Professor Locs

Being a Good Brother

I was fast asleep Saturday morning when I heard my cell phone ring. I ignored the call 
and rolled back to sleep. A few minutes later it rang again.

“Hey, Bro,” I heard my sister say. “Do you want to go shopping at Ikea? I need to buy a bed?”

I growled out a hell no and hung up.

My brother guilt kicked in, and to my sister’s delight, I called back. These outings, for anyone who grew up with women, can be pretty traumatizing.

I have been left at the club holding a table full of purses, guarded the door at men’s restrooms when the ladies room was too crowded, stood trying to look inconspicuous in the bra and panty section of the department store and, my all time favorite, purchasing feminine products, especially when there is an intercom price check involved.

My sister picked me up and off we went. Then, as usual, she changed the agenda.

“I need some hair-care products,” she said.

We were near Eastway Drive, so I told her to check out this place my stylist told me about -- Tisun’s.

We go into this place and my sister absolutely loses her mind. This was like the Korean version of Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory, only except for sweets the main export was hair and beauty products.

This place had wigs, weaves, hair pieces in every imaginable style. There was more fake hair in the place than on a reunion episode of “Housewives of Atlanta.”

This place had it all. There was hair, beauty products, jewelry, accessories, hats, clothes, a beauty salon. I think you could even get a fish plate in back. The women talked to each other loudly across the store, kind of like you are at the Family Dollar, but they are speaking Korean.

There was a steady stream of busy male worker bees that constantly kept the shelves stocked. They busied themselves like Asian Umpa Lumpas, restocking the shelves with mostly black hair-care products. My Sister kept running around visiting various wigs, from Beyonce long tresses to a short Rhianna-inspired number. She was in horse-hair heaven.

This place can be a bit unnerving for first-time visitors. You see these lovely, long-haired women come in and then you see them in back, stripped down to a stocking cap with various wigs around them, like a group of drag queen suicide bombers went off.

You guys know how I feel about customer service. Most of the people were nice, but there were these two sisters who carried on a conversation the entire time we were there. We would walk past them talking about what items we were looking for or could not find, and not once did they stop their conversation to offer assistance.

This would be like walking into your doctor’s office with your severed thumb in a zip lock bag on ice and the receptionist continued to talk on the phone or text while you swayed back and forth trying to stay conscious.

We finally found our items and exited the magical world of wigs and weaves.

The next stop was Ikea. I was still traumatized from the last time my sister drug me to that store. She had the brilliant idea of taking my nephew and me the day after Thanksgiving. It was an absolute madhouse. In all my life I had never seen people so worked up about cow-patterned salt and pepper shakers and five-dollars woks.

If you have never been to Ikea, just imagine going to Gastonia and the entire town is filled with home furnishings and you have to walk all over the city to find stuff. This is another place where you see the differences in genders. You walk with the herd through the store and you will see women excitedly exploring the merchandise or explaining to their men how this particular throw pillow will complete the Tuscan theme they are going for in the living room. The guys usually have a look of absolute agony and disbelief. If he had a shot of Jack Daniels and cyanide he would end it all right there in the bedding section.

I will not bore you with the absolute tedium of the journey, but after what felt like a few hours later we located a bed. The good news: The bed was on sale. The bad news: It came in about 322 different parts and we had to go to four different aisles before we could check out.

We finally emerged older, more weary and slightly dazed, but my sister had a new bed. My good brother mission was accomplished; I was free.

My sister: “Do you think we have time to go by Marshall’s? I need some bras.”

Insert close-up of my face against car window and cinematic silent scream.

 

Drive By Saints

I will preface this by saying I respect anyone’s faith, but this is a story about boundaries.

I was outside early Saturday morning getting something out of the car when I heard dogs barking. I looked up the street and peered a group of people walking, unusually dressed up for a Saturday, and holding Bibles.

I immediately had a flashback and went into what I refer to as my mother’s "Drive-by Saints" training.

My mom was a working mom, and the weekend was her time to relax, and nothing irritated her more than people bothering her during her down time. Our neighborhood was like an episode of “Meerkat Manor.” You know the Animal Planet show where the community of meerkats look out for one another and sound the alarm when they see danger in their midst.

