I'm in Love

The current object of my admittedly fickle affections is a recovering cocaine addict of Jewish descent by the name of Aaron Sorkin.

It all started three years ago when I read a comment written by a USA Today TV critic. He was talking about a show that was in reruns on Bravo TV called 'The West Wing.' The reviewer said something along the lines of, "If you want to know why everyone is so enthusiastic about this show, just watch tonight's episode called 'Noel.'"

Having nothing better to do, I watched, and immediately fell in love. In the Sorkin days of The West Wing, the actors were excellent across the board. And the words that they were given to speak . . . I don't have the words myself to explain my feelings. It was a pleasure to watch a show that assumed the viewer had a modicum of intelligence, and might possibly possess an education beyond that of the average fifth-grader. Unfortunately, by the time I discovered The West Wing, Sorkin was no longer writing for the show. I spent a fair amount of time watching and re-watching the first and second season episodes.

All good things come to an end and after a suitable period of mourning post-West Wing, I resumed sporadically watching the dross offered up courtesy of the average television program. This summer my brain finally objected. Two nights in a row I attempted to watch televised movies, and both times I turned off the television after deciding that I could not take any more of the crappy dialogue and/or stilted acting.

This is totally antithetical to the theater aficionado in me. My brother (the actor) instilled in me an appreciation of everything that goes into the craft of moviemaking. On the many occasions upon which we attended a movie together, we always sat in the theater and watched until the final credits rolled across the screen.

Desperate to find something watchable, I went to the local Borders Bookstore and bought an overpriced copy of the DVD collection, 'Sports Night: The Complete Series.'

A little background is perhaps appropriate at this point. In the normal course of events, I would not have voluntarily watched a show about two sports broadcasters. In point of fact, I had never seen so much as a single minute of 'Sports Night' prior to my purchase. The only reason I made the investment is because 'Sports Night' was written by Aaron Sorkin, ably assisted by Thomas Schlamme.

I will never regret the purchase. 'Sports Night' is absolutely wonderful! I am doing the happy dance of joy with the news that Sorkin and Schlamme are returning to television this fall with a new series, 'Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip.'

(I must admit the fact that Brad Whitford is one of the stars of the show doesn't hurt.)
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Detroit

I spent the first twenty-three years of my life in Detroit. Therefore, I was witness to the 'white flight' that changed the city from a residential area of home ownership to renters, from middle class majority to the poor.

I was researching crime statistics today and discovered that the FBI's crime statistics for 2005 won't be available until October 2006. Therefore, my search for recent statistics was confined to the year 2004. Unfortunately, the numbers speak for themselves. The 2004 statistics showed that Detroit was the least safest city in the entire United States.

Therefore, when friends and family suggest that I accompany them on outings to Detroit, I politely decline, and privately wonder why they would want to take the risk.

I undertand how they can ignore the crime. When I lived in Detroit, I just accepted the chaos that existed around me as a part of life. It was not until I left the city that I realized that life did not have to be lived that way.

Although crime never touched me directly, it came close enough. I remember when my brother Chuck's rusting 'ghetto sled' of a car was stolen from its parked position next to the house. The police found the car abandoned a day or so later, in Hamtramck.

More than once, I heard gunshots echoing outside the house. I was taught never to investigate the source of the sound. Rather, I was told to stay away from the doors and windows, lest a stray bullet find me.

On one particular day, the police came to our door and asked if anyone had seen or heard anything out of the ordinary. I and the members of my family informed the police that we had no information to share regarding the multiple homicides that had taken place in a house across the street from ours. I mentally shrugged, not as upset as perhaps I should have been. While the thought of murder was disturbing, I can't say that I minded the fact that there were a couple of less drug dealers in the neighborhood.

Later, one of my brothers confessed to me that he had heard gunshots and had seen a car drive away, and he might have even glimpsed the murderer. He chose not to share the information with the police, declining involvement in black-on-black, criminal vs. criminal activity.

I disagreed. If I had the information, I would have shared it. It sickens me, that the main cause of death among young black men in the city is *other* young black men. Where the hell did values go? Why is it that Black English and wretched grammar and syntax are something to be proud of? When did ignorance become something to be proud of?

The above is part of the reason that I am considering returning to school to get a Master's Degree in Education. If I can reach just one of those fucked up high school students, I will have accomplished something. All I need now is money. *sigh*

I think that I'd make a great high school science teacher. There's a bit of the frustrated actress in me, and in a classroom I could take center stage. I could make the subject matter interesting and entertaining enough to reach at least some of my audience of students.

For the time being, I'm taking a page from Professor Harold Hill. I'm applying the 'think' system to my desire to obtain additional education.
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