i don’t fully know why

but i’m really having a hard time believing that h-town &; jodeci really made a song together.
even though there’s videographic proof. ::sigh::

in no particular order, i blame the following for this shit here: trey songz, crack rocks, the death of gerald levert, the recession, waffle house, spectacular smith of pretty ricky, bad weed, the prison industrial complex, reaganomics (why the fuck NOT? that’s where crack rocks came from!), autotune, charlie wilson’s comeback (because these fools forgot that they weren’t ever on his level), jahiem (yeah, i said it), the good black man shortage myth, zane, malt liquor, crown fried chicken, fruity loops, & motherfucking blackplanet dot com. i would sue for damages, but as a black woman in america, i’ve learned that my complaints are usually only heard by those who give a damn to begin with. that’d be YOU, blog reader(s). all twelve of you.

& while we’re on former 90’s r&b starruhs, let’s take a gander at what aaron hall is doin w/ himself these days, shall we?

who dresses in their easter best to whisper to dogs?
is he using this $ to buy more suits?
note that there are no black folks letting this man into their homes. why? cuz we KNOW about aaron hall’s fool ass already!
his german sounds like his vietnamese sounds like his farsi sounds like his spanish. i’m just sayin.

now i have to watch coming to america to cleanse my mind. i hope it works.

presenting: the absurdity of tina knowles.

now, y’all know i love clothes. i live for sparkly, brightly colored shit that some may shy away from. but one day about two years ago i had the misfortune of discovering that tina knowles (mother of beyonce, solange, & play mama to kelendria) had unleashed on the unsuspecting & undeserving masses released, in addition to dereon, a line of clothing via the home shopping network’s website and live broadcasts.  be still, my heart! more profound fashion fuckery? i tuned into HSN to learn just what awaited me.  i wasn’t ready. not at all. & i know you aren’t, either.  let’s take a stroll down the hallowed halls of miss tina’s fashions. shall we?

first up:  the caged beast leather hobo handbag.  this thing is what nightmares are made of, i’m sure.

it originally sold for $250. WHAT? note that the bag not only has interchangeable inserts, but that they are all in an ambiguous “animal print”, sort of furry fabric! hence the name caged beast, i presume. cleva! i am still amazed that when i perused the hsn website around this time last year, there was an alarming note proclaiming that only three bags remained.  i have yet to see one of these bags in person — i pray that i never do. (& i do NOT believe for one second that the woman doing this video believes anything she’s saying. dig the clowning that begins at about 1:47.)

next: from the ‘heritage’ section of misstina.com, a bit of background (my notes in italics):

The visionary behind the Miss Tina Collection blessed with her mother’s talent and creative ability, Tina Knowles rose to fame as the gifted designer and world renowned stylist for her daughters, Beyoncé and Solange Knowles and Kelly Rowland and the Grammy award winning group, Destiny’s Child.  (oh, so she’s the one to blame for the piss-poor clothes in such fabrics as bright orange camoflage & “what is that, velvet?” worn by destiny’s child? don’t act like y’all don’t remember that shit from the soul train awards!)  This accomplished interior designer, celebrated author and talented chef, serves as the creative force for the collection. (what the fuck has cooking got to do w/ this? and she’s a celebrated author? for realzies? i can’t.)

Tina’s unique vision; a combination of high style, attention detail sprinkled with a taste of couture, enables her to create a distinctive blend fo signature and luxe for the Miss Tina Collection. (the comma splices and extreme misuse of a semicolon have made reading this so much more absurd for me. ugh. let me guess: miss tina herself wrote the shit, & nobody dared correct her on mechanics.)

further, the names miss tina gives to her creations are not indicative of any level of fashion knowledge. sorry to say. there’s no way she couldn’t have finessed “Quilted Entice Handbag with Pyramid Studs” into something else?  the same goes for the “Miss Tina Tall Boot with Studs“, “Miss Tina Logo-Print Studded Tapestry Peep-Toe Boots“, and “Cotton Shirt with Cuff“, which implies that the creole (don’t act like she doesn’t mention that shit at random) creative juices just were not flowing after a certain point. 

the fabric, y’all. the fucking fabric! the charmeuse, the not-even-modal jersey, the stretch denim (some of that shit is more than 3 percent lycra, which is nonsensical), & the crazy looking materials employed to make shoes all make me wonder what in the tangerine fuck is even going on here. i had the misfortune of coming across a miss tina dress in a local store. it was a mess. the cut was terrible (it even looked wack on the hanger), the fabric felt like the cheapest of cheap polyesters, & i think that for some reason the arms were inordinately huge. it was a hot pink tragedy w/ ruching (miss tina loves her some ruching!).  i felt bad for whomever paid full price for the damn thing a year ago. cuz it was most certainly hanging on the super duper last ditch effort clearance rack for $12. 

miss tina gives makeovers.

