“If you are talentless, without ambition, morbidly obese, illiterate, or foul smelling: You do NOT have Haters! Some people just don’t like you.” — Carmelita Wingate. Longtime friend, from Twitter in 2009.

DETROIT (JSC) — I sit here at this desk as a 32-year-old Black man from inner-city Detroit. I have a small number of people I call my true friends. I have an even smaller contingent of people I call family. I have acquaintances, confidants, Frat brothers, Sorors, and people who are just fans who are along for the ride (thank you for the support by the way). I also have people who don’t like me, care for me, despise me, or even waste a nanosecond of their time thinking about me. This too is just fine with me. The one thing I do not have, will not have, and never have had are “Haters”. Not one. Nobody. I mean, I’ve had people who didn’t support me or what I was doing. I’ve had countless people who didn’t like me. Hell, when I was in Lansing six years ago, there was a cat that I’d never met running around Lansing claiming that I was bisexual and he had seen me in a club with a man. When I confronted him about it, his ass suddenly bailed off the other end of the phone and hid behind his girlfriend. TRUE STORY! I get it. MFers are not going to like me, and guess what: I’M FINE WITH THAT! Hell, I’m an acquired taste as it is. Not everyone is gonna get it. But here’s my issue, part of the problem with this country as a whole, and the black community in particular, is that we are too busy worrying about people who don’t like us. We crave their approval and use it as some sick & twisted motivator. It’s time to face facts: You don’t have “haters.” As the above quote says: “Some people just don’t like you!” Let’s Go.

Webster’s defines the word “Hate” as follows:

Hate (v.): to dislike intensely or passionately; feel extreme aversion for or extreme hostility toward; to detest.

Now think about that for a second. It takes a boatload of effin’ effort to legitimately HATE somebody. Not dislike, HATE. There are very few things I will actually cop to hating in my life. I hate ignorance. I hate poor grammar. I hate prejudice of all kinds. I hate University of Michigan Football. I hate the Minnesota Twins. I hate what 40+ years of negligence has done to Detroit. Those are all legit things to hate. The problem with our modern social media-dominated society is that we are all looking to be loved and accepted unconditionally, no matter how much of an immature douche that you might be, no matter how pathetic you may be, no matter how much you might suck at your job or your hobby. People must like EVERYTHING that we do. If you don’t like it, you are immediately dismissed as a “hater”! The “hater” card is like the “race” card or the “sexist” card. It’s the easiest way to end all intelligent discourse. We must, thanks to a society of weak people who were told that their sh*t smelled like spring daisies and fresh ground cinnamon since birth, LIKE everything you do or you are a “hater”. I don’t like Drake or Lil’ Wayne. That makes me a “hater”. I don’t like the Miami Heat. That makes me a “hater”. I don’t like the way the Detroit Pistons look. You guessed it, I’m a f—ing “hater” of the 33rd degree. If I don’t like you, I’m a damn “hater”. Well, my message to you is: Shut your hole! You don’t have any haters. I know this will come as a damn shock to your system, but YOU DO NOT HAVE HATERS. People just don’t like you. The sooner you accept that, the happier you will be.

"You See Me!" Yes...and your thirst for attention sickens me.

One of the reasons this chaps my arse so much is because I have to see the sh*t on what is seemingly a continuous loop on Facebook & Twitter (@JayScottSmith) every damn day. Never fails. Some anonymous nobody jackass busts off a tweet about how they are sick of “All these haters trying to steal my shine!” or “Y’all haters can keep hatin’. It only makes me stronger!” or “I love my Haters” or my personal favorites are when they get all Biblical on that ass: “All you haters can hate. I know Jesus love me!” :::vomits on rug::: Hell, we just crossed into a new year and 1 out of every 4 jerk-offs on my FB and Twitter TLs were squirting off odes to “haters” by the dozen. Even NPR got in on the f–kery with maybe the dumbest article ever written on their watch. Check this out, sunshine: Nobody hates you! By and large, most people probably aren’t thinking about your ass. I know what you’re thinking: “Me? I know I stay on those haters’ minds!” No. You really don’t. But guess what? That’s ok. Average, everyday losers like you and I don’t have “haters”. Truthfully, most of these a–hole celebrities and athletes don’t have haters either. And for the ones who do: Quit your bitchin’. You’re famous. Not everyone is going to like you either. Stop begging for so much attention. It’s annoying…and pathetic.

Guess what Cena? Your check still clears. And People don't Hate You. You're Just Boring.

I grew up in a city that STILL treats anyone who is the slightest bit different like a fresh pile of dog poop. I was made fun of for every conceivable reason you could imagine: My voice, my intellect, my glasses, my height, my weight, my two-parent household, being an only child…you name it, I caught hell for it! High school was no better, including once in ninth grade being accused of “taking a spot from a deserving Detroit kid.” The assertion was that I could not possibly be from Detroit because, well, I talk good. You factor all that together then throw in dealing with a Cancer-stricken mother at home, and you may be wondering how people didn’t get hurt. Simple, I internalized it. All of it. I let that anger, bitterness, resentment, and rage from those slights — both real and perceived — fuel my daily routine. And guess what happened? I was F—ing Miserable! I spent so much time worrying about clock-suckers who didn’t like me, that I paid very little attention to the people who actually cared about me. That was 15 long years ago. It hasn’t happened since.

Here’s the point of all this: Stop worrying about people who don’t like you. Stop breathing life into these alleged “haters” and detractors. Stop going on long, monotonous diatribes on Twitter and Facebook about people who don’t like you. I can guarantee that they either don’t see it and/or don’t care. I mean really, what good does it do? From a practical standpoint, that son-bitch is still gonna dislike you regardless of how much you pout, stomp your feet, and send cowardly sub-tweets about them to your 17 followers on TweetDeck. It only makes you look like a petulant, insecure child who can’t handle criticism or negative feedback, while that a–hole is off eating a sandwich and drinking a wine cooler. I’m semi-popular now because of my professional gig. I know for a G– damned fact that not everyone who reads my stories are going to like or agree with them. Hell, someone’s reading this right now, loathes this piece and wishes I would jump off the Ambassador Bridge. I can handle that. I’m a grown ass man. I can take it. Because whether you love what I write, or thoroughly despise what I write, guess what: My Check Still Clears. That’s right, MFer. I’m still getting paid. So feel free not to like me or feel free to love me. Just don’t expect me to dedicate 15 consecutive misspelled tweets to you on Twitter, you simpleton.

"I Hate You! I Hate You! I Don't Even Know You, But I Hate Ya Guts!"

We’ve really created a candy-ass, “everybody’s a winner” society. Where everyone must be told they’re great at all times, and we all must co-sign on it. I’m unfortunately apart of that first generation of kids that got trophies and awards for losing. Notice I didn’t say finishing 4th or 5th, I said losing. Kids have been raised in places where schools (assuming they even have PE) don’t keep score during basketball and baseball games and everyone gets a trophy at the end of a tournament. Even the team that came in dead last! This is done so everyone can feel good about themselves. F— that! Some of the greatest lessons I’ve learned in life, I learned through losing. In 1989, I played on a baseball team that lost 13 straight games (Note: it was a 13-game season). I’ve been on losing basketball teams, losing baseball teams, losing track teams, you name it! All that losing taught me that you don’t get everything you want in life, and more often than not, you’re going to lose and fail at things. It’s about how you handle the loss, correct the errors, and savor life’s victories. Whether that’s winning a championship in basketball, beating Cancer, getting a new job, or buying a new car, savor it! Enjoy it. If somebody has a problem with you, your life, or how you do things, don’t give those losers the satisfaction of getting all pissy and using them as “motivation”, find that confidence of self and know that not everyone is gonna like you, and that’s just fine. It’s their loss. You want motivation, do it for the people who care about you. F— trying to prove it to some a–hole who is gonna dislike you regardless of what you do. Get your priorities straight, MFer!

