Barack Obama’s “dwindling sex appeal”: the penis and the POTUS

Two years and some change (or, depending on who you ask, nearly three years and NO change) into his presidency, Barack Obama’s policies have upset and disappointed me. I had high hopes for a President who had spent so much of his youth abroad, who was brilliant and refined, an elegant and unapologetic intellectual. In spite of Obama’s initially robust and repeated promises,  my government is still heavily embroiled in simultaneous wars for profit in the Middle East and only recently began military pull-out in Iraq. Military drone strikes – part of the increasingly nebulous Bush Administration legacy dubbed the”War on Terror”  – continue in Pakistan, killing civilians and allies. Guantanamo Bay is still open, and doesn’t appear to show any serious signs of closing, either.

I have watched the president I helped vote into office soft-pedal domestic issues like increased border security, tighter immigration restraints, and basic social services for undocumented immigrants, all in the name of reaching out to an ever-obstinant group of conservatives.  A group who had decided in November 2008 that he could do no right, and stood aside as their supporters proclaimed Obama a chimera of a bogeyman: closet socialist, fascist, and a Nazi. I have watched blatant and arguably racist acts of disrespect aimed at Obama take place on the Congressional floor.  I have watched as Sarah Palin stepped down early from her governance post in the midst of a national economic crisis, and trotted around the country with the Tea Partiers,  openly admonishing the President to “do your job.” I have watched with frustration and growing anger as Obama, seemingly in the name of diplomacy and “getting along”, pandered to folks who didn’t vote for him the first time around, and absolutely will not be doing so in 2012.   I know what it is to feel at least a little let down by the President, a man whose mind I so admire. Simply put, I voted for his brain. (Want more? Sure, ya do! Go here and read the rest.)

A Dream Deformed: Glenn Beck marches on Washington

   

 Saturday, August 28, 2010 was an extraordinary day here in the United States.  The date marked the 55th commemoration of the lynching death of Emmitt Till. It also was the 47th anniversary of Martin Luther King’s incredible “I Have A Dream” speech, which was arguably the single most important moment in the Civil Right’s movement of the 20th century.  And on Saturday,  Glenn Beck,  Sarah Palin, and a host of other conservative politicians and political  figures including   Michele Bachmann  and (sigh) Alveda King gathered with hundreds of thousands of their conservative supporters for a “non-political” rally on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.  (Beck insisted that the date selection was purely coincidental.)  I watched with equal parts outrage, sadness and amusement as the Restoring Honor march/rally/hullaballo-making unfolded on Saturday. With so many politicians spear-heading and keynoting the event, if promoting a political agenda wasn’t the goal, then what was? (Do you want more? Heck yeah, ya do! Go, read, enjoy!)

Every time Glenn Beck cries, an angel gets its wings. So kick him in the shins.

Laughing Racism: Beyond the #browntwitterbird

Last week, an article in Slate entitled ”How Black People Use Twitter: The latest research on race and microblogging”   caused a  bit of a stir and some moments of sheer hilarity on Twitter and in the Black blogosphere.  The piece’s incomplete research and (unintentionally) racist and insulting tone  was noted and brought to the attention of the author himself both on Twitter and on personal blogs.  Author Farhad Manjoo’s 6-month surveillance of the Twitter habits of young Black people smacked of virtual cultural tourism.   (By the way, Manjoo defended his article, stood by his theory and flawed research, and as of this write-up, hasn’t changed his tune one whit. )

Adding insult to injury, Manjoo’s piece featured a brown redux of the classic blue (but possibly racially White, apparently) Twitter bird as a brown, oversized-cap wearing bird holding a mobile device.  (Wanna read more? Of course you do!  Click away!)

DAMN, that’s racist!

 

My latest distraction.

A friend on Teh Twitteh makes these really fun, really silly movies on this site. When I had read so many grant proposal outlines that my eyes began to cross yesterday, I decided to have a looksy. And I am HOOKED! I’m proud to present to you, dear reader, my first film, scripted from an actual IM convo I had some years back with a guy friend: “A Pinch Of Cockblock.” Enjoy!

 

Can we talk about how the Israeli government’s on some bullshit now?