 

in conclusion, i’ll just say this: if you don’t understand what my big gripe is with tina knowles’ proliferation of bamma style, then simply do a google image search for ‘miss tina fashions’ & see what you come up with. i promise, you won’t be disappointed.  or, maybe you will? depends on what you’re expecting.

a colored girl’s love letter.

(i was gonna write a letter to tyler perry, but i’ve decided against it.  for now, anyway.)

so i’ve been thinking about tyler perry being at the helm of this major motion picture adaptation of for colored girls. and i’ve been reading the choreopoem itself over and over again.  and something i’ve come to realize as a result of this development is that when there’s an adaptation of an original work, lots of things get changed and moved around. i think the “pass” he gets is that he’s going to adapt the choreopoem. which means to me that we’re likely to get the storylines of the women, but with some serious redux. since TP’s subject matter almost exclusively involves heavily dysfunctional black women & men, we’re gonna get the essence of crystal and beau willie brown. we’re going to get the concept of the latent rapist bravado piece, but maybe never the idea that it is never the victim’s fault.
it would pain me incessantly to see this choreopoem turned into an episode of jerry springer with a dash of church music thrown in at the end.  it seems that lots of women i know feel the same way — it would be so tragic to see something we love so deeply turned into yet another reason to hear oleta adams’ “many rivers to cross” or mariah carey’s “fly like a bird” in the context of something that really reduces the black woman’s experience to its lowest common denominator.

so i’ve been thinking about that, too. what is this film adaptation going to look like? is it going to follow the same basic archetype as his other films/ plays (emotionally damaged black woman/ women finding redemption after much pain and strife… with a heavy dose of jesus h. christ for upliftment)? according to the ‘dream cast’ article from broadway.com (linked above), the narratives of the ladies will be incorporated into perry’s own script that leads them to ‘the colored girls center’. i, personally, see lots of his tried-and-true storytelling methods. i feel like that’s a really bad idea, given that most of the impact that for colored girls has (in my experience) comes from the very fact that it is a CHOREOPOEM. not a scripted play with a set and huge cast. not a scripted film with a plot. because linear storytelling, though it can be impactful, is not in tune with how most of us reach our epiphanized selves. at the end of the piece, is there not the mantra of “i found god in myself/ and i loved her/ i loved her fiercely”?  what about that? knowing that most of tyler perry’s viewership identifies as christian, are we going to discuss the divine feminine in this movie? i doubt it. so, i’m pissed.  i think it’s apparent from this piece written by stacia on postbourgie that the concern of colored girls fans is very real, and definitely not imagined or overblown.

an idea i’ve wanted to do ever since playing “lady in green” back in my freshman year of college is to do a series of colored girls readings.  it could be really simple. dinner, cocktails, the reading, then a discussion with notes and feedback forms and stuff.

i will do this. in philly, in nyc, in dc . . . where ever.

interested? email me. sechitatgmaildotcom with colored girls dinner party in the subject header.

thanks.

peace.

triggered. like a motherfucker.

my identity as a queer woman is hard-won.  through years of vascillation, denial, secrecy, and srategic planning dedicated to hiding myself from myself i am now working at being authentically myself. and a big part of that is being forthright with any potential lovers about my sexuality.  there is no introduction that goes, “i’m sparkle, and i’m bisexual”.  but there’s also no soap opera (or jenny jones) moment when i spring it on futureboo or presentboo in a space that she or he might find uncomfortable.  because that’s not how you treat folks.  my honesty has most likely cost me a relationship or three.  and i’m okay with that.  nobody wants to be in a relationship where they feel stifled instead of feeling edified.  so, it is with that knowledge i walk.  it’s not an easy walk: there are folks who don’t recognize my sexuality as legitimate compared to their own, there are folks who presume that i’m unaware of what i want in life (or in my bed), and there are also folks who believe that my queerness makes me impossible of being monogamous.

it is this completely erroneous belief/ assumption that makes me impossibly pissed off.  and it is this idea that made me want to write this blog post, because of a song called “think my girl (ay, ay)” by omarion.  this song gives what might be considered an inside view of a relationship between the narrator (whom i presume to be a hetero-identified biological male) and his girlfriend, whose behavior implies that she may be cheating on him with a female associate of hers.  this woman does not answer her phone when she’s with this friend, referred to as “the girl that doesn’t have a man” in the lyrics to the first verse. (you can listen for yourselves here, dear readers; i refuse to transcribe this shit.)  the hook of this song goes on to express that though the girlfriend is very physically affectionate with the narrator her behavior changes when around this friend of hers, has a better eye for attractive women than her paramour, and also presumes that the narrator is welcome in the bedroom with the girlfriend and whomever she’s cheating on him with.  the second verse includes some information about the narrator’s girlfriend and her friend having matching tattoos, and some “secret conversations” between the two women.  

