Burnettiquette

I Do I will...eventually

Morning, sports fans. I just got to the Herald from my usual weekly TV rant. Follow the link if you care to watch it. If you don't, I'm not offended. Just keep reading.

So I found this study earlier in the week that fascinates me. Back in the day - let's say pre-1980s - relationship experts used to argue that couples who "shacked up" together or cohabited, as it were, before marriage were more likely to get divorced once they were married than couples who waited till the wedding to move in together.

Part of the logic back then was that moving in together before marriage would make one or both parties so comfortable with the living arrangements that if they eventually got married it would be grudgingly, since the formal act of marriage would be an afterthought to the couple already playing house.

Now here's what's changed: nothing! Sort of. The Population Studies Center at the University of Michigan-Ann Arbor says its research has found that couples who shack up before marriage still get divorced more often than couples who wait. But they no longer blame that higher divorce rate on shacking up. They blame it on all the other things that other divorced couples cite: infidelity, lack of common ground, finances, etc.

On the other hand, according to a USA Today article that analyzed the study, as of last year, nearly 10% of straight couples living together were unmarried. So cohabitation is becoming a norm.

The article also quotes a couple of other university studies that suggest women who shack up with their eventual spouses have lower divorce rates than women who don't. BUT women who shack up with other dudes before shacking up with their eventual spouses, get divorced more.

Further, a Cornell University study, cited in the article, said divorce was 28% less likely for women who co-habitate before marriage than for those who wait.

So enough back and forth numbers. Remember what Mark Twain said about 'em - that there are three degrees of falsehood, "lies, damned lies, and statistics!"

In practical terms, what do you think of this study? It made me chuckle, 'cause I know my preacher father and preacher's wife mom would have smacked me in the back of my head if I had formally moved "all the way" in with Mrs. B before we got married.

And I'm only half kidding when I say that. Sure, in the year leading up to our wedding we spent most of our non-working, waking time together. I spent a huge portion of it at her house. And there were plenty of my things at her house - clothes, etc. The odd thing is there wasn't really any of her stuff at my place. Before we got married my place was the Fortress of Solitude, the Bat Cave, etc. It was where I went to lie on the couch every few Saturdays to watch Law & Order marathons or back-to-back-to-back college football games while eating pizza and forgetting for a few hours that I wasn't single anymore.

A close friend of mine recently brought this topic up with me, because this friend now lives with his girlfriend, and she's worried that them living together will lessen the urgency they might have jointly felt to eventually get married.

I asked him if she was worried about the whole "why buy the cow if you can drink the milk for free" theory, but he didn't think so and rightly pointed out that that adage usually refers to sexual relations.

And that ship has already sailed. Interestingly, my buddy never directly answered the question as to whether his girlfriend's fears are warranted, though he did joke "Why get married? We're doing all the married stuff now." At least I think he was joking.

I have a female friend who recently moved in with her boyfriend. But our conversation didn't get that deep.

I'll say this: I don't condemn or condone in this case, but I think I understand why the Michigan study suggests the moral stigma is gone from cohabitation.

It's a money thing, at least based on what my shacking up friends say. Most say that if they're in love or at least deeply in like with their significant others, then that no longer is an issue. They say that if they get along with their significant others, then that no longer is an issue. They say that if they spend more than two-thirds of their waking, non-working time with their significant others, then they've already passed the test as to whether they can stand being around one another. And they say that if they don't live at home - meaning in the same town as their folks, where their folks can easily snoop on 'em - then  they don't feel any pressure to sneak around or formalize their relationship. So that leaves one major factor: money.

My buddy who recently moved in with his girlfriend said how they relate is solid. They just figured if they were gonna be together - whether the relationship lasted forever or just for a few months or years - they may as well save and stash a few bucks by sharing their costs.

Did you shack up before marriage? Why? Did you not? Why? Do you care one way or the other?

