BlockStandard.com

Afternoon, Man Among Boys readers.  Instead of giving you a blog today, I want to tell you about a new collaboration called Block Standard (www.blockstandard.com).

Block Standard is a collective of like-minded and like mission men who decided to pool their individual insights into one blog for the immediate dissemination of information that enables you to improve your money-making capabilities. You’re going to get a lot of different views from different people from a lot of different angles, each building on the other.

The goal is to empower you with knowledge.  What you do with it is completely up to you.

Block Standard…“Redefine Your Corner”

Falling For The Okie Doke

When we’re going through a bad situation or seeking help, we often look for someone to analyze our problems.  This leaves vulnerable, and we’ll listen to just about anyone that lends an ear and seems to know what they’re talking about.

That’s very dangerous.  When you’re at your lowest is when you need to hear what people are saying the most.  There are millions of snake oil salesmen out there that lack substance, but because it sounds like relieving words at a time of need, we take it as gospel.

That’s when people fall for the “okie doke.”

For those of you who don’t know what that “okie doke” is, that’s when someone gets played for a fool.  Think of all those internet scams out there that promise $1000 a day for 15 minutes work…and all you have to do is make 3 payments of $39.95 for it.  That sounds like a godsend…but if it were that easy, there wouldn’t be a broke ass on the planet.   A lot of people fall for the “okie doke” on a regular basis.

The reason I bring this up is I was listening to an urban radio station today and heard a classic example of the “okie doke”.  A psychic was on and invited people to call in and discuss their problems.  A  young woman named Trina called in to ask the psychic if she should stay with her child’s father.  She said he comes around to spend time with her and the baby, but that they don’t see eye to eye.

A slick talker would be able to take a lot out of the italicized passage and use leading questions to guide someone in the direction they want the conversation to go in, luring them into the “okie doke”.  The psychic skillfully asked  series of questions that didn’t really say much, but had Trina thinking she was the second coming….

You probably feel overwhelmed with work and taking care of the baby, right?

Uh, no sh*t.  Basically, Trina’s a single mom, and there may be no tougher job in the world than that. Unless she’s on welfare, she’s working.  I know I talk a lot of sh*t about the ladies, but I acknowledge and appreciate the hard work a single mom puts in holding down a 40 hour a week job, and then coming home to cook dinner and help the kids with homework.  She must be tough in a tough situation.

The psychic made Trina feel appreciated, like someone out there understands what she’s going through.  Whether the psychic was single and had children or not is irrelevant; she made Trina feel like she could relate and played the sympathetic friend.

The first part of the “okie doke” is to make someone feel like they are safe and can trust you; a boa constrictor always hugs its prey before squeezing it to death.

(On a Side Note:  Some of you ladies brought this upon yourselves. A lot of times, you nagged a good man to death and drove him away.  The next time you want to blame someone, look in the mirror instead of calling your girlfriends and complaining that there are no good men out there.  He wanted to help with kids with homework and make family time, but you were steady b*tchin’ about the toilet seat being up.  The toilet seat is down now, but there’s no man in sight.  Dummy.)

There were probably money issues, right?

That’s not exactly a leap of faith since money is one of, if not the, top reason couples separate, whether it be one uses it to control the other, or just that the bills and necessities aren’t being taken care of.  And we the current economic state of the country, chances are money issues would apply to Trina too.

Even though he come by to see the baby and make family time, you’re still not happy, right?

All the psychic did here is repeat what Trina first told her but in the form of a question.  She didn’t really add anything, but the way she phrased the question makes it seem like she did, kind of like the “Great Repeater” at the office, who just repeats everything everyone else says with a few gestures and some big words thrown in.

xxxxxxxxx…RIGHT?

Notice how the psychic ended each question with the word right.  She’s TELLING Trina these are the reasons for her issues, even if they aren’t.  Right isn’t used to confirm, but to control.  For someone already having troubles, hearing that this is right is like finding the cause to your problems…even though they are something all together different.

After Trina hung up, I’m sure she felt like she had the source of all her problems…but she really didn’t get much help.

That’s the “okie doke” for you.  Feel free to comment.

If Not Me, Then Who?

I was at a dinner party this a few weeks with some former co-workers and old friends.  We had a few drinks, sat around and started talking sh*t about all the world’s problems, one of which being…men.  Not the typical-woman-man-hating-wanting-to-castrate men but more asking where have all the real men gone.  We started jumping from dating to education to fashion, and skinny jeans came up…

…so you know I jumped all on that.  And if you have to guess which side of the issue I stand on, you are not TrueMan Approved and should leave this blog now.