what bothers and upsets me is the fact that this song is a bunch of stereotypes and assumptions wrapped into one neat little sonic package.  this song is a symptom of the problem — it’s giving me hives when goddess knows i am allergic to bullshit.  this song neatly lists (for me, anyway) what seem to be the predominant, erroneous, widely held beliefs about bisexual women.

i have to acknowledge that  heterosexual privilege allows this song to exist.  heterosexual privilege allows the demonization of anyone who does not exemplify compulsory heterosexuality.  

the narrator’s girlfriend is acting suspiciously (in his opinion, or per his explanation as narrator).  since there’s another woman involved in this (as either a friend or lover, possibly both), it’s implied that the girlfriend’s behavior can be attributed specifically to a sexual relationship with this other woman. so, this makes her hot-in-the-ass and unfaithful.  this also demonizes the presumed other woman; she’s got some kind of a stranglehold on the girlfriend’s mind, via sex. there’s no suggestion that the girlfriend is keeping company with this woman who “doesn’t have a man” because she’s sick. or because she’s got kids she needs help with. or an ailing relative. or something that is not about sex.  (could it be that only women sing/ write songs that discuss concern for other women? see: eve’s “love is blind”, destiny’s child’s “girl”, or the jazzyfatnastees’ “how sad”. i don’t think that this is the case, but i’m just asking.) let’s examine this: not answering the phone within an hour (verse 1), a friend with no man who’s often around (probably cuz she hasn’t got a man to keep her company), a knack for identifying a beautiful woman before her man does, and limited PDA when said manless friend is around — she’s just got to be cheating with this manless friend!  am i the only one who thinks this is rather base?  furthermore, bisexuality does not exclude any human being (male or female, cisgendered or transgendered) from monogamy! emotional immaturity may exclude one from being faithful to their partner.  (polyamory is not a condition of being bisexual, either. but let’s not talk about that right now.)

the idea that the narrator should try having an openly bisexual girlfriend implies that she’s open to having a threesome, which is also not a fact of bisexuality.  there are some bisexual folks who are not in any way interested in group sex.  this is also incredibly troublesome, as it feeds into the idea that the hetero man’s job is to conquer vaginae far and wide, that the sexuality is not valid if he’s not (a) involved or (b) giving approval to the sexual relationship.  hello: i’m autonomy, and i believe that i only need the person who utilizes me in order to be valid or legitimate. your dick hasn’t got anything to do with it, narrator (or anyone else).  that’s hetero privilege for you: you can do what you want, cuz there’s nothing “wrong” with the kind of sex you’re into. 

bottom line, this song is offensive for a number of reasons.  ultimately, it turns a woman’s body into product, into object, into a commodity to be fetishized.  it takes away her humanity and reduces her autonomy to a jezebel’s supposed nature.  and no,  a pop song should not have the final say on how we as a larger society view sexuality. but, art often imitates life.  somebody, somewhere may think of this song and either identify with it on some level or forming opinions based on it.

of course, there are ideas that aren’t addressed in the lyrics of  ”think my girl (ay, ay)”.  there’s nothing quite like the limited attitudes of some folks in the GLBTQ community to make a woman like myself feel even more boxed in.  there’s the idea that we are nasty, the flat-out lie that we are incapable of loving one person at a time, and most of all there’s the simple misconception that we are who we are because we’re hot in the ass.  not all of us are.  there are polyamorous heterosexual and homosexual people.  there are people who sabotage relationships by cheating, but that has nothing to do with their sexuality.  that’s an issue of emotional maturity, in my opinion.

so much things to say.

the united states has elected its 44th president; the first black president. wow. i’m feeling quite amazed by the fact. i have always doubted the united states’ potential in the way of destroying systematic isms and phobias that loomed like specters over the very existences of its citizens. even now, it may seem that the united states will not ever move beyond the constrictions of the isms which it so clearly runs on. the glass ceilings exist at different levels in various facets of life for people who live in the united states and are oft-accepted as the norm by those who dare not even tap, let alone try to break them.

i have always lived with limitations on the possibilities of black folks.

in my lifetime, the legal measures that have hindered black people have not always been as plain as jim crow-era laws. instead, they impact black folks disproportionately (e.g. minimum crack possession laws vs. minimum coke possession laws) and don’t get the same attention as police brutality cases, mistreatment in retail stores or discrimination regarding housing or jobs. socially, as i am certain we are all aware, the limitations placed on black people are numerous and have shown themselves in all possible arenas. i’m not alone when i say that i’ve been discriminated against for being black and/ or for being a woman. that is not to say that white people are sole owners of discrimination against other groups, as discrimination is a symptom of the root illness of binary thinking. the “us vs. them” paradigm is inescapable in this society. we see it in everything from sporting rivalries to our very own neighbors who may be the same race, but from a different nation (black americans vs. caribbean black folks vs. continental african black folks). the election of barack obama suggests, at the very least, that american voters have moved past the politics of exclusion when it comes to whether or not a black man could be elected to the office of commander-in-chief.

