Another dollar-outta-fifteen-cents post, Special Birfday Edition.
Happy New Year, dear readers! I’ve got a lot to chat about that really wouldn’t add up to much by itself, sooooo as promised in the last scraps post, here’s another hodgepodge piece. Enjoi!
My first New Year’s Eve alone was extraordinary. I walked down to the beach (three miles – oy!) at about 10 p.m. and arrived fifteen minutes to midnight. There, under the light of the full, blue moon, I swam and watched the fireworks from the nearby pier, meditating on my life: all that I had been granted in the last year, and all that I wanted in the new one. It was amazing. The only thing that would’ve made it better would have been if Rush Limbaugh had died. Ah, well.
Okay, now just imagine her, but darker, chunkier, bustier, and with much darker, thicker, curlier hurr. That
January 10, 2010 is my Golden Birfday! I am super excited about it because I have been waiting for 01/10/10 since I was a kid. You see, dorks loooooove binary. Not everybody gets a binary code birthday. It’s just further evidence that I’m special. 
The original plan was to have a faaaaabulous brunch with Mama here and then spend the rest of my day on the beach. Seeing as how we’re expecting SNOW in parts of my county this evening, that’s kinda not happening. SIGH. The winter loves me so much it followed me. That’s okay. I can still have some cake.
That's a sexy cake right there.
Sci-fi rill life bullshit. The year long siege of Gaza has been shamefully absent from the national headlines. (Not like, “brutal and repeated rape and terrorization of women in the Congo” absent, but definitely absent for a cause that most Americans are purportedly concerned about. I wonder what it takes to stir compassion for women raped so viciously that they lose control of their excretory function for life? Maybe if they were just a smidge more White Bosnian? Anywhooo…) Just when I thought that the racist, fascist face of absolutist Zionism couldn’t GET any uglier, here comes this horrifying story of ILLEGAL organ-harvesting of Palestinians by the Israeli government. Special thanks to Joe for bringing this to my attention. I have NO IDEA why this shit isn’t on 60 Minutes. No, wait. I know why. Stupid ole mainstream media. o_O
Speaking of “shit I cain’t believe”: Whitney Houston’s Oprah interview. Let the record show that, because crack is cheap and crack is whack,
Whitney and Bobby laced their weed with rock cocaine.
Ya know, because that’s classier. SIGH. Y’all, this had me stuck in side-eye for a WEEK.
ENVY ME!!! I own this bag, the beautiful and “green” Michelle Obama shopper. Neener neener NEEner!
So sharp you might wanna reach for it handle first!
If one more person compares my lips to Angelina Fekking Jolie’s, I’m gonna vomit. Like a lotta Black girls who grew up before Naomi made “beestung” lips acceptable to the mainstream, I got a lotta self-esteem levelling crap growing up for having a very, VERY full mouth. I don’t consider the lauding of a feature that I was ruthlessly made to feel ashamed of because some White chick a celeb has it a “win.” And I never will. My lips were lovely before White folks decided to openly covet them, and they will ALWAYS be. Comparing them to Jolie’s is some vurry nasty, backhanded-complimen-type appropriation, and it is what Kyriarchy uses it to conquer the self-esteems of little girls of color everyday. Soooo, if you’re gonna compare my lips to anyone’s, please refer to Chrisette Michele. I love her.
Just. GOAHGEOUS.
Junot Diaz needs a nut punch and/or corrective therapy for literary Tourette’s Syndrome. Like everyone and their mother, I read this book in the summer of 2007 and looooved it. Seriously, in spite of its RIDONKULOUS later popularity and the somewhat condescending tone of some of its critical accolades (“voice from the gutter”? Fucking REALLY?) it remains one of the Best Books I Have Ever Read. SIGH. Having said all that, throughout this exquisitely woven tale, Diaz dropped the n-bomb with an alacrity that was inexcusable. Seriously, Diaz tossed The Word That Wouldn’t Die out like a nine-year-old throws pellet firecrackers on a hot sidewalk in summer. Fuck that “he writes like he talks” nonsense. As a writer, I know what a lack of narrative restraint looks like. However, because every person of color in my life adored this novel, I was seriously loathe to bring it up or engage in critical discussion of the novel, particularly with regard to race (which was explored really well and sensitively – with that one glaring exception). It won the Pulitzer. I think I can be gently critical without getting any static about it now.
I will be writing in “Black Black Blackity Black” on the U.S. Census form this year. Either that or “Knights-Who-Say-KNEEgro”. Tee. Oh, and er-uhm, speaking of “Negro”…
This is one of those moments where I roll my eyes, exhale loudly, and mutter, “WHITE people…” I recommend that y’all do the same. I have to say the ruckus around Harry Reid’s ignorant-assed comments amused me more than anything else. Code-switching is a survival technique that many Black fokes (including yours truly) employ on a day-to-day basis in order to simply LIVE. Some amphibians breathe air and water their whole lives. Plenty of PoC occupy dual worlds in the same manner.
Lungs: CHECK. Gills: CHECK. Effective camouflage from predators: NONE. Toxic skin when handled, ingested,or otherwise fucked with: CHECK.
And while one’s ability to effectively code-switch does help ensure survival, it is NOT necessarily a reflection of any aspect of one’s character, nor does it necessarily reflect one’s talents, intelligence or abilities. I am always amused at just how much some White people – who never have to code-switch and always carry Whiteness and its accompanying privileges with them – have to say about the “Negro dialect.” I also like to say some real Black shit in all-White settings, just to see White people squirm. Seriously, next time you’re talking with a group of oh-so-liberal White fokes, throw something like, “One monkey don’t stop no show!” into the middle of the conversation, and see if the mofos don’t stare at you like you whipped a tampon outta your purse and used it to stir some sugar into your glass of shiraz.
I am hesitant to publish the Black hurr post because of all the crap Black women are getting from MSM recently. It’s like Chris Rock took over a major network or some shit.
And my jaw-drop moment of the New Year. Flava Flav’s “music” video. In Autotone. I don’t think I ever laughed so hard. Oh, Flava Flav. You wear the late crown. You rilly, rilly do.
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