You could always tell when the Saints were coming down the street. The dogs would bark and people went inside and closed their curtains. Sometimes we were caught off guard and my mom would yell for us to be quiet and get away from the window. We would hit the floor and scuttle away like we were dodging enemy fire in Kosovo.

Let me share some of my Drive-by Saints experiences to help you understand my being annoyed:

I was minding my own business one Saturday morning when a lovely group of ladies rung my doorbell and proceeded to engage me about my faith and religious beliefs. I politely interrupted one in mid-pitch and asked if I could get her address and phone number.

Before she could answer, I explained that I was very passionate about filmmaking and taught communications courses and would love to stop by some evening or on the weekend to discuss film theory and visual images. She glanced at the other members of her group and said that she did not know me and could not give out her personal information. I smiled and responded: “Yet here you are at my door in my personal space.”

We politely smiled and parted ways.

The Drive-by Saints are getting more clever. I was home one afternoon and again the doorbell rang. There stood a group of kids being supervised by a few adults. This angelic little blonde boy asked if I could donate can goods for their food bank. I said sure and returned with the requisite sauerkraut, navy beans and other stuff you know you will never eat, bar a nuclear accident.

So, before I could empty my pantry bounty into their bag, the angelic kid asked me: “Do you know the Lord, Jesus Christ, and are you a Christian?” I smiled down at this kid and looked up at the adults who watched me intently. I guess they thought I would not curse this kid out.

I again smiled politely and responded, “Wow! That is a very adult and personal conversation, and what bearing does that have on you accepting these can goods?” Basically, do you want these beans or not, kid?

I mean, really, is there a quota system on heathens that I do not know about? Is there some new religious pyramid scheme where you get holy points for every convert and use them like a Visa debit card?

But I digress; back to my story. I heeded the meerkat warnings and immediately went into my Drive-by Saints training and swiftly ducked into the house, hit the floor and peered through the curtains. I could hear my mom in my ear, “Where are they? Do you see them?” (I was small, so I would be sent to the window for reconnaissance.)

I could see the group more closely now. They were just finishing a stop at a neighbor’s house up the street and were approaching fast in righteous formation, Bibles clutched tight to their sides. They were coming up to my next-door neighbor’s house but passed it. My heart raced as they got closer to our house. But what is this; they just passed us up and went to my other neighbor’s house?

I felt relieved and then slightly snubbed. Why did they not stop at our house? Then it hit me: Both my neighbor and I had Halloween decorations. Could it be that I had found an effective talisman? This was like garlic to Vampires.

Maybe they did not want to talk to people who celebrate a pagan holiday. Or maybe it was the big gay flag and the “I Brake for Buff Guys” sign on our lawn.

Who knows….smile.

Walters Scolds Co-Host on The View

 

All hell broke lose on the set of The View when host Whoopi Boldberg and Joy Behar walked off after an angry exchange with right wing bad boy, Bill O'Reilly.  The walk off did not surprise me at all.  What is crazy to watch is Barbara Walters scolding these two grown A women on national telvision.

 Whoopi is looking at Walters like I know you just had heart surgery heifer but I know you not talking to me like you my Momma!  

Hot Guy of the Week

This weeks Hot Guy of the Week hails from Ecuador, Geovanny Govea. 

This hunk is 26 years old, 6 feet tall, 215 lbs. He is a veteran of the U.S. Air Force and served in Iraq. 

Protecting the country never looked so good.  He now lives and models in New York.  Enjoy!

Mean Girls of Morehouse

Morehouse College is in the news again regarding the dress code it implemented a year
ago, around the time I first started blogging.

What’s new? Vibe magazine earlier this month published an article on the institution’s gay population titled, “The Mean Girls of Morehouse.”

The article references a group of gay students who refer to themselves as “The Plastics” (named for the group of A-listers in the movie Mean Girls). Guys, this is a complicated issue, even for other gay folks.