but, along with this major shift came the removal of and encroachment upon the rights of others. in california, florida, arkansas, and arizona, voters (who may or may not have come out to support barack obama) decided that openly gay people in their states should not have the same rights as persons who are or perceived as heterosexual. voters in california, via prop 8 (aka prop hate) repealed the law allowing same-sex couples to be married & receive all rights afforded to opposite-sex married couples. this was not a denial of rights, but a removal altogether. in arkansas, a ballot measure was passed preventing unmarried cohabiting couples (both opposite-sex and same-sex) from adopting children or caring for foster children. the florida marriage amendment defines marriage specifically as a union between a man and a woman, stating that no other unions would be recognized as valid by the state. arizona voters also passed a similar amendment to the state constitution, called the marriage protection amendment.

the fact that any voter feels that she or he possesses the right to restrict the rights of other fully-functioning adult members of society makes me sick to my stomach. barring legitimate threats to the public safety (e.g. those who traffic humans, persons who are physically violent within their communities), none of us has the right to go push a button or pull a lever (or check off a freaking box on a piece of paper) to limit the freedoms of others. these measures are plainly set forth to target the rights of same-sex people. i could blame right-wing evangelical socially conservative christians, i could blame the fact that the amount of money spent to campaign for the passing of these measures far surpasses the amount of money available to the opposition (specifically in the case of prop hate). but, there’s no one cause. simply, those who voted in favor of these amendments felt that it is their right to limit other autonomous, contributing members of society.

i do not understand what the problem is with same-sex couples marrying or caring for children. i presume that it’s because i never understood any arguments against being homosexual, least of all those attached to religious dogma. i don’t believe that homosexuality is going to destroy humanity (either by lack of procreation or general ‘moral corruptness’). i don’t believe that it’s wrong to love, or be attracted to someone of the same sex any more than i could ever say it’s wrong to be attracted to someone who is not of the same racial makeup as you. long before i was aware of my own queerness, i always questioned how any hetero-identifying person could ever legitimately have a problem with gay people. how could it be anyone else’s business what you do as a private citizen in your own home?

if christianity is one’s basis for discriminating against gay people (and it is discrimination, don’t get it twisted), i have to ask how that’s a legitimate basis. i don’t question the bible verses referenced in any argument against homosexuality; i question the whole book for reasons that can be discussed later. i question how it’s anyone’s christian duty to be less concerned with their own goodness as a person of faith than they are with whether or not their neighbor is gay. i question how it’s christ-like to disrespect the law of the land by seeking to overturn a law that does not even apply to you; i was always taught that the christian thing to do is to respect the law of the land. i question some of the assertions made: that gay marriage would be taught in schools as normal, that children would be “indoctrinated” in homosexuality, & the outright lie that the obama-biden ticket has ever supported gay marriage. what’s christian about making stuff up to win people over to your side? i need to know, most importantly, how one can justify the use of their faith practice as a reason to oppress others. for the people who are anti-racism and are christian: the bible was used to justify chattel slavery of africans in the americas as well as miscegenation laws (see: loving v. virginia). i do not believe that christianity automatically lends itself to oppression. i believe, instead, that some people will pull out all stops and use anything as a tool of persuasion.

i want to know: at what point do you simply understand all other humans to be worthy of the same respect you wish to have? from the teachings on christ i received as a child, the thing that stuck to me was not the miracles he worked, not the quotes that my christian day school classmates regurgitated constantly, but it was the idea that you are supposed to act lovingly towards others. it said nowhere in the bible that you had to be loving to your neighbors only, or only to people who share the same exact values as you. if this were the case (with any faith, not just christianity), i don’t think that there would exist charity without verification of the recipients’ worldviews. love is limitless, isn’t it?

so, i must ask this: if you are willing to limit any of god’s children, are you not limiting yourself?

compulsory heterosexuality @ the barber shop.