In closing, when I was 17-years-old, I was such an emotional wreck that I had actually contemplated suicide twice. Once in November 1996, and the second time in February 1997. So when I tell people that “If I gave a f— about what all you idiots thought about me, I’d have been dead when I was 17” I’m not bullsh*ttin’ you. Stop dedicating all your energy to these people who don’t like you. Instead of wasting precious bandwidth and brain cells on your “haters”, how about you break off an e-mail, tweet, text, or (God forbid) a phone call to someone who has made your life better and worth living. Someone who actually SUPPORTS your stankin’ ass! How about 15 consecutive misspelled, grammatically botched tweets about the people in your life who have your back? Stop acknowledging these fools who don’t like you. Lord knows I don’t. I’d much rather talk about my mom and how she smiles whenever she sees my name on a byline. I’m not wasting my time on you clowns who don’t like me. You wanna know why? Because whether you like me or not…

:::whispers in your ear::: My Check Still Clears, bitch.

They Are Just a Figment of You Imagination.

Until Next Time, That’s The Way It Is. Friday, January 6, 2012.

The 4,382nd day since the Detroit Lions’ Last Playoff Game

(A Streak that ends in New Orleans tomorrow night!)

Take Care, God Bless, Always Dare to Be Different, and G.O.M.A.B. Σ

“The best thing about the future is that it comes only one day at a time.”

— Abraham Lincoln

DETROIT (JSC) — Prior to starting this, I looked at the time stamp of the last post I put up on this site. Obviously, it has been a minute since I’ve been here, but it’s not because I’ve just given up on the whole blogging game. If you have even bothered to read the “About” section of this thing — and judging from the number of hits that page has gotten, you clearly haven’t — I said very clearly that “this blog will be my outlet to write in lieu of me having a regular full-time gig.” Well, in August, that dream was realized as I became a contributor to theGrio.com, which is NBC’s African-American news site. The story of how this whole thing came together is forthcoming, but I finally had a second to address what will be the future of this site. This was my original outlet. My true baby. I’ve been blogging like a mad man since 2003 on Xanga, when I was the furthest thing from being a professional journalist.  For the chosen few of you who pay regular attention to this blog, I thank you. Let’s go on a journey back to the last day I hit you with some bloggage: July 12. Let’s Go.

Livin' The Dream: My Work with The South End allowed me to travel with a team for the first time.

It was a hot, 90+ degree afternoon in the middle of the summer. At that point, I was a couple of weeks away from a trip that would serve to to change my life. As you all know, I’m a member of the National Association of Black Journalists. I have been for years. A year prior, I hopped on a plane for the first time in 14 years to go to the 2010 NABJ National Conference in San Diego. That conference opened my eyes to what it was like to be a professional journalist amongst my peers and it very quickly inspired me to step my damn game up. When I came back to Detroit, it was with a renewed energy and aggression that I hadn’t felt since I first started at 96.5 seven years ago. I went back to Wayne State, took over as sports editor of the South End, covered what was (at the time) the best football team in school history, then on two days rest picked up covering the Men’s basketball team as they made an astonishing run to a conference championship. Along the way, I ended up taking over the Women’s beat as well as trying to balance all that with finishing my Master’s Degree and trying to stay afloat financially. Mind you, this was all before July 12.

By the time July had rolled around, I was 3 months removed from school and had zero real possibilities. The Detroit News had essentially laid me off and I wasn’t even able to get unemployment at the time. Basically, I was skating on thin ice, flying with broken wings, and rollin’ with trick dice. I was down to selling stuff and scrounging up change to keep the lights on. So on that hot July day, I was blogging to keep from robbing somebody. The trip to Philadelphia for NABJ 2011 had been paid for months earlier, but essentially that was it. I was very reflective of my future at the time. The NABJ conference would essentially be my last stand. If I couldn’t find something resembling a real gig, I was basically done. Toward the end of July, I was introduced to Sam Logan, the legendary publisher and editor-in-chief of the Michigan Chronicle, and had started freelancing for the paper. Even with that I still needed something more concrete, and my potential for journalistic salvation was in sitting in a convention hall in Philadelphia.

8/3/2011: Waiting for the flight to Philly that would change my life...

By the time August 3 rolled around, I was on a flight from Motown to Philly and I was trying to do more than an East Coast Swing. I arrived with a purpose: Find a Job and Start Your Journey. Well, after getting in and registering, I spent that first night basically getting situated and planning my attack for the following three days. On the first day of the conference, Thursday August 4, I went to the career fair and made a contact that was very familiar. The year before in San Diego, I came into contact with David Wilson from the Grio. At that time, Grio had just come under the NBC umbrella and they were building a staff. I had just finished my second year at Wayne State and had nothing tangible to show them other than a few crappy (by my standards) basketball stories. Fast forward to Philadelphia, I see David again. This time I’m armed with a year’s worth of my best work and an updated resume.

He takes a look at the portfolio at says to me with a quizzical look “You’re not working for anyone full time?” My response: “Nope”. After asking me a couple of more times, he tells me to talk to Joy-Ann Reid (the managing editor). A couple of hours later, I caught up to her, she read my portfolio, and after asking me what my focus would be — i.e. am I specifically doing sports or willing to be flexible — she follows up with the same question: ”You’re not working for anyone full time?” My response: o_o…”ummm…nope.” The ball had started rolling.

The following day, I found my way into a seminar run by MSNBC’s vice-president. I managed to get a few words with Yvette Miley — the MSNBC VP — and after 11 years, suddenly the door started cracking open. The network was going to be in Detroit the following week for a televised town hall on education (I actually made a few cameos in it from the crowd) and I decided to volunteer my services to the Grio to cover it. I apparently made enough of an impression on them because 2 days after I got back to Detroit, the tax forms and agreement was in my e-mail.

I basically said to the Grio "Show me the Business Cards, #SoIKnowItsReal" (Not Really).

After doing four separate stories through the month of August (as well as my first Chronicle story), on September 8 — three days after my after my 32nd birthday — I got an e-mail from Joy saying they were interested in bringing me on as a full blown contributor, covering everything from human interest to politics to sports to whatever in the Midwest. I would be based out of Detroit and get paid. I remember sitting in the Michigan Chronicle parking lot on Cass screaming like a linebacker after sacking a quarterback. In essentially six weeks, I went from being on my last legs to kicking in the door that had been closed for so long.

You all who follow me know the rest. I’ve covered stories in various places. Whether it’s covering a controversial job fair here in Detroit, a touching memorial to victims of gun violence in Chicago, Ndamukong Suh getting a little too angry on Thanksgiving Day, to covering good ol’ Detroit City Government. I have finally discovered my calling and I love what I do. The goal for 2012, because I don’t make “resolutions,” is to grow from where I am now and move onward and upward. I’m in a great place right now, but it can always get better. I work with people who respect the hell out of what I do, take care of me on my money (!!!), and give me the leeway to do what I want to do. Plus, I get to travel and I love that. By the time I get to New Orleans for this year’s NABJ convention in June, there will be a new feeling: That of being an experienced professional.

This brings us back to the entire point of this friggin’ blog. What is the future of Jay Scott Confidential? Simple. I will continue to blog on JSC. Obviously, I won’t be able to blog nearly as frequently as I have in the past nine years in the multiple incarnations of this blog. However, when I bring it, it will be with the same vigor and vitriol that I’ve done it with since 2003. Hell, I’ve got something for that ass in the next couple of days about a subject that just gets on my damn nerves: Our rampant preoccupation with “Haters”. But that’s for next time.

