Written by CHRISTOPHER HICKS-MARSHALL a.k.a. CHUMA
Ok, so I’m just going to give it to you straight, no chaser, no editing, no zen, no nice-nice. I am so fucking pissed off that Proposition 8 eliminated the right for same-sex couples to marry. It’s so goddamn unfair. And if I could just slap the shit outta all those mother fuckers that voted for that shit, I would!
Okay, now that I got that out of my system, let me return to peace and share with you how my partner and I affirmed our union. On October 3rd, Dammeon and I finalized our legal name change at the Superior Court of Georgia to reflect our union as being one family. We merged our last names together, making us now the Hicks-Marshall family.
It was such a liberating and affirming process to complete. Although in our hearts we were already married, legally changing our names personally and spiritually confirmed the longevity of our relationship, as far as hope for the future. We plan to be together for the rest of our lives, so taking this step was a declaration made without doubt or concern regarding the strength of our bond. Also, in an effort to make a powerful statement, the reason we merged our names was to apprise the world we are a part of each other—a oneness, to clearly define it. Heterosexual people get that opportunity through the institution of marriage, why can’t we have the same expression?
I must say these past few months have felt really special to change our names on all of our paperwork, wills, deeds, insurance, beneficiary information, and whatever else that show our togetherness as a family. But the best part of writing down our new names has been during the holiday season. Sending out cards that say Happy Holidays from Christopher and Dammeon Hicks-Marshall made me feel deep down in my heart, through the bond of our relationship, we somehow defeated Proposition 8. But I know for the sake of reality that is just an illusion. As a same-gender loving and LGBT community, we have more battles to fight and triumphs to capture. Equality will be ours someday, but in the meantime….fuck em! Oops, did I say that????
Be on the lookout for Chuma’s January 2009 release of memoirs and poems entitled My Ancestors Traveled Them Home, published by CHUMA SPIRIT eBooks, a subsidiary of CHUMA SPIRIT Books, LLC.
Today I was perusing a very engaging and facsicnating blog called 
Last night, my friend, Fisiwe, and I had the pleasure of attending the Delta Epsilon Iota New Members Banquet, which was thrown to celebrate the specially selected members of the newfound honor society at Georgia State University. During this banquet, the founding members were honored with special awards, and my partner, Dammeon Hicks-Marshall, who is the president of this organization, received a very monumental and extraordinary award, to his surprise. 
My first pet was a beautiful and obedient German Shepherd named Daisy. When I was born, she had already been a part of my family for a year after my parents adopted her as a six week old puppy, and she and I had practically grown up together. She fully developed massively into one-hundred or more so pounds and she effortlessly dragged me down the street on most days when I took her for long walks. She was my constant childhood companion, always protecting me with her intimidating growls and her formidable barking when the bullies of my neighborhood teased me with cruel invectives. All they were permitted to spew at me were their demeaning words and violent threats, but that was it; Daisy never allowed them to get close enough to me to physically fulfill any of their threatening rants. She snuggled next to me on many nights when I fell asleep on the living room throw rug watching TV, and with undying loyalty, she slept on the floor next to my bed and would not leave my side until I awoke. 
Six months ago, I was a practicing Buddhist seeking Enlightenment. Two months ago I got “saved”; accepted the free gift of salvation from Jesus Christ into my heart. Yesterday, I got baptized and committed my life to God. Today I am born again, possessing salvation and defining my place in Heaven when this life is over. Whoa! Right? 
It has been since February that I’ve hunt-and-pecked onto this keyboard (I’m just kidding; I actually type ninety words per minute), and since then my life sort of took on an empirical practice. Seemingly, my pursuit for knowledge didn’t always come clearly through the reliance on institutional education or literature I sought to read. Almost everything that I have come to learn in that period of time deeply imbued my life through the simple manner of experience. Usually, most of my enlightenment came this way, but I guess upon returning to college I thought I would discover a different experience all together. Certainly, being enrolled in school I learned new insight and retained important and valuable information through erudition and diligence, but the biggest breakthrough for me was not what I learned in school; it was what I learned about myself—and it’s the same lesson I keep learning over and over again, which is…
For Black History Month, and directly after Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday last month, I reflect on what the anniversary of this era really means. 
Somehow, he didn’t let the enormity of the problems he battled paralyze him. I admire, maybe more than anything, that he allowed his purpose to propel him forward, in spite of any fears he may have had, knowing that what he stood for, what he believed in, meant so much more than whatever he may have feared. 
While the title might denote otherwise, this really is a (brotherly) love letter to Senator Barack Obama. It’s written in love. It’s intended with love; my love for the world, for the people in it and my love for change, which brings growth and fosters understanding. It’s a love letter for change. 
If you want to, post this on a website where people banter and debate. If you want to, call me crazy and a race-trader because I am a black man who is questioning a black man and that the airing of laundry—dirty or otherwise—isn’t something that we should do. But I have got to because you are poised to change minds and you can start here, given your singular and unique relationship to the issue of marriage equality in America. No one else, but a child born of a mixed marriage, could understand how the strain and stigma placed on people through laws and lack of understanding can shape or shift or shame the life you live. 
In the beginning stages of a new society, advanced programs such as social welfare were often neglected. New England was no different. They focused on the growth of the economy by stabling themselves as a legitimate nation—separate and a part of England. Consequently, social policies and social welfare reforms were neglected. As the time progressed, African Americans suffered the most due to lack of social policies, specifically those of equality. The United States is portrayed as a nation valuing democracy, freedom, and justice for all. Often, equality and justice were limited to the Anglo-Saxons. Although African Americans were free, racial oppression had manifested and caused them a variety of mental strife. They were burdened, mentally distressed, and struggled with self-identification. Throughout time, leaders emerged in the African American community who addressed their issues with the social policies or lack thereof. Two prominent figures were W.E.B. Du Bois and Booker T. Washington. Although their platforms were very different, they focused on the same struggle. An exploration of both men and their position on certain social policies and welfare reform will reveal the development of a conscious Black America.
