BLACK PANTHER: A Belated Review and Musings About The Smash Hit Movie

Photo courtesy of



When I read the rave reviews of Black Panther in the Los Angeles Times,

And when I saw on the news that the movie, directed by Ryan Coogler and written by Coogler and Joe Robert Cole and starring Chadwick Boseman as the title character, was an absolute smash hit, breaking box office records,

My prevailing thought was, “Looks like I’m gonna have to see it.”

It was just a matter of finding the time.

The time which I found yesterday as I went to a movie theater a few miles from my house to check out Black Panther for myself.


The Verdict (or my official review in other words)?



OUTSTANDING in all aspects – story, plot, scenery, cinematography, art direction, costuming, acting performances.



The official trailer from “Black Panther”, courtesy of YouTube.



And a significant accomplishment in the sense that as Black Panther is, well, Black and from an African country whose technology, advancements, and standard of living matches any so-called “First World” country and then some,

Unlike the unfortunate images we get of emaciated refugees, tyrannical despot rulers, and extremist religious groups that slaughter entire villages and kidnap/enslave/rape scores of young girls and thinking nothing of it (read: Boko Haram in Nigeria) from that continent.

And even more significantly, this movie smashes the notion in mainstream Hollywood once and for all that a “Black” film can’t do well in the box office, particularly overseas.

Though I don’t expect Black Panther to win any large number of Oscars next year due to the fact that superhero movies rarely get any love from the Academy – because of when it was released, it’s not eligible for this year’s Academy Awards – I do expect it to get quite a few nominations, including best picture, director and actor/actress (both lead and supporting),

As well as more or less all the technical stuff; special effects, cinematography, art direction, costuming – which I’ll be surprised if it doesn’t win at least a couple of Oscars in those areas.

My thoughts regarding Chadwick Boseman as T’Challa, Black Panther/the ruler of Wakanda who inherits the throne and, well…I’m not going to spoil the plot for you in case you haven’t seen it yet:



Lupita Nyong’o (left) with Chadwick Boseman in a scene from Black Panther. Photo courtesy of



First Jackie Robinson in 42,

Then James Brown in Get On Up,

Then the great former Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall,

Now this!

I certainly hope that this actor is enjoying his A-List status, as I consider him in that league now.

Especially since he’ll be playing Black Panther in several more movies in the coming years.

By the way,  I have four words for Coogler and Cole…

Start writing the sequel.

As for the other actors besides Boseman…


A VERY cool movie poster! Image courtesy of

An extended trailer for Black Panther, courtesy of YouTube (click on the link).



Michael B. Jordan as the villain/enemy Erik Killmonger was the standout among many standouts such as Lupita Nyong’o as Nakia, Danai Gurira as General Okoye, and Letitia Wright as T’Challa’s ballsy, tech-savvy sister Shuri.

He was a true bad guy (I won’t spoil it and reveal what he does), but you also see the reasons why he’s bad.

And, in a way, you end up understanding the factors going into his evilness.

At least I understood it as I watched the film.

I particularly loved the scenery and the costumes; it has seemed that the beauty of Africa’s mountains, terrain, and the elaborate clothing that is worn there has never really gotten enough attention and due in Hollywood.

That, along with everything else, was busted with this production.

The bottom-line thing that I felt as I watched this movie was that Coogler (in this case) is doing an excellent job continuing what filmmakers like Spike Lee and John Singleton were doing twenty and thirty years ago.

And of course it needs to go without saying that I’m very much looking forward to the sequel in two or three years.

I’ve got four more words to anyone and everyone who has not seen Black Panther…




The cast of Black Panther, including Chadwick Boseman as  the title character (fourth from right), Forest Whitaker (far left), and Angela Bassett (third from right). Photo courtesy of







Take away the business attire, and this was me in the workforce much of the time, especially my last six years there. Photo courtesy of



My pronounced lack of success in the workforce – specifically working for someone else – was so large and varied that I had to write two chapters in my upcoming book, WALKING ON EGGSHELLS, in order to properly describe all the incidents.

These following excerpts cover the failures I had as an employee from 1999 to 2008, when I quit my last job and left the workforce for good after having what (I think) was my third nervous breakdown.