For now, I want to leave you cats & kittens with this message: No matter what you want to do in life, work your ever-loving ass off to get it. It took me 12 years of ups and downs to get to this point, but through hard work, the support of loved ones, and a faith in God that (while I don’t beat people over the head with it) kept me somewhat sane through everything. Click here to check out all my Grio work and be sure to support the site as well. Thank you again for your support and let’s continue to build in 2012. Well, you know, until the Mayans shut everything down in December.

:::Strikes The Randy Orton Pose::: Peace Out and Happy New Year!

I Got The Whole Damn City Behind Me and The World In Front of Me

Until Next Time, That’s The Way It Is. Tuesday, January 3, 2012.

The 4,379th day since the Detroit Lions’ Last Playoff Game (A Streak that ends in New Orleans on Saturday)

Take Care, God Bless, Always Dare to Be Different, and G.O.M.A.B. Σ

P.S.: R.I.P. Samuel Logan (1936-2011). This man gave me a chance when nobody else was seriously f—ing with me and once paid me out of his own pocket for a story. The man was a visionary and a free-thinker in a world living inside the proverbial box. 

“Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent.”

— Isaac Asimov

DETROIT (JSC) — Almost two years ago (7/21/2009 to be exact), I wrote a blog on here called “Killa Season“. No, it wasn’t a blog about my hatred of everything Dipset. It dealt with what was, at the time, the re-coronation of Detroit as the murder capital of the United States. This was two years ago, not exactly an eternity, but in Detroit, it can be. This predated the horrific incident last year where 17-year-old Southeastern High senior Jerean Blake was murdered by a man twice his age for “looking at him funny”, then about 36 hours later, when the police came looking for the shooter, they raided the home that was harboring him and accidentally killed 7-year-old Ayana Jones in the process of capturing him. In typical Detroit fashion, the people were more outraged at the accidental police killing than they were about the senseless street crime that killed an innocent teen. Detroit’s a city with a checkered history in terms of crime and violence, and some of the most senseless acts of foolishness occur when the seemingly endless winter breaks and the heat comes rolling in. Detroit does have a “Killa Season”. It’s called Summer. Let’s Go.

The problem with these beautiful fireworks is that often they aren't the only things blasting in Hart Plaza

The summer in Detroit is more than just 4th of July Fireworks (that take place on June 25th), BBQs, the Techno festival “Movement”, Tigers games, and cruising Jefferson Ave. & Belle Isle. Summertime in Detroit is prime time for violence. It’s become commonplace to say on the first hot weekend of the year, which is usually in mid-May, that somebody’s getting their ass kicked or dying tonight. Just look at what has gone on in Detroit in just the last couple of weeks as the temperature has topped out over 90 degrees eight times (as I type this, it is currently 89 degrees in Detroit):

• July 11: A 3-year-old girl is killed by a stray bullet following a dispute outside a house on the city’s East Side. Aarie Berry was killed after bullets ripped into the second-floor flat in the 3100 block of Canton after 9 p.m. Sunday. The gunfire happened after an altercation between one of the people staying in the four-family housing unit and some next-door neighbors. Aarie and her family were innocent bystanders. Walter Taylor said the fight started earlier that afternoon when he confronted the neighbor, known to him only as “Black G”. Taylor said that Black G insulted him, his brother and his mother, then punched him in the jaw (Damn!). Taylor said his brother pulled a baseball bat against the man. Police were called and responded to the neighborhood after the fight, but no one would come out or talk (more on this in a second). Later, a tan van with four men pulled up to Taylor’s home. The men broke out the windows of the house and taunted Taylor’s family to come out. The men got back into the van, pulled into a nearby alley and began bustin’ shots. At least 20 rounds were fired. The rounds apparently missed Taylor’s house, but at least two went through the second-story door of the place where Aarie was living. The killers are still at large. (Courtesy of the Detroit News)
• July 11: Five people were wounded at a Cooley High School reunion in Detroit. A 15-year-old, two 18-year-olds, a 26-year-old, and a 41-year-old were wounded in the 9:30 p.m. shooting. A fight broke out at the reunion and a 35-year-old man fired shots from a vehicle into the crowd that had gathered on the now-closed school’s football field at Fenkell and Hubbell. Police spotted the car and have the suspect in custody. (Courtesy of the Detroit Free Press).
• June 26: Two people were shot and wounded at a Mackenzie High School reunion in Detroit. That’s right, Cooley was the SECOND reunion shooting. Desean Barlow, 22, and Jerome Pegler, 19, are being charged in connection with the shooting that wounded two people. According to the Wayne County Prosecutor’s Office, Barlow allegedly fired shots into the crowd gathered at Wyoming and Westfield, hitting a 54-year-old man and a 17-year-old boy, seriously injuring both. Investigators say Pegler had a weapon during the shooting, too. The shootout was over something very important: either a bottle of liquor, a gold chain, or a pair of sunglasses. (Courtesy of WXYZ Channel 7)
• June 25: During the yearly Fireworks extravaganza, a 14-year-old boy decided he wanted to show off his gun (why he had one is anyone’s guess) when he accidentally shot himself in the leg, a la Plaxico Burress. The bullet then exited his leg and hit a 16-year-old girl who was nearby. This should also remind you simpletons to why Plaxico was arrested for shooting himself. The bullet could’ve caught someone else. (Courtesy of Yahoo/WXYZ).

Jerean Blake was murdered by a man twice his age because he "looked at him funny." But the outrage was over a cop accidentally killing a girl.

This is just a small sample. This isn’t factoring in the other petty crimes, assaults, accidents, and violence in the neighboring suburbs such as Dearborn, Southfield, and Ferndale. The shooting of the 3-year-old is especially infuriating. Basically, another hood tough guy couldn’t handle someone fighting back and ran to get his homies with guns. They then terrorized this family and attempted to shoot up the house, only to miss and hit the wrong one!? C’Mon Dawg! What really pisses me off is the point where when the police actually showed up, NO ONE WOULD SAY ANYTHING!!!! They then complained about the police not responding quickly later. Maybe if you had talked to the cops earlier, this could’ve been cleared up, and that adorable little girl would still be alive. In the aforementioned “Killa Season” blog, I referenced the “Stop Snitchin’” street code and it seems to still be in full effect. In case you forgot:

Part of the crime reporting problems stem from this ridiculous “Stop Snitchin’” culture we live in, where people refuse to cooperate with police in the event of a violent or heinous crime because they don’t want to be labeled a “snitch”. Once again, here’s an equation that even DPS grads can understand:

Participating in a Crime, then Talking to Cops to try to avoid a longer bid = “Snitch”

Witnessing a Crime, then going to police in order to help the investigation = “Brave Citizen”

Witnessing a Crime, then refusing to talk to police in order to protect a “street code” = “Coward”

This is not a Dipset video. This ain’t some cheesy BET Black hood “gangster” movie. This ain’t State Property or Killa Season, dammit! This is real life, and as much as Detroit loves to keep it real, this is a case of when keeping it real has gone horridly wrong!

—”Killa Season: Detroit’s Murder City Blues”, July 21, 2009

I get it. You hate the police. Guess what? The police aren’t very fond of you, either. But don’t complain about them not getting their job done when you tacitly obstruct them from doing their jobs. Help them so they can help you. Sadly, violence (especially from May to September) in Detroit is a way of life around here. It would be great to be able to go to the fireworks and not have to worry about being robbed, harassed, or shot at (accidentally or intentionally). I’d love to be able to go to a cookout or BBQ on Belle Isle w/out having to worry about some video thugs turning it into the Shootout at the O.K. Corral over a pair of fake Cartier sunglasses and a bottle of 1800. A little girl should be able to play in her house w/out her parents having to worry about her being picked off by a stray bullet. Yes, Detroit apologists, I know, “Every city has violence. It’s just that we get ‘picked on’ by the evil media who’s out to make us look bad.” Please miss me with that fool-ass excuse.