This winter, start lining up for Dirty Laundry, a hilarious, touching and rare film about a black gay family man starring 
I have always believed in voting for many imperative reasons. But I have mainly been driven to do my civic duty because it is a privilege that our African American ancestors tirelessly fought for—a legal symbol of equal rights. But disappointingly, the upcoming election of 2008 may find me a no-show at the polls. And I say this with lament. But in light of recent events and facts that I have discovered, I personally feel like the candidacy options are dismal. 
Think about it: When I was growing up, I always heard black people say that they were Democrats because that particular political party was in favor of black people. And sadly that was the only reason they could furnish. But unfortunately, this is not completely true. Yes, the Democrats were for funding social welfare programs to help the poor, but overall they never have been a party that supports race. They support assisting the poor, and it just so happens to be a fact that minorities are the majority when it comes to being poor. So in hindsight we have been bamboozled to believe that the Democratic Party is the Peter Pan of the black race; probably because between the Republicans and the Democrats, the Democrats come out as the better choice. But the question is, Should we be choosing any of them? 
Recently, after an intense few days in Washington D.C. to conduct a training on effective service provision and public health access strategies for diverse African Americans, on the day I was scheduled to fly home, I missed the flight and was stranded. I had not accurately assessed the time needed to get to the airport on time, not considering the issue of rush hour D.C. traffic. Already worn out, I had to wait at Reagan National Airport an additional seven hours before another flight would be available.
The Reverend Ken Hutcherson, a former Dallas Cowboys linebacker, heads the Antioch Bible Church in Redmond, home of Microsoft. 
Fear is the polar opposite of love. It constricts. It hides. It shuts down. It suffocates. It silences. Eventually, all that is possible is seemingly bleak, resulting in the feeling to give up. It feels safer to live inside of the box that we’ve fooled ourselves into believing is our rescuer. But in actuality, we’ve been abandoned by our own selves, because we haven’t allowed who we really are to manifest. Instead, we remain who we are not, and completely betray ourselves.
If you're serious about losing weight, here are two important tools you shouldn't do without: a food scale and measuring cups. 
The most important African explorer of America was Estevanico (also known as Little Stephen), the first foreigner to discover New Mexico. Born in Morocco around 1500, Estevanico left Spain on June 17, 1527, as the slave of Andrés Dorantes, a Spanish explorer. Dorantes and Estevanico had joined a disastrous Spanish expedition led by Pánfilo de Narváez, the Spanish governor of Florida, to explore his new territory. Soon after their arrival in Tampa Bay in 1528, the party fell victim to disease, animal attacks, and Indians vigorously defending their land. When the army of two hundred Spaniards tried to sail from Florida to Mexico, they shipwrecked in Texas. Eventually the party of two hundred was reduced to only four: Dorantes, Stephen, and two other Spaniards. Of these, Stephen was the most important to the success of their eight-year search for the Spanish settlement in Mexico City. Because of his facility for learning new languages quickly, Estevanico became thee spokesperson and negotiated for food, shelter, and directions from the Indians. Once the group reached Mexico City, Estevanico was rewarded by appointment to another expedition, led by Father Marcos Niza, to travel northward and locate the legendary “Seven Cities,” later called the Seven Cities of Cíbola (or God). Although Marcos later claimed to be the first to discover New Mexico, he had in fact sent Estevanico ahead of him as a scout. Disobeying Marco’s orders, Estevanico did not wait for his slower compatriot, but pushed on to become the first non-native American to cross what today is the international border and explore Arizona and New Mexico. In May 1539 Estevanico reached the ridge of the Hauchuca Mountains and surveyed much of southern Arizona. But upon reaching his destination, the city of Cíbola, Estevanico was murdered by the Zuni Indians in 1539, seeking to protect their land from further incursions. Although his death allowed others to claim they had discovered Cíbola, Estevanico remains the first foreign explorer of the southwestern United States.
If you're like many people, one of your arms (or legs) is stronger than the other. To reduce the discrepancy, use dumbbells and choose exercises that allow you to work one limb at a time. This way, you can work your weaker side just a little harder than your predominant side. Here's how: 
But have you often felt that others haven’t recognized this offering as a gift? Do you feel as if there have been instances whereas your vulnerability has been unappreciated? You may have gone out of your way to do someone a favor you normally would not have done, and they weren’t grateful. You may have shared a secret with someone, and they betrayed your trust. You may have written someone an emotional letter sharing your inner most private feelings about them, and they didn’t acknowledge it or respond. You may have simply decided to be the best friend and family member or the most loving lover to someone, and unfortunately they used you, deceived you, stole from you, and, even worse, abused you and broke your heart—all examples of when vulnerability is taken for granted. 
Africans, along with the Spaniard Lucas Vásquez de Ayllón, were the first to settle what is today Jamestown, Virginia. Ayllón explored the eastern coast of Virginia in the early 1500s and was the first to bring Africans into what is now the United States. Ayllón found San Miguel de Guadalupe, a colony that flourished until 1527, when Ayllón died and was replaced by a more repressive ruler. Eventually the African rebelled, burning the settlement and forcing the Spanish to retreat to Haiti. Many of the Africans who fled the Spanish settlement established their own colony in the area. One cold say, then, that this community of Africans was, after those of the Native Americans, the first permanent colony in Virginia.
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