Keepin' it Real

For as long as I can remember hip-hop artists and people who claim to be experts in hip-hop culture have bandied about that phrase or some variation of it - keep it real, keepin' it real, etc. - to help make their case that hip-hop is about raw truth.

And for as long as I can remember, I have thought that notion was partly bogus. Rappers lie like rugs.

For that matter, lots of musicians from lots of genres lie like rugs.

But the thing about rap is these days it is the opiate of the youthful masses. It is currently the only musical style that enjoys massive crossover appeal along all racial and ethnic and class and cultural lines in the U.S., and maybe on this planet.

If you're a rap hater, hold on a minute before you cheer, because for me, rap is a lot like race or gender, in that people who are inclined to dislike its "members" will often declare all those members bad, based on the actions of a some.

Besides, there's plenty of crappy bubble gum pop music that doesn't mention violence or drugs out there. And do you need me to tell you the state of rock wangs chung as well these days?

I'm a child of the hip-hop generation. As I've said before, I grew up on Run D.M.C., and Heavy D., and Fab Five Freddy, and the Sugar Hill Gang. I love the organized rebellion that prompted members of this Gen-X parallel generation to dig deep in the 1980s and call attention to poverty, and government fraud, and the breadth of the AIDS crisis, and so on. Even Ice Cube and NWA, while menacing and scary in some of their early music - Cube's pre-Are We There Yet? days - used at least some of hteir platform to call out corruption in the LAPD, scold teenage girls who let smooth-talking boys into their pants and got pregnant, and so on.

But I've been equally disappointed over the past 10 years or so with the element that has dominated hip-hop music by making songs almost exclusively about having deep pockets, being thugs, selling drugs, and scoring tons and tons of women, and flashing wads of cash.

And I admit I've been a hypocrite. There've been times I've listened to this stuff - not so much over the past few years - with the same excuse one might make for Penthouse: I listen for the beat, as in I "read" it for the letters.

My disappointment lies in the fact that there is so little substance to so many of the newer hip-hop artists.

If the Furious Five talked about poverty and crime back in the day, you'd better believe they were decrying it.

So we have a generation of rappers now whose claim to fame is a collective autobiography in which you could easily swap out the names and keep the story the same: I once dealt drugs. I hate cops. I may've had to kill a man once in the course of doing "business," but if I did, it was only 'cause I had to.

Those are the staples by which you become a successful rapper these days, unless you're one of the consciencious crowd, like Kanye West, and Common, and (if they're still making music) Dilated Peoples.

I often wish that the kids who buy into this "real" thing really knew that their favorite rapper probably grew up nowhere near "the hood," probably never bought drugs, and probably went to college. His folks probably kept him on their health insurance plan till he was in his mid 20s. He's probably never had so much as a parking ticket.

And you know what, that's OK! It's good that their favorite rappers had "normal" upbringings. It's bad that their favorite rappers pretend to have had bad upbringings, thus giving these kids the impression that cashing in on the bad life is something to aspire to.

Anyway, I said all that to say this: yet another rapper has been busted in this phoniness.

The Herald's Crime Scene blog referenced last week an investigation by TheSmokingGun.com that revealed Miami rapper Rick Ross - you know, The Boss, the guy who brags about knowing Manuel Noriega and being owed favors by the former dictator, the guy who boasts of major coke deals on his tunes, and talks scornfully of law enforcement? -  used to be a law enforcement officer himself.

That's right. Rick "he who scorns cops" Ross was a corrections officer, a prison guard, a screw, as the inmates like to call 'em.

Naturally Ross denies this and says it's a conspiracy, though The Smoking Gun, through Freedom of Information requests, managed to get copies of Ross's job application, his payroll info, a photo of him in his prison guard's uniform, and so on.

Here's what's so funny about all this to me: there's nothing wrong with being a prison guard. But this guy's apparently contrived image of being such a brutal thug would be irreparably harmed if he admitted that he once worked an honest, law-abiding 9-to-5 job.

Damn shame when you can't even admit having had a job before.

