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Stop the madness. I recently came across yet another Reuters article that attempts to slap around the subject of teenage sex (and very badly if I might add). Just when will people learn how analyze this issue the right way? So it seems researchers (read: people getting paid way too much money to make up stuff and write about things that could be easily identified by plain old common-sense and discernment) have found that 84% of parents surveyed did not think their teenager was sexually active. Well there's a deep revelation! Strangely, this reality works both ways. I'd bet a good 95% of teenagers don't think their parents are sexually active either. My goodness, the mental picture of that alone is just disturbing. As far as I'm convinced, my parents did the deed four times to produce my lovely siblings and I and that's it. I prefer to keep it that way for the sake of sound and peaceful sleep.

The article reports that although 84% of parents surveyed were certain their children were chaste nuns and celibate archbishops, a recent government study (warning) showed that "nearly half of ninth through 12th graders aged 14 to 18 have had sex". I'm sorry, but I'm just not convinced. To properly ascertain how I feel about most studies (government or not), picture the excrement that flows through a sewage pipe. Now, multiply that by ten. The reality is, none of these studies are even close to sitting on the truth of the matter. Most of the theory around teenage sex is liberal, convoluted, self-seeking, and just that; theory. Why? Because there's an agenda on the line. The evil forces at Planned Parenthood would like us all to think that teenagers are hormonally crazed sex nuts that saunter around the city copulating like rabbits. So by all means, if they're gonna do it, they may as well wear protection, so let's pass out condoms and let them go at it in the freight elevator on campus (which by the way, happens disturbingly too often). The reality is, these statistics are bunk.

The article then goes on to discuss the varying degrees of copulation taking place amongst teenagers of different racial backgrounds,

"Another study published on Thursday found that teaching African-American girls how to boost their self-esteem can help them better control their sex lives.
Black teenage girls are more likely have sex and are more at risk of sexually transmitted diseases than white girls the same age, said Laura Salazar of Atlanta's Emory University.

This is true on all counts. Pre-mature sex is generally an indication of something deeper than just the "physical feeling". The average teenage girl describes her first sexual experience as negative yet she continues deeper into the abyss of longing for acceptance, validation, and love. Studies around race and sexual activity usually start to turn bad when they begin declaring things like, "Young, inner-city black teenage girls are more likely to get pregnant than their white suburban counterpart." Wrong. Young, inner-city black teenager girls are just more likely to keep the child. Reasons for this can be found in a recent article I came across in the Montgomery Advisor about black teens actually intentionally wanting kids (which is an entirely different sad epidemic). My experience in private, white education has shown me that abortion clinics serve the upper-class rather well. That's a conversation for another day.

The trouble with studies like the one mentioned in the Reuters article, is the fact that there are counter studies like "The Mood of American Youth" study which found that many teenagers (remind me one of these days to break down the etymological origin of that word and its self-fulfilling prophetic impact on today's youth) these days are striving to forego the "relationship with benefits" model for something more concrete and traditional like a family. Columnist James Glassman reports,

"The changes in politics are rooted in changes in values. Last year, the rate of teen pregnancy dropped to a record low. Better birth control is not the sole explanation; the proportion of teens who had intercourse fell from 56 percent in 1991 to 46 percent in 2001.

Kids don't want casual sex; they want families. Harris Interactive reports that 91 percent plan to marry and, on average, they'd like three children.

Already, Generation X (born between 1965 and 1979) is more traditional than its parents. "The number of married-couple families, after declining in the '70s and '80s," writes Hymowitz, "rose 5.7 percent in the '90s." More brides are taking their husbands' names, and in 2000, the number of women in the workforce with infants dropped for the first time in decades. A study by Yankelovich found that 89 percent of Gen Xers think modern parents let kids get away with too much.

So let's get down to brass tacks. Let me tell you what all these fluffy "studies" do. They let us off the hook from being in tune with what's going on in my generation. Far too many parents depend on the news for statistics on their own children instead of actually getting involved in the lives of their off-spring (a novel concept really). So it comes down to family. I wrote some months ago a piece called "Oh Parent Where Art Thou?"on my increasing distaste for lack of parental responsibility and accountability in this country. My notion still stands. Parents aren't doing their job. Society will continue to pay. Down with statistics and studies, up with getting a clue.