“In some ways, it’s like it’s okay to be gay. But not that gay. Or it’s okay to be queer. But not that queer,” Kevin Webb, co-president of the college’s gay organization, Safe Space, was quoted as saying. “There is homophobia even within the gay community -- which is something we have to deal with if Morehouse is going to progress."

To bring you guys up to date, I was driving home last year and heard on “The Rev. Al Sharpton Show” that Morehouse had just announced a new and more severe dress code. I was once a faculty member in the AUC (For our HBCU-challenged readers, that stands for the Atlanta University Center). I recall both Spelman and Morehouse had a tradition of freshmen dressing up during the first week of school.

So just when the Sharpton story was getting not-so-interesting, he revealed that items being banned include: the usual baggy pants, do-rag, caps and hoods. But then he got to the part that makes someone like me glad he got up that morning. Morehouse officials also said the "children" (code for gay boys) could not wear any items that are usually worn by women, including dresses, tops, tunics, purses, pumps, etc. Insert gay boy riot!

Again, I taught in AUC for several years, and let me tell you, those children are fierce and have always had a presence on campus. There is a definite trend for the more fabulous gay boys to wear high heels and carry expensive women’s bags. Check out Derek J and Dwight on The Housewives of Atlanta.

So it stands to reason that, given the Vibe article, some of the children at Morehouse are still working that trend.

School President Robert Franklin wrote in an open letter to the Morehouse community:

“As president of this institution, as a Morehouse graduate and as a father, I am insulted by what is to be published. Addressing our young men as “girls” is deeply disturbing to me, no matter what the remainder of the article may say. Morehouse has for 140 years developed men—men who are equipped to live and contribute to an increasingly diverse, global and complex world.”

I applaud Morehouse and its support of its gay students and their attempt to expand the school’s concept of diversity. Morehouse is making a statement of redefining the concept of black, masculinity and leadership.

We are dealing with an increasing issue of not addressing sexuality as a society, especially within the African American community. Last week the media covered a series of young people taking their lives due to the pressures of being bullied about their sexuality. A minority youth was among those gay children who perished with a sense of despair and worthlessness. This is no longer just a mainstream issue.

Whatever our collective or individual philosophies, our gay youth are obviously suffering from the pressure of trying to assimilate.

Dr. William Bynum, a Morehouse representative, said the new dress code was meant to “get back to the legacy” of Morehouse leaders. I can see his point. He goes on to say that “We expect our young men to be Renaissance men”.

I wonder if he meant Renaissance men like Langston Hughes and James Baldwin, both “children of the era.”

If that is the case, then those high-stepping, bag-toting Morehouse children are truly representing. Having taught an 8 a.m. class where the students are already grumpy, there will be some very evil children if they are made to go to class in flats, unbeaten faces and no accessories.

Some students may argue that, if I have to give up my do rag and pull up my pants, then you children got to come out those heels and lose the purple passion lip gloss.

Should the children be able to keep their bags and heels at Morehouse, or do we stress the importance of upholding tradition? Can we support diversity while still maintaining professional standards? What do you think?

 

Ask Professor Locs

Hey Guys I am running behind with my Ask Me Anything but you know I love talking to my readers and offering helpful advice.  

Reader:  I need advice, My best Friend is coming to see me for a weekend and he is gay. My boyfriend has no problem with gay guys, but has a problem with them just being his friends or just hanging out. I think he is scared he will get hit on and will get felt up

Professor Locs:

This is a common concern when your BFF is a gay boy.  There are a couple of things to consider.  Gay boys are very vain.  No disrespect but straight women will date men that Gay guys would not give a second look to.  So let's be honest on a scale of hotness is your Boo a 4 or 10.  If he is a nice guy but is pretty ordinary looking then he could watch TV wearing nothing but tube socks and a smile and your gay friend would not even notice. 

However, if he is a Brad Pitt hottie then this could be problematic.  

Now for your Boo he should calm down and again unless he is Brad Pitt then he is pretty safe.  If he is a hottie then accept the attention, lock the bathroom door and keep you between you and your BFF at all times....smile. 

