You can bet that Borders, Barnes & Noble and your local independent record store, if one still exist in your neighborhood, have placed their orders for every James Brown CD in his catalog of music.  You can also bet they'll hear "ka'ching" for the next several months because of the Godfather of Soul's death.

As a young girl, JB told me it was "a man's world" but today, I say it loud, I'm Black and I'm Proud.  I grew up and finally listened to the rest of the words to "It's a Man's World" threw on a crisp, white button-down (see "moving on") and didn't mind the lyrics so much.

Thanks for the music and one hell of a show.

Update December 29th:  Today, The New York Times did right by the Godfather of Soul.  A great picture above the fold, laid out for his last audience.

Moving on,

Since this is cyberspace, it may be difficult to get a real sense of my very real dimensions, personality, likes, dislikes and passions, so I'll help you out a bit.  I love men's shirts!  There I've said it and I am not ashamed.  When this post is done I'm headed straight to Thomas Pink for their annual sale. I'll only pick up one shirt, and I may not be able to afford that,  but it will be a man's shirt--yes, they sell women's shirts--but let's just say, I'd rather not pop any buttons while wearing the shirt.  French cuffs, of course, oxford cloth, pinpoint, herringbone--I  love them all, crisply starched, of course.

So, that said, a few days ago, when I thought no one would be in the office, I decided to wear not just a man's shirt, but a great tie, with a half Windsor knot, tied all by myself, thank you very much, and jeans. Now I thought I filled out the denim a lot better than the shirt but, what the hell is it about a woman wearing a man's shirt and tie that starts tongues to wag and rumors to fly?  By the end of the day I had racked up 8, yes I counted, comments about my shirt and tie, and my sexuality had been questioned openly to my face and quietly, behind my back.  What's that all about?  Somebody help me out.  Yes, I know the basic notion that I'm pushing the envelope of sexual identity, but the men looked like they loved it and the women averted their eyes!  Now ordinarily, I keep my "shirt thing" neatly tucked inside my tailored pencil skirts and slacks.  And no one notices or at least doesn't comment.  So it must be the damn tie.  The universal symbol for all of manhood and defines your place in the world of work.  Really?  I could go on, but I'll stop myself here because I'm just baffled.

Lastly,

I hate caller ID!

OK, caller ID  is a wonderful thing except when you've REALLY committed yourself to quitting a relationship, no, I don't mean like your relationship with the creditors from Macy's or Nordstrom's--they will find you and never go away.

What's up with finally deciding that you have had enough of someone hurting your feelings, not valuing you, is damaged beyond all repair and it's now up to you to walk away, as gracefully as possible--when that someone calls?  You see the number in the caller ID, you cringe, your brain farts, it feels like the butterflies in your stomach could actually lift you off the ground.  You foolishly  think about answering the phone or calling back, if you missed the call.   You start to waiver, lose your resolve and think, ok, one last time.  With just one more conversation, that person will see the wonder and glory of YOU, appreciate what you brought to their life and will hang up to rush to your house in the pouring rain, bang on your door, and scream your name, "STELLLLLLAAA."  OK, bad movie reference.  No place here for Street Car Named Desire or How Stella Got Her Grove Back.

Don't believe your own hype, it's not true, stop trippin'. Delete the call log, delete the number from your phone book and turn the phone off.

What? What sound? I'm not making a call.

I hate *^&%$ caller ID!

See ya next time,
Sunny!

Hello again,

To my dismay, I haven't yet progressed to being able to sit at home and make money from The Angry Black Woman Show with Sunny James.  I, indeed have a full time job, without benefits, the lack of which is another commentary altogether.  But for the last handful of months I have been working in a downtown Washington DC office building entering and existing through the airy, marbled lobby.  The coolness of the marble was immediate in the humid Washington summer and has been cold and austere this fall and winter.  Once a week the lobby is visited by the shoeshine man. And this is how I referred to him--the shoeshine man. Sometimes when I passed him I would nod in that strangely masculine way, sometimes I would offer an audible greeting, "hello" which he would return in a soft and smoke-enveloped voice.  He would sit with his elbows buried in his kneecaps, giving his coccyx bone a workout, reading the paper, propped on the edge of the chair as if on an exterior stoop, ready to go with the flow should another more pleasing pursuit come his way. Other times he had several rows of vacant shoes in front of him.  I never saw anyone who dropped off the brown, black, or ox blood loafers, lace-ups and sensible heels, but by the end of the day each pair had disappeared, to which the outstretched legs of the shoeshine man attested.  He is a slight man, about 60, thin and less than average height, and very discretely salt and peppered.  Not my physical type, but my goodness, the color of him is something to behold.  He is the color of the men my 91 year old grandmother hated that I would make a habit of bringing home--dark and creamy.  And perhaps it was this last reason that I always took note of his presence in the lobby.  This island of familiar darkness nestled in a constant stream of whiteness. 