One of these days (soon) I'll get around to opining my millenial view on sex education in schools.

 

So imagine my surprise when today I logged on and noticed my web statistics had taken an early morning leap. I check my inbox to find an email from the lovely Miss La Shawn Barber informing me that the National Review picked up an article on none other than The Conservative Brotherhood. And here's the even better part, along with other bloggers, they mention me!:

"From the veteran's perspective of Baldilocks to the playful philosophizing of Ambra Nykola, the Internet is suddenly full of great black writers whose views aren't monolithic - you'll find almost-daily disagreements about affirmative action, President Bush or the morality of gangsta rap - but instead offer a vibrant, hip-hop generation alternative to the broken record of the civil-rights establishment.

Playful eh? I suppose I'll take it. I can perhaps overlook the fact that my name was spelled wrong, it's "Ambra Nykol", (grrr) for the sake of a little recognition up in this place. But let's get beyond the "me", the article highlights other great writers and focuses on the growing trend of black conservative thought on the internet:

"Of course, a discussion of black conservative bloggers and the changes they're capable of effecting must include the following caveat, to keep commentators on the Left from getting their knickers any more twisted than usual: Blogging, while growing rapidly, still represents only a small part of the Internet experience. The number of blogs maintained by black Americans is, based on population figures, in all probability a small percentage of the overall total, and of that small percentage, it seems likely that the majority lean leftward. Most black conservative blogs number their visits per day in the hundreds, a far cry from the six-digit traffic generated by the best-known blogs, like Instapundit."

Check out the article in its entirety. Definitely good stuff.

Update: Can we say, Insta-launch??? Holla!

Update II: My name was fixed thanks to the insistance of the article's author, Dan Leroy who apologized profusely.

 

Being a black conservative should not be grounds for dismissal from the black community. This however, should. Rapper Nelly seems to have consumated his relationship with the word "pimp". Last year he introduced an energy drink called "Pimp Juice", and he recently announced that for the first time ever he will be awarding two "P.I.M.P." scholarships in the amount of $5,000. Oh but it gets better. This time we're dismissing our flippant use of the word by turning it into a hokey acronym, "Positive Intellectual Motivated People". Okay let's stop just for a moment. Was the word "intellectual" just used in an acronym for the word "pimp"? Aside from the fact that acronyms went out with the 80's (anyone thinking of starting an organization, singing group, youth ministry or grassroots campaign, please stay away from acronyms, they're so passe and consider yourself warned), this whole scenario is a bit disturbing. Euroweb writes:

"Well, the good news is that some financially-strapped kids will get to go to college. But on a P.I.M.P. scholarship?

World Entertainment News Network reports that Nelly has put a spin on his infamous "Pimp Juice" song - and its new energy drink namesake - by offering a P.I.M.P. scholarship to disadvantaged students.

Dubbed the P.I.M.P. Scholars Program, (an acronym for Positive Intellectual Motivated Person), the scholarship will award one male and one female $5,000 each."

I'm straddling the line of relevancy here. Long before television shows like MTV's "Pimp My Ride" were even on the air, the word "pimp" has been tossed around to and fro in increasing frequency. Certain blaxploitation movies and past disturbing images left many little boys with visceral dreams of growing up to be pimps. Meanwhile, many in the black community can go back a generation or so to find real, live, "pimps" who were left devastated from that lifestyle. Or even worse, real, live, employees of the pimps, left in an even worse condition. The glorification of pimpdom via "pimpin' ain't easy" and its other illegitimate children is widely mis-understood by my generation.

I'm not dumb. I realize context is everything and on one or two occasions I may be inclined to use the word "pimp" (like when I channeled Charles Dickens), however when I do so better believe it'll be pointed, intentional, and most likely sarcastic. But, pimp scholarships? Call me crazy, but I'm offended. This is the stuff that gives hip-hop a bad rap (no pun intended). This is the stuff that we plant into the minds many of our young people. That word juxtaposed with anything educational is just disgraceful. I apologize on behalf of my sometimes silly, ignorant, irreverent, and un-researched generation. Sometimes, we just don't get it. Remind me to write Nelly out of the family will.

