: lower black pain.

About : lower black pain.

Life’s lemons into rich, dark chocolate. lowerblackpain.substack.com (https://lowerblackpain.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast)

Publisher

Jd Michaels - The CabsEverywhere Creative Production House

Category

arts · society & culture

Language

en

Explicit

No

First episode

19 May 2022

Latest episode

22 Oct 2026

Latest episodes

233 episodes in the feed.

1. 

   22 Oct 2026

   Happy Birthday, Invention.

   In about 12 hours I will have been breathing on the planet for exactly sixty years. No mean feat to make it to the Digital Age from the Age of Aquarius - 6 groovy and happening decades of invention and constant adaptation to technologies that dissolved the gaps between time and space, past and future, and communities and individuals. Bell Telephone (the precursor of AT&T) had an advertising campaign in 1979 with a jingle that went, “Reach out! Reach out and touch someone!” Ok, of course I see it now. Yuck. But it sounded totally different back then. Back then, the bridging of distance to counter loneliness was so powerful a societal and emotional priority that it could be used as the primary marketing focus for the nation’s largest communications company. Isolation could be cured through technology! Just think - we can gab with Auntie Neuneu for an hour and hear her crazy stories, not just at Thanksgiving, but any time we want! She is so hilarious. And it did work, that connection - but a tacit invasion of privacy (which is CLEARLY IMPLIED in a modern reading of the slogan) happened along with it. Today, communication is more powerful than ever before, but somewhat out of our control. They kept their promise though; my phone makes me feel plenty touched, every single day. But I just wouldn’t feel right complaining about it: America is not afraid of innovation. Of course, now conversations and images share the same device, so we can reach out and touch someone (yuck), and if folks are right in front of us we can capture them and put them in our pocket, which sounds just as incredibly creepy. One thing about being an only child of a single parent - you don’t have all that many photos of you together, since one of you has to take the picture. As a child of the 1960s, image capture was clearly dominated by Kodak™, who produced a dazzling assortment of film cameras but none that had yet been engineered for operation held backward and at extreme arm’s length. Yet and still, there are a few photos of my mother and I - one of her bathing me at one month old, one where she is giving me a bottle, and a cool one where we were flying a little red whirly airplane toy that I ABSOLUTELY LOVED and was EXTREMELY DANGEROUS called the Electromic (sic) Super Flash. I would GLADLY explain in great detail the magnificence of engineering that this toy represented, but suffice it to say that I loved it and played with it for years and years until it hit something and broke and then I still played with the rather ingenious mechanism that had made it work, though it didn’t fly anymore as much as manically flap about. Anyway, there’s a photo of my mom and I playing with this in a park, which is amazing for a lot of reasons: I almost never played outside as a kid (mostly I was an indoor book nerd, which is why a flying plane toy was so dangerous), there wasn’t really a park near our apartment, and even today, neither of us has any idea who was holding the camera. But the photo is pretty good - besides our sight-obvious urban charm, it could have been on the front of the box that the little plane came in. The computer, the microwave oven, electric locks on car doors, Velcro™, the ATM, the MRI and cotton candy grapes. More than half a century of science making life more interesting. I have shared this magnificent time with these miracles, though don’t think I’ve accomplished enough to stand toe to toe with sugar floss fruit. I believed, as a child, that I would grow up in the world I was born into. But the world grew too, and tv’s got wider and they tore all the malls down and my car, lights, and watch all speak to me now. I didn’t realize there’d be this much talking to inanimate objects in the future, even though I saw people doing it on Star Trek. New is great. Improved is fine. I am no Luddite; far from it, I enjoy technology in the form of ever more clever tools. But I don’t think that everything needs to be improved, or even evolve - say, for instance, the chocolate chip cookie. It’s fine. I think we’ve got that one. The very first iPod is still a miracle. It’s the only thing I own that is also in the Museum of Modern Art, and it was announced October 23, 2001 - 25 years ago. It’s an icon of both design and engineering which is now, literally, a museum piece. Time did not change the object - the object just wasn’t as important as the idea of the object, which did keep evolving and was re-rendered and re-rendered into my current smartphone. I suppose that’s fair. I mean, I was there too, 25 years ago, but I had the quiet decency to grow and adapt - working really hard to cultivate just the right amount of creases in my face and grey in my beard and loss in my range of motion. That iPod stayed exactly the same. Ultimately I don’t feel right complaining about technology because my engagement with it is somewhat up to me. I don’t have to call Auntie Neuneu, I still have a film camera to take photos, I can listen to an album on vinyl if I want to, and I can purchase and consume regular grape-flavored grapes. I’m not scared of more options if I’m free to make a choice. But I am glad that I can take photos with my family, all of us together, with no one left out of the picture. I’ll do that tomorrow, to commemorate the day, and even dial in my mom on FaceTime to be a part of the moment, and then I will capture the warmth and the happiness of that moment, and put it in my pocket. How touching. the friends one the mom one the (wait for it…) clown and nun one Get full access to :lowerblackpain at lowerblackpain.substack.com/subscribe (https://lowerblackpain.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4)