The shoeshine man comes with his tall, black chair, with brass foot rests affixed to the front.  As the Christmas holiday approached, I noticed that his chair was occupied more often than not.  I would sometimes catch bits of his low-key exchange with the white men who always seem to have a need for polished shoes. While they sat several feet over his slight frame I could hear his 'Yea, Sir' and 'No, Sir' with a noticeable but quiet drawl on the end of each "R." Over the course of several months, unbeknownst to him, I developed a dislike for the service he provided.  The visual was more than I wanted to think about--this throwback to a time when Black folks provided invisible services.  And the service, damn well, better be performed in silence, unless, of course, the White person was feeling magnanimous and wanted to hear what foolishness would tumble out of the servile mouths of doormen, maids, cooks, grandmothers or the shoeshine man.  I often questioned myself, if the same shoeshine man were doing business on U Street or H Street instead of in this very white world, would I have as much of a problem with his trade?

I wondered, is this what he had done all his life?  How had the shoeshine man become the shoeshine man? So I thought I should rectify my distain for what he seemingly did for a living. I decided that my crocodile boots, that I had been polishing quite expertly myself for sometime, would survive my mission to correct my thinking. 

Last week, I approached this small man and his very tall chair and announced that my boots could use a polish.  He, 'yes mamam'ed me and took my hand as I took my first big step up and then another into the very tall seat.  I quickly understood why I don't see any women in the shoeshine chair and I was thankful for my wardrobe choice that morning.  The conversation started easily enough, the weather, the holidays and the losing Redskins.  I told him that my son wasn't much of a 'Skins fan.  And then the lights came on.  I watched Mike's face light up as he smiled from ear to ear.  He shared the news that his own son was expected home from Iraq the next day.  His son was a paratrooper who had followed in his footsteps and after the holidays his son would be starting his second tour of duty in Iraq.

Mike told me about his wife of 30 years, Bea, who he loved completely and who had died a year earlier of diabetes and how he stayed busy mostly because he missed her so.  Mike told me about his shoeshine stands in another six buildings in Washington and how he was making money hand over fist and how much he was going to enjoy spending it and spending time with a son he was, so clearly, proud of.  As I got out of the chair, I knew I couldn't have gotten into or out of his chair without his assistance. When I got down he seemed taller and more filled out than when I had climbed up.  I'm thankful for his and his son's service to this country. I'm glad I stopped for a shine.  And now when I walk the marble floors and catch a glimpse of Mike, I am sometimes at peace in this constant stream of whiteness. 

See ya next time,
Sunny!

If you're not from Washington DC I hope will forgive me for tackling this local issue, I am after all "The Small Voice In the Nation's Capital" and I'm sure that DC is not the only city government that has screwed its constituents while they weren't looking.  At least they could have kissed us first or sent complementary K-Y.

While the city council members bitch and moan about it having been since 1999 that they have received a pay increase and certain more bellicose council members have complained that while the city council position was originally designed to be a part-time gig, it has turned into much more and warrants the increase. I look around and see chronic and systemic ineptitude with the exception of the ability to hire more ticket writers to hound hapless visitors and commuters on the cities streets.

These flimsy justifications are offensive to me and should be to Washington voters.  The council patting themselves on the back with monetary reward is akin Nero watching Rome burn and commenting on how warm and lovely the flames are. There is one overriding reason for my absolute disgust with the city council's pay increase and it is the indisputable failure, the broken-busted-dysfunctional-hasn't-worked-in- decades public school system.  School and city council members will point to the few and far between new school buildings or the few successful charter schools (which are operated and governed differently) but for the most part the buildings are dilapidated and sometimes hazardous to the children's health.  Staff has been cut to the bare bone and resources are outmoded or nonexistent.  The school system administration has a history of cronyism and mismanagement.

