The Snob-A-Thon soldiers on! And we need YOU … to donate. So far we’ve racked up a grand total of $585 but we still have some ways to go. I’m…
This goes under my list of “Things That Can’t Happen In American Due To the Bill O’ Rights (Thank God).” It seems French President Nicolas Sarkozy thinks the traditional Muslim garmet, the burqa, undermines France’s secular tradition and is bad for women.
All you have to do is click on these two icons to vote SNOB for best political blog, best cultural blog, best writing in a blog and best blog post…
This is what a “fat” woman looks like. Me, in college. at 155 lbs. I’m HUGE according to my BMI. Visually though … not so much.Of course by “Big Boned,”…
Hot Topics are sizzlin’ and taste best served en fuego. Robin Givhan says people weren’t ready to smell what Barack’s wife’s been cooking. In a column all about the audacity…
The Snob at 20 after winning a scholarship while in college. Faces blurred to protect people I don’t know or remember anymore.And I just want to know
Where the fuck did everyone else go
Life picked them all off like flies
Shot for the skies, fell some place between hell and shit
Why did they get to quit
And I had to slug on?
From the poem, “I Miss You.” Read the rest here.
There was never a time when I didn’t know I was going to college. I never knew it was an option to not attend. My mother started early with my education, teaching me reading, writing and math before I started public school and was a regular volunteer at all functions. Everything they did was to make me as well-rounded as possible while at the same time nourishing my gifts in the opposite of the way gross poverty had starved theirs. There were dance, art and piano lessons. Vacation Bible School and literary competitions.
I had a good childhood.
Unfortunately and unbeknownst to all of us, my parents were preparing me for my eventual excelling right out of Blackland in ten easy steps! While the self-segregated black elite talked almost proudly about being The-One-Onlys in Monday’s stories on Martha’s Vineyard, I was a One-Only, only I called it “The Lonely Onlies.” As in there was no sense of pride for me at all to excel my way to the top and see that so many people from the old neighborhood had not made it there with me … or had made it, but were thousands of miles away, being a Lonely Only somewhere else.