i’m a bit of a baldie as of late. and, after nearly 3 months without a cut (i swear it didn’t look bad until 2 weeks ago) i made it a point to go visit the barber i’ve been going to for the past few months. he’s a haitian dude who’s lived in the states for almost as long as i’ve been alive (he’s barely 8 yrs my senior, if that) and seems to have picked up a whole slew of traits that, to my womanist mind, are precise indicators of wtf’s wrong w/ black folks: he’s homophobic but passes off his thinly-veiled jabs (worded as questions) as curiosity about queer folk, he’s sexist but masks it as speaking to the purported regal nature of black women (peace sista, how you doin queen, et. al), and he definitely thinks that children prefer fast food to freshly prepared food items. three fatal flaws. three counter-revolutionary, so-run-of-the-mill-i-barely-flinch flaws. sigh. so common, and so deeply wrong.
not that i expect an episode of the mclaughlin group out of the barber shop.
not that i anticipate some cheikh anta diop or frantz fanon goings on @ that place.
but damn. i also don’t anticipate feeling attacked for not believing that queer women are such exclusively because of ‘damage’ done by men in their lives (molesters, fucked up boyfriends, rapists, violent/ substance abusing siblings or other family members). i never imagined that trying to have a bit of a conversation w/ the brotha who cuts my hair would make me feel like i’m being mocked or laughed at by virtue of some cat deciding to loudtalk me. the place never felt like home, but i feel like my guard has to be up higher than it usually is. i wouldn’t say it felt like being surrounded by hyenas, but it wasn’t like sitting on a mountain of cushions, either. i have trouble articulating it. maybe that’s just my bullshit sensor working overtime to keep me out of the path of danger. i can’t really call it. but it’s an icky feeling to have. like i’m being written off, misunderstood, or simply humored by someone who doesn’t take the function of human genitalia seriously. ugh.
it’s cool, though. i stood my ground and reminded myself that i only had to pay him and leave.
scratching the surface is showing me more about these dudes than i really care to see at this point.
it’s like stepping on what looks like solid ice and feeling the sheet crack under your weight, and praying you can make it back to the soil before you fall into a lake. i didn’t expect all that. should i expect all that? wouldn’t that be generalizing, then? that’s what i don’t want to do. that’s what bugs me about the conversations i have w/ hetero-identifying, masculine-presenting biological men who aren’t close friends of mine: they decide to apply what they learn in one or two instances to everyone who fits particular criteria. and i hate that.

it’s getting harder for me to treat ppl like individuals, to treat them the way i would want myself or my child(ren) to be treated. it’s a mess.
and my sleepy ass hasn’t even tried to make this rant sound coherent . . .

an addendum:

knowing why they are how they are (why i am the way i am, why anyone functions a certain way) doesn’t make it any better or easier. i just have trouble trying to look past that with some people. so, i’m staying over here in my little womanist corner and building community with like-minded persons. that’s not to say that i’m fully isolated, but i definitely feel like i need to build myself up a bit more before trying to go play w/ the other, less aware kids.

ain’t this some shit?

(fyi — if you want a tour of the hood, you don’t even have to fly to rio for me to take you on a few. philly’s got plenty for your perusal.)

Firm in trouble for slum tour with a twist

RIO DE JANEIRO (Reuters) – A Rio de Janeiro tour company could be in trouble for giving tourists too intimate a view of life in the city’s notorious slums, including photo opportunities with drug gang leaders.

The Brazilian city’s tourism chief said on Monday that the company, Private Tours, could be stripped of its license after a report in Sunday’s Folha de Sao Paulo newspaper that it had set up meetings between traffickers and tourists.

The paper sent a reporter disguised as a foreign tourist on the 4-hour, $55 tour of Rocinha, the city’s largest slum, that included visits to the “bocas de fumo” where traffickers sell drugs to Rio residents.

It said the traffickers told the tourists stories about their time in prison, described the life of a Rio drug dealer, and would then pose for pictures with their guns — as long as their faces were not photographed.

Rio tourism chief Rubem Medina said the firm could lose its license if the story was accurate.

“It’s not necessary to do this kind of tour in Rio; there are a lot of wonderful attractions,” he told Reuters.

Pedro Novak of the Private Tours firm acknowledged that he ran that kind of tour but that “I’m not the only one.”

Several companies have for years offered tours of the city’s more than 600 slums, offering tourists a controversial alternative to the city’s beaches and an insight into the lives of the more than 1 million people who live there.

The slums, or favelas, are largely controlled by heavily armed drug gangs with names such as “Red Command” and “Friends of Friends” that fight each other for control of the lucrative cocaine market.