My son's school, one of the better public elementary schools, has discontinued time in the library because there is no longer a librarian and the books are frayed and tattered, and will not be fit for use in another several years.  And African-American voters sit around with their collective thumbs up their butts finding it impossible to do what it takes to change this horrid situation.  My guess is that if the White population of the city relied on public schools, the situation would be unrecognizably different.  But Washington has a thriving private school system that understands its unique position and ability to ask for and get $17,000 to $22,000 per year, per student.  In the District the motivating emotion of the well-to-do and near-do-well parents who borrow and mortgage for a private PK thru 12^th grade education is FEAR.  While the parent comes to the city to do business, practice law, serve on capital hill or as a diplomat, flush with cash or well connected, it is thoroughly unacceptable and shocking to enroll their children in the public schools here.  Where does that leave the District's every day working family who is just getting by, believing that they are doing the right thing by insisting that their kids at least get to the schoolhouse.

Listen to Show #24 about what TIME Magazine has to say about how the US system of education is failing even good school systems and what needs to be done to bring public education out of the 20th century.  If even good public school systems need guidance on how to educate children in the 21st century, can you imagine what must be done for the children of the District of Columbia?

And don't forget that the cost of a public education for one child in DC is approximately $15,000 which is almost the highest rate of many large city school systems, of which Washington is not one. That's almost enough for a good private school education.  But where is the money going?  All I see is cutbacks and cut corners.

When the council's pay raise takes effect in a few weeks, councils in cities with larger populations than the District of Columbia will earn LESS.  It must be something about the citizenry of the Nation's Capital that make governing fewer people more expensive! The US Census puts the median household income for the District at $47,221.  Here's the slimy new, annual rundown:  the mayor-elect and the council chairman both get a $48,000 increase to $200,000 and $190,000 respectively; council members get a pay raise of $22,000 bringing their salary to $115,000. 

In Boston, the council equivalent makes $87,500 and in pricey New York, they earn $112,500.  To their credit, there were three council members that voted against the pay raise.  Although it's easy to appear to be doing the right thing when you know the raise will pass without your vote or you're leaving the council.  (Is my cynicism showing?)

And while council members suggest that their raises are a cost of living increase, as people on the public dole, I'd like to see them make something closer to what Jane Q. Public's reality is.  This city's government is broken.  Would you go to your boss and say, "I know I messed up that big report, and I'm always late, and I lost millions with my shoddy bookkeeping, but how about a raise anyway." Recently, even monies that were given in the form of federal grants to the DC schools were almost lost.  The school system had $18.5 million that had to be spent in two days in order to keep the funds.  But where'd it go?  There is still no accounting for how the $18.5 mil was spent.  In November an accounting firm found that the school system lacked internal controls which raise the issue of misappropriation.  Somewhere in the District is somebody having one hellva Christmas thanks to a very serious case of "I'm gonna get mine?"

I've always said to my kids "Trust is doing the right thing even when no one is looking."  Well, to the DC City Council, who must have thought that no one was looking, this city has been betrayed and this city's children have been and will continue to pay a price in ways that can only be imagined and will be felt for years to come, in this, the school system of Nation's Capital.

See ya next time,
Sunny

Hello again,

As I have been telling my listeners for a while, I am always looking to do what I do, BETTER.

After much thought, probably too much and seeking wiser counsel than my own, I have decided to undertake an almost daily blog.  I was hoping to unveil this along with the first podcast of the new year, but news waits for no ABW.  I just didn't want to believe that I've got that much to share, criticize, praise or ruminate over, to warrant this daily sharing and exploration of the world according to me.  I'm going to guarantee that The ABW Daily will not be a treatise on life or world affairs, but just a bit of living, thinking and observing in the moment.

So with that said: I was perusing the net--can you peruse the net, or is that just for printed material?--when I found the accompanying article on Zimbabwe.  During Show #24, I asked you to find Zimbabwe on the map, and told you about China's interests in certain African countries, Zimbabwe among them.  Here's something to supplement your African current events from CNN.com. The 1st link is to the actual article the 2nd is to the site.

See ya next time, Sunny!

--  Immigration in Black.  The Wall Street Journal

--  The Sleeping Giant Stirs, Is the Congressional Black Caucus Ready to Flex it's Tired Muscles?

