100 Word Song – Best Day Of My Life

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It’s BlogHer week so Leeroy and I tried to reach out to someone we not only think a lot of  but also isn’t attending so they’d be available to write. Carrie http://museunleashed.com/ is one of my favorites. She writes a brilliant science fiction romance story with her great character Rachel. She also has a very eclectic taste in music, Last time Leeroy got to her, she picked the Lego movie tune. This time she chose American Authors The Best Day Of Our Lives. I sing along with this in the car with my daughters.

My 100 is not only a new episode of Silas and Olive but also hooked up to my friend Velvet at http://www.velvetverbosity.com and her one word prompt “faded” http://www.velvetverbosity.com/ .

Here’s my 100.

Silas looked past Olive’s smile, staring at the sun crashing in as dusk pushed through. She leaned in for a kiss. He jumped away, hand in the air like he was trying to grab the dropping sun.

“What’s the matter?”

Silas didn’t answer. He walked to the Cutlass’ driver side motioning Zola to the back seat and barked.

“Everyone get in the car, we’re never coming back here.”

The good memories Silas had of Olive were faded. Olive spoke to Zola.

“Did y’all have a good day?”

Zola answered in a mysterious, flat tone.

“The best day of our lives.”

My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog

As always, you have 7 days from NOW, to write 100 words inspired by American Authors The Best Day Of My Life. Go see Carrie and Velvet. Use the media that are social to advertise your 100 word magic and pink it up to the green Mr. Linky button below. Wish me luck at blogher, I’ll be one of 4 dudes there.

My Hero

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Why do we insist on heroes being perfect? That’s a rhetorical question, unless you’re a Superman person, then congrats on liking a boring alien who does anything wrong. I prefer mine to be incredibly flawed, like the sarcastic, tortured Spider-man or the brooding, borderline anti-hero, Batman.

When it comes to real life, isn’t it time to admit that there aren’t heroes who aren’t flawed? Some of you will leap up to your screens and shout, policemen, firemen, teachers, and those who serve in the armed forces! Okay, but are they perfect like Superman or flawed like Spider-man and Batman?

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For the past few months I’d attached the word hero to a man named Chris Kluwe. He’s the former punter for the Minnesota Vikings who last kicked in the NFL on the Oakland Raiders practice squad in 2013. In January, he accused his former special teams coach Mike Priefer of making homophobic remarks and admonishing him in front of the team for his same-sex marriage advocacy. Starting the 2012, Kluwe publicly declared support of LGBT rights, including marriage, writing a letter to the editor that appeared in several media outlets countering former Viking Matt Birk’s anti-gay marriage video statement. Kluwe later appeared in a pro-LGBT rights documentary and rallied against California’s Proposition 8 bill. Kluwe and former Baltimore Ravens Brendon Ayanbadejo are the only NFL players to make public stands on these issues. Neither are currently employed by NFL Teams. While Mike Priefer, proven to be a homophobe and a bully, is only suspended 3 games by the team.

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Chris Kluwe’s twitter account @chriswarcraft is pretty amazing. It’s a mixture of video gaming nerd culture, social justice advocacy, goofiness, and various rants. Yesterday, when a 29-page Minnesota Vikings internal report was released, with 3 pages vindicating everything Kluwe ever said about Priefer, Kluwe’s twitter account went off the deep end. The Vikings spent the other 26 pages covering their butts while exposing Kluwe’s. According to the report, he participated in inappropriate jokes regarding the Penn State rape scandal surrounding Jerry Sandusky, going as far as cutting a hole in his pants and taunting a coach who went to the school with assault remarks.  On his Twitter account, Kluwe responded with an unsubstantiated claim that two Vikings players were caught with an underage girl and threatened to escalate his grievances with the Vikings, further.

The response to Kluwe from sportswriters is both typical and sad. They were looking for a Superman to take down the NFL’s hideous jock culture, but they got a Spider-Man, who’s on the right side of history, but his mouth and fingers are troublesome.

chrisklueellendeg Kluwe with Ellen

No one in this Vikings vs. Chris Kluwe vs. Mike Priefer vs. sportswriters is likable or wise. The Vikings are a team with a recent history of awfulness from a “Sex Boat” scandal where players rented a houseboat, hired strippers and “things” happened, to employing a bigot who helped blackball the team punter. Kluwe may want to take a week or so away from the media that are social and think about how to present himself before the LGBT community tells him to get lost. His voice is needed, but his image needs rehabilitation because the anti-gay crowd will just use his flaws as ammunition. He also should apologize if the Vikings’ allegations are true.