These sunglasses, which run over $1,000, have caused more summer shootings in DET than we'd like to admit.

I was just in Chicago during the 4th of July weekend. As crazy as it is here, Chicago turns into the Wild Wild West when the temp climbs above 75. But what that has to do with Detroit? Not a Damn Thing. I wasn’t born in Chicago. I didn’t grow up in Washington, D.C.. I didn’t go to college in New Orleans. I don’t live in Miami. I live in Detroit. I care about what goes on here. That weak-ass, buck-passing, “If they’re f—ed up, we can be f—ed up” mentality doesn’t fly with me and shouldn’t fly here. The thing is, I know we can be better. The group “Detroit 300″ (a play on the 300 Spartans from one of my all-time favorite movies) is an example of what I mean. They are a band of city residents who are mad as hell at all this foolishness and aren’t gonna take it anymore. But in a city of 713,777 people, why are there just 300 people willing to take a stand? Don’t worry. I’ll wait. Just know that as long as we accept the violence in this city, it will continue to happen. As long as we continue to accept the massive cuts to public safety in the city, it will continue to happen.

I was originally gonna write a blog about my beloved Detroit Tigers at the All-Star Break, but the death of that little girl and the assorted f—ery that has gone on the last few weeks just got me all agitated. Detroit, we need to get it together. End of Discussion. A city is only as strong as the people in it. If that’s the case, we need to get in the gym and stop talking tough. Guess what people: Violence won’t go away or even ease back unless you do something about it. Until that happens, no one is safe. Enjoy your summer, Detroit.

This little girl lost her life thanks to a stray bullet. Who's Next?

Until Next Time, That’s The Way It Is. Tuesday, July 12, 2011.

The 230th day since the Detroit Lions’ Last Loss!

Take Care, God Bless, Always Dare to Be Different, and G.O.M.A.B. Σ

“Justice has nothing to do with what goes on in a courtroom; Justice is what comes out of a courtroom”

— Clarence Darrow

DETROIT (JSC) — I can tell you exactly where I was on the morning of October 3, 1995. I was sitting in an economics class at Renaissance High School. The entire room was packed and the TV was locked on Channel 4 (WDIV, the Detroit NBC affiliate) as we had gotten word that the jury, after just four hours of deliberation, had returned with a verdict in the murder trial of NFL Hall of Fame running back O.J. Simpson. The entire room (composed almost entirely of black students and faculty) let out a very loud cheer as it was announced that Simpson, accused of murdering his ex-wife and her boyfriend a year earlier, was not guilty on all charges. The incredulous disbelief on the faces of white people around the country was priceless. I admit it. It was funny. But those incredulous looks had nothing on the O_o!!?? look I had on my face at 2:19 p.m. Eastern Time today when I heard the words “Not Guilty” uttered three times in regards to Casey Anthony. And unlike that cool October morning 16 years ago, there was no color line in the stunned shock. Let’s Go.

10/3/95: O.J. Simpson, in the eyes of many, got away w/murder.

Now one must remember that this was 16 years ago. Doing the math on my age, at that time I was 16 years old, näive, and singularly focused on this being about a Black man being chased by the proverbial “man” for a heinous double-murder. The last 16 years have led me to change my stance on this slightly: In 1994, I believed that O.J. was completely innocent. Now, I’m convinced that he didn’t wield the knife that killed those two, but he knows (and likely paid) the person/people who did. We’ve all just accepted that he got over in ’95 and karma eventually chased him down in a Las Vegas hotel room 13 years later. All this being said, Casey Anthony is no O.J. Simpson.

For those of you who’ve been living under a rock like the dudes in the Geico commercial, here’s the entire Casey Anthony thing in a nutshell. The “disappearance” of then 2-year-old Caylee Anthony made national headlines in the summer of 2008. Caylee had last been seen alive on June 18, 2008 with her mother, Casey, leaving her grandparents’ house. By July 15, Casey tells her parents that Caylee has been missing…FOR A MONTH. That same day, her parents picked up Casey’s car from an impound lot where both parents noted a very strong odor coming from it. We call a timeout on the floor here to address the most obvious red flag from this entire messed up situation. What in the Royal Blue Hell was Casey doing for a month while her daughter was “missing”? Well…:

• June 20, 2008: Casey is seen participating at a “Hard Body” contest at the Fusion night club in Orlando.
• June 30, 2008: She’s seen on surveillance cameras shopping and picking up movies from Blockbuster with her then-boyfriend
• In this amount of time she also got a tattoo on her back that says “Freedom”.

Apparently, Ms. Anthony was VERY worried in that month her daughter was "missing".

That’s just a small sample. I’m a man with no children. I can guarantee that there’s no way my child would disappear for 30 minutes and I’m not destroying everything in my path to get him/her back. When Casey finally admits that she hasn’t seen her daughter in 30 days, what does she say happened to her? Why she pulls a page out of the Susan Smith handbook and claims that Caylee was abducted by a Hispanic babysitter named Zanaida Fernandez Gonzalez. Because that’s what Minorities do, you know. We love to steal white toddlers. You know the rest. Casey’s story fell apart like LeBron in the 4th quarter. “Zanny the Nanny” never existed. It turned out that she was lying about everything from Caylee’s whereabouts to having a job at Universal Studios. Plus, she apparently has history of check fraud in her background. It would’ve been hilarious if the life of that adorable little girl wasn’t hanging in the balance. It was apparent to anyone with a stitch of common sense that Casey in the very least knew where this little girl was, but wasn’t talking.

She was originally arrested on child neglect and obstruction charges, but was hit with 1st degree murder, aggravated manslaughter, child abuse, and lying to authorities charges. Mind you, this was all BEFORE Caylee’s body was found in a wooded swamp not that far from the Anthony’s home in December 2008. The body was badly decomposed with the skull wrapped in duct tape. Fast forward to six weeks ago when that trial began. Anyone with a working synapse knew that Casey was guilty. The only question was of what? I knew there was no chance of them getting her on 1st Degree Murder. You have to definitively prove that she planned to kill this girl. But the really horrible cover-up attempt would lead anyone to believe that something bad happened. After saying for the longest that they didn’t know what happened to Caylee, suddenly they remember that she actually died in an accidental drowning in a pool and this was all one elaborate (and very poorly executed) cover up. This lead to one of the all-time great questions by NBC’s Savannah Guthrie:

“Who makes an accidental death look like a homicide?”

And then there was the defense tactic of accusing Casey’s father and brother of sexually abusing Casey as a child, and exposing her father as an adulterer. That’s right, slander the man (her dad) who supposedly helped you cover for your daughter’s death. Aside from the part where none of the sexual abuse was ever actually verified, it was also irrelevant. What did that have to do with that girl being killed!? I mean, if people thought Kobe Bryant was a dirtbag for “snitching” on Shaq seven years ago, WTF is Casey Anthony.

Micheal Vick's dogfighting/tax evasion netted him 2 years with evidence not much stronger than Casey Anthony's

The verdict, one which I heard on Sirius Satellite Radio’s MSNBC simulcast while in the parking lot at Starbucks (Satellite radio is better than yo’ mama biscuits!), floored me. I had a mental flashback to the day O.J. was acquitted. I remember the looks on the faces of those people who were convinced that Simpson was guilty. Not guilty of Murder 1. Ok. I saw that coming. Not guilty of Manslaughter!? o_O!? Not guilty of Child Abuse!!?? O_O!!!??? Word!? Yes, she was guilty of lying to the cops. I mean if they found her not guilty of that, I’d have demanded 12 piss tests, STAT! The outrage was far more universal this time around. People of all races and walks of life were disgusted. The defense team, so startled by the verdict that they forgot to motion for Casey to get out on bail, arrogantly grandstanding and chastising the media afterwards was even more disgusting. People toss around the only legal term most of them know: “…beyond a reasonable doubt.” Whatever doubts you had about evidence, how anyone could think that Casey Anthony wasn’t in the very least criminally negligent in this child’s death is mind-boggling. People have been convicted of Murder with far less evidence (and often w/no evidence at all). About the only thing Casey didn’t have was an R. Kelly-esque tape of the killing.