Our host disagreed with my views and said that it was just fashion and who was I to question what was “manly.”

I wanted to say, “Who am I??!  Who am I?!!  Dammit, I’m TrueMan, the standard to which other men are measured, and if anything I’ve said about skinny jeans offends anyone on the face of the planet, then take them out ya gotdamn closet and burn them!”

However, I kept it simple…”If not me…then who?”

There have to be bare minimums.  There have to be standards.  There have to be degrees of what a man does and what a man doesn’t do.  And there has to be someone to enforce them.  That’s where I come in…

There has to be someone to stand up for truth, justice, and the manly way.  And since no one has stood up to say things like men wearing silk scarfs, skinny jeans, and most important, anything associated with Kanye West are not manly, then dammit, I’ll step into the phone booth, change in TrueMan, and fly off to combat unmanliness wherever I see it.

A man will stand up for his belief, even if no one will stand up with him.  So dammit, I’m standing up against skinny jeans.

To my fellow men reading this blog, I ask you…who will stand with me?

Feel free to comment.

Time To Take The Big Shovel

Pride is one of a man’s best and worst attributes.  Pride will make a man work as hard as he can and give his best effort.  Pride will also blind a man to the fact that there comes a time in life where it is time to move on and “pass the torch.”

This post is a bit more personal.  It has to do with someone I admire and look up to…my father.

For those of you who watch the national weather, you’ll know that we had a major snowstorm in the Northeast the weekend before Christmas. Some areas got anywhere from 18 – 24 inches of snow.  I live in the area that got the 24 inches.

Anyway, just as I’d dug myself out, I got a call from my mother asking if I could come by.  She sounded worried and asked could I come over as soon as possible.  I drove over as fast as I could, considering the weather, to find my father digging out the driveway.

I grew up here so I know how bad the snow can get, but this was the most snow we’d gotten in years. The plows had already come through so they pack heaps and snow in front of everyone’s house.  And there was dad, bent over and grunting considerably to dig himself out.

This bring me to my story of the Big Shovel. For was long as I can remember, there has always been the Big Shovel, about 4 feet long with a large metal end that looked like it could move mountains with one swipe.  When I was younger, it reminded me of a battle-axe with my father being the only black Viking in the neighborhood as he dealt the snow his wrath.

But I’m not so young anymore, and my dad not so mighty.  You can only expect so much from the old man.  He’s still pretty strong for his age and will probably outlive most of us, but you could tell that Father Time had finally gotten a hold of him. He seemed to struggle with the ice.  Instead of the superhero I’d looked up to for so many years…he looked…human…mortal.

I knew why my mom called me now.  It was time for me to take the Big Shovel.

It wasn’t like I didn’t try to take it before.  All through high school and college, my dad insisted and demanded that he take the big shovel and the brunt of the work.  Even after I had a family of my own and stopped by to check on them, dad was still outside shoveling away.  He’d always told me that’s what the man of the house does.  I was always given the smaller plastic shovel and was tasked with clearing the walkway and the steps.  From the car area down to the street was the “man work.”

I thought about how I’d approach him about it.  I really did.  My dad is a very proud man, who often tells of how he and his brothers had to go and chop trees for the wood stove to heat the house.  I remember him attending a football banquet at his old high school where he presented an award to an athlete that broke his all time rushing record, a record that stood for almost 40 years.  He was strong as an ox and took pride in taking care of his loved ones.

But this wasn’t the same man.  I wasn’t as concerned about his physical well-being as I was his pride.  As a man, we always take pride in taking care of our family and home.  And he couldn’t do that anymore…at least in this case.

I stepped out of my car and put on my gloves.  I approached my dad and gently tapped him on the shoulder.  He looked at me as if he knew it was time.

“Hey dad, let me take over for a while.”

He gave me his usual “I got it” and went back to work so I let him shovel a few more times until he was out of breath.  Then I tapped him on the shoulder again and smiled.  He gave me the shovel and went into the house.

It’s a hard thing, letting go of your pride and stepping aside.  Admitting that you’ve taken something as far as you can.  The mind is willing but the body is able.  But eventually, we all have to do that.  My father finally passed the Big Shovel onto me, and one day, I’ll pass it onto my son.