We didn’t talk about it when this happened. Or this. Or this. Or this. Or this. Or this.  Or this.  And now, we have this.

So can we talk about it now? I mean, really. Can we talk about how condemning the actions of the Israeli government is common sense? Can we have this discussion without having it all boil down to ridiculous polarization and accusations of anti-Semitism? And can we openly condemn anti-Semitism when it does appear -because it will - and remain confident that doing so only strengthens the case for right? Can we just come the fuck out and say it when we see shit is WRONG, know that its WRONG, and call it what it is? Can we do that?  

I know that economic sanctions are just not going down (it’s a nice thought, though, isn’t it?), but appalled citizens are welcome to join the ongoing ethical boycott.  World, get better.

Tea Partiers. STILL about the stupidest motherfuckers who ever lived.

::: blink, blink :::

I know I talked about this before, but it bears repeating. I read this sign a few times with my mouth hanging open…proof positive that one can become stupefied by stupidity. Maybe that’s what these folks are going for? I don’t know. I DO know that these were the same assholes who sat with their thumbs up their apolitical butts whilst the previous administration initiated and escalated two concurrent wars-for-profit that made a small cadre of elites rich at the expense of several countries, including this one. I also know that they are LARGELY responsible for this chick’s continued relevance. 

Sarah Palin, pre-$50K makeover, no doubt in the middle of saying something incredibly stupid.

Sarah Palin stepped down from governing Alaska in the midst of a national economic crisis to hitch her moosey wagon to the Tea Party’s star and publicly admonish the President to do his job. Seriously. THAT was her plan. She quit to criticize Obama and promote her book.  Here’s what I said about that on Teh Twitteh. Parenthetically – if she insists on not fading quietly into obscurity (and she does),  can we at LEAST stop calling Sarah Palin a “pageant queen”? She won Miss Congeniality. MISS CONGENIALITY. Hell, I could win Miss Congeniality, right now, sitting here in my funky ole t-shirt and pajama pants with the hole in the crotch. I’m just saying. (Oh, and here’s the sister woman who beat her ass swept the talent portion of the Miss Alaska pageant and was crowned  Miss Alaska 1984.  Go on ahead and smirk. I am.)

Maryline Blackburn. Singer. Model. Democrat.

 One thing I’m glad about? It took the tea baggers and their more violent, extremist ”fringe” (I’d say “core” was more accurate, but okay…) to shock mainstream media out of its reluctance to call them what they are: xenophobic, anti-intellectual, racist, reactionary, anti-progress and most emphatically un-American. Oh, and stupid. Really, REALLY fucking stupid. Did I say that already? Eh. One more time couldn’t hurt.

Oh, Skip Gates. You silly bitch.

I’m at capacity for Teh Stoopid right now, so please read this summation, this hilarious take-down, and this excellent dissemination of this piece of poo.  Enjoy!

REPRESENT!: B.Scott Slays With The Fabaliss

I loooooove B.Scott, and I am so thrilled that he’s coming up the way he is…just the fuck AS he is.  His “Bitch. Boo. Bye!” vlog post is one of my all time favorites.

He just radiates Southern charm (he’s from North Carolina, and yes, he’s been a gender noncomformist since childhood…and he says “dirt dauber” on a regular basis, JUST like my mama and prolly his) and grace, and I didn’t think I could love him more than I already did. And then…this!

*SQUUUUEEEEEEEEEEEE!*

 For those of you don’t get the reference:

Purified in the waters of Lake Minnetonka!

Anyway, congratulations, B.Scott. You so earned it!