Sometimes the prettiest faces hide the coldest hearts...

Casey Anthony is on an entirely different level. It’s not just that she killed this child, she showed no remorse and no conscience. She said to her parents in one of her jailhouse phone calls “Why is everyone asking about Caylee? What about Me?” C’Mon, Dawg! She lied about everything except her name, then fire-bombed her family in the process of trying to save her own ass. Yet, in the end, 12 people used the “reasonable doubt” excuse to acquit her of this heinous crime. Let’s be honest here: Casey Anthony was acquitted. But Casey Anthony is NOT innocent. In the end, sadly, a beautiful 2-year-old girl is dead. She will never get a chance to grow up, and sadly will never get justice for her untimely death. The family will likely try to hide and fade into obscurity, and not another mention will be made of this whole ordeal unless something else happens or one of them takes $1 Million and tells their story to Oprah Winfrey or Wolf Blitzer. The system failed Caylee just as much as it failed the thousands of people who have been falsely convicted of crimes in this country in its history and that may be the the biggest crime of all.

As for you Casey Anthony, here’s a word to the wise: We all know what Karma is, and it always comes to collect. Don’t take my word for it, though. Just ask Mr. Simpson.

Until Next Time, That’s The Way It Is. Tuesday, July 5, 2011.

The 223rd day since the Detroit Lions’ Last Loss!

Take Care, God Bless, Always Dare to Be Different, and G.O.M.A.B. Σ

♣ The Toughest Jobs are often the most Thankless…♣ “There’s so much negative imagery of black fatherhood. I’ve got tons of friends that are doing the right thing by their kids, and doing the right thing as a father — and how come that’s not as newsworthy?” — Will Smith (No Relation…sadly) SOUTHFIELD, Mich. — It’s a warm and quiet early summer evening on the northwest side of Detroit. It’s the rare quiet and peaceful neighborhood in the c … Read More

via Jay Scott Confidential

♣ The Toughest Jobs are often the most Thankless…♣ "There's so much negative imagery of black fatherhood. I've got tons of friends that are doing the right thing by their kids, and doing the right thing as a father — and how come that's not as newsworthy?" — Will Smith (No Relation…sadly) SOUTHFIELD, Mich. — It's a warm and quiet early summer evening on the northwest side of Detroit. It's the rare quiet and peaceful neighborhood in the c … Read More

via Jay Scott Confidential

♣ Discrimination is a hellhound that gnaws at Negroes in every waking moment of their lives to remind them that the lie of their inferiority is accepted as truth in the society dominating them. ♣

— Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

DETROIT (JSC) — In the 5½ months I was largely AWOL from this blog, a whole lot of stuff happened. I can’t even go through an entire rewind of it all. I could go into the tomfoolery that was Donald Trump demanding to see the President’s birth certificate (never mind that anyone with half a brain and a 10th grade education, had seen it three years ago). I could go into the subsequent killing of terror mastermind Osama bin Laden after he was on the run, and I use that term loosely, for 10 years. I could go the sports route and talk about the NFL lockout, which threatens to torpedo part or all of the 2011 NFL season. Hell, I could always go to an oldie but goodie and talk about Detroit. But one story that really jumped out at me that I didn’t get a chance to touch on back in March is the shit storm that jumped off when Jalen Rose, and later Jimmy King (of University of Michigan “Fab Five” fame), singled out all black players recruited by and playing at Duke, particularly Grant Hill, as being “Uncle Toms”. Rose and King got very chesty about this, until the backlash punched them in the face. The full quote asserted that apparently there was something inherently unfair about a school choosing to recruit black players who can not only play, but are model citizens and strong students. The Nerve of Duke! Far be it from me to ever defend Duke basketball, but if I ran a program, I’d do the same thing. Well, the “Uncle Tom” alarm has been sounded again with the barbs being thrown at a familiar target. I’m here to say: Enough is Enough! Let’s Go.

Donovan McNabb may be one of the most hated athletes in professional sports, especially among Blacks.

If there’s one thing about Philadelphia sports fans, they are consistent. If they hate you in the beginning, nothing you do will change their hatred. Case in point, take former Eagles quarterback Donovan McNabb. He was booed very loudly the moment he was taken by the Eagles in 1999. They NEVER liked him. To them, he was “soft”, not tough enough, and couldn’t win. Mind you, the Eagles hadn’t exactly done a lot of winning prior to his arrival. Their lone Super Bowl appearance was in 1980, when they got cuffed by the Raiders in Super Bowl XV. Yet, the Eagles were consistent winners in his time there, making the playoffs nine times, including four trips to the NFC Championship game and the Eagles’ only other Super Bowl appearance in 2005. We all know what happened after that. Terrell Owens blamed their close loss to the Patriots on McNabb (TO missed all the Eagles playoff games in the Super Bowl run, and McNabb was throwing TDs to Bryant Westbrook and Freddie Mitchell), and that gave the vocal majority in Philly all the ammo they needed.

We can debate the merits of his play. That’s very fair, especially the last three years. However, for a man who has never been accused of or committed a crime or been a locker room cancer, I don’t think there’s been an athlete as largely and roundly hated as Donovan McNabb. He has been criticized by Rush Limbaugh and the NAACP, for God’s Sake! One particular Philly resident who REALLY doesn’t like McNabb, who has been with the Washington Redskins since last season, is boxer Bernard Hopkins. Hopkins feels that McNabb is too white (he said that McNabb’s skin color is a “suntan”). He feels that McNabb’s upbringing in Chicago wasn’t rough enough for his standards of what being “Black” is. I’m not making that up. Bernard Hopkins has served five years in prison for nine felonies, released in 1988 (and yes, he is a huge fan of Michael Vick, McNabb’s successor). McNabb, meanwhile, has never seen the inside of the jail. He insists (kind of like Detroiters do) that McNabb is “suburban.” For reasons that I will not go into, I know all about that “suburb” in Chicago that McNabb grew up in. Let me tell you, ain’t nothing “suburban” about it. But to Hopkins, McNabb might as well have been in Troy or Birmingham:

Boxer Bernard Hopkins played the tired Uncle Tom card on Donovan McNabb.

“Look at professional boxing. I’ve never seen a suburban boxer be successful. There has to be something in the DNA of the person’s experience, of what they overcame, to have that grit; like, I’m going to bite down and let it happen. I just didn’t see that in him.”

Mind you, he said this about a man who once finished a game with a leg that was broken in three places and went the majority of a season with a severe hernia. Plus, dude’s talking about McNabb like he’s the one he’s fighting this weekend. Hopkins continued:

“Why do you think McNabb felt he was betrayed (by the Eagles trading him to Washington)? Because McNabb is the guy in the house, while everybody else is on the field. He’s the one who got the extra coat. The extra servings. ‘You’re our boy.’ He thought he was one of them.”

…And here’s where we reach the entire point of this blog. Remember the reference I made about the whole Jalen Rose/Grant Hill thing earlier. This is all apart of a larger and more damaging problem that we as Black Americans have had ever since Slavery and Reconstruction. It’s this ridiculous notion that “Blackness” is this one singular thing. “Blackness” in the eyes of many is something you that have to constantly prove, like you’re on a prison yard. If you didn’t grow up in a neighborhood full of abandoned buildings and drug dealers, or if you choose to go to college instead of street hustle, or if you use correct grammar, then you are a “sellout” and you aren’t “real”. This type of attitude pervades the Black community. I’ve had to deal with assholes questioning my “blackness” as far back as Kindergarten. I have been made fun of for speaking correctly, called a “sellout” for going to school, and been taunted by people because I had a father in my home. None of this was done by whites. It was all black. The beef is very real.