Here’s the first excerpt:

The autism spectrum part of all this was that due to my need to do my own thing and my not being able to humble myself and see bosses as just that – rather than equal partners – every one of the six jobs that I subsequently had over the next six years would end the same way that it did at Farragut, with me either being fired or forced to resign.

This especially manifested itself in the next major job I was hired for, a place called Westside Bay School*, located just a few miles from my house that ended up really affecting me negatively as I became more disillusioned from my experiences there than any job before or since, for one particular reason:

It was a non-public, special education school geared toward children with Asperger’s and other parts of the Autism Spectrum Disorder.

In other words, Westside Bay School was geared toward kids who behaved similarly to me as a young-un.

This led me to having a big sense of optimism upon getting hired as a PE instructor (technically an aide, like at Farragut)  there in August of 2003, because this was a place where I cold be a real role model, where I felt I could have a positive impact on the students.

I had no way of knowing that my ten months at Westside Bay School would be almost nothing but a nightmare.

And I also had no way of knowing that it would end up being the overwhelming reason I would not be comfortable around autistic people or other Aspies for a while after my time at that school; I grew SO bitter with that place that as I walked through the front doors on my last day, June 11, 2004 (I remember the exact date!), before I hit the sidewalk I turned around, faced the school building, and stuck my middle finger high in the air.

It wasn’t the most mature or professional thing to do, and of course I regret making that obscene gesture, but I hope you understand why I couldn’t help it after describing my experiences there, the feeling that led to me flipping Westside Bay off.





This next excerpt details the trauma I suffered while working at this particular school:


If I’m going to describe everything that went down between me and (my supervisor), I’d better not refer to him by his real name as despite everything that happened, I have enough respect for him to not do so.

I’ll call him Gary*.

I vividly remember the first time that I saw that Gary’s and my relationship was far from what I assumed – it was after classes one afternoon.

Gary came into the little office that we shared and said, “I need to talk to you.”

“What about?”

“High school PE,” he replied.

At that point I knew something bad was going to be said because my ninth and tenth grade PE classes were going terribly, the 9th grade class, consisting around fifteen boys, in particular.

But in my warped mind, I expected Gary to commiserate with me.

Offer sympathy.

Say “Hang in there,” or something like that, like I would do if the situation were reversed.

But instead, he pulled out a piece of paper and read what seemed to be an endless list of “suggestions” to make things better in those two PE classes.

As I write this over a decade later, I completely recognize that Gary was only trying to do his duty as a supervisor.

But back then, here’s what my mind was telling me as he was saying what he was saying:

“This guy’s viciously insulting your intelligence AND your experience!”

“This dude thinks you suck as a teacher and are an inferior human being – why else would he interact with you like this?”

“Who in the hell does this jerk think he is, talking to me that way?!”

All of which led to feelings of sheer humiliation, which in turn led me to see him as an oppressor and an enemy, especially after I mentioned that I had Asperger’s and should be cut some slack and left alone with the mindset of “Oh, he has Asperger’s so anything he does we ought to overlook (which was wrong, I know now), and he answered in what in my mind was quite the condescending tone,

“Well, regardless…” which I interpreted to mean that he didn’t give a fuck about me as a human being.

I felt he was blatantly disrespecting those twelve years of experience, that because I was a “veteran” who had been through the wars I had more than earned the right to be left alone to run my classes my way and to be seen as a completely equal partner in every possible way.

Which I now understand was wrong to think as I failed to see that teaching special education students is not the same as teaching neurotypical students.





This last excerpt is kind of graphic, as it describes having suicidal thoughts:


It was also one of those times where staff would get those “State of how’re you doing” evaluations, which in my view was nothing but a way for the supervisor to tell you how you sucked or, as they put it, “needed to improve” in certain areas.

Which although I have to be fair and say that he did start by listing my good points – was exactly what Gary was doing that afternoon after all the obligatory BS meetings were done, as we sat in the new workout room which doubled as our new office.

I wish I could tell you the precise things that Gary was telling me, but what happened that mid-winter day was so traumatic that my mind has blocked it out.

Except for when, as my brain was screaming how vicious he was in his criticisms, how it was so insulting on an epic scale he may as well have been calling me a “dumb n-word”, he was emotionally hurting me that much; after I said “I’ll try”, in an attempt to placate Gary and concede defeat, he replied in what I felt was the most viciously condescending, drill-like sergeant-like tone that anyone had ever took with me in my entire work life:

“Don’t try, do it!”