Now, as we reflect on the apparent fraud of Rick Ross's image, can someone tell me why he should retain any more credibility than did Vanilla Ice when he got busted for being a fake thug?

I'm just askin'.

What would you do for a Klondike Bar cash?

What's crackin' friends?

I didn't post after Tuesday of last week, 'cause frankly I had no time. The convention I was attending was a whirlwind of activity from early morning to late evening. And by the time I made it back to my hotel each night the last thing I wanted to do was pay the Hyatt $20 a day for Web access, so I could log onto the Internet for 30 minutes.

At any rate, I hope you guys had a good last week and a good start to this one.

So on to business. If you've read this blog for any amount of time, you know that I'm a huge fan of true crime stories. Part of that comes from my twisted sense of curiosity, and part comes from my years as a crime reporter, getting to see some of the grime up close.

Anyway, one of the best non-journalistic works of true crime I've ever seen is the documentary Cocaine Cowboys.

If you're not familiar with it, it is the true story of dozens of random people involved in Miami's legendary coke trade back in the early 1980s. No worries. I'd argue that the documentary doesn't celebrate the criminal life, as much as it peels back the layers and engages the "everyday people" who made it happen, the people whose actions inspired the TV show Miami Vice. Go to YouTube.com, and you can find snippets of Cocaine Cowboys. Every so often, someone will put the entire documentary on that site. But I don't condone intellectual content theft, so if you want to see more than the snippets, I encourage you to go buy the DVD.

So today, Cocaine Cowboys II is out.

And I'll tell you what fascinates me: half  the people featured in these documentaries are "normal."

I mean they don't fit any of the stereotypes most of us have built up in our heads of what a coke trafficker looks like or acts like when he's not doing "business."

I was stunned the first time I watched part one at the people who could have been any suburbanites anywhere in this country, who matter-of-factly described how they helped move millions of dollars worth of cocaine from point A to point B.

And after a while I drew the conclusion that the only anomaly in play in this documentary was that these were perfectly "normal" people who simply decided that they had a price. And their price had been quoted. And at that point they switched off whatever moral and ethical gages they normally lived by, reasoning, apparently, that with enough money even a conscience can be scrubbed clean.

I've always said I don't have a price. When I was in college, every so often on 10 cent wing night at Friar Tuck's Tavern, someone would pose the question: What would you do for a million dollars?

Would you deal coke? Would you use your personal vehicles to ship large quantities of it? If you're straight, would you engage in a homosexual act? If you're gay, could you force yourself to do the deed with someone of the opposite sex? Would you spend a week naked, walking to all your classes wearing not a thread of fabric? Would you eat poo? Would you allow your twig and/or berries to be lopped off?

Yeah, I know the questions range from the silly to the gross. But you know how these games go.

Anyway, maybe I was a prude, or maybe I was in denial, but I was always the one who insisted that I didn't have a price, that I was the unfortunate victim of too much pride.

I'm not so sure about that these days. If someone asked me to do something really stupid for a million? Well, as long as it wasn't something that could get me locked up, I might give it serious consideration. A million bucks isn't much in the grand scheme, but it's something to smile about in this economy.

What about you? Do you have a price?

Introducing Dolemite!

Drum roll, please!

This, my friends, is the new director of security at Burnettiquette World Headquarters.

His name should be Dolemite, but for some strange reason Mrs. B is opposed to that. She's also opposed to Black Caesar, Black Belt Jones and Shaft. And since he's a he, he can't be Foxy Brown. I mean, he could be C. Boogie Brown. But Mrs. B is also opposed to that. She calls him Leo. So I guess I'll call him Leo too.

Leo is an 8 month old Black Lab, and in spite of the white streak down his chest they tell us he's a pure lab (not that that matters; we'd have gladly taken a mutt). Apparently, "they" say, some Labs have that streak. The only thing it would prevent is him being shown at dog shows. And that doesn't matter, 'cause I may be a geek, but I don't see myself getting nerded up to that degree and parading around a ring at the Westminster Kennel Club.