Trading That “Good-Good”*: Placing Slave Rape On The Consent Continuum

PREAMBLE:   I’m neither a fan nor a follower of Touré, the person whose online shenanigans inspired this post.  I’ve said before that Twitter is gonna ruin quite a few public images and careers before it goes the way of the virtual boneyard known as MySpace; this certainly seems to be the case with him. In the span of about a year he’s gone from being a journalist I liked and respected once upon a time ago to an attention-hungry jerk  a provocateur who agitates for agitation’s sake.  If one wanted to make the argument that Touré goes out of his way to irritate Black people  they’d have quite a bit of supporting evidence.  Between referring indirectly to Michelle Obama as a “ghetto girl”,   compiling a list of sex symbols for the “thinking man” that was oddly bereft of Latina and Black women (Touré’s schoolboy gushing over “stunning blonde”  femme d’un certain age Governor Jennifer Granholm and omission of brilliant and sexy  Shakira  struck me as particularly odd - buuuuut alright), complaining on Twitter about alllll the criticism his interracial marriage (his wife is Lebanese) receives from Black folks,  asking for tips on caring for his son’s “Black” hair  because he and his wife   just don’t have the foggiest about it,  and most recently his statement that self-identified Black Latina Zoe Saldana plays “Black” (he later stated that he meant African-American), he’s drawn ire from a lot of people  - including yours truly.  Touré’s clumsy race dialogue tweets and half-assed, hyper-defensive apologies have become something of a running joke in my Twitter stream, inspiring everything from snarky hashtags  to virtual halibut smackdowns.  And there you have it, some background on “Not-Quddus.”               

Touré . Who has no idea of how to properly care for "Black" hair. (Yes. That's an Afro.**)

  Here’s where  things get interesting (and relevant to the title of this post): On March 1,  Touré  posted a series of  eyebrow-raising tweets about sexual relations between enslaved Black women and White masters. These tweets were first attributed  to his wacky, “Ph.D. candidate” cousin, who had somehow gotten a hold of his Blackberry and was causing a Twitter ruckus.   Realizing that raising the spectre of slavery-era rape by invoking the trope of the Jezebel and juxtaposing this image with contemporary prejudice faced by Black male-White female relationships was inaccurate and offensive,  Touré  wisely deleted these tweets from his feed altogether and had his “cousin” apologize - but not before said tweets were screen-captured on several sites.    

Watching the whole mess come to a rolling boil on Twitter, I noticed a disturbing theme emerging in the dialogue around the tweets.  Rape,  a sex crime typically defined by the absence of non-coercive adult consent, was redefined before  my very eyes in 140 characters or less.  A surprising (to me, anyway) number of people did not consider sexual congress that took place without the threat of immediate violence (brutal coercion) rape.  Because visuals help me think, I hastily assembled a linear color spectrum to better understand this new information. 

Child—————————————————————————————————Adult     

Enslaved——————————————————————————————Free     

Rape ———————————————————————————————————Sex   

   

The Consent Continuum. (Not great at visuals. Sorry.)

  While my idea of  consensual sex rests firmly  in the purple-indigo area of the consent continuum above, other folks seemed to veer towards the yellow-green part of the spectrum (where I’d place things like absence of physical resistance or encouragement of advances, ability to solicit favors on behalf of self or other enslaved individuals, and so on.) I read comments that argued that the legal age of consent has long been a point of contention; that people didn’t live as long back then so it made sense to become sexually active earlier; that Black people mature faster sexually (yes, someone took it there); that slaves sometimes loved their masters and so it wasn’t RAPE rape, etc.  

 The re-imagining of master-slave sexual relationships is nothing new. It is part-and-parcel of the romanticism that accompanies certain forms of revisionism in the analysis of American history.  Predictably,  Sally Hemings was raised. Hemings’ relationship with Thomas Jefferson is often touted by revisionists as the quintessential slave-master love story. During the discussions, I was dismayed to discover that most people aren’t aware that Jefferson began engaging in sexual congress with Hemings when she was in her early teens, that their children were never officially freed while Jefferson was alive, and that she herself was NEVER freed by Jefferson – not even on his deathbed. In fact, records indicate that Hemings and at least one of her relatives were sold to a nearby plantation in order to settle Jefferson’s significant gambling debts. I argued that Jefferson – by having sex with Hemings when she was a child, by being her owner, and by never freeing her – was a rapist on multiple counts. I also argued that Hemings frequently visited Jefferson’s grave after his death, and that the Abermarle county census of 1833 listed her as a free woman (she died in 1835).  I closed by stating that while it is extremely likely that Sally Hemings loved and was loved by her rapist Thomas Jefferson,  her love for him did not absolve him of his crime, because whatver benefits Hemings or any enslaved women enjoyed by virtue of her relationship with her master were entirely relative to her status as human property.*** 

With all of that in mind, let’s compare this:”…[Some enslaved women] were cunning and brilliant enough to use their bodies to gain liberation thus fooling massa.” 