(Reporting by Stuart Grudgings; Editing by Todd Benson and Vicki Allen)

dope girls.

in streetwise terms, the word dope only means one thing: the illegal, illicit shit. usually coke or heroin. it’s the norm to be a dope girl nowadays. you have a kid or two. job corps really didn’t do for you what you thought it would. that welfare-to-work medical assistant training is fine but the pay caps out at $32K per year depending on where you live — and if you’ve done welfare-to-work, you probably have babies to feed. so what’s a girl to do?
you start pushing weight, or boosting & selling the hot shit on the street. or, you get two jobs — maybe three — so you can handle your business.
i’m not saying that this is what happened to gina hunt & andrea yarrell & their children, but damn if it doesn’t seem that way. i’m not okay w/ this shit. it bothers me to no end that they were targeted for robbery and killed over some weed & money. i’m fucked up about the comments ppl have made as to the whys of these murders. i’m not okay with pointing my finger at any woman who seems to have chosen to push weight (or strip or prostitute or do any of those “bad” things) so she can maintain a fucking roof over her fucking head. i’m not gonna knock anybody because i know for a fact that in the past 2 years i’ve been so desperately broke that i wondered if selling weed was a better idea than dayjobbing it. no lie. & heaven only knows if i’ll find myself there again. who knows if any of us will be in that position? over and over again, ppl are saying it’s all about what the mothers did before that point. my god, is it really like that? you mean to tell me that before the killer shot that he couldn’t have decided to do something else? he couldn’t just walk out? what the fuck? but i guess if their house had been mistaken for a different house, it’d be okay. these girls weren’t euologized as ph.ds or neurosurgeons — cuz rich motherfuckers get into drug shit too — so i’m under the impression that just maybe it wasn’t about the fun or glamor of selling dope. i’m pretty sure that these women knew that it’s not cute out here — it weapons were found in the home, they probably knew what the norm is. there’s no honor among thieves, obviously. shooting babies? for what?
my heart’s broken by shit like this. i understand that murder is par for the course, and i know that folks are transitioning at what seems like an alarming rate. but the way this shit went down really breaks my heart. sometimes i understand why so many folks say “some days it doesn’t pay to wake up black.” apparently, it doesn’t pay to wake up female, mothering, black in this country.

fuck. what is wrong with people? these cowards won’t even admit to who shot whom. pointing fingers and laying blame at others’ feet, like that shit’s gonna help shit. so damaged. so damning.

may these lives be lost not in vain, but to teach valuable lessons to those who hear of the events. may there be rightful, righteous justice visited upon the heads of the killers. may the families of the lost/ loved ones be comforted & edified by the outpouring of sincere support from wherever it comes. it’s not often that a mother or father has to bury a child or even a grandchild — but i pray that those left behind are able to heal.

i don’t even know what else to say. peace to the mothers & children.

i’m very comfortable right now.

my cheap apartment, my ‘pretty damn good for someone with no college degree’ salary, regular paycheck, almost-middle-class privilege, second-hand laptop, clearance-purchased & sweatshop-manufactured clothes, hand-made jewelry, ‘nice black lady’ appearance… i am comfortable. i have the advantage of being perceived as heterosexual, as christian (is it just me or are black folks really into assuming that you’re a worshiper of jesus?), as all those things that the dominant society is/ reflects/ seems to value.

it’s starting to make me really annoyed, though. because i’m not really, like, all the way straight. because i’m nowhere near christian, muslim or jewish . . . because my mom was on public assistance when i was a kid so i know all sides of that fucked up ‘welfare’ system, because i don’t think my vote counts but i do it anyway & hope to change shit from the inside out . . .

it’s so hard biting my tongue sometimes when ppl assume that my silence is the same as agreement. i mean, in a lot of ways it can be — but the fact that i don’t say anything could mean that i don’t wanna waste my time digging into your ass & laying all your shit bare. it might mean that i don’t believe you’ll understand me if i tell you precisely what’s wrong w/ making declarations that all white ppl are inherently corrupt, that all men are terrible human beings, that your moontime is a bad thing . . . man, i don’t motherfuckin know. i’m just . . . not okay w/ a lot of this shit but i’m having this problem. the problem is knowing when opening my mouth is worth it, & furthermore knowing that the person to whom i’m speaking is gonna really get it. example: i think i ranted myself into the beginnings of an asthma attack at work some weeks ago when i told the clerical assistant that making racist jokes isn’t the way to get me to laugh — just b/c you’re black doesn’t mean you get a pass to say nasty shit about other groups of colonized ppl. he didn’t understand shit i was saying until i told him to stop talking to me for the rest of the day. that’s a bit extra, probably very unprofessional, but so is cracking jokes about puerto ricans & then saying it’s okay cuz you’re ‘part rican’ w/ your not-really-kinky hair as validation of such information. fuckwad.

