Sing or Play Music From Notation

Hannibal: A Good Man Is Hard To Find

The Triumphance of Chick Logic

Why Men Care About a Woman's Past

5 “Not-All-That-Talked-About” Fears Every Man Has

Bad Relationship Advice in Music Videos

The Miscommunication Madness That Kills Love

On The Million Little Heartbreaks of Dating

Jokes You Should Never Make To A Man

Jokes You Never Make To A Woman

Is Africa Really the Source of All Black Culture?

As the title suggests, I want to talk about Trayvon Martin today. I want to talk about his murder. I want to talk about the release of the 911 tapes. I want to talk about how I haven’t mustered the courage(?) to listen to them yet. I want to talk about how I begin to break down whenever I see his picture. I want to talk about the picture attached to this post, and how that baby-faced kid — a baby-faced kid who could have very easily been my little brother, my nephew, my cousin, my neighbor’s kid, my son, or, well, me — had no idea that he was going to be stalked, pursued, assaulted, and murdered before his 18th birthday just because he happened to be black at the wrong place in the wrong time. I want to talk about the fact that his murderer hasn’t been (and may never be) arrested. I want to talk about how, despite the fact that I know hate is wrong, I haven’t been able to think of a word strong enough to convey my hate for George Zimmerman. I want to talk about the effect this murder has had on his family, and how this unbelievably sad story has galvanized the nation.