 

[Heavy-Revy = Nykolaspeak for "Heavy Revelation", also known as a deeply profound moment]

So it's an average day on the road of life and as usual, I'm in a hurry. I find myself stuck sitting at a typical, Seattle-brand, extra long red light. There is one car in front of me. As I'm looking down, fiddling with something on the seat, I notice the car in front of me starts driving. Without checking to see if the light had indeed turned green, I immediately press on the gas, following behind.

Oops! I brake quickly.

It seems the car in front of me just ran a red light and now I was stuck in the middle of the intersection. It wasn't my time, but in haste, I almost got hit for blindly following the deviant car in front of me.

Such is the curse of my generation.

[Since it seems my symbolism was muddled, I give the translation: We put ourselves in danger when we blindly follow those who choose to treat their lives frivolously. The ultimate danger is stepping out too quickly in the thing that we know we're called to do. There is a season for everything; move too hastily and we'll be stuck in a dangerous intersection. Recognize what's taking place around us and be confident in the knowledge of what is right and our decisions will never be guided by what's popular.]

 

Donald Trump of all people is getting a clothing line. Vogue magazine reports the name of the new line as,

[...]the Trump Signature Collection, a line of men's suits, coats, slacks and, possibly, golfing gear, that will carry the Trump family crest"

I didn't believe it when I heard it on CNN and I don't believe it now. We are talking about a man who wouldn't know style if it walked up to him in the form of a 30-year old supermodel. The man is just all-around tacky. Would you look at this comb-over? Completely unacceptable.

Coincidentally (or not...), it seems things aren't going too well for Mr. Trump in the business world right now. Yesterday, it was announced that his casino company was filing for bankruptcy and Trump was stepping down as CEO. My company would go bankrupt too if I had his decorator. Have you seen the interior of the Taj Mahal in Atlantic City? Atrocious. It looks like Mussolini vomit. The man has pictures of himself on the hotel water bottles. Someone please, gag me with an anticeptic spoon.

These days, anyone can have a clothing line. Even I could start a clothing line. Many have noticed that the current trend in celebrity success means that you must start a clothing line. Take a look at just a few of the stars that have fallen into step and started clothing lines:

Russell Simmons:Phat Farm, Kimora Lee: Baby Phat, Eminem: Shady Ltd., Sean "Puffy" Combs: Sean John, Eve: Fetish, Jennifer Lopez: J.Lo, Mary-Kate & Ashley Olsen: Signature Line, Hillary Duff: Stuff, Jay-Z: Rocawear Emme: Signature

(and those are just a few)

Upcoming celebrity clothing lines from which we can expect good, wholesome frocks: Beyonce Knowles announced earlier this year she and her costume-designer/mother would be collaborating on a new line for girls. I can only imagine. Hide your daughters now.

Columnist Adam Sauer for brandchannel.com further examines this trend.

 

Heard 'round the blogosphere...

In light of President Bush's latest decision to allow our elections to be monitored, La Shawn Barber has sworn off voting in the next presidential election. Tempting.

Avery Tooley just hit his three-year anniversary of life without a television (AKA an idiot box). How novel. Speaking of which, when's the last time we read one?

Joe Carter at the Evangelical Outpost and Michael King, and even bloggers who call me confused remind us that no matter what tripe Jesse Jackson may fabricate, Jesus was not a Liberal. I would just like to remind everyone that political parties are evil. All of them.

Joshua Claybourn informs us that although Bush has been a big spender, Kerry is an even bigger one. I happen to share Mr. Claybourn's gripe with the Bush administration.

Heard about this on the news, but educator Joanne Jacobs writes about a recent story on a school that's been hoaxing Mexican immigrants, charging them for phony diplomas, and teaching them falsehoods like America has 53 states instead of 50. Well, if you include the "state of oppression", the "state of blame" and the "state of corruptness" why yes, I suppose we do have 53 states.