2. 

   15 Oct 2026

   If You Want Anything At All.

   I’ve had, according to my resume, 8 jobs. I’ve had a few more than that: some not worth mentioning and a few I really don’t need to remember. But the major ones, the places where I stayed for years and years - those have been pretty interesting because I entered those companies as one thing and left as another. I came in to the first one as a secretary, and four years later left as a “mechanical artist”. Five years at the next place and I was a “creative studio manager”. Then after 16 (yikes) years at another I was an “EVP Director”. There were a lot of other esoteric titles in the middle of all those. Most of my career mobility has centered on my enthusiasm toward doing stuff that nobody else wanted to. Need somebody to wash the dishes? / calm nervous people down? / fix a toilet? / make a meal for eight people with five dollars? / work past midnight finishing the report? Look no further. This tendency toward utility proved extremely useful in corporate situations. I was identified as a “work horse”, a boss told the clients I was a “swiss army knife”, and one manager described me as “an Ameri-can, not an American’t”. None of these sound great. I don’t think there’s any MasterClass about being the one who cleans up, voluntarily, after company parties. But I never minded the “American” thing: after all, America is not afraid of a little hard work. My key business assets: Endurance: I was raised to persevere - toil proudly, not stop until the job was done. On my very first day at a big job in New York City, the manager showing me around took me to my cube and told me to bring a sleeping bag. I thought it was a joke until I noticed that most of the other employees did have one stashed beneath their desks. My record at that place was a 33 hour shift. I was 27 years old. I started out strong at 9AM, didn’t even hit the caffeine until about two in the morning, then when the sun rose it re-invigorated us all for a while - some breakfast and lunch kept me going until about 4, but then I realized that I was no longer tired yet no longer awake in any traditional sense, so I tapped out and headed home. And no, there was no overtime involved - this was just…work. One person went for 47 hours, though I think she took some naps. Adaptability: I have a particular knack for taking not-so-useful things and putting them together to make a much more useful one. More than once this enabled me to come up with solutions that could never be bought, only made. Duct tape was sometimes involved. Also, I became the ad-hoc bartender at college parties because I could mix relatively obscure liquids together into something potable. Appreciation: Other people needed things like comfortable work chairs or bathroom breaks or respect - I found that I could exist on the much the simpler diet of purpose and paycheck. As the hoi polloi business tripped and expense accounted, I’d be trading quips over microwave popcorn with my team while we built something cool. We all really liked making things and enjoyed one another’s company - we’d bring our kids (and pets) in, celebrate holidays with hats and food and original songs (my contribution), and had a pretty good time for a grown-up type corporate office situation. Hey, I knew what was really important…they could keep the fancy chair. I didn’t have anything that fancy to put on it anyway. There was one business lesson that I was taught twice. I’ve always ignored it, because I do not agree with its basic premise, even if it’s true. The more robust version of this strategy was its second telling: a manager was walking past as I stood by the printers; he asked how I was doing. “I’m good! Busy, but good!” I thought this a fine comment to say to your boss. “Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about that… you always seem to have a lot to do.” “Well, yeah,” I replied, “there’s a lot of things I’m trying to make happen.” “Yeah…” He looked around to see if anyone was listening. “Yeah, you’re working too hard.” I thought that was an odd comment to hear from your boss. “Am I?” I asked. “Yeah. Listen, if you’re ever gonna be a manager or something you need to learn how to handle problems.” I enthusiastically launched into a list of solutions I’d come up with to recent workflow challenges. “No, no. See? That’s what I’m talking about.” he said. “You solved all those problems.” “Was that not you said?” “No,” he explained, “I said handle a problem. Look at this.” He picked up a nearby stapler. “This is a problem, right?” He began passing it from hand to hand. “What am I doing now?” “Juggling?” “No, I’m handling the problem. First it’s here…” It was in his right hand.“… and now it’s here.” It was in his left. “I can’t pick up anything else because I got this. But if I put it down…” He put it down, “…now I’m not doing anything.” Ok. “Ok...?” “See, I choose a problem, and I handle it for maybe like, six months, and then I solve it, and then pick up another problem. Everyone knows I’m busy because I’ve got this thing I’m doing. You have, like, seven staplers a month over there. People don’t move that fast. Business doesn’t work that way. You’ve gotta to slow down… handle one problem at a time… you get it?” Sure, I got it, what’s not to get, but it’s always been harder for me not to do things than to do things. I was trained to make things better, even when it wasn’t necessarily my job, and if that makes me some kind of stapler juggler, then fine. Though I don’t know where I’d put that on my resume. Maybe down next to “telephone psychic”. Get full access to :lowerblackpain at lowerblackpain.substack.com/subscribe (https://lowerblackpain.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4)