To this:  

 A stereotype persists of African American women as immoral and therefore less deserving of protection from violence or sexual exploitation. In 1744, Edward Long, in an attempt to support slavery, published his conclusions about African women. He characterized them as “ignorant, crafty, treacherous, thievish, and mistrustful.” 

And this: “Of course most were raped, we know that, but some were sharp enough to trade that g00d-good for status or liberation.”   

To this: 

 Slave women were property; therefore, legally they could not be raped. Often slavers would offer gifts or promises of reduced labor if the slave women would consent to sexual relations, and there were instances where the slaver and slave shared sexual attraction; however, “the rape of a female slave was probably the most common form of interracial sex.” A slave woman explained, “When he make me follow him into de bush, what use me to tell him no? He have strength to make me.” 

Without the aid of actual documentation, musings about the daily survival of our enslaved ancestors are pure speculation. My foremothers were absolutely survivors – I’m living proof. And while I don’t like to think about everything they had to endure, I absolutely believe that in order for this country’s race relations problem to be well and truly healed, we’re gonna have to acknowledge  this and EVERY horror-filled aspect of our national legacy, square-on and courageously. This discussion and the others must take place, and they must be handled with the intelligence,  nuance, sensitivity and historical perspective that they deserve.

 

*Good-good? Really? REALLY really?

** Yes. An Afro.

*** What tends to be forgotten in these discussions is that enslavement was not a natural, immutable condition. A slave’s owner had the power to grant a slave their freedom at any time they wished - if they desired to do so.  Viriginia law did not allow freed slaves to remain in the state, and Hemings, as a free (if kept) woman would have to move to a neighboring state, away from Jefferson.  I strongly believe that Jefferson’s decision to allow Hemings to remain enslaved – in spite of his own grave concerns about the fundamental immorality of the  institituion of slavery –  was tied to his desire for her company, excluding any other possible White suitors. Your woman could leave you; your slave could not.

Oh, John Mayer. You silly bitch.

FULL DISCLOSURE: I am not a John Mayer fan.  To me, he’s indistinguishable from every other suburban White dude who grew up wanting to be a musician because it looked like it might lead him to some pussy. I mean, a guitar and a garage do NOT a musician make. That whole song about body wonderlanding did not make my heart melt. What can I say? I hear words like “porcelain” and “alabaster” and just tune the fuck out; you’re CLEARLY not talking to my sexy brown self, so all we are is in each other’s way. Don’t even get me started on that ridiculous and vaguely creepy song about daughters.  ::: shudders ::: 

Ah, but Johnny, being the jackhole that he is, felt it necessary to elaborate in a recent interview with Playboy, where he basically dropped the n-bomb with abandon and said he wasn’t really interested in experiencing the joys of the cocoa honeypot. (Because, ya know, that’s all Black women are good for. SIGH.)  Now, since Strom Thurmond basically used to say the same thing, I’m giving the statement full-on side-eye.  The lovely Thembi covered this (hilariously) already*, so no need for me to waste time on it.  Because this whole mess feels familiar, I thought it might be a good idea to cross-post Jay Smooth’s take on the Asher “Nappy Headed Hos” Roth and the dangers of becoming too comfortable. LORD.

(*Mayer refers to himself as a “douche” in this interview.  I think he has function envy. But that’s just me.)

UPDATE: 28 Days Without the N-Bomb, Day Five

N-Bomb Chronicles, Entry Two:  I have reconciled myself to the fact that using the n-word in my dream is (probably) beyond my control and (mostly) not my fault. I have never been able to completely master lucid dreaming techniques; I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had that whole dream-within-a-dream-within-a-dream thing happen, à la Waking Life.  Still…something about it, feels vaguely like cheating. Silly maybe, but I feel how I feel.  (I may not always know what to do or what course of action to take, but I always know EXACTLY how I feel. Can YOU say that? I hadn’t thought so.)