Yes a couple more links, deal. (I'm making up for lost time)

Also by way of Joanne Jacobs' informative blog, I got hipped to this new effort, a hot new magazine geared towards "the young intellectual" called Citizen Culture. I shall eagerly await its future.

Lastly, a friend was kind enough to hip me to this site, which is bound to throw off your work-place concentration for at least an hour. By the way, yes it's workplace safe.

 

Riding public transportation is masochistic. It's like intentionally and willingly subjecting yourself to the decay of American society on a daily basis. It's painful and it hurts like the Dickens, but we continue to do it. Day in and day out.

I work in the city where parking is ridiculously high so I must humble myself daily and endure my measly 15-minute bus commute. I'll admit it, I'm spoiled. I live seven minutes by car from my place of work and there are still days when I drive. I'll admit, there was a day when riding public transportation was fun. I used to love gallivanting around the subways of New York like it was some sort of adventure. In Seattle we have no subways, no light rail (yet), no real monorails, or D-trains. No. Instead we have wretched buses with mean drivers who hate their collective lives. I being the happy, unencumbered-by-bills, camper/student that I was, could look past the bad attitudes and see God. Reading my Bible always made for good conversation in-between stops. There was a time when bus rides were pure enjoyment. That day of enjoyment has come and gone.

Public transportation offers us one of the best ways to confront society at the head. If you want to know what the community is facing? Ride the bus.

Today as I sat in the front of the over-crowded bus as all nerds do, I watched as an elderly black woman boarded and was left without a place to sit. As is my custom, I waited to see if some self-respecting chivalry would rise up in that place, and as usual, I was sorely disappointed. Not a thing. So I of course, having at least a semblance of "home-training" offered up my seat to the dear woman who was extremely grateful. Meanwhile, everyone else sat there staring at me as though I were some alien from another planet--The planet of common courtesy, decency, and respect for elders. Boy have we got work to do.

Hey Sir, would you mind sobering up so that nice lady next to you doesn't have to endure you breathing your Colt 45-smelling hot breath on her shoulder?

And you "Miss Fashionista" over there. May I remind you that you are wearing a skirt and you need to close your legs. Everyone on this bus does not need to see "all that" thank you very much.

Hey Mister with the garbage bag, do you see these ladies occupying standing room only? Would it kill you to remove your garbage bag from the seat and offer it up for a real, live, breathing individual?

Don't think you're off the hook either Mr. No-Deodorant-Wearing-Wannabe-Pimp in the platform shoes. None of these women on this bus want you so why don't you start kicking game to the bus-pole?

And "yo yo son!" over there with your pants around your ankles. I realize that you probably have no clue that you are perpetuating a prison-fad whereby the lowering of your pants indicates some sick male/male relationships, but everyone on this here bus does not want to hear you bumping the latest Jadakiss so turn it the heck down. Headphones were created for a reason.

Hey Chica. Could you possibly use some other words to describe your last fight with your boyfriend. Preferably ones that don't begin with "f" or "you"?

Excuse me Mr. Hugo Boss-suit-wearing-important-businessman. I realize the fact that all of us other individuals on the bus are "bringing you down", and I'm sure you're probably "way better" than this public transportation stuff, but really these fake cell phone conversations you continue to have about fabricated trips to Tahiti, and important nonexistent business deals, trying to make yourself seem impressive, they're really quite obvious.

And lastly, dear Mr. Bus Driver, I realize that perhaps this is not the profession you may have envisioned for yourself. Life's a tough race, and we all are going through some things. But if the very presence of passengers on a BUS bothers you, then perhaps you should seek employment elsewhere.

A moment of silence for the partakers of public transportation. God help us all.

 

So I like Alan Keyes. I would have undoubtedly voted for him in a presidential election. I can't think of a better person to go up against Barack Obama. When his show "Making Sense" was cancelled on MSNBC, I even signed the petition to keep him on the air. He's intelligent, full of integrity, God-fearing, and one heck of a politician. But for the love of all things righteous and pure, just admit you're a carpetbagger already! Goll-y.