So here's Leo's back story: Some of you know that a few weeks ago we lost our awesome, faithful dog, Cheko. He was 14-and-a-half, and might have lived longer had he not succumbed to a vet-prescribed arthritis medication that sent him into a tailspin.

Initially we wanted a dog just like Cheko, a herder. He was a Border Collie and Australian Cattle Dog mix. We wanted either of those breeds or a mix of 'em again, or maybe an Australian Shepherd, or an Aussie mixed with one of those first two breeds. Our logic was simple. They're very intelligent dogs, maybe the most intelligent dogs. And a new one would remind us of Cheko.

But as we searched local animal shelters, and the Humane Society, we found they were tough to come by. So we reached out to rescue farms in other parts of Florida, whose sole purpose is to take in dogs of those specific breeds, nurse 'em back to health, etc., and then adopt 'em out.

Well, we were all set to drive a few hundred miles to get one of these dogs, and Mrs. B - credit where it's due - felt pangs of guilt, because she recalled that Cheko had been rescued. If you don't know that story, you can read it here. Anyway, she correctly reasoned that the dogs at these rescue farms already had good homes. They were pretty much all living in foster homes, and there was zero chance any of them would ever end up in a cage at a crowded shelter somewhere.

Even if it meant missing out on the breed we wanted, Mrs. B argued that it would better honor Cheko's memory if we rescued another dog. So we set aside our breed wish list and went to the local dog pound AKA Miami-Dade County Animal Services. We went there to meet a Golden Retriever stray that we'd seen online. But the retriever's owner had surfaced by the time we arrived. And essentially on the way out, we stumbled across Leo. He's not a herder. But that's OK. He's a cool dog, and he needed a home. And it's clear that whoever surrendered him to the pound took care of him, 'cause even though we just brought him home last night, Leo seems to know how to behave indoors. He's frisky. But that's to be expected. He's still a puppy, really. And look at the size of his paws. He's gonna be huge!

So that's that.

Moving right along, I'll be posting from the road the rest of this week. At the conclusion of business today I'm on the way to Chicago for a conference. If you're in Chicagoland shoot me a note.

Otherwise, peace and hair grease, till my next post.

Pull 'em up, in the name of the law!

G'day, friends.

Back in the saddle after a long, but waaaaay too short weekend. I had to work on a story about an elusive but fascinating musician. Here's a couple of hints. He is a talented violinist with savant-like skills. But he's homeless and battling a variety of problems from physical disabilities to addictions. He plays on street corners in a tough neighborhood, 'cause he has no other stage. In elementary school teachers predicted he'd be with some major symphony by the time he reached his 20s. I'm not quite done. But when the article's complete, trust me, it'll move you. Also, Mrs. B and I spent the weekend getting prepped for our new dog. I assume he's meeting with Rev. Jackson, right about now, because he has to have that below-the-belt snip snip before we can bring him home this evening. I'll have pics of him tomorrow, assuming all goes well today.

On to business, then.

You know I've written in the past that one of my biggest pet peeves is too-baggy clothes on young men and boys.

Well, it's back in the news. Newsweek, to be exact. The magazine has an "exclusive" story about a push by David Dicks, Flint, Michigan's new police chief to criminalize saggy pants.

Dicks has ordered his officers to start arresting "saggers," as these young men are called in the Newsweek article, because they are a national nuisance. He says their style is "immoral self expression" and deserving of jail time and/or fines.

This is a tough one for me. I love the spirit of what Dicks is doing, 'cause I think the saggy style is stupid. I'm not dissing hip-hop culture. I love elements of hip-hop culture. I'm one of the billion different faces of Gen-Xers who grew up to the tunes of Run D.M.C. and Public Enemy and MC Serch, and all the other artists whose clothes fit.

