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.)
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!)
As some of you know, I kinda hate country music. Haaaaaaaate. Like a preacher hates the dingdang devil. I have called country music “the soundtrack to lynching.” And that’s not historically inaccurate! Growing up in the South, when I’d hear country music in an establishment, I would make the hastiest departure that I could. There’s something about the twang of a banjo that gets a lotta rednecks amped – better safe than sorry.
That said…I like these songs. Very, VERY much. And I can sing the SHIT out of every single one of ‘em. So, once again, I get to wear the hypocrite cap. Fine, whatever. Come through here and take my Black card if you want to, ahown care. If Aretha Franklin had stopped smoking thirty years ago I wouldn’t even be looking in country music’s damn direction. Have you heard her recently? Her voice sounds like a rusty Buick tryna crank up. Anyway…here’s my songs. Don’t judge me.
And, of course, my unofficial relationship anthem (I sang this in the shower once, to the endless amusement of a certain former lover, LOL), Shania’s best. Her twang continues to baffle me – she’s from Canada – but apparently being gorgeous covers a multitude of sins because to my knowledge no one’s ever questioned her about it. Enjoy!
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!
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.)
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 Oprahinterview. 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.
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.
It is tragic when an icon falls. When a black icon stumbles the tragedy seems doubly problematic.
Funny, she doesn’t sound so sorry. You can actually hear the glee in that sentence. Really, read it. See? Oh, and this:
Both men are of mixed race. Yet the majority of the country, including black Americans, sees them as black. That’s not a bad thing. Except when such men of intelligence and talent, men who have such influence and power, can’t help but succumb to the age old twins of greed and power. Although each has risen from ordinary beginnings to be at the top of their field but now things don’t look so good for either of them.
Hmmm. While I could really go in here about (White) mainstream media’s defense of Tiger’s right to not self-identify as Black (half, quarter, or whatevs) versus Barack Obama’s self-identification as the Black son of a White mother from the start, I won’t. (I will note that it is interesting that Warren states that lots of people see Tiger Woods as Black, and many glom whatever negative notions that they have about Blackness onto him the same as they would any Black person – including her.) There are things that my current chosen path no longer permit me to say or do. Like shout, “Oh, bitch, PUH-LEEZ!” and slash aperson’s tires. I feel like it would be more satisfying to do these things than engage in discussion with Ms. Warren about all the neo-liberal racist fail in this piece. HuffPo is really doing a number on my ulcer in 2009.
Sweet, minty Jayzus Haysoos Buddha Ahura Mazda [open to interfaith suggestions for this mess. In fact, you know what, just call EVERYBODY. They also don't have to be minty. Sweet, cinnamony Ganesha will work just fine].
I could say a lot - a LOT- about my Latino brothers and sisters and the conscious reinforcement of culturally reified, racist systems of shame. But that would be grossly unfair to the proud Afro-Latinos/Latinas out there, particularly the ones who I am blessed to call my chosen family. Even though, truth be told, a few of my buddies who should know better sheepishly acknowledge that they either have or likely will succumb to family and social pressure to marry White and “improve” the race. (Aaaaand even though ”proud Afro-Latino/Latina” seems to be the exception…not the rule. SIGH. See? I should leave it alone.) Besides, the visuals for this sadness speak for themselves.
This is your face.
And this is your face on internalized racism and self-hatred. (Green contacts optional.) Any questions?
Lord. I can’t take this shit AND Good Hair, y’all. Someone come hold me.
(*”Shaming the ancestors” comes courtesy of the amazingly wonderful dopegirlfresh, through whom all internet fuckery flows.)
DISCLAIMER: I haven’t liked Busta Rhymes in a long, long time. I stopped liking him musically when he went solo, and illustrated that he had devolved significantly since his days with Leaders of the New School, one of my favorite old-school (ha…) hip-hop outfits. Don’t get me wrong. I mean, I dug ”Woo Hah!! Got You All in Check” as much as the next American high school senior. You could dance to that shit. But, er-uh, it was no “Teachers Don’t Teach Us Nonsense.” Hell, it wasn’t even a”Zone Coasters.”
Good times.
Long story short, it was fairly obvious to me even before his general assholery was revealed by his public shenanigans that Busta was slippin’ a LOT. When hip-hop blogstress extraordinaire Jasmyne Cannick blasted Busta for a violent homophobic physical altercation with a fan some years back, I officially washed my hands of Mr. Rhymes. (At the time, there was loads of virtual chitty-chat and speculation regarding the nature of Busta’s level of virulence; the Black queer blogosphere positively sizzled with the rumors. I won’t repeat them in this post, but if you’d like to read more, this piece summed it all up nicely. ) Fast-forward, 2009. I’m on Teh Twitteh, minding my own, when someone I follow tweets a link to this bullshit.
Y’all, I don’t even know where to start with this. I really don’t. And you know what? I’m not even gonna attempt it, because frankly, he isn’t worth it. Nope. What I WILL say is that MY gay peeps would never, ever let me leave the house looking like I lost my fucking mind and wearing this right chyeah.
Whle I work on cranking out some quality original content, I want to make sure I celebrate my favorite holiday, Halloween, properly. This video makes me nostalgic for my younger, wilder days in NYC.* The freaks come out at night, y’all. I have a surprising soft spot for Mista Dangerous. If Vanity and Prince had stayed together and had a son, this would be him. Arrogant, raunchy, a little bit of an asshole, and unabashedly himself. I hope you like this song, too.
*My so-called “younger, wilder days” in NYC? They were literally, like, days. The last time I was at a party like the one shown in the video I was 24, and by 25 I was DONE with clubs and crazy shit. Well, done with club-type crazy shit, anyway. Aaaaand now I’ve said too much.
So Joe Wilson - and anybody else who would deny sick/dying undocumented immigrants and their children health care – is an asshole. The racism woven throughout the loudest conservative critique of the Obama Administration is also fairly apparent in Wilson. These days, when I’m running a racism check, I look at people’s faces when they’re screaming. (I’m serious. Look at the faces of some of these foaming-at-the-mouth town hall screamers/first day of school speech ranters, and tell me that they don’t look like Selma 1956. ) This anti-Obama sentiment from a small but vocal minority, less than a year into his first term, is disheartening to me on levels. Although I will say that Wilson’s ass-hattery did inspire THE BEST Side-Eye Triple Play I have ever witnessed.
Beautiful.
Another bonus: Keith Olbermann got more pissed. The man who I developed a bebe media crush on for being the ONLY mainstream media talking head to nut the fuck up and call critics of Van Jones racist after his resignation is now my Talking Head Cat Daddy. That’s right, I said it. Olbermann could get it. I will steam those glasses up so good he won’t be able to see straight for a month. Old White Hippie Game Propa.
The original plan was to have a faaaaabulous brunch with Mama 
Barack Obama’s “dwindling sex appeal”: the penis and the POTUS
October 9, 2010Two 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.)
Categories: Blogosphere, Media, alternative, Media, mainstream, Pop culture, Racism, non-malicious, Sex, that's that BULLLLSHIT!
Tags: Barack Obama, Exoticization, Fhat the wuck, Global Comment, masculinity, media, Really? REALLY really?, Represent!, sexual objectification, Stereotypes, the cultural "Other", White House
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