It is horribly disenchanting to watch someone you admire be put to shame by Alan Colmes on national television. Yes, Mr. Keyes' comments against Hillary Clinton's strategic move to the New York Senate have come back to bite him in the rear-end. So please stop the fluff. Dear Alan, just admit the fact that you're a Maryland resident attempting to cop an Illinois Senate spot and move on with it. The people will still respect you! At least this here citizen will. Stop with the respect for state sovereignty rhetoric. Please. It's like you're making the hole deeper with every single interview. It's becoming painful to watch.

I beseech you. Stop.

 

HA! Like I'm really qualified to talk about building web traffic, but La Shawn Barber as well as a host of other far more talented bloggers have started some good discussion on this blogging phenomenon and I figured the subject matter offers me a good time to gravel profusely for forgiveness:

Never in a million years would I haved guessed that people would tune into my thoughts on a daily basis. I didn't start this shebang with the goal of amassing large amounts of hits and I won't end that way either (although the thought of ending seems so sad right now).

For the record, I am generally horrible at playing by the rules. Due to my preoccupation with the moment, I unintentionally cheat at everything; Scrabble, Spades, Charades, my taxes (just kidding on that last one by the way). My inability to consistently play by the rules of life can often be a good characteristic as it allows me to be free from the expectations of the unwritten yet forcefully imposed rules of society. Contrarily, it also causes me to end up being an unintentional idiot (e.g. the time during a conference in Zimbabwe when I walked into a room full of 6,000 Zimbabwean traditionalists, as a female presenter wearing a pantsuit when in certain parts of Africa, women only wear skirts...duh). So given my mishaps in life, the natural progression was that I'd be bad at this whole "blogging code of conduct" thing. I think I threw out the rulebook when I presumptuously dissed Glenn Reynolds AKA Instapundit (who I actually like), also known as the "Godfather" of all weblogs from my measly, little, pathetic, nothing weblog (and I'd do it again by the way).

My mistakes don't stop there. In my haste, I often forget to link other very good weblogs out there who've taken it upon themselves to link me (these are those who do so without sending me an email asking me for a reciprocal link....which is highly irritating by the way). I forget to link because I'm really, really busy, and not because I'm a jerk. Even when I do find a blog I like, it takes me some 7 months to link it because I'm too lazy to type HTML code (and no I'm not resorting to blog-rolling because that'd be playing by the rules). And if I'm so busy how to do I have the time to turn simple rants into long essays? Really, these little fits of wordiness don't take long to post. But I'll just apologize right now for length from here on out. I'm just wordy. Sorry.

I often miss out on all the hot action in the blogosphere (read: all the smart, insightful, precise, and witty stuff other people write) because I don't have the sense (or time) enough to check the gazillion blogs out there that could possibly interest me. This is probably why on an average day when many people are writing about important things like what was in Sandy Berger's draws (underwear for you common folk), I'm over here yapping about completely irrelevant subjects like fashion victims and dropping out of college. In spite of this, so many of you still choose to come here day after day (which by the way, still totally amazes me).

When I signed up for this, I had no idea I'd have to be keeping up with the Jones' of weblogs. It's becoming sickening. Really folks, I just like to write and think. That's it. In this scenario, at any time my mind has to occupy itself with anything beyond writing and thinking, I become an idiot savant of sorts a la Rainman. Duh, def, def, definitely not good at blogging. Definitely not. But then again, idiot savantness would suggest I'm an expert writer and that's not the case either. Point being, I'm just putting the disclaimer out there that my blogging etiquette is crappy. Forgive me in advance. I lurk a lot on other blogs (even those belonging to some of you...ha ha ha betcha didn't know that), but infrequently comment because I already use up too many words on this darn site.

My mistakes continue. I have run on sentences and use parenthetical expressions like periods; I promise to write about things and then never do; I write the shameful world of shopping addiction; I start a four-part series and don't finish the last installment; I potentially ruin anyone's ability to take me seriously by admitting publicly that I accidentally urinated on myself in public at age sixteen. Sixteen!