Just an aside, coincidentally, I did my occasional Q&A for today's paper with my buddy Joe Gannascoli AKA Vito Spatafore from The Sopranos. And when I asked Joe Soup to share with our readers his biggest pet peeve, he cited the saggy trousers.

Anyway, as much as this style annoys me, I'm bothered by it being criminalized. Unless saggers' butt cheeks are showing - not their boxers, but their actual cheeks, or their front set of naughty bits is showing - again, not their boxers, but their actual bits, then this is one "crime" that can't be enforced without, at a minimum, drawing cries of classism.

Think about it. If you criminalize baggy sagging pants and arrest guys who dress like that, then you're gonna have to start arresting young women who wear tight, low-riding pants that reveal the tops of their undies.

Which is worse? As a guy who loves women, naturally I say the man shorts showing is a much worse offense. But my bias is blatant. And if I was a defense attorney in Flint, I'd have a field day with that question.

In the realm of pop culture, tasteless as it is, this is a legit style, albeit one that often has young men with perfectly straight legs walking bow-legged to help keep their pants from falling down around their ankles.

The style has caught on in the punk music culture scene, as well.

Regardless, it's dumb. And I'm not saying that as an old fogey. I like to think I'm a relatively stylish guy. And I know that young people often dress differently than grown folks. But there's nothing creative or interesting about that particular style.

And I seriously doubt that most of the young men who subscribe to it - from the 'hoods to the corn fields - realize that it originated in prison. Ask an old, gray inmate or former inmate who can talk about being behind bars and they'll give you two versions of the origin of saggy pants: one says that pants sag on male inmates, because often they can't have belts, for fear they'll hurt themselves or someone else with the belts; the other version says that male inmates who have been designated "girlfriends" are compelled to wear their trousers saggy, so as to indicate that their man cheeks are in play, so to speak.

I've heard people try to defend the style, saying it developed in urban communities where poor kids had to wear over-sized hand-me-downs. But that's a crock. I'm sure there are poor children in poor communities who wear hand-me-down clothes that are too big. You do what you gotta do to get by. This style isn't about poverty. If you don't believe me, check out the brand labels on the next pair of jeans you see sagging below the butt-cheeks.

Anyway, again I applaud Chief Dicks' intentions, but I don't think it's the government's place to be fashion police, unless those fashions are literally obscene.

What do you think?

This and That

What's crackin', people?

I hope only good things for you.

No attempts at witticism for me this morning. I'm swamped. I'm about to hit the streets to try to round third base and bring home what I consider to be a great story. I'll say more about it, once I type that final period and send it off to vetting land.

At any rate, if you want yet another inspirational story, check out this guy.

And here is the video from my weekly TV rant.

Enjoy, and I'll try to do a deeper post this evening.

They still don't get it

Not even a full week after the media exploded in hubbub over the Rev. Jesse Jackson being caught on tape saying he wanted to snip Barack Obama's cookie jar, and the pundits speculated over how "the" black community would react, another talking head has stuck his foot in his mouth...in my humble opinion.

I thought we here at Burnettiquette World Headquarters and dozens of other blogs and column spots made it clear that one of the biggest mistakes the pundits were making was to assume that Rev. Jackson was "the" leader of "the" black community.

I thought we made it clear that there are multiple communities among African Americans and other black Americans. I thought we made it clear that there was never an election to pick a designated national black community leader. I thought we made it clear that no king had been crowned, not even figuratively, since that King was taken away from us.

And yet, in the midst of a field of punditry that likes to suggest its the conservative pundits only who perpetuate this notion that black folks need to be led around by the nose, I watched Hardball last night on MSNBC, and listened to Chris Matthews pose the question: Who's leading African Americans, Barack Obama or Jesse Jackson?

Notice that question isn't book-ended by quotation marks, because I'm going from memory here, and may be off by a word or two. But the gist is there. And BTW, I've never heard anyone accuse Matthews of being a conservative.