…or maybe I’ll just call him and tell him to take it.  That ice seems to get heavier and heavier.

Feel free to comment.

From B.D.P To N.I.K.E??

Before we get into the meat of the post, I’m going to tell you that in order to understand it, you have to know something about hip-hop.  I don’t mean that garbage Lil’ Wayne puts out, society’s modern-day obsession with the auto tune (every artist that uses it should pay homage to Roger Troutman), or that commercialized stuff that has the BK King grabbin’ the mic.

I mean real, old school, hip-hop.  Beat Street.  Krush Groove.  Treacherous 3.  Cardboard boxes on the sidewalk.  Furry Kangols.  If you don’t know about this stuff, you can try to keep up, but you might not get it.

I was watching television today and I came across this Nike commercial.  It’s a good commercial, but as soon as I heard “the voice”, I was shocked:

Don’t get me wrong.  I like the commercial.  It’s catchy and will help sell sneakers.  But in case you don’t know, the black Santa is the “blastmaster” KRS-One.

The legendary KRS-One. The leader of the mighty BoogieDown Productions.  The same KRS-One that destroyed the careers of MC Shan and the Juice Crew. The same KRS-One that is arguably the greatest lyricist of all time (I’m more partial to Rakim, but I can understand the argument.)

KRS-One was always the conscious mirror of hip-hop.  He wasn’t in it for the money, but for the art.  He always prided himself on doing it for the love.  He bashed those artists who he thought crossed over to the commercialized side.  In fact, he once threw another group off stage during their own performance for not doing what he coined “real hip hop”.

One of the things I admired about him as a man was that he stood steadfast in his beliefs, whether or not they were popular or even the most lucrative.

And now he’s doing sound overs for puppets???

The only reasons I didn’t put this in the “Just Not Manly” category are:

1. It’s KRS-One.  He’s a legend.
2. I’ll never knock someone for trying to earn an honest buck.  That’s insane.

But I have to question this.  To paraphrase a Lauren Hill lyric, did he gain the whole world for the price of his soul?  Did he sell out the art that he helped create?

Or maybe I just hate seeing good old school hip hop wasted on dancing, shucking and jiving puppets.

To all my old school hip hop heads out there…did KRS-One sell out hip hop?  As a man, did he go against his core principles and turn his back on the house he helped build?  This is something lighter for the holiday season, but it’s getting to me…

Feel free to comment.

Act Your Age

I have to face facts…I’m getting older.  But that’s all a part of growing up.  A part of becoming a man among boys.

That’s why it always irks me to hear people say they’re “young at heart” and “you’re only as old as you feel.”  It’s every easy to take those statements out of context.

People often use those as excuses not to grow up.

On his  “Kingdom Come” album” (not his best work, but ok), Jay-Z even made song called “30 Something” where he talks about 30 being the new 20.

Sorry, bro…30 is 30.

When people say things like “young at heart”, they fool themselves into thinking they have more time than they do.  They think that they have time plan for retirement, time to solidify their career, time to start a family.  That’s very dangerous.

Life is just a series of decisions you make that are strung together.  Once you go down a path it, helps to determine your future choices.  Time is something you can’t get back once you lose it. There is an old quote that goes “each day brings 86,400 seconds, whatever isn’t used is gone forever”.  You can’t get that back, no matter how many miles you run, how many vitamins you take, or how much plastic surgery you get.  You can’t turn back the clock, no matter how much you try to fool yourself into thinking you can.

Instead of looking back and trying to recapture youth, why don’t we look forward and try to build a future?  You’ll be older much longer than you’ll be younger, so isn’t that what you should prepare for?

I think a lot of what drives us to want to go back is fear and responsibility.  15 years ago, my only responsibilities were to make sure I got to class on time and that I wore protection so I didn’t have any kids.  Now, I have a son of my own, bills to pay, strategic responsibilities at the office, and taxes to pay to Uncle Sam’s bum ass (get yo hands out my pockets!).  There’s a lot more at stake now.

There’s also a lot more opportunity. Sure things can and will go wrong, but what if things go right.  With the experience and resources, you can accomplish a lot.  Fear is just an opportunity to prove yourself.

Stop always looking to go back.  As Billy Joel sang, “the good ol’ days weren’t always good, and tomorrow ain’t as bad as it seems.”

Will you start acting your age?  Feel free to comment.