I don’t remember what exactly happened immediately after that exchange, but I do remember what I did for what I believe was the rest of that week: stay home and lie in my bed in a deep depression, wanting to commit suicide.

I know this is such because I saw the school’s principal and Diane*, who I had mentioned as one of the leaders, in the principal’s office upon my return a few days layer and either told them I wanted to kill myself, or had blurted it out to Gary during our confrontation and he told them. Diane even asked me how I would go about “hurting myself”, and I answered,

“You know that bridge over Overland Ave., crossing Ballona Creek? I’d jump off of that.”

Apparently I had given this a little thought as I can recall thinking how I wouldn’t shoot myself because it would be too messy.

The overwhelmingly predominant reason those suicidal thoughts were prevalent in my mind was because I was feeling so hurt, humiliated, and oppressed with a dash of condescension by Gary over what had been five months to that point, that I really felt I needed to hurt someone.

I couldn’t hurt Gary, nor did I want to, because I had no desire to end up in prison as part of the proverbial black male statistic, so that narrowed things down to one person…


* = Pseudonyms, not their real names


A decent illustration of how I was feeling for much of my time in the workforce. Photo courtesy of




Random Musings About Black History Month, 2018

Two of the most famous black people of African descent in history, in their only photo taken together. Photo courtesy of the


I’ll be honest, as always…

I can’t really think about anything original to write about to commemorate this year’s version of Black History Month, because I’ve already written a lot about the various topics and issues concerning African-Americans in blogs – mine and others – over the years.

I didn’t want to do what every other blog and site is doing and has done every year at this time and tout/laud the first Blacks to do this and the first blacks to invent that and the first blacks to stand up for whatever oppression.

As important as all of this is,  and as proud as I am over the MANY accomplishments and contributions  that Black people in this country and abroad have made to this world,

To me it’s simply a case of been-there-wrote-that and been-there-know-that.

And I’m sorry, but that’s just boredom-inducing to me.

One thought is prevalent in my mind, however…

It seems that it’s a terrible time to be an African-American right now, what with the President that we have, and all the alt-right movements and the blatant bigotry that has been abundant these past couple of years.

Come to think of it, it seems like it’s a terrible time to be anything but white, male, wealthy, conservative, straight,  Christian, or a combination of those six attributes, right now in America.

And it also seems that until our President-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is voted out in 2020 – the way he is and has been to anyone not like him, I’m confident of those chances – things will get worse for people who are not any of the six attributes named.


It’s nice to celebrate Black people of African descent this month, and I completely concur that it will always be necessary to have a focus on Black history – and the history of all people of color as well as women, non-Christians, and gays – every month of the year.

Not just February in Black history’s case.

But I firmly believe that we must also focus on the current realities of the bulk of African-Americans, who rather than having a dream ala Martin Luther King are having a nightmare of pronounced proportions, in virtually every possible way.

We must, once and for all, focus on how my fellow African-Americans who are living in misery, want and need can get out of such.

I have some thoughts on that, but I’ll save them for another time soon.

That’s about all I have to say right now…


I like this picture, for what I hope are obvious reasons. Image courtesy of


TEN YEARS AGO TODAY: Commemorating The Day I Changed My Life And Decided To Pursue Writing

Photo courtesy of



I remember it well;

On this day in 2008, I was in pretty bad shape emotionally.

In fact, I was in pretty bad shape for the past few years, as I was pathetically trying to hold onto my life working with young people in education and sports.

For the previous five years, I was miserably failing at being gainfully employed, either quitting or being fired from every one of the six jobs that I had, ranging from being a tutor in East Los Angeles to being on the coaching staff for a high school softball team, to being a playground aide – a job where I lasted only a few weeks – to my last gig as an after school teacher.

Looking back, it was evident that I was depressed on a fairly pronounced scale, even threatening suicide at one of those jobs when my supervisor was, at least in my warped mind,  picking on me for something.

It all came to a head during that last after school job when my supervisor – a young lady who was half my age – lectured me due to something I did.

Which I deserved in retrospect, but my mind was so messed up over having to kowtow to someone who could have been one of my students or athletes that I felt humiliated, among other negative things.