--  How to Bring our Schools OUT of the 20th Century. TIME Magazine

--  Kimberly Oliver, 2006 Teacher of the Year

--  Racism by Jurors in Boston. The Boston Globe

--  Do Black Lawyers Lag at Major Firms? The New York Times

--  The French and THEIR Poor Race Relations, Part Trois. The International Herald Tribune

--  $150 Laptops.  Yes, I covered this before, but now detractor say the 3rd World doesn't need laptops.

--  Morgan Freeman Gets on the Technology Train. The Washington Post.

--  Black History Treasure Trove Hopes to Find a Home. The New York Times

--  Visting Washington? Stop in at the Anacostia Museum and see the  History of Black Paper Dolls.

--  My Hometown, Boston, Trying to Shed it's Racist Image, Wooing Tourist to Roxbury of All Places.  The New York Times.

--  Bob Marley's Son Making a Fashion Statement.

Update December 24:  The New York Times article about Byron Hurt and Hip-Hop: Beyond Beat and Rhymes.

See ya next time, Sunny

Hello Everyone,

Thanks for joining me again.  Thanks again to the many, students and faculty at colleges and universities across the country that listen to The ABW with Sunny James:  Vanguard University, Cleveland State University, the University of Massachusetts Dartmouth, the University of Illinois, Western Kentucky University, Western Illinois and Carleton College.  The list continues to grow and I sent out an audio thank you to many more schools.  There will be no "Short Takes" for Show #24. Instead I have provided a year-end list of issues that have stayed with me this year and like the ghost of Christmas' past, I'm sure, will visit me into 2007. The elections, starvation and negelect in Africa, the celebrity-obsessed masses, racism, a former president's plagiarism and yes, even cheerleaders' uniforms have pissed me off this year.

Last month I attended an outreach program at the Corporation for Public Broadcasting which was designed to support the 2007 PBS airing of "Hip-Hop: Beyond Beats and Rhyms."  This meeting brought together many outreach and support groups for women, youth and homosexual/transgendered communities and others from across the country who are looking for some common ground and understanding of the images and politics of hip-hop music.  If you would like to know who in your area is participating in this outreach, please drop an email and I'll get you the info.  My personal belief is that if you listen to and watch hip-hop videos, if you love hip-hop or hate it, you need to understand the real politics and money that is driving this genre of the music industry.  Check show #20 for some background on the very dynamic, African-American director whose love of hip-hop and need for answers drove him to create this compelling documentary.

Update December 24:  See The New York Times article about Byron Hurt and Hip-Hop: Beyond Beat and Rhymes.

Closing out the year, kismet was doing was kismet does, as I was putting the finishing touches on Show #24, TIME Magazine named me "Person of the Year." Well, you too are a "Person on the Year."  So here's a year-end toast to all of us who upload or download and believe in the media by and for the masses.  Here's to me and my enduring strength and here's to you my listeners for finding what I do worth listening to.  Happy/Merry (fill in the blank) and a PEACEFUL NEW YEAR to us ALL!

                                NEWS FOR SHOW #24

--  Immigration in Black.  The Wall Street Journal

--  The Sleeping Giant Stirs, Is the Congressional Black Caucus Ready to Flex it's Tired Muscles?

--  How to Bring our Schools OUT of the 20th Century. TIME Magazine

--  Kimberly Oliver, 2006 Teacher of the Year

--  Racism by Jurors in Boston. The Boston Globe

--  Do Black Lawyers Lag at Major Firms? The New York Times

--  The French and THEIR Poor Race Relations, Part Trois. The International Herald Tribune

--  $150 Laptops.  Yes, I covered this before, but now detractor say the 3rd World doesn't need laptops.

--  Morgan Freeman Gets on the Technology Train. The Washington Post.

--  Black History Treasure Trove Hopes to Find a Home

--  Visting Washington? Stop in at the Anacostia Museum and see the  History of Black Paper Dolls.

--  My Hometown, Boston, Trying to Shed it's Racist Image, Wooing Tourist to Roxbury of All Places.  The New York Times.

--  Bob Marley's Son Making a Fashion Statement.

See ya next time, Sunny! 

Farewell 2006

What a year it has been!

The mid term elections are over and the main stream media has not finished trying to cram Barrack Obama down our collective throats.  Now in the last several days the executive and legislative branches are holding their collective breath either hoping for the recovery or demise of Democratic senator Tim Johnson who suffered a brain hemorrhage last week.   I wouldn't be surprised if his room isn't under armed guard to insure that the Republicans don't slip in to pull the plug on dear Senator Johnson.  Oh, come on you know somewhere some Republican thought it.