Speaking up against discrimination isn’t just important, it’s vital to a society that must progress faster. Kluwe is one of 2 people out of the two thousand associated with the NFL, America’s most popular sport and highest rated television show, to show courage. But as Spider-Man’s Uncle Ben once said, “with great power comes great responsibility”.

Chris Kluwe says the conflict between him and Vikings is only going to get uglier. My hope, for someone I consider kind of a hero, is that he finds wisdom then figures out his next battle. He won this fight. But heroes also find peace.

I wrote two books. They got good reviews. The third one, a sequel to the first, Woman Of Troy, is on the way, very soon.

The Ballad of Helene Troy, an underdog story about a female musician in New York City, and Soul To Body, about an ex-1990s guitar player trying to raise his teenage daughter after the death of his wife, her mother, are available, digitally, on Amazon.com for your kindles, and in paperback from Lulu.com

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Boys Don’t Cry

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Being a blogger, author, online journalist, and co-owner of the politics and pop culture website Lefty Pop aka http://www.leftypop.com, means I get attention from people who think they know me. Hate mail, or since so many of you tell me I use “love” and “hate” too much, polarizing people, let’s call it Disagreement Mail; is a thing in my life. Between this blog, Lefty Pop, the Twitter, Google + (don’t laugh, there are people on there, sort of) and The Book Of Face, I average about 25 to 35 pieces of Disagreement Mail a day. Recently, I got one from a “Facebook friend”. Let’s call him Stan.

“Your pandering to your female “fans” is getting (freaking) pathetic, don’t you think? We get it, you live with 4 women, they took your balls, and you love gays, and that stupid “war on women bull(crap)”. If you think MSNBC is going to come calling because you’re this put upon (crappy) liberal in the conservative South, then get the (freak) over yourself. You’re just being a (female cat). Be a man! That’s what women want, a man!”

I did some editing because my daughters read this space and we’re all smart enough to see Stan The Man’s world view, or Lance view. This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten this critique. Let’s go hip hop on Stan’s Disagreement Mail and break it down.

1) Pandering to female “fans”. Here’s a factoid about writing online. Females outnumber males 1 gazillion to 1. I suck at math but that’s a fair statistic. I know of maybe 12 guys who blog. Until a year ago, that number was 4, but I started networking. We’re planning a retreat where we’ll meet in an internet café and bang on Starbucks coffee cans and express our feelings. No, not really, that’ll never happen. There many more female bloggers than male. My demographics are identical to other guys’. I never set out to be the dude with a bunch of gals hanging around me, but ’tis my life. This is why I workout and go into an office for my real job away from writing. I get to at least say hello to other XY chromosomes. Also, fighting for equal rights for gay people and women is the decent, correct thing to do. I shouldn’t have to defend that, but I will, forever.

2) My balls. Living with a wife and 3 daughters means I compromise and sacrifice a lot. I find this an endearing quality of mine, because it makes my household run smoothly and my heart, full. My politics proudly lean left. The left is where compromise and sacrifice reside in today’s arena of ideas and political discourse. Whether you and Stan agree with me, so be it. I’m a lefty in a righty culture. Being too punk rock for the room is something I usually enjoy, because it means I’m not lock stepping with the Joneses, whom I can’t even keep up with, anyway.

3) Being a man. If, at the end of the day, my wife and 3 daughters see an example of someone who doesn’t knee-jerk respond to stress with violence, either verbally or physically, then I’m a real man. I ask my wife constantly, “are we okay?” Most of the time she says yes, but when she does say no, it has nothing to do with whether I’m being a rhymes with the watusi, it has to do with me being insensitive, bi-polar, hard to get along with and a cliché “dude” about hating shopping, not wanting to watch the Food Network and soap opera-like shows, and see her and my daughters try on clothes for an hour before we leave the house. Being a real man has more to do with love, care, and hope, not driving a truck with a gun rack and hanging metal nuts.

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There are a lot of Stans out there, perpetuating gender stereotypes out of fear, self-loathing or good old-fashioned, ha.., I mean disagreement. Whether you click on this page, Lefty Pop, or my media that are social, I wish you see someone just trying to figure out how to be a better person, notice I didn’t type “man”, and wanting to do so in a way that sets some sort of example for the next neurotic writer behind me.