Is Dating A Socially Acceptable Form Of Prostitution?

We’re going to go back to the mountains for this one…

My friend and I were at the lounge again having a drink (that’s all there really was to do at the resort) and engaging in another long discussion about life, politics, and other bullsh*t half-drunk people talk about.  This conversation happened to be about dating.

She asked me “why do guys feel like you should get sex for taking a woman to dinner?  What happened to being a gentleman?  You act like you’re paying for p*ssy.”

Half-jokingly I replied, “That’s because we are.”

I gave a chuckle and thought back to an episode of “The Boondocks” that I saw (funny sh*t).  Granddad was taking a prostitute out to dinner and Riley and Huey were debating if the girl was a ho because Granddad was paying.

• Huey: “You’re not paying her.  You’re paying the restaurant.”
• Riley: “But I’m payin’, and if I’m payin’, she’s a ho.”

That begs the question: Are the traditional dating rules just a socially acceptable form of prostitution?

I’m not saying that any woman that lets a guy take her out on the town is a prostitute.  What I’m saying is you compared dating and the adult film industry, dating would be like soft porn and the XXX stuff prostitution.  Not a direct match, but both show some skin and the general movements are the same.

Guys will take a young lady out to enjoy her company, get to know her, and share a good time…in hopes of having sex in the (hopefully, not too distant) future; let’s just be real – we grown folks in here.  The two will talk over dinner and directly or indirectly “negotiate” what will happen.  Terms can be discussed (standard, oral,…anal) and depending on how good the conversation and dinner are, the guy might receive the services he’s “paid” for.

Short version:  fellas, you’re paying for it…whether it’s dinner and a movie or a quick romp in the back seat of your car from a “professional  woman.”

It shouldn’t be seen like that, but that’s how it is.  I won’t mislead you with Steve Harvey or Oprah-like tip toeing around the issue.  Ladies, please don’t get offended.  Fellas, don’t act like you’ve never had this conversation with your boys in barbershops and sports bars in just about every city in America.  I’ve been involved in a lot of conversations with fellas about this very subject.  Often times it ends with a guy saying that he’d be perfectly fine just giving the girl the money and having sex rather than pay for dinner and a movie and play “cat and mouse” in HOPES of having sex later.

When did this dating shift happen?  Is it because of the perceived value women place on money?  The perceived value men place on sex?

Should we add another rule to The Rules of Dating that unless a woman is willing to have sex, the two should split the bill?  Ladies, do you do that already, just to make sure there’s no misunderstanding if you’re definitely not interested in sex?  Just something to think about.

Back to the lounge.  We were ready to leave so I asked for the check.  As I reached for my wallet, she snatched the check from my hand, pulled out some cash and gave it to our server.

She winked at me and said, “I’m payin’…so you know what you gotta do when we get back to the room.”

Treated me like a $2 ho.  That’s just wrong

Feel free to comment.

The Monster In My Closet

Part of being a man is admitting your fears and getting them out.  This post is as much for me as it is for you to read; call it a cleansing of the soul or facing my fears or whatever shi*t you want to call it.  It’s just something I have to get off my chest.

There’s a monster in my closet that I’m afraid of.  I’m scared to death of it.  It nearly killed me the last time; I barely got away.  I remember sitting in my living room with my head in my hands, wonder how I was going to go on…or even if I should.

Those who know me, who know the real me, know that the last few years have been really rough emotionally.  My life was turned upside down (you know there was a woman involved) and I got hit from the blind side.  Fifteen years…gone in an instant.

When it first happened, I went through a really deep depression.  I didn’t want to go out or see anyone.  My best friend was the bottle of vodka I’d nurse until I fell asleep.  I was fully functional to those who didn’t know; I was promoted twice at work and received several accolades.  But once I got home and closed the door, I was alone, and the monster would come out of the closet.

The monster was me.  A depressed, unmotivated, self-destructive me.  A me I didn’t recognize when I looked in the mirror. This monster looked timid and afraid.  I didn’t recognize it. I didn’t recognize me.

There would be days I wouldn’t shave, get dressed, or even bathe.  I didn’t care if I ate or slept.  I’d just stay in bed.  Days seemed passed without me even knowing sometimes.  I’d was a walking corpse; I was dead inside.

There were times when death seemed a reprieve.   I was dead anyway; I just happened to be breathing.