3. 

   8 Oct 2026

   Say What You Mean And Say It Mean.

   For over half of her four decade career, my mother taught fifth grade. A span of that length allows one to view societal trends and social constructs in detail: one class morphing into the next, bringing new behaviors, pressures, and responses. The perfect in-situ scientific laboratory to observe these shifts and changes was open every day - the playground. She shared an observation that early on, a few of the saltier children would insult each other during recess. “Your Mama…” the jibes would start with, or something similar, leading to a bout of impromptu oneupmanship… …but as reading and writing became less important to the school district, a different exchange would occur - one child would begin with the customary opening remark, and then the other would punch them. Often very hard. The addition of physical violence brought this tradition to an abrupt close, and while no fan of rudeness or impropriety, my mother expressed that this made her a bit sad, as the talking did hold a bit of creative integrity. But some children were no longer trained in that kind of thing, and a true battle of wits requires that both combatants are well armed. As her son, I was never allowed to insult or hit anybody. The only time I tried was on a bus trip back from a high school vocal contest, where a class bully called me names related to the size of my forehead. That gave him, no pun intended, a lot of ground to cover, and my reticence to engage with him intensified his attacks. Until I did engage with him, offering a slightly off-color response clever enough that the entire bus went “Ooooooooooo!”. I knew I was going to get it the second I left the bus, and sure enough when I stepped off the stairs he was waiting, hand outstretched to shake mine. When I reached for his hand, he sucker-punched me in the stomach. Another “Ooooooooooo!” from the crowd. But because I was a magician, I had long studied Houdini’s method of training abdomen muscles to rock hard consistency. Also, I was 15. The boy’s fist met a (then) immovable mass, and he shook his hand in pain. I slowly walked away, wincing only inwardly, enjoying what I knew would be the only time that being a magician would be high-school-cool. America is not afraid to speak its mind. Clarity isn’t a… hard rule, really: ours is a language of intent, rather than transparency. Take for instance the example of a woman, smiling, nattily dressed, superbly coiffed, smelling of lilacs or vanilla, just after Sunday service and before the football game, looking you directly in the eye and saying the most spine chilling phrase in the English language (as it spoken by Americans): “Well, Bless Your Heart!” We all know what that means. It does not mean what it says. It is not pronounced the way that it is spelled, as it is neither a religious well-wish nor a genuine concern as to one’s cardiac welfare. It is a direct statement where individually none of the words hold their traditional definition, yet in combination they create a new communication, where a direct insult - in most cultures expressed in two words - is somehow sharpened and thrust deeper into the belly by using four. There is no response. The dialogue preceding the comment has now ended, with whomever is on the receiving end of the statement is left to painfully grimace, and take an extremely slow / extremely deep breath through their nose. Or punch the person very hard, which almost never happens probably. It’s understood here