I believe in progress. Many years ago, I listened to The Cure, alone, sometimes in tears, afraid of what my “real men” friends or family would think. Now, I can do so with an audience of thousands, mmmm, okay, hundreds, fine, dozens. Screw it, share this and let’s talk, we can make it hundreds, at least. Don’t make me cry.

Here’s The Cure.

I wrote two books. They got good reviews. The third one, a sequel to the first, Woman Of Troy, is on the way, very soon.

The Ballad of Helene Troy, an underdog story about a female musician in New York City, and Soul To Body, about an ex-1990s guitar player trying to raise his teenage daughter after the death of his wife, her mother, are available, digitally, on Amazon.com for your kindles, and in paperback from Lulu.com

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100 Word Song – The Lady In Red

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One of my favorite writers and 100 word song’s most loyal contributors is Ruby from Whispering Thoughts http://scraps-from-life.blogspot.com/2014/07/obscurity.html. She lives in India. You should follow her @rubymanchanda. Leeroy asked her to pick this week’s song and she chose The Lady In Red by Chris De Burgh. This was played at every school dance I attended in the 1980s.

For my 100, we go back to Silas, Olive, and Zola in 1989 Florida in my short story Light Of Day.

Last time: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2014/07/08/100-word-song-dark-sunglasses/

Olive sashayed past Silas’ school prom classmates, stopping a few feet from his smile and extended left hand. Her heels squeaked on the gymnasium floor as they danced. He whispered in her ear.

“You look amazing in red.”

They’d only known each other for a few weeks, but planned their lives during that dance, through glance and touch.

“Silas, she’s coming out.”

Zola’s voice took him from the memory.

“Now that you know the truth, what are you going to say?”

He sighed then opened the car door.

“I don’t know. I’ve been in love with stranger for a while.”

My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog

As always, you have 7 days from NOW, to write 100 words inspired by Chris De Burgh’s The Lady In Red. Use the media that are social to advertise your 100 word magic. Link up with the green Mr. Linky button, below.

Kicking It With The 95 Percent, My Summer With World Cup Soccer

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One of the things about being American is we love our arrogance. We make up less than 5 percent of the world’s population, but think we’re the center of 95 percent of the planet. There’s no greater example of U S A I N Y O U R F A C E lol, wut? than World Cup Soccer.

We call it soccer, but everyone else on the globe says football, because, you play the sport with your feet, while we play football mostly with our hands, and heads, of course, because we got to have the concussions to prove our manhood, or something.

Every four years, like the Olympics, thirty two teams qualify for the world’s grandest tournament. Thanks to the media that are social, we get to realize, as Americans, how clueless we are about what really happens outside our boundaries.

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The United States qualified, barely, and fielded a strong squad, for us, going 1-1-1 in their four team standings known as the “Group Of Death” because when you lose, you get one of your guys killed, no, that’s wrong, it’s because Germany, who won it all, Portugal and Ghana were thought to be superior. We squeaked through by one stroke of luck after another, and made it the “knockout” round of sixteen, meaning if you lose, the other team gets to punch you in the face until you lose consciousness, no wait, stupid American again, it just means you go home with nothing. Belgium beat the U.S. despite the one of the single greatest sports performances I’ve ever seen by the American goalie Tim Howard, 16 saves, the most in 50 years of World Cup play.

The thing is, Americans hate losing. We haven’t won a real War since WWII in the 40s, and since we’re average at best at a game we don’t even share the name of with the world, we think it’s dumb and played by gay commies. Well, according to my Facebook and Twitter timelines.

I loved every minute of the past six weeks. I watched teams I couldn’t pronounce, I almost bought a U.S. jersey from Target, and hanging out with 95 percent of the world was fun. I haven’t mentioned that five matches, including today’s first place one between Germany and Argentina, won by the Germans 1-0 on a magnificent left-footed kick by 22-year-old Mario Gotze, saw me and my 18-year-old daughter in the same room, for hours at a time, together. Suck on that, American soccer haters, the Cup Of The World brought my family together.

It was fantastic television. Almost every match (not game, numbskulls), was decided by 1 goal (not point or run, dummies), many went to extra time (sigh, no, not overtime), and others were decided by penalty kicks. Everything in life should be decided by penalty kicks. Can’t pass that $4 billion border patrol bill, Congress? Then line up John Boehner on one goal and President Barack Obama on the other and let’s see who can rip the back of the net.