Call me crazy, but I still say that was an outrageous question. I don't have anything against Matthews or the rest of the folks whose job it is to analyze the news and speculate about what it means. I've been on shows before and shared my opinion.

But not one of those pundits or journalists or folks who dwell in that gray area between, including Matthews, would never look at the camera with a straight face and ask who's leading white Americans.

I know they wouldn't ask that question, 'cause if nothing else, they might be afraid of some of the answers they'd hear.

Plus there's that whole silly fairness thing - you know, the one about trying to avoid painting groups of people with one broad brush.

One more time for the pundits on both sides of the political aisle: black folks don't need a king. We didn't pray for a king. We didn't ask the media, of which I'm a proud member, to give us a king. Many of us were satisfied with the King who was taken too soon, back in the day. We're not the complaining frogs in the pond in Aesop's fable. All we need, like every other American, is that level playing field on which we'll be able to access our equipment locker without hindrance so that when its our turn at the plate we won't be empty handed. We'll be brandishing the heftiest bat available.

Proper Burnettiquette

Afternoon folks. Hope you all had a good weekend. Mine was excellent, but I won't bore you with the details, except to say that Mrs. B and I are one step closer to our new canine companion.

Instead, let me bounce a scenario off of you. Actually, it's one of my major pet peeves - the assumption by one person that his time is more valuable than the person next to him. That's very poor Burnettiquette.

So earlier I ran down to the cafeteria here at 1 Herald Plaza to grab a coffee with a colleague. We were in a hurry, because we had to get back upstairs for a meeting with bosses. We got our coffee, we stood on line, and we finally made it to the register. Just as my colleague, who stood in front of me, extended his hand toward the cashier, so he could pay and bounce, a woman neither of us knew darted in front of him, scrunched up her face and shoulders in that I'm-sure-you-understand-and-approve-of-me-doing-this look, that look that feigns apology and at the same time seeks empathy, hurriedly told the cashier "I'm in a hurry - just have coffee," thrust a buck and a quarter at the cashier and then darted off. The whole transaction really did take less than 30 seconds. But that meant my colleague had to wait 30 seconds longer to make his transaction and leave, as did I, and the woman behind me. We were in a hurry too. But the interloper with the scrunched up face wouldn't have known that 'cause in her bubble, our time was apparently not as important as hers.

I could ask something like "where do people get off?" But even approaching the topic that way is a cop-out. It's deeper than that. Sure, it was rude. But it's deeper than that. I think the face-scruncher's action spoke to an ever present attitude, a lifestyle, in which some folks have grown completely accustomed to getting their way - in all things small and big - when they want their way, without consideration for the people who represent hurdles to them.

A couple of years ago, in a column for another newspaper, I asked Dr. P.M. Forni about this phenomenon. Forni, is an expert on how humans treat one another, and author of Choosing Civility: The Twenty-five Rules of Considerate Conduct (St. Martin's Press 2002).

Here are a couple of excerpts from what Forni told me back then:

• "Civility comes from the Latin 'civitas,' meaning city...The ancient world believed that living in the city had a civilizing effect, because you learned to be with others and you refined your taste.
• "According to the origin of the word, then, you are civil when you are a good citizen and a good neighbor. We are civil when we believe that other people's claim to contentment and happiness is as valid as our own."

Forni also told me then that inconsiderate people could be fixed. I'm starting to doubt it, once they reach adulthood.

What do you think?

Housekeeping, Odds 'n Ends, and Love in the Air

What's crackin, folks? It's Friday, and I don't care if Jimmy cracked corn, smoked crack, or whatever. I'm just thrilled it's the end of the week. Plus Mrs. B and I are slowly and methodically, but surely closing in on our next dog. We're going for the same breed as the late great Cheko the Dog, 'cause we both dig Border Collies and Australian Shepherds and Cattle Dogs. Plus we'll be able to rescue one from one of several farms here in Florida whose sole purpose is to rescue, mind, nurse back to health, and adopt out abandoned dogs of those breeds, of all ages. As soon as we have the new pup I'll post a pic or two...so you'll get a good look at teeth you'll feel if any of you ever shows up at Burnettiquette World Headquarters uninvited. Kidding!

