Velma Hart, Non-Profits and The Middle Class Sense of Entitlement: Definitely Not Baller!

I read this morning that Velma Hart, the ignorant black woman cemented in history for publicly taking President Obama to task for not doing enough to help her out economically, has lost her job.

What annoyed me was the whining albeit eloquent nature in which she did this. During a CNBC townhall meeting this troll popped out of the woodwork like a mole at Dave and Busters and then told Obama that she was exhausted from defending him and his policies and was still waiting on the change she voted for. She said this like she had practiced it in front of a mirror for days and I even wondered if it was a Tea Party stunt. Nevertheless, the clip gained traction throughout America as other middle class Americans shared the same trepidations.

Admittedly, I felt a little sorry for her. This pudgy black lady who probably felt like going to college was her ticket to financially distinguishing herself from lesser black folks (toungue-in-cheek of course), was suddenly faced with the reality of joining them and myriad others, black or otherwise, who were facing the prospect of job losses and having to alter their standards of living.

Once I learned that she was the Chief Financial Officer at a non-profit, I nearly laughed out loud. As someone who worked at one of the most well respected non-profits in Capitol Hill, The Children's Defense Fund, I suddenly understood where this woman was coming from.

As someone who had worked in HR at CDF for some time, I was privy to the pay scales of the employees working here. If other non-profits work anything like The Children's Defense Fund, its like this: You have a small group of elites at the very top that are making incomes that seem to exceed the spirit of non-profitness. For instance, you have your CEO and CFO and HR Executive and your fundraising executives that are earning in excess of $150,000 a year. Then you have your peons--researchers, educators, policy analysts and program coordinators that are continually bombarded with job description add-ons. Their pay is minimal and their tenure, tenuous. So while you have an elite group at the top that is making a ton of money for a non-profit, you have your proletariat class that is disposable and gets the crumbs.

Velma Hart is one of these overpaid "non-profit" elites--a career "non-profiteer" if you will. She feels entitled to profit off the donations of others--pretty "ghetto" if you ask me. And then has nerve enough to accost someone as dignified as Barack Obama with some accusatory, self serving nonsense.

Velma Hart, like many other Americans right now is a victim of an illusory promise that is uniquely American: If you go to college and kiss enough ass, you are entitled to a salary. NEWSFLASH: You are not entitled to a job. Go out and hustle like every other entrepreneur out there. Obama is not responsible for your pathetic career choices--you are!

The new Lebron's (Miami Vice colorway), My Motorcycle for Sale!

So You haven't heard from me in a little while and its just because I've been up in the cut trying to wheel and deal and get my Honda VFR all tuned up (cuz its definitely not baller when you casually walk up to your sick ride and then your bike doesn't start).

So what are we obsessed about now? I hollered at my main man Delante (VP of Fly Boys) and he's running around to different malls trying to find a second pair of the Lebron Miami Vice editions. He needs one pair to walk around in and another to sell on Ebay. Basically the shoes had a short run and were released in Miami only and were then re-released for a small run for the general public at which time they were still almost impossible to own.

In other news, my 1990 Yamaha FZR 600 in the cocaine white w/ classic Yamaha red white and blue stripes is for sale. What the hell am I thinking you ask? Its just that its the slow season in the bike business and I already own another motorcycle. Its not fun paying insurance and maintenance costs on two bikes. Riding this thing is like wearing a vintage pair of Jordans. People compliment you where ever you go. Even though its an older bike people give you props for owning what some consider to be the original crotch rocket. I can actually credit this bike with earning me my entire network of friends in the tight knit sportbike scene. I'm asking $1,800 but will take $1,500 from the right person.

This is Stanton aka Big Treezy aka McFly, Sergeant-at-Arms of Fly Boys MC reminding you to keep it trill, keep it G, keep it Flyboymotochic (not chick but chic like the French say it).

Gucci Mane: A Case Study in Being Black

I learned early this morning that Gucci Mane, while on parole, was arrested again for allegedly driving on the wrong side of the road and destruction to public property. Officers had to pepper spray him in order to subdue him. The long arm of the law continues to haunt Gucci just as it haunts T.I. and Lil Wayne.

The news reminded me of my own singular run-in with the law and my own unprovoked harassment by Montgomery County Police (see "Adventures in Sportbike Riding). Do black folks really speed more than whites? Do black folks perpetrate more crime than whites? Or do whites simply fly under the radar while blacks travel with flashing beacons on their backs?

I suppose riding a sportbike is as much of a beacon as anything. But just like the non-violent drug felon's record follows him for the rest of his life--hampering his ability to find work and preventing him from voting, my record was tainted in much the same way.

I was unfairly stopped by a pig for going 65 in a 55. I was unfairly slapped with two points by an old white male judge who could see nothing but the fact that I'm black and ride a sportbike. These points nearly prevented me from being admitted to the Rider Coach program which would have significantly hampered my financial future. I nearly became another victim of the justice system--a system that seems to find ways to fish out young black males and then keeps them on a short leash forever.