I don’t need to tell you about the stereotype. We all know it. And, unlike many other common perceptions, this one is true. Plain and simple, (I dare say most) black people like chicken and watermelon. Especially when it’s fried chicken. But why? I’ve been asked this question countless times over the years and have typically just laughed it off. But the question keeps being asked. So, naturally, I’ve decided to answer it.
Black people like chicken and watermelon because
One of my roommates and I were talking a bit yesterday afternoon. After making jokes about LiAngelo Ball and talking about the Ball family and Big Baller Brand, we somehow transitioned to “reality” television shows. Here we came up with a show that we’d find more enjoyable than Pawn Stars and the like, simply by taping the work of certain professionals: car salesmen.
Just so you know, this post is going to be quick and to the point. I’m just venting a little because of one question that’s bothered me for years: how come fiction has to be realistic but real life doesn’t?
I mean, it just doesn’t
[Thankful for the above: my mom and brother came out to visit me in NYC last week]
This Thanksgiving, I’m truly thankful. I’m thankful for those of you who read these blog posts, consistently or not. I’m thankful that some of my posts (especially from The Serious) have benefited these same readers. Aside from this website, I’m thankful for my family (immediate and extended), friends (and acquaintances), and the support that they give me. I’m also grateful for a great many more things this serious in nature…and for a lot of things that aren’t so serious.
So without further ado, here’s a small sampling of the random things I’m thankful for:
When I decided to go to college in NYC, I knew that I that I wouldn’t be able to bring a car. It simply wasn’t prudent. At the time, I didn’t think too much of it. I focused on the pros of not having to drive forty-five minutes to and from school, or another forty-five minutes (in a different direction) to and from basketball practice. I thought about being able to get everywhere – from grocery stores, school, basketball, movie theatres, etc. – via a short walk or train ride. But now it’s even more official than it was after my first month of school: I miss driving.
There are very things I’m afraid of. Very few. On this short list, you won’t find a fear of spiders, death, or public speaking, but rather things like my fear of failing to live up to my potential. But as it pertains to more relatable fears, there is one that stands above nearly all the rest: my fear of heights.
I want to get a monocle. And no, I’m not joking. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always wanted to own, not just wear, a monocle. Why? Simple. As illustrated by
Get Out was a terrific film. You couldn’t make a series out of it, and there are multiple plot holes, but it is a tremendous film nevertheless. Why? Simple. It actually got me involved, mentally and perhaps even emotionally. The film had me so involved that, for the next two weeks, I was lowkey scared of white people.
Last night I was trying to figure what to write for The Random, and write it, while watching the Timberwolves game. In case you were wondering, that’s generally a bad idea. I ended up just watching the Timberwolves game. (But can you blame me? I mean, we got a new big three with the addition of Jimmy Buckets, and we also picked up Teague, Gibson, and Jamaal Crawford. The Timberwolves are gonna…my bad. Maybe I should start a sports blog. I go off on so many sports-related tangents in my head…anyway, I regress) But then a car commercial came on…and at the end, as it was mentioning the vehicle’s music functions, I saw two simple words on the car’s monitor: Preschool Popstars.
There are all kinds of people in the world. There are geniuses, jocks, geeks, gangstas, hipsters, nerds, psychopaths, serial killers, and so much more. But in terms of being…different, cat ladies are in a class of their own.
Now before you get mad, understand that I’m not talking about cat people. Those people are (typically) normal. I’m talking about cat ladies. Because honestly, they’re downright weird.