Guten tag, Germany. I wasn’t cheering for you but your run was special. Thanks, rest of the world, for letting a good ole boy from the American south who played high school football and graduated from a college football factory, University of Alabama, kick it with y’all for the past few weeks. I learned a lot. Most of all, my family and I have some special memories.

Tomorrow at work, when my boss asks me to get that report in as soon as possible, I’m going to fall to the ground like I’ve been shot. I hope he gets a yellowcard and I get extra time and penalty kick after lunch.

Scorpions are the 3rd best German band. behind Kraftwerk and Rammstein. Here’s Rock You Like A Hurricane.

I wrote two books. They got good reviews. The third one, a sequel to the first, Woman Of Troy, is on the way, very soon.

The Ballad of Helene Troy, an underdog story about a female musician in New York City, and Soul To Body, about an ex-1990s guitar player trying to raise his teenage daughter after the death of his wife, her mother, are available, digitally, on Amazon.com for your kindles, and in paperback from Lulu.com

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The Ramones Are Dead Long Live The Ramones

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The Ramones are dead, all of them, gone, as Tommy Erdelyi aka Tommy Ramone died yesterday at age 62 from cancer, the same illness that took Joey and Johnny. The music lives, but with their greatest historian no longer with us, the job of preserving their memory as the band that saved American rock music, falls to each of us.

Ramones_-_Ramones_cover Johnny, Tommy, Joey and Dee Dee, 1976.

A couple of weeks ago, while on family vacation in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, I saw two teenagers, a boy and a girl,  about my daughter’s age of 18, walking on the boardwalk wearing Ramones t-shirts. Two thoughts jumped in my head, at a count of 1, 2, 3, 4!

1) They must have amazing parents who taught them about one of the greatest rock and roll bands of all-time.

2) They heard I Wanna Be Sedated on iTunes and had an amazon.com gift card with discounts on tees.

Number two is the most likely answer. I wanted to stop them and pepper them with trivia questions to see if they were “real fans” but my wife and daughters were with me and they keep me out of jail for such offenses.

rampones Brangelina children fashion statements.

Tommy’s death is especially painful because he’s the most important member. He formed the band with Johnny, was meant to be their manager but ended up their drummer, producer, and manager. The rest of the “losers” from Queens resented him because he was the only one who was “normal”. He booked the shows, loaded the van, kept the time, and broke up the fights that almost ended one of music’s best stories. He was only around for the first three albums, the ones everyone knows and loves, but became the protector of their legacy. After Joey, Johnny and Dee Dee passed in the early 2000s, Tommy maintained the history, re-mastered their music, and told the tales the journalists forgot or screwed up the first time.

Growing up in suburban Atlanta, Georgia, I didn’t hear the Ramones until I was 16, 10 years after their debut album, that critics called “the music equivalent of watching the atom split for the first time, because nothing was the same.” Tommy produced every track and wrote Blitzkrieg Bop, the Ramones first single and one of their most popular songs. the Ramones made the music that was in my teenaged heart, head and soul. It was the soundtrack to bad days, good times, and angst-filled moments when I just couldn’t figure out life.

I still can’t.

They’re all gone, even the guy who created the famous logo on those t-shirts those clueless teenagers wore on the beach two weeks ago, Arturo Vega, passed last year.

The Ramones worked their asses off for 22 years, never had a “hit” record, sold more t-shirts than anything, but finally got their due with a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction in 2002 and massive critical acclaim.

ramones20021 Dee Dee, Johnny, Tommy, and Marky.

The best band America birthed created a wall of sound and changed how we listen to music, today. Without them, you don’t get a single group that’s popular now. Don’t believe me, go ask them. They all say the same thing and they wear those t-shirts.

RIP Tommy. Thanks for making sure we have the music our lives desperately need. It’s up to us, now. Gabba Gabba Hey and hey ho, let’s go!

 

I wrote two books. They got good reviews. The third one, a sequel to the first, Woman Of Troy, is on the way, very soon.

