As the rape allegation against New York morning news anchor and NYPD Commissioner Ray Kelly's son Greg Kelly begins to unravel, a few points strike me as noteworthy: (1) The charge was made several weeks after the alleged attack; (2) the charge was made after the purported termination of a pregnancy alleged to be the result of the alleged attack; (3) the involvement of the alleged victim's boyfriend in the aftermath of the alleged attack; (4) the circle of privilege in which the parties involved travel; and (5) how the whole thing stunk to high heaven from jump.
Forgive my tone of righteous indignation, but I gotta tell it like it is in this long overdue day of more careful observance of the rights of women and victims of sex crimes: There is a class of women who believe themselves entitled to special treatment because of their heritage and/or the breadth of their appeal to men. It is any man's worst nightmare to engage such women in whatever capacity, though there are men who, inexplicably, will have no other kind of woman.
From the accounts I have read, the alleged victim is exceptionally attractive and the daughter of a prominent attorney. On the face of these impressions, the word "princess" veritably bursts through my mind's fortified sensitivity filter. This is regretful to me because, as a black male reared in the least popular borough of New York City, I have worn for the benefit of many who consider themselves my betters, any number of misapplied labels based solely on my race and where I grew up. Touché, because now, I get to turn at least some of the tables.
As one who has labored in New York City's service industry, I am certain that the following echoes the sentiments of many: I cannot accurately tally the number of high maintenance prima donnas I have come across who have expected the world in return for a half-hearted word of superficial praise or a batted eyelash. I have borne the gall of women who just KNEW they were making my pathetic day by deigning to acknowledge my existence with a wan, patronizing smile, as though my woeful lot in life was to desire her majesty with no hope of ever knowing the pleasure of her grace. To any such lady who reticently recognizes herself in those rather striking words, here are a few more: Get over yourself. Most of us who are, or once were, charged with parking your car, carrying your bags, chaperoning your genetically engineered abomination of a lap dog or returning your expertly prepared meal to the chef because there was a tad too much crust on the seared meat cannot wait for you to be on your way so that we can get on with our very real, though certainly less glamorous lives. Besides, you, your parents, friends and paramours do a far better job worshipping you for banalities than we ever could.
That's enough venting for now. There is more to come, because this is a very real, very complicated issue that my stream-of-consciousness has temporarily co-opted.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
A Response To A New York Times Op-Ed Piece
The following post is a response to an op-ed piece published 1-26-2012 in the New York Times (http://www.nytimes.com/2012/01/27/opinion/brooks-hope-but-not-much-change.html?ref=opinion).
There seems to be class of Americans who unrealistically expect instant change tailor made to their way of thinking despite the realites of government red tape, a two-party system, the broad spectrum of ideologies espoused by those involved in any national policy change, and the human tendency to stall those moving too fast for individual comfort.
This class seems to be almost as critical of the Obama administration as its Republican adversaries, who come off as wanting to be in charge simply because they believe they should.
Whatever the source of such banal commentary, the fact is no one facing as much deep-rooted, often irrational opposition to his every thought as Obama faces daily, is likely to make the sweeping changes so many who should know better are demanding of him and his administration. Even the integration of American schools took decades. Why would the same not be true of massive economic reform in the wake of the catastrophe of the previous decade?
In this climate of transparent political posturing and pettiness, even baby steps are solid evidence of painstaking effort behind the scenes. Moreover, the nature of politics dictates that the public be spoon fed popular ideas in order that a candidate maintains mass appeal. Why is this suddenly "disappointing" and an indication of promises unfulfilled?
There seems to be class of Americans who unrealistically expect instant change tailor made to their way of thinking despite the realites of government red tape, a two-party system, the broad spectrum of ideologies espoused by those involved in any national policy change, and the human tendency to stall those moving too fast for individual comfort.
This class seems to be almost as critical of the Obama administration as its Republican adversaries, who come off as wanting to be in charge simply because they believe they should.
Whatever the source of such banal commentary, the fact is no one facing as much deep-rooted, often irrational opposition to his every thought as Obama faces daily, is likely to make the sweeping changes so many who should know better are demanding of him and his administration. Even the integration of American schools took decades. Why would the same not be true of massive economic reform in the wake of the catastrophe of the previous decade?
In this climate of transparent political posturing and pettiness, even baby steps are solid evidence of painstaking effort behind the scenes. Moreover, the nature of politics dictates that the public be spoon fed popular ideas in order that a candidate maintains mass appeal. Why is this suddenly "disappointing" and an indication of promises unfulfilled?
Thursday, January 26, 2012
On Top of the Hill, If Not Over It
I'll be 44 in about 2.5 months. That is a loaded statement, and the cargo varies according to the reader. When I read it, it is simply a truth, bearing no more weight than the time at the top of my phone's screen. I don't worry about Time. It is as inexorable a force as the weather.
I have been a poor time manager for most of my life, but I am fixing that. As I get older, I better understand the value of Time. While I cannot stop what Time will do -- and is doing -- to my face, my body and my thoughts, I can control how I spend MY time with my loved ones, how I can use it to better our lives, how we can squeeze a few more positive memories into the time we have together. There is much work to do yet, but the blueprint is laid out and the foundation is down. We are stringing more memories together with each passing week, strengthening those familial bonds. We are improving our quality of life, too.
Time is the only Ultimate Fighter with flawless technique and a perfect record. The championship belt is a gaudy tattoo around its waist. Rather than go head to head with Time only to come away broken and humiliated, I choose to study it, steal its best moves and use them to win the fights that I can.
There will be no wild May-December dalliances or bright red sports cars in this dirty old man's future. I think a happy wife and well-rounded children make for a better retirement plan.
I have been a poor time manager for most of my life, but I am fixing that. As I get older, I better understand the value of Time. While I cannot stop what Time will do -- and is doing -- to my face, my body and my thoughts, I can control how I spend MY time with my loved ones, how I can use it to better our lives, how we can squeeze a few more positive memories into the time we have together. There is much work to do yet, but the blueprint is laid out and the foundation is down. We are stringing more memories together with each passing week, strengthening those familial bonds. We are improving our quality of life, too.
Time is the only Ultimate Fighter with flawless technique and a perfect record. The championship belt is a gaudy tattoo around its waist. Rather than go head to head with Time only to come away broken and humiliated, I choose to study it, steal its best moves and use them to win the fights that I can.
There will be no wild May-December dalliances or bright red sports cars in this dirty old man's future. I think a happy wife and well-rounded children make for a better retirement plan.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
State of the Blog Address
Never mind resolutions and whatever -- I have been woefully remiss in updating this blog. I suppose in my heart of hearts, I know that no one is reading it, so I don't bother. Who could blame me for thinking that way when I have so many responsibilities to attend to already? But here is the real deal: every day that I fail to pursue my life's goal, I get a little closer to dying without doing what I believe I was put here to do, what is likely best for my family and setting an example for my children.
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