me be me: New Orleans.

DeNeen L. Brown, an African-American woman, wrote this article, “Single black women being urged to date outside their race” http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2010/02/24/AR2010022405727.html?hpid=topnews&sid=ST2010022502182.  DeNeen is a Staff Writer for The Washington Post and the article originally ran on Thursday, March 25, 2010.

My response:

There is no “shortage” of black men and/or “shortage” of  ”available black men”, and by stating that you’re not out to bash all black men, black women, is like a white person claiming not to be a racist going on to say: “I’m not a racist, but…”

I say: OF COURSE YOU ARE!

GET OFF OF IT!

Why bring it up?

It’s a total lack of taste, in my opinion.

You can’t—no? THEN BASH AWAY!

This is so old—like 90′s old! In fact, this is a “90′s issue”! I have a few 1995 Essence Magazines® collecting dust underneath my coffee table to prove it! This issue has been sitting out in the kitchen of black culture for way too long. The smell is awful! Hopefully, I’ll be the one to toss it in the garbage so that we can move on to more important things like education and building our own Mecca! (Things that should always be relevant!)

All of the information you’re presenting are the reasons why black women REFUSE (LOATHE, DESPISE, HATE) dating black men. We know already! But, in recent years, who has embraced the “white American Dream” more: black men or black women? You guessed right if you selected the latter! A college degree merely solidifies it—congrats, though!

And judging by the outlook of you (black women) working in the white collar world where most of the frustration seems to be coming from, I’m guessing when you look around from cubicle to cubicle; there probably aren’t any “available black men” in them? Duh! And there won’t be for a very long time, until we get on my agenda! (Re: Education & Mecca)

So if you want a black man, black women, take a little trip back to the “hood”, the bus depot, the loading dock at Target®, and your local jail, or state prison to see us. I guarantee that if you engage us first, we’ll say “Hi!” (We’re non-violent and most of us are quite charming once you get to know us.)

The fact that, yes, now some 500 odd years after slavery; in contemporary terms, now some 50 odd years after the Civil Rights Movement the wealth disparity has lessened only 2% between blacks and whites in America could be a big reason why the so called “shortage” of “available black men” has to be an issue for black women. But I say: we need to get away from money (white American Dream) and completely remove the emphasis on black men’s—individually or collectively—financial status in relation to how you (black women) chose to relate to us (black men). So that way a black female on Coca-Cola’s© marketing team can marry that dashing, young, “available”, black male bus driver who’s busting his hump working for MARTA (Atlanta’s public transportation provider) without any “pre-conditions”… (LOL)!

I repeat: it’s all about stability & wealth for you. No shade of black appears to be more attractive than that! (I definitely know money would bring me happiness! Screw that story about the miser who grew bored and lonely. There was no remote Caribbean Island and trendy restaurant for him to blow all that cash on!) And the “sistahs” who have mad the choice to date outside their race—at least a significant amount—know exactly what I’m talking about! (I’m also talking to those working in the white collar world who’ve been teasing with the idea of dating wealth & stability, and a significant amount black women who do not work in white collar America who’ve fancied the idea also.)

Americans—black, white, brown—(including me) are all attracted to wealth. For the purpose of this argument: black women—rich, middle-class, poor, working class—are attracted to wealth (the white American Dream). Again, if we were a race of people that said “F-U” to this country’s ideology we’d be more connected.

And wealth is too ambitious of a word. Forget wealth—it’s not having money! That’s the defining thing (curse) that cripples all black men on the approach. I won’t be as crazy to state my solution—black women should court black men. It’s idiotic to go against nature; it would be asking too much of black women to be proactive about their happiness; and it would lay to rest a large percentage of the complaints black women have of black men—and have it fall on deaf ears. (I mean, that’s what we want right? Black women to be happy, and with us… hopefully?)

My thoughts are radical, I’m sure. But, I only want to get to the “root” of the problem. Here’s another: campaigns with prominent black, female, celebrities & musicians like Mary J. Blige, or Angie Stone, or Alicia Keys (does being bi-racial count?), or Paula Patton (who interracially dates; re: that large group of upwardly mobile black women who are attracted to stability & wealth) singing to us and speaking to us about how much love they have for us (black men), reinforcing in black men’s psyche a caring, positive message that “builds” us up in fashion. If I were a concerned black woman who wanted nothing more than to correct this “problem” I’d want black men to know just that! Let’s really invest money in this via the internet and television if we really and truly are in crisis. (Someone call Oprah–quick!)

Other than that it’s like it has been since the 90′s which is complaining. Nagging. Wasting paper. If it were frustration, it would’ve spewed over into proactive ness a decade ago. Because I say, there’s no sense in being mean to and upset with: your brethrens. What you (black women) have been doing hasn’t been constructive.

The black community doesn’t set up dating events in large hubs where “available” black men live—Chicago, Los Angeles, New Orleans, Atlanta, New York, D.C. to name a few. And if so, it’s unnoticeable. Black women just write articles straddling the fence, threatening us with your loyalty to us if we don’t get our act (shit) together. Well, I’m on the fence too, and I’m sure there are other black men that wouldn’t mind testing the other side, seeing as how we’ve been dragged through the mud for so long. At least we’ve been proactive—patient, even! Have you? It’s hard to tell. Like I read in an article I found scouring the internet on this issue YEARS AGO… maybe, we’re just tired of one another? If we’re going to go with the slant of black women trades (#1 Target – Essence Magazine®) , it’s safe to assume black men have considered the other side. Scratch that! I live in L.A.—black men considered the other side. Sistahs—it’s your turn!

Consider it!

Please do!

For my sake!

For black men sake!!

For yours…

We’re trifling, we’re dogs, we’re lazy, but at least we want you to be happy, even if it isn’t with us (black men)! We’ve taken the abuse all of this time, it’s time let white men and brown men have a crack at making you happy. That way you fully embrace the “white American Dream” and whatever else lies beyond, and live happily ever after. No sarcasm intended—I’m being brutally honest. Yes, people of other races do actually fall in love with people of a different race than their own. Everything doesn’t have to be so racially charged all the time.

But there’s a catch…

If it doesn’t work out, you can’t come “back home” and write articles bad-mouthing black men EVER AGAIN, overtly or subtlety, nor should you start writing articles BASHING white & brown men. You have to lick your wounds, heal, and then move on. And we black men won’t say “I told you so!”

Instead, we’re going to welcome you with open arms (I did mention earlier that we’re non-violent) then give you a free monthly MARTA bus pass to help you vent your frustrations. We don’t want you behind the wheel of a car while you’re in such a bad mood. You can ride along on the bus with us.

And from now on…

Black women, please don’t harbor notions in your mind that it’s us—black men and us being in such “short” supply—holding you from feeling true happiness. We’re everywhere, even in Alaska of all places and I don’t see us “running out” any time soon. Play along nicely, or don’t play at all. Again I say, go be with your white or brown man! I want you to be happy! I really do! Why?—well…because, I love African-American (black) women and if we (I) can’t make you happy, it’s comforting to know that there’s a race of men out there who are willing to try.

And lastly, I’d like to say to the ones who do the most complaining and at the same time are the ones turning away more black men than NBC®, shame on you!

Then again, I like it when you ladies write your articles, because they make the most sense. I’m kidding on that one! They don’t!

And as I recollect over my words… this isn’t a “dead issue”. Nope, it wont’ be rendered moot, though I remain optimistic.

I’ll see you (everyone reading my words) in ten years when we’re (the black community) still bringing up the same issue. Hopefully, it won’t cut into my work schedule at Target® where I’ll be loading boxes from 4am to 1:30pm.

Peace…