The Ballad of Helene Troy, an underdog story about a female musician in New York City, and Soul To Body, about an ex-1990s guitar player trying to raise his teenage daughter after the death of his wife, her mother, are available, digitally, on Amazon.com for your kindles, and in paperback from Lulu.com

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100 Word Song – Dark Sunglasses

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I’m going to pack a lot into today’s post since I’m overwhelmed at work. The song is Chrissie Hynde’s Dark Sunglasses, chosen by my lefty pop aka @lefty_pop  from http://www.leftypop.com partner in crime, Linda @modmomelleroy of http://www.elleroywashere.com. It’s also matched up with my friend Velvet’s @velvetverbosity of http://www.velvetverbosity.com one word prompt of  “transistor”.

For my 100, we push the story along as Silas and Zola plan to meet back up with Olive after her first shift at the strip club in 1989 Florida.

Last time: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2014/07/01/100-word-song-sing/

As the Cutlass took gas, Zola talked on a pay phone. Silas felt pain in his neck from lack of sleep and paranoid searching of anyone who knew of his sins.
Inside the station, a stand advertised transistor radios for thirteen dollars while another showed dark sunglasses for five.
He put one of each on the counter and handed the elderly female cashier his twenty.

Wearing the shades, he straightened the curled ear buds. Zola met him on the driver’s side.

“They found Bart’s body.”

Silas climbed across to the passenger’s seat.

“I need to hide while you drive.”

My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog

As always you have 7 days from NOW, to write 100 inspired words from Chrissie Hynde’s Dark Sunglasses. Use the green mr. linky button to link up and the media that social to advertise your magic post.

 

I wrote two books. They got good reviews. The third one, a sequel to the first, Woman Of Troy, is on the way, very soon.

The Ballad of Helene Troy, an underdog story about a female musician in New York City, and Soul To Body, about an ex-1990s guitar player trying to raise his teenage daughter after the death of his wife, her mother, are available, digitally, on Amazon.com for your kindles, and in paperback from Lulu.com

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Love Runs Out

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I’m proud I can’t shut off my brain and shackle my heart. As fellow Americans celebrated who we were, I watched buses of women and children from other countries be rejected by us. I guess for some, love really does run out.

This week, however, we’re still offering up our standard fare: a 42-word gargleblaster that answers this ultimate question:

What does it all add up to?

Waiting For The Sun

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One of the things our recent family vacation taught me is that sustained happiness for me is possible, but I’m going to need to work harder to get it. Being away from home, paid by your job, to be in the sun, with sand in toes and every other crevice for five days is a fantasy. You get lost in the freedom of not having to labor at something you may not like, while getting tan and eating ice cream for breakfast,and lunch. Fine, I did it for dinner, twice.

While the Atlantic ocean rolled in, I ran along the Myrtle Beach, South Carolina tide before everyone else got up and started thinking about the changes I have been making in my life and the ones that are coming that I need to be a better person, for my wife, my three daughters, and myself.

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My oldest, the 18-year-old, leaves for college in five weeks. She’ll only be 35 minutes away, but not in our house all the time. The financial and daily household difference is going to be significant. My middle daughter turns 11 at the end of August, three weeks after starting sixth grade at a new middle school, further away. She’s also on a collision course for a black belt in judo that should happen in about six months. The youngest girl represents the only steady in the house. She’ll turn 10 in September, will be in the 4th grade, but at her same school within walking distance of where we live. My wife has started a new side business, pet-sitting, that has succeeded quickly. Their overall dynamic is going to be different, and I can feel their apprehension as well their excitement.

It was overcast during that final morning run. Waiting for the sun to come out became a metaphor. The first six years of my life with these four women, while filled with love, have been stressed, combining lives, getting through the ramifications of previous relationships, and figuring our how to blend five personalities together. We may be there, finally, but it’s coming with a price. Everyone’s growing independently just as we’re learning to be together.

The one person I haven’t mentioned is the one you’re reading, me. As well, co-managing the well-received fortunate launch of Lefty Pop, http://www.leftypop.com, I’ve been working on my mental health as much as my writing. This has delayed the release of my third book, Woman Of Troy, the sequel to my first, The Ballad of Helene Troy. The manuscript and cover are done, but final editing was put off to spend as much time with the aforementioned women and figure out how to cope with increasing symptoms of bi-polar disorder. The book will be out in August.

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If I had to be maudlin or arrogantly poetic, I’d say my run on the beach is almost finished and I need a shower. The workout was good, now I can start my day.

I just wish I could eat ice cream every meal.

Here’s what was in my ear buds during that jog, The Jayhawks’ Waiting For The Sun

I wrote two books. They got good reviews. The third one, a sequel to the first, Woman Of Troy, is on the way, very soon.