Part of this comes from the trained inferiority complex that the Black community has become, to excuse the pun, a slave to from day one here. What other race of people glorifies and rationalizes criminal behavior the way we do? You’d have thought that Michael Vick was Mumia Abu-Jamal the way we rushed to his defense. Yet cats like Donovan McNabb are vilified for being corporate pitchmen, well-spoken, and family men? Are you serious? What race of people see being educated as a negative more than us? (No, you cannot say the Republican Party counts as a race.)

Jalen Rose, who is opening a charter school in Detroit, opened a huge can of worms with his "Uncle Tom" blast on Duke's black players.

I find more humor in the likes of the Fab Five going after Duke’s black players, specifically Grant Hill. I know exactly how Rose and Webber came up. Rose went to Southwestern High School in Detroit. My dad, who graduated from SW and worked there when Rose was a student, knows Jalen. Rose admitted that resented the fact that Grant had two parents in his home from educated backgrounds, including having a pro athlete father. Rose’s dad, former Pistons guard Jimmy Walker, wanted nothing to do with him or his mother and he hated it (and rightfully so). So he sought out Grant as the punching bag because he secretly wanted that life. But if Grant Hill was an “Uncle Tom”, then what was Chris Webber? Webber grew up like I did in a nice neighborhood on the city’s west side. Like me, he came from a hard working, two-parent home. Unlike me, however, he didn’t go to a Detroit Public High School. He went to Country Day, which is in Birmingham, one of the biggest private schools in the state in one of the most affluent areas in SE Michigan. And by the way…he was recruited HEAVILY by Duke, while Jalen wasn’t:

“Chris Webber was recruited and wanted to come to Duke, and I distinctly remember his visit. When they talk [in the documentary] about this kid being a thug and all that, I was like, ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’ That’s a complete joke. Coach K had him on that campus for a reason. He fit the profile of the player he wanted to coach. Period. End of story.”

— Thomas Hill, Duke Forward 1989-1993.

So what does that make your homie? And even funnier, were dudes who went to the University of Michigan having the nerve to pull the “keep it real” card on anyone. This isn’t a MSU bashing Michigan thing. The University of Michigan likes to call itself the “Harvard of the Midwest” and carries itself like it’s the forgotten Ivy League school. Let’s be real, how many “thugs” do you know at Harvard?

Thomas Hill, another one of Duke's "Uncle Toms", holds a degree in African-American history from Duke.

“If they go to an all-black school, it changes the landscape of college basketball, and historical black colleges are now making money and hitting their bottom lines. But it’s really a lot of irony with what they’re talking about and how they’re taking shots at guys like us. Michigan wasn’t Grambling.“

—Thomas Hill, who also holds a degree in Black American History (more irony).

Before we go, let’s take a look at the term “Uncle Tom“. The term comes from the title character of Harriet Beecher Stowe’s 1852 novel Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Stowe’s novel humanized the suffering of slavery for White audiences by portraying Tom as a sympathetic figure who is ultimately beaten to death by a his master because he refuses to betray the whereabouts of two women who escape from slavery. Let’s say that again: Tom refused to betray two women who escape from slavery. Meaning the term most often associated with selling out was attributed to a man who was killed for NOT selling out. You gotta love it! Stowe reversed the gender conventions of slave narratives by juxtaposing Uncle Tom’s feminine passivity against the brave daring of three Black women who escaped from slavery. It was in the ensuing years that Minstrel Show stage plays distorted the view of the Uncle Tom character and that, along with criticism from the likes of James Baldwin and others, helped turn the Uncle Tom character on his head. They felt the man was too passive, missing on the bigger picture of his sacrificing his life so others could go free. My mother hates the term. She always tells me that it’s inaccurate and that if you are gonna call someone a sellout, call them a “Sambo”.

This ridiculousness about “whose ass is the blackest” (© 1995, KRS-One) stems largely from a lack of knowledge in our own history. It’s 2011, yet there’s still a large section of Black Americans who think more of a man who has done 25 years for robbery, than there is of someone who finished their Master’s Degree and flipped it into a great job. There’s still that asshole who thinks that being a good father and provider for your family instead of being out in the clubs makes you “soft”. There are still losers on Twitter and Facebook talking that #TeamDarkSkinned and #TeamLightSkinned horse shit. It’s even crazier that the people often hit with these insults, myself included, are expected to just be quiet, take it, not defend ourselves or risk being called “sensitive” or worse by our detractors. The uppity ones like to call us “bourgeois” (and yes, that’s how the word is actually spelled. It’s not spelled “boozhy”). F— that. I refuse to apologize for how I was raised. I refuse to apologize for anything I have earned in my lifetime. I refuse to feel like I owe anybody anything. I don’t. My success is my own. Get yours. And one more dirty little secret: Yes. We do think we’re better than you. Nothing you say will change that. By one of you fools just asking us that question, it already tells the story.

In closing, we as Black Americans, whether you’re professional athlete, rapper, or just an average dude off the street, need to learn that we’re not monolithic. Just because you came up rough doesn’t make your ass any more blacker or tougher than mine. Instead of initiating a ridiculous class war, we need to wage war on why our school systems in the inner cities, like Detroit, are shitty. Yes, there are plenty of sellouts in the black community, but instead of vilifying and mocking those who do things the right way, you need to start looking at the likes of Kwame Kilpatrick and others who steal from “their” people and hide behind the race card.

Besides, as my dad has said to me time and time again, when it comes down to it: “We’re All Black.”

♠ Redemption comes to those who wait, forgiveness is the key. ♠

— Tom Petty

SOUTHFIELD, Mich. (JSC) — I often bristle when I hear people, most of them under the age of 30, say with their chest puffed out and head held arrogantly high: “I live life with no regrets!” Immediately, I think two things to myself. First: You must not have a lot of friends and your family must secretly hate the ground you walk on. Secondarily: You’re either a ruthless motherfucker, or you are just a posturing asshole. For most of the last decade, I have lived with the festering, angering, mind-blowing regret and guilt over having wasted six of my life at Michigan State University being an abject knucklehead and waste of space. My screwing around during my first 2½ years in East Lansing basically set me back nearly a full 10 years. I have always regretted pissing away those early years at MSU. It gnaws at my soul that because I thought that my shit smelled like the finest spring water with a twist of lemon, I missed out on numerous opportunities while my peers cashed in. I thought that I blew my chance to do what I always wanted to do with my life: Be a working journalist. When I graduated from Michigan State on May 2, 2003, I had no idea where I was headed and what the next eight years would bring. Those next eight years are what will make tomorrow afternoon all the better. The word of the day is: Redemption. Let’s Go.