The news media is still giving the viewing and listening public what they seem to want more than anything--more news about pantyless stars and celebrity's pimped out rides. It's their lives that reigned supreme and filled countless TV and radio hours this year.

Darfour is still dying and choking on it own blood.  Ethiopia and Sudan are again saber rattling. In 2000 the China-Africa cooperation forum was established and this past November china stepped up its courting of Africa.  The largest gathering of Chinese and African leaders in history took place in November with the convening of 48 African leaders in Beijing. But World Bank president Paul Wolfowitz accused China and its banks of ignoring human rights and environmental standards when lending to certain African countries.  But the us government has perfected ignoring Africa, unless of course, it's to sell arms to a crazed despot.   But here in the last weeks of December, the White House weighs in with the PMI--that stands for the President's malaria initiative.  Yes, malaria kills but so does genocide and AIDS.  And those are two things that didn't get enough attention this year.

Jimmy Carter tried to sort out the convoluted and confusing history surrounding the Israeli-Palestine conflict in his latest book titled Palestine: Peace not Apartheid, but got accused of plagiarism in the process.

If someone tries to tell you that racism is a thing of the past, I've got Mel Gibson and Michael Richards' phone numbers.

On a personal note:  to those of you who thought I was being a hard ass for not letting my son play basketball last year, you'll be glad to know that thanks to his great grades, he is on the team this season.  And the team has not won a game yet.  Let's just say he's learning the old saying--it's not whether you win or lose, but how you play the game.  As I sat in the gym last week watching his team give a great effort to a losing cause, I was entertained by the cheerleaders.  These weren't high school or even junior high cheerleaders.  The squad was made up of 5^th and 6^th grade girls.  They were all of varying shapes and sizes--no cookie cutter beauties here.  But what dawned on me was the fact that I had just finished watching the 1^st half of my sons game.  He wore the requisite, very long and very baggy shorts and jersey that kept flopping down his shoulders at the most inconvenient time.  But the basketball uniform used to look different.  Some of you might remember the more fitted uniforms from back in the day.  But the cheerleader's uniforms--seemed to me--hadn't changed in many, many years.  I watched as the young girls--who obviously lacked the confidence, fine tuning, finesse and athleticism which will come in several more years--hurriedly and uncomfortably pulled at short skirts and fitted tops.  I know that age, for the new listener, I also have a 15 year old daughter.  And I was a majorette in high school and varsity tennis player at Towson State University--I know short skirts.  But my son's uniform was longer than the cheerleader's skirts.  I watched as one of the more athletic girls surveyed the gym to see at which corner she could cartwheel and round off to as not to flash so much of her spanky pants.  Then a young girl in the audience, equal in age to any of the cheerleaders decided to take to the floor and perform her own half time routine.  She flipped and cart wheeled so effortlessly that the difference was immediately obvious to me.  The ad-hoc performer was clad in yoga pants and a tank top.  After completing a few lines of flips to all four corners of the court, she pulled herself up from her full split at center court and scurried back to her seat. As she rose she didn't pull or tug at her clothes.  She didn't seem the least bit concerned about what she was wearing.  She just wanted to do some flips.  After the game I asked what turned out to be the girl's mother, if the girl was a cheerleader at another school or had had lessons.  She replied "no" to both questions. The mother told me that the girl had learned her skills on the playground with many of the girls on the cheerleading squad, but declined being on the squad because she didn't want to wear the uniform. 

You didn't have to go far this year to find a story about how parents have allowed and Madison Avenue and the clothing makers have succeeded at sexualizing our young girls.  At a time in their lives when body image is most precarious, shouldn't we be looking at ways to make them more comfortable in their own bodies? Wouldn't younger girls be better served by a uniform that allows full athletic expression?  Instead of worrying about getting through a routine so she can hurry up and adjust what she's wearing?  I mean the boys have certainly embraced the wardrobe change.  Oh, I get it! It's more important to continue the image of young girls in short skirts.

And finally, I'd like to thank Time Magazine for naming me "person of the year."  Well, you too.  As I can attest, it's been a great year for people to take back their devices and their choices. It's all been driven by you. So congratulations! We plugged in and sometimes tuned out.  And mostly we were led around by our noses by media conglomerates that played to the lowest common denominator.

I, for one, am ready for a clean slate.

See ya next time,
Sunny