The Ballad of Helene Troy, an underdog story about a female musician in New York City, and Soul To Body, about an ex-1990s guitar player trying to raise his teenage daughter after the death of his wife, her mother, are available, digitally, on Amazon.com for your kindles, and in paperback from Lulu.com

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Do The Right Thing

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It’s a moment I think about, a lot, one that taught me as much about myself as it did a subject as important as race and a quarter century later, it’s still a defining moment in my life.

Spike Lee’s best movie, Do The Right Thing, turns 25 this week, released June 30, 1989 and it may be more important now than it was during that sweltering summer.

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I was college freshman when the film came out but didn’t see it until 11 months later. I grew up in a sheltered suburban section of Atlanta, Georgia with little interaction with people who didn’t look like or act like me. College changed that. By May 1990, I’d finished two years of school, made new friends from different backgrounds, become entrenched in the student radio and television stations and a regular in the local Tuscaloosa, Alabama music scene, too. I was still clueless about race relations. I had no close friends of color. My politics were almost identical to what they are today, liberal, but I wasn’t walking the walk, because my life was as lilywhite as dunking powdered doughnuts in whole milk.

My alma mater, the University of Alabama, offered an interim session where you could take a six-week class, covering three credit hours. There was a sports casting course I was convinced would turn me into Bob Costas so I stuck around after everyone went home for the summer, took my chances the dorm Lords would match me with someone I’d never met, and braced for my not so golden throat being transformed into Vin Scully.

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When Kevin arrived an hour after me in our temporary home, his shoulder shrug and eye roll met my uncomfortable swallow. He was black. I was not. For some reason, maybe it was my naiveté or something I hadn’t figured out yet, I decided this was going to be awesome. I extended my hand. He summoned every once of class he had and shook it.

The first couple of nights were mostly full of silence and brief exchanges of politeness, “no, you go ahead and use the shower” or “whatever you want to watch on TV is cool”. The TV was mine but the VCR was his.

The third day together was weird. Kevin wore his emotions on his sleeve, pants leg, and shoe tops. He stomped into the room several times. Like me, he was a voracious reader but I hadn’t seen him pick up a book. He mentioned his interim class was African American studies but I’d been too stupid or self-absorbed to ask about it. Then he brought in a movie.

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What makes Do The Right Thing work is its fearlessness as a result of its African-American point of view. Spike Lee’s characters are loud, drenched in sweat, and have something to say. The scene I’ll never forget, besides watching the Radio Raheem character get killed police officers using a chokehold, was Giancarlo Esposito’s character Buggin Out making a big deal about Sal’s pizzeria not having any people of color on their “wall of fame” despite the fact the business was located in a mostly black neighborhood. It’s the kind of arguments we have today, where white people act like racism doesn’t exist and black people are incredulous at the lack of respect they’re given in the smallest of circumstances.

Public Enemy was huge among everyone I knew back then and their soundtrack, featuring one of the greatest anthems of any genre, Fight The Power, drives the film. By the time the dust settles and fires die down, literally and figuratively, Do The Right Thing changes you, well, it changed me.

Kevin and I watched without saying much. I think he was digging my reaction, mostly shock and a lot of awe. When he got up and turned off the tape, he turned to me and asked.

“You want to get a pizza.”

I got on my shoes, followed him to the pub across the street and we talked about Malcolm X.

Later I learned he’d been so hostile the day we watched the movie because his cousin has been arrested the night before after a fight with a white guy, who was let go.

Do The Right Thing needs to be shown to mixed audiences, today. It’s message of finding middle ground, somehow, someway, before more people get hurt is powerful.

Kevin and I had a good six weeks together. We stayed friends, including being in fantasy baseball leagues together, and going to a De La Soul concert. I’m glad I didn’t leave the room and go the pizza pub by myself while he watched the movie. The way it all turned out, I decided to just do the right thing.

Here’s PE, motherblank Elvis and John Wayne.

I wrote two books. They got good reviews. The third one, a sequel to the first, Woman Of Troy, is on the way, very soon.

The Ballad of Helene Troy, an underdog story about a female musician in New York City, and Soul To Body, about an ex-1990s guitar player trying to raise his teenage daughter after the death of his wife, her mother, are available, digitally, on Amazon.com for your kindles, and in paperback from Lulu.com

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