Well, if you’re Lisa Bonet’s son, apparently a lot of consonants and vowels.
Bonet and husband Jason Momoa named the poor lad Nakoa-Wolf Manakauapo Namakaeha Momoa. Translated into street terms, it means, “Here is my ass. Please kick it.”
Can you imagine this kid in grade school?
Teacher: Nakoa-Wolf Manakauapo Namakaeha Momoa?
Nakoa-Wolf Manakauapo Namakaeha Momoa: Here.
Or in a moment of passion?
Nakoa-Wolf Manakauapo Namakaeha Momoa: Say my name!
Love-Interest: Oh, Nakoa-Wolf Manakauapo Namakaeha Momoa!!
Nakoa-Wolf Manakauapo Namakaeha Momoa: Say it!!
Love-Interest: Dude, I’m out of breath!
The unusual name is a tribute to the father’s Hawaiian heritage. Nakoa means warrior and Manakauapo is a combination of mana (spirit/strength), kaua (rain), and po (dark)
I used to be in love with Lisa Bonet in the eighties during her intermittent Cosby Show appearances and short-lived stint on A Different World. Somewhere along the way, she lost me. I think people should name their kids whatever they choose, but take the kid’s well-being into consideration. Every time this kid fills out paperwork, he is going to have writer’s cramp before he even gets to the address line. And already sportscasters are praying that this kid never plays football. I believe in preserving heritage but jeez. I also believe that you don’t have to include the entire alphabet in your kid’s name.
A beginning aside: This blog is directed towards the destructive individuals who committed their deeds under the guise of protest.
In my previous post, I stated the following regarding the potential reaction to an unjust verdict against the Oakland (BART) police officer who shot Oscar Grant III on New Year’s Day:
If it is proven that the officer was not in possession of a Taser or that he had intended on using his gun, then anything less than a second degree murder charge will certainly threaten to resurrect the ire and destructive frustration that years ago caused the city of Los Angeles to erupt in flames. And rightfully so.
And rightfully so. I guess I didn’t really think about that sentence when I first wrote it. What I seemed to neglect in my memory of the L.A. riots was that a number of innocent people who had nothing to do with the Rodney King verdict that acquitted four cops were hurt, some severely beaten. What I also neglected to recall were that many of the businesses that suffered from the riots were owned by African-Americans. So, the black rage towards the injustice many perceived as coming from the police and a biased justice system was then transferred onto, not the people who actually perpetuated the crime, but against innocents and other people of color. Not only did it appear senseless, but honestly, to a lot of people on the outside of that fiery bubble, it also appeared pretty damn stupid.
Here we are, nearly eighteen years after the Rodney King verdict. A crime perhaps more heinous than the King beating occurs, but the lessons taught during the L.A. riots have apparently gone unheeded. An angry mob, spurred by the shooting days ago, swarmed the streets of Oakland busting storefront windows, burning cars and wreaking having against, once again, the wrong people. Some of the owners of these establishments were African-American, some were not. But I guarantee you, none of them had anything to do with the shooting. Why destroy the property of your fellow man, especially those who are just trying to live their lives like everyone else. When you do this, what point are you really making that will actually open the eyes of the people that matter — those people being authority figures as well as people who turn a blind eye or even secretly applaud the kind of unbalanced justice we saw last week?
The only thing worse than blind, destructive anger is self-destructive anger, anger without a purpose. Anger directed not towards the perpetrators but towards those who are easily accessible and do not pose any real threat to your own well-being. Perhaps this mob that ravaged the Oakland streets last night could learn a lesson or two from another group that hailed from Oakland. Only this group knew who the enemy was. They were not self-destructive and they did not direct their anger towards a group because they were a certain color or because they were easy to intimidate. They held their weapons close and their eyes honed in on the true enemy, that being any human being who felt it to be their right to place a boot heel on the necks of any man or woman they felt were inferior or unworthy of justice.
These men and women were members of the Black Panther Party. They instilled a sense of security in the people for whom they fought, and fear in the hearts of their enemies. They made their point, loud and clear. Now, what about you? What point are you making? And to whom?
Because all of the details of the Oscar Grant Shooting have yet to be revealed, I am hesitant to give an unwavering opinion on the case. Too often, the people who are not in blue are treated as guilty before proven innocent and I am loathe to do that, even when all of the visual evidence makes it pretty clear that a grave injustice occurred on that subway platform in Oakland.
So, I will just make a few points here, knowing that in the days and weeks to come, my opinions may be rendered moot by new revelations in the case.
1) Any cop who does not know the difference between a gun and a Taser should not be carrying either. At close range, a gun is most likely a life taker and an eternal life changer. A Taser, except in the most unfortunate of cases, incapacitates but leaves wiggle room for mistakes or bad judgment.
