Lent for Lent

“So Black people observe Lent?”

This is a real question I asked a few years back when this lady remarked she was struggling over what to give up for Lent. She narrowed her choices down to chocolate or secks, probably after much deliberation in some contorted position that involved Hershey’s syrup and a man.

I honestly had no idea that some of us observed Lent. And it’s not like I grew up bean-pie’ing and bowtie’ing in Philly. Nor was I blowing out menorahs in Florida after Seinfeld marathons. I grew up in a Baptist household like millions of other Black children. Sure I’d heard of Lent, but always figured it was a Catholic thing. They have altar boys and real wine for communion, we have altar call and left over Welch’s grape juice. And in much of America, meeting a Black Catholic is as likely as meeting a moose that can do the electric slide, with Bullwinkle being the obvious exception.

However, I’ve since learned that a number of folks actually do observe Lent. Over the last few years I’ve watched as people gave up cursing, certain foods, various forms of entertainment, and alcohol for Lent. Apparently, anything can be given up. I was quite amused to note a friend on Facebook is giving up “b!tchas$ness” this year for Lent. If this is true, there is, in fact, a God.

I am rather disappointed in the lack of Ash Wednesday observance in the Black community. Honestly, I’ve yet to see one of us with an ash cross on his or her dome. I would imagine that would be cruel temptation for those giving up smoking, but what of the others? If the issue is a scarcity of ash in these trying economic times, I have been blessed aplenty with shisha and would be more than happy to provide the necessary stimulus for proper observance. For a small fee, of course.

It is still quite puzzling where the difficulty is in deciding between chocolate and secks. Supposedly, chocolate’s effect on the body can result in a sense of pleasure, but I am convinced this only happens in the fairer gender. I’ve yet to meet a Snickers that does that thing I like. It seems to me that there is no comparable edible temptation for men as chocolate was for this woman. I think the two closest items would be bacon and beer. And even with all their goodness and comfort, they pale in comparison to using demonstrative determiners to instruct the Gentlelady we met at the Cheesecake Factory what to do behind closed doors. Besides, God made Slim Jims and Red Bulls to sustain us between bacon and beer binges.

I’m not sure what my sacrifice of choice would be should Lent become a personal observance. Maybe procrastination, but (altogether now!) that can wait. I suppose I could give up red wine, but isn’t that blasphemous? That’s like giving up fish or loaves. I could vow not to smoke anything (cigars or hookah, that is, having already stopped all else), but the last thing I want to do is get used to life without hookah. Perhaps I’d give up chocolate as it seems to be a popular choice and a rather difficult endeavor. Ugh… that last sentence was emasculating just to type.

As for the deliberative lady who entertained my ignorance, she chose to give up secks. As it turns out, her regular partner was an ex-boyfriend who somehow managed to make it through the New Year’s resolution exercise and was now several seasons overdue to be canceled (like Meet The Browns). So Lent served as an opportune moment to make a permanent break.

Though I’m not certain, something tells me she probably spent a fair amount on Godiva and D batteries that March. But I am sure she was thankful that when Easter arrived, ’twas only the Bunny’s eggs that remained in play.

As for me, I’ve decided to give up Lent for Lent.

Man Up!

Yesterday while watching the Super Bowl, I was particularly interested by the number of commercials that cast men in subjugated roles to their women. In most of those commercials, the woman was never seen or heard; all that was shown was the man and his inner monologue which can be summed as, “Fine. I’ll do whatever you want me to; you can have your way. But don’t even think about messing with my ____.” And in that blank is whatever product was being pitched: Bud Light. Doritos. Dodge Charger. Whatever. In my view, the fact that there were so many “man up!” commercials, and that I found them the most hilarious spots of them all, means that there was some truth there.

Have many men been emasculated in the face of the millennium “strong woman???” This reminded me of a story I told years back that went like this:

Me and my boy were at a restaurant once and seated next to a couple at a table having dinner. On first glance, they seemed like another late 30, early 40-something couple in that new love that comes after kids with, and divorces from, other people. They had rediscovered themselves, a strong woman and a good man, in the course of seeking the love that had evaded them previously… or so it seemed….

Stand Up Sistas!!

Black women are dictating the dialogue (which has become more of a monologue) on black men.

In the past several months, the online newspapers and news network sites have posted article after article about the dilemma of single black women. Each of these articles, while marketing a valid point or two about the challenges facing black women, has undercurrents of commentary on black men. And that commentary, more often than not, is negative.

Yes, it is true that some black men cheat. Yes, it’s true that some don’t take care of their children. Yes, it’s true that some are putting off marriage in order to play the field longer. What is also true, that appears to be lost in much of the ongoing opinion pieces, is that these are not actions exclusive to black men. Every race of man does this… and so does every race of woman. So why is the “black woman plight” receiving so much more visibility than that of other races of women??

Buddily Ever After

A young man meets a young lady. He finds her fun, witty, and genuinely likes her beyond her pleasing appearance and résumé. They hang out, talk often, and have a couple of semi-romantic “moments,” but nothing ever happens. Despite opportunity and availability, they never cross that imaginary line from buddy to interest. The reason why? Simply because he doesn’t make the first move. And she, expecting such a move to be made that never comes, simply lingers in the buddyness. And they lived buddily ever after. The end.

Anyone who knows me or has read this blog between the lines (if not the lines themselves) knows that I am a firm believer in gender roles. Not just in relationships, but man to woman, period. My belief isn’t about superiority or subordination. It is simply about specific responsibilities a man has to a woman and her to him. Certainly, in each male-female association (from casual acquaintances to intimate, monogamous relationships), the man and the woman concerned determine the extent of each other’s gender role. Some are quite happy with making no distinction between who constructs the retaining wall and who picks out window valences for the dining room. Others are more in the realm where she stays home and raises kids while he works and manages the money.