that the words are the punch, with the punch-ee left to get in their car and screamily complain about whoever said this to them on the ride home. “How dare they!” we might say, but we know the answer to that: America is not afraid to speak its mind. However, the worm turns, what goes around comes around, and Americans do not enjoy revenge. We’re not “a dish served cold” culture - much more a kingdom of steam tables and hot wings. Suspense is unbearable here in any form… watch: Shave and a haircut… ten… … … … … … … … … cents. Horrible. Absolutely. I do apologize. But think of waiting for an insult to be returned - expecting a snappy remark or harsh look and only getting open kind handshakes and grins week after week. Terrifying. Each meeting without response increases the tension - then come the sleepless nights spent wondering when it might occur, knowing full well that a response is as inevitable as it is deserved. Yeah. America doesn’t like that. My personal favorite American insult is “You speak so well!”. It was first said to me when I was about eight - I gave a speech at a school function and afterward a very fancy woman came up to my mother and I. “Goodness!” she effused, “You speak so well!”. Then she looked at my mother, “It’s just so wonderful to see that!” I stood a little taller and said “Thank you!” enthusiastically, but my mom didn’t respond, but bristled. She is not an easy bristler. “That wasn’t a compliment.” she said later in the car. “But the lady said I did a good job!” “No she didn’t. That wasn’t what she meant by that. She meant that she was surprised one of us could speak proper English.” I was confused. “But you always make me speak proper English. You’re a teacher.” “I know that,” Mom said, “but she didn’t.” She turned to me at a stop light. “You did a good job, and she did acknowledge that by what she said… it’s not the good job that’s the problem, it’s the SURPRISE. She underestimated you when you stood up to speak because of what you looked like. She complimented you not for what you did, but for not being what she assumed you were.” “Aw.” I was disappointed. “Don’t be disappointed,” she said, “you did wonderfully well. You just keep on doing well for you, not for other people’s compliments. And if you want an honest opinion, you can just always ask me or Grandpa. We’ll tell you the truth, good or bad.” And they did, which was great because I solicited a steady chorus of “speak so well”s in my youth, and far after. Let’s see: I’ve been “one of the good ones” and “just like us” and “you know…different” and “very unique” and “just, special”, and in each case the circumstance, tone, and casting made clear what was meant atop what was being said… sometimes they’d double down and ask me about “the other ones”… you know, just to bond. But I never lashed back, never punched anybody (good heavens no)… just smiled and nodded and took slow, deep breaths through my nose. Though, on the exhale, I may have thought to myself, “Well, now… … … … …bless your heart.” Get full access to :lowerblackpain at lowerblackpain.substack.com/subscribe (https://lowerblackpain.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4)

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Apple Podcasts (US)

5.0 / 5

2 ratings

Podcast Authority Score: 51 / 100

A composite of feed quality, social presence, YouTube performance and engagement. Read the methodology.

Quality

78

Social presence

0

YouTube

0

Engagement

60

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