anyway, yeah, so… i’m less comfortable. i don’t believe in letting my position of comfort be a reason not to get involved, or at the very least to give a damn. i’m trying to return to the idea of being an activist. someone once told me that he makes signs for protesters because he doesn’t have the energy or time to attend these events. i nodded & thought to myself, “is that really the same as direct involvement in making shit happen?” of course there’s a lot of noise made at protests, not necessarily a lot of change . . . & these shits are definitely like activist cotillions sometimes. i mean, yay signs. is it even that serious? to feel like part of the bigger ‘movement’ you have to make brown bag lunches for the attendees? i don’t know. but to me, activism isn’t about switching your vigilance on or off. in my head, i’m standing up for folks (myself included) at given opportunities, when i know i’m gonna make the biggest impact. maybe being super opportunistic isn’t ‘correct’ activism but i’ll be damned if i interrupt someone running his mouth in the supermarket about some evil jew empire or whatever the fuck. i don’t care what he thinks while i’m tryna buy some toilet tissue. i’m not yet on my constant watch for bullshit. i may never be. sometimes, a sista just wants to get her tazo tea from starfucks or whole foods & just go the hell home (or to old navy).

this is a complicated thing, this being socially responsible. this being an active activist. but when you’re uncomfortable, you do things to make yourself comfortable. being used to something is not the same as being comfortable. also, it’s impossibly fuckin easy to be an angry blogger, a pissed off ACLU member who doesn’t think they have to help send out all that fucking campaign mail* & it’s impossibly simple to say you don’t want ludacris showing up at your university because he said something fucked up about quote-unquote hoes/ hates on oprah/ hasn’t spoken against darfur enough or at all or whatever the hell y’all are mad at this month. like . . . some of this shit is so small potatoes. or, let’s pick our battles wisely enough that we can create change across the board. so many of the bullshit situations we suffer through are related to one another. maybe that’s what it is. maybe the bigger picture isn’t seen. saving the whales is important because nobody’s looking at what’s behind the danger to them — it’s the same danger that oppressed/ hunted ppl suffer. don’t you think? i guess that the balance must be found before we can really put things into motion. at least, i think so.

it’s 3 in the morning, i shouldn’t even be messin w/ this blog right now.

i’ll write something coherent at another time. not having steady internet is probably gonna cause me to write the most insanely lengthy diatribes & then posting them here. so get ready. i might have a book in me yet.

* i used to work for the ACLU. i had ppl call our offices and demand to know why we ask them to volunteer. “aren’t my donations enough to, like, hire someone?” armchair philanthropist wannabe activist assholes. ugh.

hold the motherfuckin phone! (part 2)

now, i love me some amy winehouse. i do. both of her albums are in constant rotation w/ me — work, home, it doesn’t matter. i love her music. it was such a real treat to see her at the black lily concert (even though ?uestlove screwed the song up — don’t ask me how i know that; i have sources), & if i’m on a youtube kick, i’m likely to look up her videos.

but this makes me sad.

*sigh* i hate to see ppl doing this kind of shit to themselves. i mean, she told perez hilton a different story than what’s largely being reported, & if it’s true, then fine. but that doesn’t mean she shouldn’t be treating herself better, if possible. if homegirl’s cutting herself, that means something’s bothering her. she cancelled the north american tour, so i hope she really takes the time to get shit sorted out. one can only hope, right?

she reminds me so much of this girl i went to high school with…

the willie lynch speech was a hoax.

see manu ampim’s excellent paper regarding such here.

if you wanna email posts of mine, email this one. thanks.

this negro has lost his fucking mind, once & for all.

y’all know i’m talkin about arruh kelly, right? trapped in the closet chapter 13, in just enough time for his kiddie porn charges to go to trial.

the “oh, shit” thing is priceless.

this time, insanity is funny.

(links courtesy of crunk & disorderly)

** addendum**

ladies & gentlemen, i present to you the zoo, in all its ridiculousness. unfortunately this isn’t a whole performance, but y’all get the gist.

i call bullshit on the following:

~ the idea that michael vick is essentially about to be strung up by his balls because of the dog fighting that went on in a house that he owned, but did not live in. it sounds fishy to me. everyone has ignorant ass cousins who do stupid shit & embarrass the family. unfortunately, michael vick’s ignorant ass cousins might land him in jail. seriously, tell me some of y’all out there on the interwebs don’t belive that you’d have every triflin criminal record having relative knocking down your door if you came into some money. i don’t believe that he knew what was going on. how base are this guy’s cousins though, to be dog fighting in the basement of someone else’s house? family or not, if you’re living in a place that you don’t own there’s certain shit you just don’t do. & i’m pretty sure animal torture & causing bloodshed are at least in the top ten of that list. lock those fools up, absolutely . . . but don’t throw the baby out w/ the bathwater. i think vick deserves to have his situation examined more closely. furthermore, if he were as guilty as his kinfolk et al, wouldn’t they all have the same 5-member legal team helping them? i’m just sayin.