I am stating this under the assumption that Mehserle, the officer in question, was intent on using a Taser when he reached for his holster and not his gun. This also assumes that the officer actually had a Taser on his person. As of now, this is not an absolute.
If in fact the officer was reaching for his Taser and not his gun, what was the urgency of the situation that did not allow him to ensure that he had the correct weapon in hand?
2) If it is proven that the officer was not in possession of a Taser or that he had intended on using his gun, then anything less than a second degree murder charge will certainly threaten to resurrect the ire and destructive frustration that years ago caused the city of Los Angeles to erupt in flames. And rightfully so.
3) What was Oscar Grant III, who on the grainy video appears to be complying as he lay prostrate on the subway platform, doing that would cause the officer to reach for his weapon and negligently or maliciously shoot and kill the young man and father? By all accounts, he was not being belligerent or recklessly disobeying the police officers’ orders. It will be interesting to hear what the officers in question have to say about Mr. Grant’s demeanor and compliance during that time.
Two months ago, it seems our fears were slightly mollified by the election of a man who, for many, was seen as the beacon of hope for humanity and the harbinger of change. The needless death of a young father at the birth of this new year shows us that the change we so crave may still be a long time coming.
Richard Pryor was considered a master of his craft and is still considered by most to be the best comedian to ever pick up a microphone. I believe it was his ability to explicate the sorrows and pain of men while at the same time making his audience hunch over with laughter at the gross inequities of life that made him the genius that was so revered by his peers. I think the clip below is an example of this. It is also an example of how sad it is that something someone stated over 30 years ago is still so relevant today.
There are a lot of benefits to buying the generic brands when you go to your local supermarket. The main benefit is that they are usually cheaper, sometimes a lot cheaper than the name brands. Plus, quite often, the monetary savings do not necessarily require any sacrifice in quality.
There is one downside, however. All of the packaging for generic brands usually looks alike. So, when I come home and fix up a nice, hot bowl of chili for dinner then reach into the pantry for that box of oyster crackers that will set just the right delectable tone for my palate, imagine my despair when I realize that I have just dumped half a cup of pancake mix into my bowl.
Eat your heart out, Rocco DiSpirito. I bet you never conjured up such an extraordinary concoction. And there’s probably a good reason for that.
It’s disgusting.
Dear Veteran Cab Company of Windsor Ontario:
This holiday season, I had the pleasure of spending a week in the great province of Ontario, more specifically, the beautiful city of Toronto. While visiting the city, I had the opportunity to use various methods of transportation to peruse the town and visit several sites of interest. There was quite a bit of walking as well as an opportunity to use Toronto’s very fine subway system. And because the frigid weather became, at times, too harsh to bear, my traveling companion and I oftentimes chose to forgo facing the inclement weather and instead hailed one of the many cabs that were constantly traversing the cold city streets.
I must say that all of our experiences with the taxi services while in Toronto were pleasurable. The drivers were courteous and attentive. They were diligent when it came to putting our luggage in the trunk of their vehicles. They were chatty without being intrusive and they got us to our destinations in a safe and timely fashion. After a few days, I began to realize that when one is sitting in the back of a cab with a competent driver, the outside world can disappear for a short while and the rider can kind of dissolve into their own daydreams because the person behind the wheel has everything well in hand.
That was Toronto. Six days of ignorant bliss.Then came Windsor. What is it they say about rotten apples?
Instead of just relaying to you the details of our ragtag journey with your cab company and our odoriferous chauffeur, perhaps I should give you a few suggestions and observations and this may help you along the road to making the proper adjustments.
1) Don’t Hate - Participate
When you’re standing out in the freezing cold, waiting for a cab, the last thing you want to hear from the cabbie when you get in the car is “You shouldn’t stand there. Nobody will pick you up.” First of all, you may not realize this, but you are saying this as I am sitting in the car!. So, while your argument that you may be a nobody will not receive much push back from me, I think your statement was proven false even before you decided to make it. Secondly, instead of sitting on your ass making completely unnecessary and annoying statements, how about getting out of the car and doing your job. Which leads me to…
2) Unless My Name Is Hoke (which it isn’t) and Your Name is Ms. Daisy, I Shouldn’t Be Struggling To Put MY Luggage In The Trunk Of YOUR Taxi
So, you (Mr. Nobody) agree to give us a ride. I know this because you pop the trunk on your cab when we walk up. Now, by this point, I am used to cabbies popping their trunks, then rushing from the driver side of the vehicle to help me and my companion put our luggage in the trunk. I wouldn’t even call it helping us. We didn’t have to do anything. The drivers scurried to the curb, picked up our luggage and with kid gloves, placed our bags in the clean and spacious trunk of their car. So forgive me for making the assumption that you would do the same. Instead, we get the trunk popped from the inside of your warm vehicle, and you sit there and wait. As a result, I am forced to attempt to put my and my companion’s luggage in the trunk. I emphasize the word attempt. To understand why, see the next suggestion. Anyway, when you popped the trunk and ignorantly sat there waiting for us, you may have heard another popping sound. It was your tip balloon quickly deflating.
