A couple of entrepreneurs with a love of hip hop would meet up and each would try to stump the other with trivia questions. Like playing the dozens, their impromptu game soon became addictive and before long, Maurice Thompson, Michael Dothard, and Ron Young realized they had something. “After a few solid days of doing this, we looked at each other and said, ‘someone else might enjoy this,’” said Thompson, 30. According 2 Hip Hop (A2HH), a trivia game based on hip hop lyrics was born.

A joint venture between Drip Entertainment and ClickArtist Media, A2HH, available for the iPhone, iPod touch, and iPad, is a tough trivia game for hip hop aficionados–but it’s also accessible enough for those of us who know a lil’ something. The app launched in December 2009 and currently has roughly 10,000 downloads (iTunes; $.99). The company expects to reach 80,000 downloads by year-end.

According to Dothard, 28, the game is no trivial matter. “We saw this as an opportunity to pull together different generations of hip hop culture; two or three generations can sit down and enjoy [the game],” he says. “But we also wanted to make sure we were giving a respectful representation of what hip hop is.”
Indeed, one of the noticeable features of the game (and according to user feedback) is that it’s challenging. No softballs here. The team is working on Version 2, which will make the game a bit more accessible in terms of providing answers and scoring options for players. This includes the ability to share scores on social media sites like Twitter and Facebook, and even purchase the music through iTunes. Version 2 is set for a September release.

In addition to the download, the company hosts an A2HH  Monday night trivia game on Twitter (live at 8 p.m.),where sometimes, an errant hip hop artist might pop in to play.

Stressing that they are a “hip hop company embracing technology,” Young, 27,  says, “We also wanted to create something that would help people connect and appreciate older music in a new format.” “Technology and hip hop culture go hand in hand,” he notes, adding that the app development process has given the company great perspective on how the mobile marketplace is moving; it’s knowledge they plan to use going forward.

In addition to the mobile platform, the company is currently exploring options as diverse as board games, a TV trivia show, and multi-player gaming on the iPad and consoles.

This is what happens when you ask a question about a Ghostface Killah lyric?

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Today, like everyone else, I'll be waiting with drooling lips for the Apple tablet/slate announcement. It's the promise of transformational device, the surrounding mystery, and the possibilities that stir my interest.

But sometimes it's the small things that blow my mind.

When a magnitude 7.0 earthquake hit Haiti two weeks ago, I learned about it on Facebook. I sat horrified and in disbelief as I saw status updates from close friends and colleagues with messages that ranged from asking for prayers for Haiti to listing missing family members. Despite the connectivity that technology offers us, though, I was frozen. Something just didn't seem right. We were all glued to our screens tracking and responding to status updates and messages. For me, it seemed so cold, so disconnected. I picked up my phone to call people who I knew must be in pain. But words failed me.

I am Jamaican. I remember when Hurricane Gilbert hit. My heart still seizes up when I remember reports of the hurricane passing completely over my homeland, its evil eye blanketing our small island. Back in he U.S. we waited for news from family. There was no Facebook or Twitter in 1988, so we waited for a phone call. A word.

But I remember what happened after. We leapt passionately, almost violently, into relief efforts. Anything. Collecting clothes and food. We donated. We gathered at Stone's, one of a small handful of Caribbean food markets in Southern California. And we worked. I remember seemingly endless days of gathering and toiling. But I also remember that very strong feeling of community I experienced.

We had no Facebook then. But we had each other.

When I read news about the Haiti earthquake, I sent a couple of messages to friends, offering to "be there" for whatever they needed. I didn't want to impose my need for answers on their grief. But it also felt distant. Clean. Mechanical. People were hurting and I offered a text message on Facebook.