I don't blog-roll enough, nor do I give enough shout-outs, or links, or hat-tips. I seldom use "trackback" but in fact just found out what the heck it was; I don't often enough give credit where it's due or respond to every last one of the comments (although I try, I really do), or reply to emails in a timely manner (if you're reading this Silicon Valley Jim, I know two weeks going on three...I promise, it's coming).

So there. I've beat around the bush enough. I'm going to do a better job of name-dropping and acting civilized up in this piece, I promise. However, for the record, I've decided I just plain suck at this blogging thing. I have zero advice to offer anyone. You people have still stuck around and I love you for it. One of these days, a bunch of you frequenters are going to get a present from me, I promise. Look out for that come Christmas time.

So please, if ever I've slighted someone or if you ever see anything (be it a news story, topic, etc.) that might strike my fancy, or I've failed to link you properly, or you think I'm being extra-jerky, email me (and thanks to those of you that already have). I do love emails--Except the ones that tell me to go to hell, or the ones that inform me that although black women are "bottom of the barrel" in looks, you still consider me to be pretty nonetheless and on your list of attractive black women right up there next to Raven Symone!!!!!!???? (Of all people!). And for the record, we ain't bottom of the barrel sonny!

Okay I'm done. Thanks for reading folks. In my best flight attendant voice:

"I do realize you have a choice in reading weblogs and sure do appreciate your business. Buh bye now. Buh-bye"

I come to you in peace.

 

I am bothered. So this weekend, I headed out to a local "Black" Seattle event of sorts called "Umoja Fest". If only you could see me rolling my eyes as I type this. I only went to support a dear friend who was performing on the hip-hop stage and a mentee who was planning it. Aside from the fact that half the people there didn't even know what "Umoja" meant when the master of ceremonies asked, I have nothing wrong with black people coming together in celebration. In fact, I usually quite enjoy it--except during election years. I can deal with the "black folks just need to come together" stuff. What I can't deal with is the "blame everything on the white man" rhetoric. Save that tired garbage for things that really count like whoever thought up "Sex and the City" or the person who created "Spandex", or the somebody who invented "Spam". That's what we should be blaming the white man for.

The highlight of the event and culmination of my entire political ideology happened when the MC asked everyone in the crowd who planned on voting in the upcoming presidential election to raise their hand. I of course, raised my hand along with the rest, however, already apprehensive about where the speech was going. In true cookie-cutter fashion, as though it were scripted, he then said, "Everyone who's voting for Bush, please put your hand down."

No he didn't?!
Oh yes he did. Go. There.

That 10-second instance was an allegory for how politics work in the black community. "Oh so it's like that huh?" I thought to myself. Anyone who's not marching in the sold-out lemming-line gets their vote canceled out? Talk about a paradox. The black community has bought-in and eternally sold their souls to one political party, yet my contrarian vote is the one that doesn't count? Surely we've gone completely mad. Even the wealthiest of wealthy know putting all your eggs in one basket is not at all strategic. Spewed ignorance and false allegiances are just not my cup of tea. My distaste of this mindset eminates from every last one of my bodily orifices. When asked, I put my hand down gladly.

Putting my words out there on the internet amazes me. Everyone's subject to their opinion, as am I. Of the more popular commentary from the peanut gallery, other black people love to call me politically confused. To them I say, "whatever". Relative definition of whatever: I'm rubber and you're glue, whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you.

Then there those that say I'm philosophically confused. To them I also say, "whatever". Relative definition of whatever: The very nature of philosophy is confusing. I however, am very clear on where I stand on most subjects. I shalt not be placed in an ideological box. I would not be doing my job on the earth if I did (see tagline). If my adherence to a moral conduct beyond situation ethics, and "my grandfather said so" offends you, I'm sorry.

Relative definition of "I'm sorry": I could care the heck less.

We are running a political dog and pony show here and it makes me want to vomit. People put their lives on the line so I could have the privilege to vote for whomever I darn well please and if we choose to be so naive as to further perpetuate this self-oppressive, cyclically demeaning matter-of-faulty-fact way of engaging in political discourse, count me out. I have better things to do with my time. Good day.

Relative definition of "good day": back up offa me.