Antoine Dobson Costume

Just when you thought it was safe to surf internet again, wait, Antoine Dobson is adding something else to his growing marketing collateral. Yes just in time for Halloween you can get a Antoine Dobson costume.  

Dobson who has become famous for thwarting the attempted rape of his Sister and the event was immortalized in a Rap song that has gone viral.

This story was just too bizarre.  Crazy hooked on phonics brother aside, there were like twenty people in that apartment.  What type of ambitious stupid sexual predator breaks into a house with that many folks hanging out?

 The "Bed Intruder" costume comes with a wig, red bandana and black tank tee.  Rapping ability and general dignity and self-respect are not included.  

Kanye Canels Oprah

The king of crazy antics is at it again.  Kanye west is rumored to have canceled an appearance on Oprah.  He was to perform his latest hit "Runaway".  

It gets worse people. He canceled via email, not even a verbal I won't be there Oprah but good luck on the show.  

It is one thing to show up Taylor Swift now he is about to catch the wrath of the Top Media Momma.  Watch your back Kanye...no one says no to Lady O. 

Braxton Broke

Sources claim that the tiny Diva with the big voice, Toni Braxton is broke, again.   Toni Braxton seems to be having money troubles again.

 I have much love for this Diva and do not want to see her go through any more financial troubles.  Let's pray that things turn around soon.  

You cannot maintain a Diva lifestyle working at the Post Office.  The hair, handbags and shoes alone will break the bank. 

68 Year Old Grandmother Shoots 12 year Old

Most of us have pleasant memories of our grandmothers. I remember mine in the kitchen frying chicken, shelling peas and hanging out laundry on the clothesline. Good times!

Well, it seems these days there is a new type of grandmother, and apparently she is packing heat.

"Miss Margaret" from the southside of Chicago reportedly shot a 12-year-old boy who had been terrorizing her and other neighbors.

"This little boy started a fire in her grill, burned out her garbage can. He was a little terror," neighbor Hilda Brunt told NBC Chicago. "This has been going on for weeks."

Another neighbor said the kids "got what they had coming."

Now, I have seen some trifling, bad kids, but what kind of demon spawn do you have to be to get a 68-year-old grandmother to go all Terminator on your butt? These devil brats must make Bebe's Kids look like the Obama siblings.

Miss Margaret was like the hell with Medic Alert, 911 or even Neighborhood Watch: I got something for you bad-butt kids.

I thought my grandmother was off the chain with taking it to the butt with a switch. My grandmother has nothing on Miss Margaret; she is straight-up gangster.

Nothing pisses me off more than not respecting and honoring our elders. Those boys are lucky that her cataracts messed with her aim. They said she came out shooting.

You cannot write better material than this, people. This is cinematic. Picture it, in slow motion: The front door being flung open by a tricked-out wheelchair and a Madea-like vision -- Miss Margaret -- in her pink housecoat and slippers appears holding two Glocks sideways, shooting from the front porch.

Insert favorite gangster rap song! Classic, people!

Times have surely changed. I remember walking home from school and any number of older neighbors sternly telling me to move along if they saw me getting into any mischief. I would offer the requisite “Yes Ma’am” or “Yes Sir” and follow their suggestion. This was the mutual respect of the neighborhood's collective consciousness of raising children.

We are clearly seeing a new age of both disrespectful youth and obviously terrorized elders. Our seniors should be enjoying and relaxing in their golden years, not busting caps into the butts of crazy neighborhood brats.

This is a new day, so to give us some perspective on the new-and-improved Grandmothers, I give you Professor Locs’ Top 5 signs your grandmother could be gangster:

5. She has 16-inch rims on her Hoveround.
4. She rolls her own cigarettes for her “glaucoma.”
3. She drinks her Ensure from a jewel-studded pimp juice goblet.
2. When she tithes on Sunday, instead of dropping the usual 50 cents, she always asks the usher to break a C-note.
1. Instead of wearing dentures, she sport a full, gold grill with “Big Momma” spelled out.

People, let us do more to honor our elders and protect them so that they do not have to become gun-toting vigilantes to feel safe in their own homes.