~ this bullshit on the def jam isley brothers’ page. you mean to tell me that on july twenty-damn-fifth you ask the internet to pony up support for ron isley in the form of asking for a presidential pardon? do y’all even know who the president IS? he hates black ppl, & from what i recall of his tenure as governor of texas, he’s a fan of jail & the death penalty. y’all are barking up the most wrong of trees. especially at this late date — the sentence begins august 7th. not that the gov’t would bend on that shit. income tax evasion isn’t gonna be an easy rap to beat. plus he’s already been convicted. tsk, tsk. does this mean that is wesley snipes gets a similar sentence that blackamericaweb.com is gonna be leading the charge to help him out? negro PLEASE. ** let us also recall that ron isley is good buddies w/ arruh “piss on you” kelly. why doesn’t r. release one of his patented “i’m in trouble so lemme saing sumfin about god” songs to help mr. biggs? hmmmmmm?

~ lindsay lohan’s proclamation that she was wearing someone else’s pants. a “black kid.” & they had the coke in them. right. also, that she wasn’t driving the car. someone is most likely going to kick her ASS when she gets locked up. let’s get this straight. you were neither driving nor wearing your own goddamn pants. so if she wasn’t completely trashed, we’re supposed to believe that she was sober & wearing someone else’s pants? come on. (i didn’t really have to call bullshit on this one, it’s obvious, but still…)

~ this new thugged out looking alvin & the chipmunks movie. you can’t be fucking serious, dog. you just can’t. jason lee, as freshalina would say, needs more people. i’m disappointed. i like my chipmunks old school & fully 1960’s middle america friendly. attitudinal chipmunks don’t sit well w/ me. are the chipmunks gonna do all the latest negro dance crazes like the soulja boy, the batman, & the jump rope? oh, wait. there’s a song but no video: the chipmunks crank dat jump rope. i am loosely amused, but mostly annoyed because i’m tired of black folks embarrassing themselves in the name of “self-expression.” i’m all for innovation, but this is becoming a lot more ridiculous than it is anything else. besides, the soulja boy pooh clip is 20x funnier.

there’s a new celebrity gossip site for me to drool over:

it’s called what would tyler durden do?
if you haven’t yet seen fight club then you probably have zero understanding of the hilarity of this site’s name. it’s nearly as dope to me as my regular trash blogs, but it’s named after one of the best films in history. love that. what a fresh lil blog!

speaking of fresh, i found this tripe on crunk + disorderly. TERRIBLE. just plain horrible. claims of being a “natural beauty” aside, khia appears to be borderline illiterate & i think maybe she’s got, to quote one of my favorite movies, that nasty women’s disease. i won’t even waste my time linking to her video(s). no way, man. i think i have a tapeworm from even looking at the mess. lol.

anyway

i’m out this wknd,
updates monday!

i want to apologize to you

if you’re a woman whose sexual experiences have been tainted by pornography. if your partner has ever tried to skeet on your toes, give you a pearl necklace, cockslap you or send you into the adjacent room to go fuck his boy(s), i’m sorry. i’ve been watching quite a bit of porn lately, & i can honestly say that these motherfuckers are trippin hard. not the producers or actors so much as the dudes who watch the shit and then decide they wanna be wesley pipes or byron long. like . . . you’re not. so, menfolk:

don’t come to bed w/ any clothes on, unless your partner requests it. short of a colostomy bag or house arrest anklet, you shouldn’t have shit on when you come & get it.

if you’re gonna be mr. shit talker, make it original. don’t ask whose pussy it is. because it’s hers. she is the goddess, plain and gotdamn simple. it might benefit you to say something in a language your partner doesn’t speak. she might like that.

if she doesn’t request it beforehand PLEASE don’t slap, choke, or yank the shit out of your partner’s hair. you could be digging her back out one moment & losing blood the next. watch that shit.

remember that the shit talking doesn’t make up for a lack of stroke, lengthy refractory period, or other wackness.

no, really. take the sunglasses off, too. you look like carl lewis w/ them shits on, & it’s not impressive. nor are the asics. stop that shit, fam.

deep throating is not mandatory. for some women it’s physically impossible. remember that, lest you fuck around and get puked on.

if you only have sex once a month & your partner anticipates each move you make, you not only need to stop watching the same 3 episodes of wesley pipes on alldatazz.com but you need to get away from the porn altogether. you’re boring & are encouraging her to leave you alone.

miami bass isn’t always mood music. neither is really shitty locally produced r & b or hip-hop. sade. luther. esthero. anita baker. minnie riperton. hell, bjork’s post is my shit. just not anything that mentions sittin on daytons. unless, again, she requests it. or y’all happen into screwing while listening to trap muzik.

it’s all fun & games til someone gets splooge in their eye. YOU ARE NOT JAKE STEED. stop that foolishness. if she doesn’t spit or swallow, get a cum rag like you do when you’re all alone. there are products that you can use to that effect. if it’s okay with her, nut where ever you need to. but aiming for the face isn’t always a good idea.

& finally . . .

it’s not sexy to “surprise” a woman with anal.

thank you folks, & good night.