Ms. Not-The-Hottest

I was expecting this dude; he’s in class early, at the prime seat around the oval table, watching all the other students come in. He’s a 100% geek who became less ugly as he matured, and now considers himself to be attractive and the smartest guy in the room, even before the rest of the class arrives.

Ah yes, and then there’s this other dude. I’ve been expecting him, too. He behaves as if he’s too cool for school, yet here he is… in school…. and not cool. He’s off in his own zone, checking his $300 cell phone and listening to music with earbuds in, pretending to be oblivious to his surroundings; yet, his eyes dart up every time the classroom door opens.

Annnndddd…. Yep! This guy. Married, probably to some frump of a woman who stopped caring about her appearance after saying, “I do.” Because of the school we’re at, he considers himself a prime catch and he’s one of those talkative, sociable people who says a lot of nothing, but continually says it…. sort of like a used car salesman. He is convinced his easygoing personality will be beneficial.

Hold’em to Fold’em

Just the other day, a group of American Christian do-gooders tried to take 33 Haitian children out of the country under the premise of “saving them.” They were stopped at the border of Haiti and the Dominican Republic, charged with kidnapping, and now sit in a jail near the Port-au-Prince airport. And they seem to have a hard time understanding exactly what they’ve done wrong.

An article appeared in Foreign Affairs magazine last week that said the way to make Haiti a better place was to let the people leave. That actually sounds like an argument of an 18th century Brit rationalizing the Atlantic slave trade. And with such positions getting widespread attention, it’s no wonder those Idaho-based Christians thought it was ok to kidnap some poor kids.

My Letter-writing Hand is Strong

In the first month of 2010, I have had a waiter attempt to tag an additional $50 on a check, the travel rep at work lollygag on my expense approvals, the financial aid-incentivized student at my grad school take his sweet time clearing my tuition payment so I could register, and about a dozen unprofessional cashiers at a number of stores who would obviously rather be at home on MySpace than earn their $8/hr ringing up my Samuel Adams.

Subpar customer service is still one of the few things that get my blood boiling. I’ve learned along the way to expect less and less of people in the service industries, but I am continually surprised by how they still manage to limbo quite easily under the low performance bar I’ve set. To point out there lack of service in the moment could easily lead to conflict that simply isn’t worth it to me. I gain absolutely nothing from complaining to the teenager about how texting their girl about Becky telling Sally that Jason kissed Janet while he was going out with Amber does not refresh my water glass. And complaining to the manager? That may get you an apology, along with some unwanted ingredients in your food. What these people in the service industry know, and what we loathe, is that we are at their mercy in the transaction. If we raise a fuss, they can simply refuse service. And the only thing we hate more than poor customer service is inconvenience.

Speaka Da English?

This says, phonetically, "Who's Your Baghdaddy!" I bought this shirt in Iraq back in 2005.

Picture a young man in a taxi riding back from a night out of Lebanese food, shisha, and a belly dance show. Though his hotel was only a 15 minutes drive away, 30 minutes later, he notices the very restaurant he just ate at pass by his rear window. He asks the Arabic taxi driver if he knows where he is going and speaks to him slowly and loudly in English to help the non-English speaking driver understand him better. No response. Then this young man gets pissed off, yells “STOP!,” throws some money at the driver, and slams the door as he steps out. As he walks back to the restaurant to have a new taxi called, he mutters under his breath, “Learn to speak fuggin’ English, dumbazz!!”

There was only one problem: this young man was not in New York City or D.C., he was in Jebel Ali, UAE. And this young man was me, a typical close-minded, entitled American. I cringe at the memory. After calling me all sorts of slurs, I imagine the cab driver probably said something in Arabic that roughly translated to, “Learn to speak fuggin’ Arabic, you azz of dumbness!!”… or something like that.

In a New Mold

I have a friend who was a self-admitted 100-pound country bumpkin from Tennessee at the ripe old age of 19. He was socially inept with coke bottle glasses and a high-pitched voice. The job he got required him to move to California where he promptly met and fell in love with an older divorced woman with three kids. He admits, quite honestly, that she was the only woman who ever gave him a second glance. He didn’t like being awkward, but appreciated that he was loved.

Fast forward several years. He embarked on a muscle building regimen and he is now a solid 220 pounds. He got contacts to replace the big glasses. And to top of his reinvention, he wrapped himself in a big 7-series BMW. Needless to say, other women started to take note of his muscles and his big car and became interested. Of course, these were women who would not have paid the first piece of mind years ago, but now they wanted him. And he gave in. He and his wife have been divorced for 4 years now.

Comedy in the Commons

When I travel, apparently a memo goes out to advise all parties I encounter along the way to ensure hilarity ensues. My last jaunt went thusly…

- On one leg of my itinerary, the flight attendant asked an older gentleman what he’d like to drink. He was one of those guys that likes to read folks’ name tags and address them by their given name so as to form some sort of kinship with them instantly, like an insurance salesman would do.
He says, “Hi Rachel! Can I have a coffee with one cream and two sugars?”
She says, “It’s pronounced ‘Rah-sheel’”
Him: “R-A-C-H-E-L is ‘Rah-sheel’??”
Her: “Yes. It is.”
Him: “Uhh, oookkkaay RAH-SHEEL, may I have some coffee please??”

LOL! I swear I thought sistergirl was about to neck-roll that old man into 7-10 split! But she kept her composure. Good on her.