5/2/2003: What was the biggest day ever lead to 8 years of uncertainty

The decision to go to Graduate School was not something that I just made in a couple of minutes while sitting on the toilet. It was something that had been in the back of my mind from the moment I walked off the stage at the Breslin Center on that cool Friday afternoon eight years ago. I knew that there was no chance I was getting into any reputable grad program that fall, so I basically just had to figure out what was next. Those of you who know me, know good and damn well what happened next. For the newbies, here’s a quick synopsis:

• I stumbled upon a flyer for Specs Howard in October 2003. I applied to Specs Howard, put in a year there, graduated with an audio diploma in 2004, and in the process got introduced to radio.
• In January 2005, I was hired in at 96.5 (WQHH-FM) in Lansing. I initially was a production assistant and fill-in known as Jay Scott (hence the name). Within 8 weeks, I had my own show (Saturday Night Live on Power 96.5). Within 6 months, I had a fan base. Within a year, I had a hit on my hands.
• In June 2006, it was announced that the station was sold and we all assumed that we were done. When the new company took control on October 1, 2006, I managed to still have a job and was filling in on Middays along with running production and doing SNL. Then, KP (The Midday Host) passed away two days later.
• Within a month, I was basically forced off SNL and into the Midday slot. What followed was 8 of the worst months ever.
• On June 29, 2007, the day of my 10-year high school reunion, I quit 96.5.
• After getting jerked around for 6 weeks by 102.7 in Detroit, I found myself doing weekends and production at WWCK and WDZZ in Flint.
• It was during that summer that I applied to Wayne State University…and here’s where the story begins.

One of the things I was guilty of at MSU was not applying myself. At Wayne State, that was not a problem.

I was scared to death about applying to Grad School. At that point it had been four years since I had graduated from MSU. My grades were terrible. I graduated from MSU, if you can call it that, with a 2.4 GPA. Let me say that again: TWO-POINT-FUCKING-FOUR. I did so much to damage myself those first 3 years, that I never really recovered. I angrily stormed out of Journalism 200 back in 1999. I changed my major to Communication to spite the professor in JRN 200. It turned out to be the worst decision ever. My grades dropped like a stone and I never really found myself. In the journalism classes I did take, I excelled. I looked at Wayne State as a last ditch effort to hit the reset button on my life.

The first goal was to get into Wayne State, but that wouldn’t be easy. I applied in August, and by December I hadn’t heard back. So I did what anyone would’ve done: I marched down to Wayne State and basically wanted answers. I ended up meeting Dr. Loraleigh Keashley, the department head. Turns out that my shitty MSU grades were not balanced out by my stellar Specs Howard grades (3.7) and they were planning on rejecting me. I met Dr. Keashley, and had about an hour long conversation with her. She decided to give me an opportunity and let me in on a provisional basis. I basically had one shot. Get a B or higher in the intro class, COM 7000, and I’m in. On that cold day in mid-December 2007, I somehow talked my way into Grad School. I’d have to wait until May 2008 to start, so the next few months were spent preparing for the change. In East Lansing, not everything was rosy. I was let go from my part-time job at Comerica the day after I got into Wayne State. I was fired from Cumulus a month later. I was in a relationship that was damaged. I was battling money issues and depression. My life, in a nutshell, sucked. Grad School was the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. But it could’ve also been an oncoming train.

I moved back to Detroit (well, Southfield) on April 1, 2008. A terrible day that beset a terrible month. My first day at Wayne State couldn’t have gotten there fast enough. On May 2, 2008, exactly five years to the day that I graduated from MSU, I started at Wayne State. In what might have been the most boring class that I’ve ever taken, I narrowly pulled off a B, finishing the deal with a 26-page lit review and it was on from there. That ensuing Fall semester, I took two classes and took the biggest risk ever by walking into The South End, Wayne State’s student newspaper, trying to get back into writing for the first time in 11 years.

The South End gave me an opportunity to rediscover my love of being a journalist. I had never traveled with a team before. Hell, I could barely remember how to write a lead. My AP skills were stuck in 1999. I wasn’t used to doing interviews with people who didn’t have an album dropping. I had to reinvent myself. I had to shake off the radio simpleton I had become, and get back to being the hungry, angry son-of-a-bitch I was when I went into MSU. And I suddenly found it. The best single semester I ever had at MSU was my second, when I pulled a 3.2. My worst semester of Grad School was a 3.0. I went from nothing written in 11 years, to sports editor covering two sports. I went from one internship in 12 years, to a pair of them within 18 months. Needless to say, the path that I have taken has been unorthodox. When I walk across the stage at Matthaei tomorrow afternoon, it will be the culmination of an eight-year journey through broken dreams, and long nights, and breakups, and road trips, and reborn confidence. In short, I’ve achieved my academic redemption.

Livin' The Dream: My Work with The South End allowed me to travel with a team for the first time.

There’s still that matter of finding a full-time job. That will NOT be easy, especially in this shitty economy and considering the industry I am in. But unlike 2003, I have a plan of action and a direction. I have learned the ropes and been through the wringer of dealing with radio and print journalism. I’m not the green-ass rookie I was in 2005 at WQHH. I’m not the immature punk I was in 1999 at MSU. Am I nervous? Yes. Am I scared? A Little. Am I ready? Definitely.

I’m grateful to all the people who have supported me these last three years. Starting with Dr. Keashley for giving me the chance to get into Wayne State, to the teachers and staff at Wayne State for their hard work. To the crew at The South End: There’s too many of you to name, but dammit if you didn’t give me hope that there are some very good and focused journalists left out there. To my close friends and family: Again, you know who you are. Thank you for being there to kick me in the ass and have my back on getting me through a lot of the long arduous nights and days. To the Sports Information Dept. at Wayne State for keeping me laced with all the info I needed when it came to everything. To the crew at WDET: You guys are awesome and hopefully, I will be able to work with you more in the future.

And as much as I hate it when people do this, but to the certain individuals who bailed on me, laughed at me, and mocked what I was doing: I Win.

I’m out of here for now, and thanks to my Graduation, Jay Scott Confidential is back in full swing. And I have a lot of catching up to do on your punk asses. See You Soon.

JS2

The stats helper monkeys at WordPress.com mulled over how this blog did in 2010, and here’s a high level summary of its overall blog health:

The Blog-Health-o-Meter™ reads This blog is on fire!.

Crunchy numbers

A Boeing 747-400 passenger jet can hold 416 passengers. This blog was viewed about 3,500 times in 2010. That’s about 8 full 747s.

In 2010, there were 14 new posts, growing the total archive of this blog to 36 posts. There were 11 pictures uploaded, taking up a total of 4mb. That’s about a picture per month.

The busiest day of the year was March 5th with 82 views. The most popular post that day was Ignorance is Bliss: Detroit’s Acceptance of Being Dumb….

Where did they come from?

The top referring sites in 2010 were facebook.com, twitter.com, city-data.com, boards.insessiontrials.com, and networkedblogs.com.

Some visitors came searching, mostly for spike lee and tyler perry beef, emmanuel lewis webster, michael jackson vitiligo, otis mathis, and emmanuel lewis.

Attractions in 2010

These are the posts and pages that got the most views in 2010.

Ignorance is Bliss: Detroit’s Acceptance of Being Dumb… March 2010
7 comments and 1 Like on WordPress.com,

Mind Games: How Mental Illness in Sports is No Laughing Matter… March 2010
1 comment

Forgetting Sarah Palin: Why Do People Still Care About This Woman…? February 2010
7 comments

Separate But Unequal: The Quandary of Black Women & Marriage January 2010
8 comments

Growing Pains: Words of Wisdom from a Veteran Grown-Up June 2010
3 comments and 1 Like on WordPress.com,

“If you want to live a happy life, tie it to a goal, not to people or things.”

— Albert Einstein

SOUTHFIELD, Mich. — So here we are. It’s December 31. The FINAL day of the year. Where the f— did 2010 go? I know what you are thinking: “Great! This asshole is going to give us a rundown of everything that he thought happened in 2010 and will give us his take. Ugh, I’m tired of that shit!” Well, much to your delight, I too hate those GAWD-awful “Year In Review” piles of feces that start cropping up shortly after you’ve just finished eating Thanksgiving dinner. So no, this is not some ridiculous 2010 Year in Review blog. Nor is it a blathering piece on New Year’s Resolutions. I despise those too. No one ever sticks to the damn things. You vow to quit smoking. You vow to lose weight. You vow to quit swearing. By Jan. 15, you’re sitting in your car outside of Mickey D’s eating a McRib, smoking a square, and saying “Fuck it”. This blog, the final one of 2010, will not speak of any of that nonsense. It will lay out what I plan to do in 2011. I am not making resolutions, I am setting goals. Resolutions are for dreamers. Goals are for those who are trying to get things done. Let’s Go.