So on a Thursday evening in the Carter G. Woodson Institute at the University of Virginia, five graduate students gathered to do something. Everyone, it seemed, was collecting money and supplies. What could we do? We were all disturbed by the media's insistence on writing Haiti and Haitians as lost, un-salvageable; and having sealed their own sad fate when they made that "pact with the devil," well, you know…

In about an hour, we had decided that as academics, education was the best form of "aid" we could offer. We decided on a teach-in, called or emailed professors who immediately said yes. I reached out to the undergraduates in the one way I knew I could get them–through Facebook. Within a matter of 24 hours, using just Facebook and email, we had sent hundreds of invitations to our teach-in. But because it was Martin Luther King's birthday, a holiday, and although more than 100 people responded, we expected at most, 50 people. I watched nervously as the tally on Facebook climbed. Word came that the Charlottesville community had heard about the event and wanted to participate.

On Monday afternoon, the students trickled in. Then came a flood of people. We exceeded the fire code and had to move to another room. We did a general count: there were roughly 150 attendees. The enormity of the event hit me. We needed to do this.

In addition to using Facebook, we also used Ustream to connect with those who wanted to "be there" but could not. And for two hours on January 20, we were all in that room together, talking, making human contact.

A colleague originally from Ghana, and living in the U.S. contacted me to say that he had watched the live-streamed event and appreciated "being in the room" with us, though he was 3,000 miles away at the time.

Professors, graduate students, and undergraduates are now working together to plan a series of educational events centering on Haiti. We hope you will join us–in the flesh or virtually.

And I'll leave you with a song I keep in mind when I see the devastation wrought on my Caribbean neighbor–our way of dealing with disaster.

I have a confession to make: Late at night, when everyone’s asleep, I feed my baby. I feed her things she shouldn’t be eating. My daughter, Zora, likes Gatorade, pizza (if there isn’t too much cheese) and a strange chocolate concoction called Ants on a Log.  What? Isn’t that what babies eat?

The truth is, my “baby” is a Facebook app.  And I’ve been feeding and clothing her since November 07. Weird, huh?

In the past year, I’ve had one friend or another refer to my Facebook activity as “addiction,” expressing frequent, and I would guess, genuine, concern about the time I spend at the site. I’ve also heard them discuss in detail other friends’ so-called addiction. I’ve heard tall tales of staged Facebook “interventions,” self-imposed exiles, and bouts of celibacy.

Some recipients of this grave concern have expressed embarrassment over the perceived time and e

nergy they spend on the site, retreating to a Facebook closet of shame.

My response? Meh.

The fact that Facebook and other social networking tools like Twitter (“you’re always on that thing”) have my attention, speaks to their ability to provide something that is valuable to me. I tend to view what’s happening as integration rather than addiction. I have found a tool that helps me do what I want to do, when I want. Here’s how I use Facebook:
1. To meet more smart people (assuming I am to be considered "smart.")
2. To learn that people I admire from afar are also human and spend quite a bit of time on Facebook, too (Imani Perry, Farah Jasmine Griffin, Lisa Woolfork)
3. To discover other interesting applications and sites that have pushed me to think and be creative
4. To engage in intellectual ly stimulating AND silly conversations
5. To discover that my “work friends” are also smart, creative  women who have voice
6. To keep up with former students and watch their social and intellectual growth
7. To post announcements for events that have attracted folks who would otherwise have missed them—and to find events I would likely have missed.
8. To introduce my smart friends to each other
9. To share news and information that will hopefully stir thoughts and produce conversations and debates
10. To have fun (so far, I’m still maintaining the Make a Baby app; and I’ve taken the “Where Should You Be Living” quiz waaay too many times to mention; but my Black Cred is a solid Erykah Badu).

The bigger question for me is this: Why do we place Facebook in the same category as addictive substances? What does a Facebook intervention look like? Does Ken Seeley appear, staring somberly at the addict, quietly pleading with puppy-dog eyes to "do it for your family?"

Further, into what are you intervening? When and how do we determine what is “too much” Facebook (or Skype, Twitter,  Jaiku, LinkedIn, for that matter)?  Why are we engaging these tools purely on the level of entertainment  that is potentially harmful?  (Do we get some guilty pleasure in associating tech with sin? What are the possibilities AND dangers of integrating our lives with technology?

As for me. I dun need no stinkin’ intervention.

And you can forget about the Facebook closet. I’m burning it down.