Lexus Stagg’s “reverse Darwinism.”

Reverse Darwinism.

When a parental generation’s doomed genetics thwart procreation by ending young progeny’s life prior to child-bearing age so as to prevent future expression of familial shortcomings.

In other words, cleaning up the gene pool by offing your kids.

Lexus Stagg plays a mean game of tag

A Houston woman who was driving a sport utility vehicle toward her children in an apparent game of “chicken” struck and killed her 3-year-old son, authorities said.

“Cars aren’t toys and playing chicken with your kids isn’t a game,” Harris County District Attorney Kim Ogg said in the statement.

Stagg can be seen on surveillance video reversing a white Lincoln Navigator in an apartment complex parking lot as her three small children run toward the vehicle, prosecutors said. When the kids are just feet from the SUV, it moves forward, trapping the 3-year-old under the right front tire.

Authorities said Stagg continued to drive forward and ran the boy over again with the right rear tire of the SUV, which weighs approximately 5,600 pounds.

He was taken to the hospital by ambulance but later died.

At what point did ‘Fro’s, Flutes and Funky Riffs become Ho’s, G’s and Crack?

I rose early this morning after a rare moment of “sleeping in” (for me). It was about 6am and quietude draped the morning air. Those moments when you feel peaceful, unvarnished, refreshed by solitude, and the day promises anew. During such times I find myself lapsing into a state of reminiscence that must be peculiarly a property of someone “advanced” in years such as I.

There’s more to remember, more the ruminate over, more to condense by the time you’re in your 50’s+.

More thoughtfulness and experience to absorb and eschew.

During this morning’s reminiscence, I thought of 70’s music. This was triggered by the appearance of this band on my Youtube sidebar while randomly surfing vids:

I jumped on it!

As I was catching up on this long-lost disco favorite of mine (how many wild nights I drunkenly acted out the part of clubbing maven in soulful synchronicity to this song’s explosive trailing beat), I stumbled across another forgotten favorite.

Oh yes!

My Sunday morning was fraught with such 70’s goodness. Old enough to remember when times were good, when times were simpler, and Black musicians had heart and valued musicianship.

In the 70’s, these brothas played their hearts out and music was their currency and passion.

At what point did this sincere artistry fly out the window leaving it is wake cynical rhythmically bellowed lyrics about ho’s, money and drugs? When did a bulk of youth-oriented Black music turn into such an urban thug-show of violence and gratuitous hedonism? At its essence, “dystopic urbanism” has become an affliction of society and all its colors. Consumers are to blame for feeding the greedy money machine that encourages the musical cult of Ho’s, Money & Crack, but consumers are not spawned in a void.

There is an element lording over business that is, that was, happy to sweep the rambunctious and frolicking 70’s into memory-holed oblivion in favor of mayhem and murder as the fuel rods of entertainment.

Dehumanized bling proves to be quite profitable. All modern entertainment (including sports) thrives on it.