I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge a few of the things that were accomplished this year. In no particular order: Getting a piece published in Real Detroit Weekly, going 9 months without eating at McDonald’s, losing 30 lbs and going on a stiff workout regimen, getting over a major fear and getting on a plane for the first time in 16 years, attending my first NABJ Conference in San Diego, attending my first Phi Beta Sigma regionals in Louisville, getting the majority of my grad classes at Wayne State done and sitting six credits shy of my Master’s Degree, interning at WDET, and taking over as Sports Editor at the South End and being able to cover the best season of Wayne State Football ever. These are all things that I am proud of. I didn’t sit my ass down at this table a year ago and “resolve” to do any of this. I just did it, and so can you. Looking at 2011, I have a few preliminary goals that I have set for myself. My success in 2011 and beyond is basically contingent on achieving at least three of these goals. The number in parentheses is the degree of difficulty of each goal, with one being the easiest and five being the most daunting and difficult. I would suggest you do something similar with whatever you REALLY want to get done.

I'm looking to duplicate this scene in 5 months

1. Graduating from Wayne State, finishing my Master’s Degree in Journalism (3): I first entertained the idea of going to graduate school in the tumultuous summer of 2006, in the wake of the news that 96.5 was being sold and I was convinced that I would be fired when MacDonald took over (in retrospect, I wish I had been). I didn’t apply until the summer of 2007, after I had quit 96.5 in June. Wayne State was the best option because MSU was out of the picture, and I wasn’t going to get into Central Michigan or Northwestern with my sorry-ass grades from undergrad. Hell, I had to basically plead my case to the head of the department to get them to accept me . My plea worked, and after a hellacious class to start things in May 2008 (ironically, my first day of class was the 5-year anniversary of my Michigan State graduation), I have plowed through my course load with a GPA of 3.5. Not bad for someone who was barely able to muster a 2.5 at MSU. When I entered Wayne State, the objective was to be out of here by 2011. As of right now, I am six credits away from finishing. Meaning it’s 1st down and Goal to go from the 6-yard line. The reason this is a 3 is because I have an “essay” (don’t you dare call it a Thesis!) to go with one more class. Couple that with my basketball schedule and it will not be an easy pull. But it can and WILL be done.

2. Getting a FULL-TIME gig as a writer and/or broadcaster (4): I have had one full-time gig as a broadcaster in my life. It was that horrific six-month run as Midday host in Lansing at 96.5. Every day I was there was Hell. EVERY DAY. If it weren’t for the amount of resolve I had, I’d have quit after 2 weeks. Plus, I truthfully feel that I had not earned that gig, and was set up to fail by management. That was 3½ years ago. It’s time for a change. I have worked my ass off the last three years to put myself in the position to get a job at some sort of reputable newspaper or radio station. The reason I treat every story I write for the South End like it’s in the New York Times is because I want to go above and beyond the normal College story. Contrary to what a certain individual who is no longer in my life thinks, this writing shit is no hobby. It is an art form. Furthermore, this is my life. In terms of broadcast, one of the best experiences I had in radio came at WDET. The atmosphere was the antithesis of what I’d dealt with prior to getting there. Yes, I know public radio is fundamentally different from commercial radio, but who says the people can’t be genuinely good people in all forms. The major league hang-up in all this, and why the degree of difficulty is so damn high, is because of the economy and competitive nature of this business, it is damn near impossible to get a job w/out really impressing people or stumbling into the perfect situation in Michigan, so relocation is on the table. It’s not the easiest thing to pull off, but if it was easy, it wouldn’t be worth it. Whatever the case, I’ll be damned if I’m broke and struggling for money on 12/31/2011.

As fun as this was, This will NOT be my legacy.

3. Getting out of the shadow of Lansing (2): Just a few hours ago, I was listening to the tapes (yes, tapes…we’ve been over this before…) of one of my SNL shows from 2006. It was from July 15, 2006 to be exact. I was just 26, full of piss, vinegar, and Mountain Dew. I talked a thousand miles a minute, played basically whatever the hell I wanted, was a freak of nature on a production board, and had the city in the palm of my hand. I still get an adrenaline rush listening to those shows. The problem with this is that while I loved the positive vibes and the memories of those shows, the last time I did an SNL show that mattered was Sept. 30, 2006. My first day in radio was Jan. 5, 2005. That’s almost six years ago. As much as I loved that time period in my life, I’m not the 25-year-old rookie with a head full of hair and big ideas anymore. I’m not gonna let WQHH become to me what Polk High was to Al Bundy. That’s why Goal #2 is so important. As much as I loved my time in Lansing, I refuse to let SNL be my one indelible mark.

4. Take Time to Myself and Travel (4): This year I went to San Diego (through Houston) to go to NABJ 2010. I drove from Detroit to Louisville for Sigma Regionals. I made a trip to Chicago for a weekend, and took a couple trips to Ohio on business. This coming year has NABJ in Philadelphia, Conclave in Atlanta, plus I have friends in Chicago and on the west coast I would love to visit. One of the reasons I have been so distant from, well, everything has been because I have had no time (nor money) to really relax and enjoy myself. My life has been a pressure cooker since 2006. That changes this year. I’m tired of seeing you lazy slackers taking Vegas vacations while I work my ass off and can barely play my PS3. Atlanta, Philly, and Chicago are definite trips. Phoenix and Boston are also on the agenda as possible runs. It’s time to Live. However, I need to complete a couple of the previous tasks to get to this point.

You brought this upon yourselves...

5. Impose my Will on Life (5): Of all things to get a 5 rating, it would be this. For too long, I have been too passive when it comes to situations dealing with my money. So as we roll through 2011, the bullshit stops. From this day forward, there’s no such thing as “doing it for the love“, aka working for free. I’m done with internships that don’t pay. I’m done with people who want me to put in the work but start sweating when the question of money comes up. If you aren’t paying, then keep it moving. #TheF— I look like!? If it means I alienate people, then so be it. To hell with you. Expecting me to work for free is one of the highest forms of disrespect and I’ll be damned if I’m disrespected. Furthermore, I am going to become a lot more of an a-hole than I already am. I have fallen victim to too many people taking me for a joke and thinking that they can get over on me because I’m a nice guy. This will come in the form of those who serve me no purpose being dropped from my circle. Unlike a lot of you, I don’t spend my time on Facebook and Twitter whining about fictitious “haters” and people who are out to get me. I just drop your sorry ass.  I owe you no explanation. You’re done. The reason this gets a 5 is because old habits die hard. Not working for free is easy. Dropping some people will be extremely tough. Others, not so much.

That’s what I can think of for now. That’s the great thing about goals, there’s no timetable on when to set them. When you get to the end of the year, it’s time to do some inventory on what you have done and what you will do. Resolutions are just wishes. Goals are plans of actions. So in 2011, what is your plan of action? What are YOU going to do to make your life better? What are you going to DO to get to where you need to be? Regardless of how it was, make 2011 better than 2010. If you plan accordingly, you can do it. Best wishes to you in 2011. Rest In Peace to those we lost in 2010. Let’s handle business in 2011. No more New Year’s “resolutions”. Happy New Year!

Until Next Time, That’s The Way It Is. Friday, December 31, 2010.

The 37th day since the Detroit Lions’ Last Loss!

Take Care, God Bless, Always Dare to Be Different, and G.O.M.A.B. Σ