3) Spare Tires Are For Chubby Dudes and Hoopties
Tell me, Veteran Cab Co. of Windsor Ontario, who had the bright idea to put spare tires in the trunks of your cabs? Please tell me, because I would like to punch that gentleman in the left nostril.
Placing our luggage in the trunk of the cab was much more of a chore than it should have been because there was a rather large, soot-covered spare tire sitting there. So over half the space in the trunk was overtaken by this fucking ferris wheel of a tire straight out of Fred Sanford’s junkyard. Why was it there in the first place? If a cab gets a flat, what do you do? You call the dispatcher and have him send another cab! And I am quite sure you have some towing company on retainer to come out and fix the flat or tow the injured cab back to the station. Either way, there is no reason why my suitcase should have to sit on top of a grease and road-grit laden tire.
4) Soap And Water, My Friend. Soap And Water
Unless Christian Dior just came out with a new fragrance called Ass and Cigarettes, I’m pretty sure our driver was in desperate need of a bath. Here’s the key to bathing: Make it a daily routine, not weekly. The only thing worse then standing out in single digit windchills, is settling down in the back seat of a car that wreaks of menthols and ball sweat. I believe in smoke breaks. I do. Everyone needs some way of winding down. But here’s an idea. How about doing it outside of the vehicle? It keeps the interior of the car smelling fresh (other than the rank smell of taint sweat) and makes the trip that much more pleasurable for the people who are actually paying for the ride. And while Mrs. Nobody may find your B.O. sexually stimulating and irresistible, I found that it continuously triggered my gag reflex. Tell me, how can one man smell like the ass crack of the entire Atlanta Falcons defensive line after a triple overtime game in 100 degree weather? Quite a feat, my friend. I believe there was a Seinfeld episode written about you. And while we are on the subject of cleanliness…
7) Retire This Baby
This cab needed a shot of penicillin. Pasty, grime painted windows. Seat backs vomiting their innards. It was the kind of cab I imagine one of Tom Waits’ creations would have felt right at home in. I didn’t even want to sit in this thing. If I had the strength, I would have squatted the whole time like a soccer mom in a port-o-potty. Cabs should be like miniature apartments on wheels. Okay, that’s expecting too much. But if you’re sitting in the back of a cab and in your head you’re hearing Travis Bickle say, “Each night when I return the cab to the garage, I have to clean the cum off the back seat. Some nights, I clean off the blood.”, then you know you’re in a pretty shitty cab. Send that thing to the taxi graveyard - please!
6) Get Off The Phone!!
While most of our cab drivers were afflicted with that hideous growth that protruded from their ears and blinked incessantly (the insidious Bluetooth), you seemed to be the only one who appeared to pay more attention to the assclown on the other end of the phone than to your paying customers. “We want to go to — oh, I’m sorry. Let us know when you are done so we can actually tell you where we want to go!” And speaking of that…
7) Location, Location, Location
When your passengers tell you to go to the Holiday Inn Select and you attempt to end the trip by pulling into the parking lot of the Hilton (miles away from the desired location), how do you think such a faux pas could have occurred? Simple mistake? No. Mental Dyslexia? Hmmm…possibly. Most likely though, it is the fact that you were so busy mumbling to that glowing god in your ear, you didn’t take time to pay attention to the directions. As a result, we end up paying more because you just heard the H sound and you were off and running. I guess we’re lucky we didn’t end up at a haberdashery or a whorehouse.
The worst cab ride ever? For me, yes. When we finally did arrive at our final destination, the cab driver did not leap out to help us extract our luggage from the trunk. He only came around when he saw that I was struggling to detach my bag from the hungry jaws of that dirty tire’s tread. All he wanted was his money. And then, he was off like a funky thief in the night to pick up some other sap. My travel partner tipped the gentleman sixty cents, which in my opinion was seventy five cents too much.
Get it together Veteran Cab Co. of Windsor Ontario. I was a very dissatisfied customer. And if you wonder why I repeatedly spelled out your company name, it is because I hope that Google searches for your company will lead weary travelers to this blog. And maybe they will find an alternate, more hygienically friendly means of transportation.
Sincerely,
Recently Deloused Passenger #157