I’m telling you this because the monster nearly came out of the closet again.  It wasn’t because of a woman; it was just because of life.  Things are a little tough right now.  Stress is building and my motivation was sloping.  For the past few days, I hadn’t gone to the gym (those that know me are probably shocked; I’m a ritual 6 day per week guy).  I’d look at the phone and just let it ring; I didn’t want to talk to anyone.  This feeling seemed too familiar; the monster was coming out again..

Am I crazy?  A lil’ bit.

But something happened today.  I woke up early, 6 AM. I laid in bed with my eyes opened.  I rubbed my overgrown facial hair.  I looked around my messy room; clothes and papers were everywhere. But something changed today.

I told myself, “Get up.”  And I did.  The monster wasn’t going to get me.  Not this time.

I cleaned up my bedroom, changed into my workout clothes, and headed for the gym.  I showered and shaved.  I felt like a brand new man.  I went to a casino and played a poker tournament.  My pocket Kings got cracked by a set of 3′s.  I laughed it off.  I didn’t make the final table, but it didn’t matter.  I was just having fun.  I did some Christmas shopping.  I called an old friend I hadn’t spoken to in a year.  I wrote a few blogs you’ll see here in the future.  I started reading a book.

In short…I decided to live.

The monster’s not going to get me.  Not this time.

Feel free to comment.

“Then Again, I Always Been Lucky When It Comes To Killin’ Folk”

I just finished watching “Unforgiven” on AMC; it’s one of my all-time favorite movies along with “A Soldier’s Story” and “The Five Deadly Venoms” (shout out to all my old school Channel 5 Kung Fu Theater heads out there).

“Unforgiven” is a 1992 western starring and directed by Clint Eastwood,who plays the lead character, William Munny.  Munny is a man who tried to change his life of crime but is drawn back to what he is.  He , his best friend and fellow reformed outlaw Ned (played by Morgan Freeman), and a young gun called “The Schofield Kid” (Jaimz Woolvett),  seek to collect a bounty placed on two men who cut up a town whore.  During the search, Ned is killed by sheriff Lil’ Bill (Gene Hackman) and Munny realizes that he has to be who he is, an outlaw without conscience and killer of women and children.  The climax of the movie is the final confrontation between Munny and Lil’ Bill and his band of deputies.  Munny kills them all and rides off into the dark rainy night.

“You better bury Ned right, and you better not cut or otherwise harm no whores.  Or I’ll come back and kill all you sons of b*tches.”

That got me to thinking…when we say that we’ve changed, are we just lying to ourselves?  Do we ever really change or are we what we are and is all that “change” just fancy window dressing?

I know that we change. We grow physically, become more educated, and even (supposedly) mature with age.  But does that change who we are?  We go through trials and tribulations and are molded by experience, but do we really change at our core?

William Munny thought he changed.  He married and had two children.  He and his family took to farm life, raising crops.  They lived in peace. But Munny really wasn’t good at farm life; it really wasn’t what he wanted, even though he tried to embrace the change  After his wife died and he was left to raise his children on his own, it got even harder.  Eventually, he went back to what he was good at, “killin’ folk”, as he put it.  In the end, he was what he was,  even if that was a ruthless killer with an evil disposition.

Sometimes,  I hear people talk about how relationships, having a good man or woman in your life,  will foster change, or that if you “find God”, that  will add something that will bring the best out in you…

(Note:  I always shake my head when people say they “found God.”  That is something people said to puff up their pride and feel good about themselves.  You don’t “find God”.  God was never lost, you were; God finds you when he thinks you’re ready to accept him.  I always wondered about that.  Anyway, back to the topic at hand.)

I disagree with that.  I think that we all have a core set of values, beliefs, and even mannerisms that define who we are.  Those don’t really change, and I don’t think any relationship or experience will change that.  Think back to all the times y0u promised yourself you’d change something.  Did you always follow through?  Is it so hard to accept who we are?

I’m not trying to imply that change isn’t good.  If you’re an absentee or a bad father, dammit, do right by your kids and become a better one.  But what do you do if it’s just not in you? How do you go against who you are, the fabric of your being, and become something you weren’t meant to be?

How do you accept who you are, even if that isn’t who you want to be?  I don’t think William Munny wanted to be a ruthless killer, or else he wouldn’t have tried to change…but in the end, that’s who he was.

Can you accept who you are, even if it’s not who you want to be?  And be honest with yourself? Do you think we can change who we are at our core?  Feel free to comment.