Anyway, thanks much for everyone who came by and weighed in yesterday on the post about tough love, the Rev. Jesse Jackson, Barack Obama, black communities, and the media. It was one of my highest traffic days ever. Still, it was a tough topic to write about. I found myself in one of my "Mookie Moments." That's what I call those times when I'm conflicted over something I believe and how that belief, if shared publicly, is going to be received. It comes from the old Spike Lee film Do the Right Thing, in which Lee's character Mookie found himself torn during a neighborhood riot between loyalty to his boss, pizza shop owner Sal (Danny Aiello) and loyalty to the friends and neighbors who were tearing up the neighborhood over the police killing of a young man in the neighborhood. Whenever I write about a topic involving race I always have a nagging in my gut that someone who relishes racial strife is going to try to take and twist my words to support his or her position. Most of the time that doesn't happen. But I can't lie. I still worry about it sometimes. Still, we all have responsibilities. And I feel like mine sometimes include talking about uncomfortable things.

Moving right along, if you need some inspiration heading into the weekend, take a minute and read this article, but not 'cause I wrote it. It's about one of the most generous people I've ever met.

So onto travel stuff. Not next week, but the following I'll be in Chicago most of the week. If you're in the city, and I can break away from the convention I'll be attending, and you have access to the Loop, let me know and I'll try to meet you to tip a pint and share a nosh or something.

Finally, the story I'm most curious to get your opinion about going into the weekend: Love!

I'm being a "little" facetious. If you live outside South Florida, then you might not have heard that the new police chief for the City of Fort Lauderdale, Frank Adderly, was awakened the other morning to the sound of gunfire in his home. His wife, Eleanor, was standing at the foot of their bed firing in his direction. I word it that way on purpose, because she missed him by inches and later insisted to authorities that she wasn't firing "at" him but was just trying to scare him. Naturally, the chief didn't know right away that he was just supposed to be scared. So he jumped up and ran. And although it wasn't included in the police report or our articles, I'm sure he had either some begging or choice words for her as he ran. She fired at him more as he fled the house, and missed each time. The chief made it to a neighbor's house, where he called for help, and his wife was arrested.

Here's what I'm baffled by: The chief and his supporters seem to be downplaying the whole thing and characterizing it as simply a domestic issue, a spousal argument gone awry. He even quickly posted her bond and told the judge he didn't want her to be punished. I could be crazy, but I kind of see this as attempted murder. But the state attorney's office only charged her with assault with a deadly weapon and and firing into a dwelling. Some folks in the police department and courthouse in Fort Lauderdale say its favoritism. Probably is. I don't know. But I'm still hung up on the fact that the chief and friends are sorta downplaying this thing. I guarantee you if Mrs. B ever fired a gun at me, I'd assume she was trying to kill me. I like to think she'd never do that. But...I'm kidding. Seriously, if you just want to scare your spouse I recommend you sneak up on them and yell "boo!" 'Cause despite the attitude the chief's supporters are taking toward this incident, pointing a gun at your significant other and pulling the trigger is not a normal domestic dispute. What do you think?

Day Two: Rev. Jackson Out of touch Media-Gate

I'll be right with you.

First I have to finish silently counting how many more hours - or maybe days ? - broadcast media will hype the recorded off-air conversation Rev. Jesse Jackson had Sunday at Fox News Channel's Chicago studios, in which Jackson expressed a desire to chop off Barack Obama's coin purse.

More important to the conversation, Jackson said Obama had been talking down to black people lately in Obama's call for a reshaping and renewal of faith-based social programs, his calls for black men to step up to the plate and be active fathers to their children, and his calls for black parents to wield a firmer hand with their kids.