I fell into SUCH a depression that I stayed home for the next three days, rarely getting out of bed.

Which brings me to that fateful day – this day – exactly a decade ago.

I had finally realized once and for all that the effects of my being on the Autism Spectrum Disorder – having Asperger’s Syndrome to be precise – was never going to be conducive to me working with other people on a daily basis.

Not only that, I had realized that I absolutely was sick and tired of working for and answering to someone else.

I hated having to impress and please people who I honestly felt saw me as an inferior, not an equal human being in my mind.

I realized that I desperately needed my freedom, my independence from being at the mercy of someone else; for that someone else to determine whether you were going to be able to eat, buy clothes, and pay the rent through their employment of you.



Considering all the work I’ve done these past ten years, I suppose it’s safe for me to say this. Photo courtesy of


Which was causing a stress that was quite unhealthy.

And most of all, after remembering how people had told me over the years that they liked my writing and my essays in schools and such, I realized that my talents were in that field and that I needed to pursue that wholeheartedly.

Or forever wish I had.

In short, being an employee was virtually – and perhaps literally, being that I had threatened suicide more than once during my time in the workforce  –  killing me.

I began that February 6th by meeting the softball coach I was under the previous spring at a Carl’s Jr., telling him of my plans.

Then I journeyed to the school where I was working at to take my stand against those oppressors, I mean employers.

To formally quit not only my job, but the “Kid Business” in general, ending my life in working for young people.

To in layman’s terms, tell the overseers, I mean supervisors, at that after-school job to “Kiss my ass” (not literally of course; I had a little more class than that).

And to begin my life as a writer, which I did a few days later when I found a site called and began writing different articles about my experiences with having Asperger’s and other things, which I got paid in royalties for.

Which led me to joining another writing site that paid royalties,

Which, being a sports person who liked to give opinions about such, led me to writing for Bleacher Report and Fansided, helping to start, a sports blog covering my alma mater UCLA, on that network.

Which eventually led me to starting two blogs of my own:, on this same WordPress network,

And this blog.

Which I will have had for three (for SoCal Sports Annals) and four years this July (for this blog) respectively.

Along with working on my book describing  my struggles with being on the autism spectrum in a non-autistic world, “WALKING ON EGGSHELLS”, which I am on the verge of finishing as I have done a fourth draft and am going to do some final editing on one chapter in particular.




I thought it would be nice to include a picture of Charlie Brown’s dog doing his writing here, as I grew up on “Peanuts” and consider it the greatest comic strip of all time. Image courtesy of



In Case You Were Wondering:

No, I have NOT gotten rich from this now decade-long career – FAR from it.

But that’s perfectly OK as my mental well-being has improved in the past ten years since that day I walked away from the “Kid Business”

I don’t pretend that I have arrived as a writer; I’m definitely haven’t had any success on any best seller lists whatsoever.

But one thing is for sure…

By having these two blogs and this soon-to-be published book (by no later than the end of this year), I feel that I’m being more a contributor to society.

For lack of a better term, I feel that I’m more in my niche.

And that I will have left something worthwhile to be remembered by when my time in this world is over – if people care to remember me at all.

Which I think is a big part of living your life.


All Right, Here’s My Main Point:

It all began ten years ago today.

And it wouldn’t be right to not mark the occasion in these Hartland Chronicles of  mine.

Of course it’s my hope and prayer that my life in writing will continue to be fulfilling.

And if it becomes lucrative, great!

But to be honest, making a lot of money was not on my mind when I decided to do this.

It was to become happy in my life’s work – or at least happier.

Which I of course thank God for as I’m convinced He was leading me to this.

It’s been a pretty good ten years doing this writing thing.

I only pray that the next ten years are as good if not better.

Perhaps I’ll work on a young adult novel when “WALKING ON EGGSHELLS” is done and published; I have a few ideas swimming in my head.

I know I’m going to grow and evolve SoCal Sports Annals, as that’s my business for all intents and purposes.

I also know that I’m not where I want and need to be as a writer, and probably won’t be for a while.

But at least I’m not where I used to be those past few years working for someone else, especially mentally.

And that’s something that I certainly thank the Good Lord for.


Photo courtesy of