Soooo many interesting discussions have sprung up from this project/experiment. Partner-in-crime,  friend and friend-of-the-blog Dopegirlfresh (she’s over here and here) and I have discussed how extraordinarily tempting it is to use that word.  It’s the ultimate trump word.  You whip it out and you basically win the game (whatever the game is). As is her wont, my buddy summed up the Word That Wouldn’t Die succinctly and brilliantly: “I been thinking about it, and what I realized it that when call someone an n-bomb, you’re basically saying  ’fuck your life.’ ” And she’s right. The n-bomb is more than just a fighting word –  although that alone would be plenty.  It’s a killing word. It is designed to murder one’s soul. And, as someone who has been on the receiving end of it more times than I care to recall, lemme tell ya, it’s pretty damned effective.

Anyway, dopegirlfresh had the awesome idea of substituting the n-bomb with…wait for it…Wocka Flocka Flame. Now, the name is so absurd that it immediately diffuses the rage that inspired the n-word to leap to mind in the first place, and it’s creative and awesome. Drawback? Most people hear “Wocka Flocka Flame” and think of this:

While I hear it, and think of this:

"Wocka wocka flocka!"

It’s gonna be an interesting month.

I don’t wanna talk about Haiti.

And I’m not. Not that I have nothing to say (when is that ever my problem?), but that this whole mess makes my heart hurt. And I’m kinda at capacity for heart ache at the moment. No more, all full, thank you.

Anyway, Joe’s got it covered.  He talks about Haiti and Guantanamo,  Pat Robertson’s stankin’ ass,  Haiti’s beautiful natural features and extraordinary history,  the absurdity and racism of supposedly liberal  media reports of homeless amd starving Haitians “looting”,  and the best way to help Haiti.    Go read his blog. Get like me.

This Just In: Protest for Haiti in NYC

Friday Protest Will Demand: Emergency Relief Must Get to the Haitian People Now!

When: Friday January 22 12:00 noon (press conference) 4:00 – 7:00 pm Street protest

Where: United States Mission to the United Nations, 140 E 45th Street (3rd & Lexington)

The Haiti Emergency Committee announced today its opposition to the Obama administration’s conduct towards Haiti in the wake of the earthquake of January 12. It issued this statement: With 500,000 Haitians feared dead under the rubbles following the earthquake, Haiti needs robust Emergency Assistance. The first 48 hours in the aftermath of the earthquake were very critical. The Haitian people have been helping one another with their bare hands from the very first few moments of the earthquake. People everywhere are striving to support the Haitian people any way they can. Yet, the U.S. military having wrestled total control of the ports and the main airport in Port-Au-Prince as well as throughout the country is refusing to allow cargo planes from different countries such as Turkey, Iran, Venezuela and Cuba to bring urgently needed medical supplies, water, food, and medicine to the people in Haiti. For days, the US and UN officials on the ground stopped volunteers from distributing supplies to the people in the hardest hit places. This is mass genocide. There is a real Humanitarian crisis in Haiti and it must be dealt with as such. The Haitian People must be assisted and not be portrayed in the media as animals and criminals. The Haitian masses in Haiti – as they did in New Orleans during Katrina – did the best they could in mobilizing themselves to deal collectively with their situation. These efforts must be supported in all aid programs. Volunteers must be facilitated to distribute the aid provided by other countries around the globe and should not be suppressed. The United States, instead of providing the immediate aid necessary in the first critical hours, mobilized a whole arsenal of military hardware and personnel with at least 11,000 soldiers to reinforce the occupation of Haiti adding to the 9,000-strong UN military force in the country. The Haitian people need Humanitarian assistance – water, medicine, medical supplies, healthcare workers not a military arsenal. We say NO to this military deployment in Haiti. We oppose the occupation of Haiti now and forever. We demand: 1) Let the aid get through to Haiti! Let the Haitian People organize! Stop U.S. Military interference with international rescue & Humanitarian aid. THIS MUST STOP! 2) Stop denying Humanitarian entry into the US for Haitians whose lives are at risk! 3) END U.S./U.N. occupation of Haiti! 4) Stop the World Bank/USAID sweatshop plans in Haiti! 5) Stop the removal of people from their communities!

 Contact: bosolidarity@yahoo.com Marty Goodman 646-898-7328

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.