I'm not exactly sure where Jackson's "talking down" comment is rooted, but let's forget being uncomfortable and being PC for a minute and let's face a few realities:

First, Obama isn't saying anything that thousands - maybe millions - of middle class and working class black folks haven't been saying for a long time. Obama, like Bill Cosby, is famous. So when they say things that can be categorized as tough love toward their own people, their comments are played out for days and weeks on TV and in newspapers and magazines. And that's OK, considering TV and to a lesser degree other forms of media are opiates to the masses.

Second, you can't deny the numbers that are partly the impetus for Obama's comments on personal responsibility in some black communities: Nearly 12 percent of black men between the ages of 25 and 29 are incarcerated. Two-thirds of black children born in the United States today are born to single parent homes. And for all the carefree post-modern logic that says one parent will do, common sense says that kids are better off with two active parents in their lives. And many of our nation's best social scientists, black social scientists among that group, have acknowledged that while children can get solid adult support from parents who are not married to one another and don't live together, it is often the case that very young, single black dads don't appear to be active enough in their kids' lives. Are there white dads who aren't active in their kids lives? No doubt, but we're not talking about them today. And I don't feel a personal obligation to express "tough love" to them.

Third, this story has two halves - the half that has raised some eyebrows over Obama's calls for personal responsibility in some black communities, and the half that is hyping Jackson's recorded conversation. I can assure you that the first half of this story would not be in play if the suits at the major broadcast networks had not decided a long time ago that prominent black folks can't call out their own people and get away with it.

The first half of this story would not be in play if those suits hadn't approached these matters by hinting that a black man who calls out his own has somehow abandoned the Resistance and given in to the temptations of Lord Vader and the Empire.

The second half of this story wouldn't be in play if the broadcast suits hadn't gone along with the philosophy for the past few decades that Rev. Jackson was the equivalent of an elected official in America's black communities. Clearly the suits did not watch  episode one, from season 11 of South Park, in which the character Token Black so eloquently stated "Jesse Jackson is not the emperor of black people!" Not surprisingly, Token's white classmate Stan Marsh replied "He isn't? He told my dad he was."

Now, let's not get it twisted. I'm not taking any political bait. No activist on either side of the political spectrum is gonna take my words and use them to exemplify their distaste or support for Rev. Jackson. I'm not gonna bash his record of leadership in some black communities, 'cause frankly - and I'm not trying to be cute when I say this - I don't know enough about his record. He may have done everything in the world to advance equality for all and the quality of life for African Americans over the past 40 years or so....Or he may have done little. Yeah, I'm a veteran journalist, and the son of educated black folks who came of age in the 1960s. But without first doing some homework I couldn't name a specific mega-thing Jackson has done to advance black folks. And my point is neither can the broadcast suits who have gone along all these years with the notion of Jackson as King.

I can't speak for my folks' generation, but I think I can speak for at least some of mine when I say that Obama calling for individuals to do the right thing for themselves and their children doesn't offend me. That doesn't absolve the government from its role in tipping the first dominoes that started our social messes back in the day. But it does say we recognize that we can't wait for Uncle Sam to come down from his apparent high and fix his side of things.

Seriously, I'm not trying to be funny. But when I say this whole thing is molehill, not a mountain, I'm saying the suits have it wrong. Report what Jackson said, 'cause it would be irresponsible not to. But drag out the jaw-dropping and the feigned chagrin over his words by TV analysts and you become disingenuous by making it out like anything Rev. Jackson says could actually hurt Obama's campaign....with black or white voters. If Obama loses in November, it won't be because of anything Rev. Jackson said about him.

Again, this wouldn't have happened if not for that whole king-making thing. African Americans don't need a king. One more time, those of us who aren't handling our business need to do so now, 'cause Uncle Sam has done a crappy job trying to handle it for us, and 'cause arguing that we're not the only ethnic group in the U.S. with problems is not gonna help us fix our problems, no matter how true it is. Besides, by the time that truth is widely accepted, the dinosaurs will have come back to life.