We've all come to expect certain things from one Mrs. Beyonce Giselle Knowles Carter. One: She gon hav some weave in her hair. Two: She might either (a) decend out of tha rafters on invisible wire and hover above tha stage like Tinkerbell at tha nightly Disneyland fireworks show, or (b) ascend up out of tha stage, wind blowing through tha aforementioned weave, stilettos, properly on feet, booming on all these hoes. Three: She's gonna hav more riffs for that ass than an extended guitar solo. Four: Likely she will be dressed like a super hero. None of these are necessarily bad things. That's just how that sista roll.
Well, on Sunday night at tha 9th Annual BET awards, she left tha crime fighting to Keyshia Cole and Monica. Beyonce ain't got nothin' to prove. She got her reformed drug dealer Millionaire-Boo, she done made it, and she ain't yo Karyn White -- I mean superwoman!
*rolls eyes*
Whut you thought this was? A show? You thought Beyonce was here to entertain you with something exciting, energetic, and visually tantalizing? Well she showed you whut was whut, didn't she?
Instead of layin down on a couple yards of tha finest spandex infused fabric that tha Houston swap meet had to offer, and allowing Mama Tina to swaddle her good and tight till she looked like human fruit roll up, Beyonce went for a more elegant look...
A rhinestone encrusted bathing suit made of Cool Whip accented with a skirt constructed of a discarded parasol, tha elderly neighbor lady's sheer curtains and fur trim from tha clearance section at tha local Michael's Arts and Crafts store. Isn't she a vision of beauty?
Nod your head in agreement.
Mmmmhmmm, we all knew Beyonce was lovely, pure as tha driven snow, and as close to divinity as a black woman can get, but whut you didn't kno was that whut you actually witnessed was not a normal Beyonce performance, but an ancient Creole Fertility Ritual that has been passed down from one generation of Dereon women to tha next. Right now, there is a big head, big lipped, lightskinned baby cookin' in Bey-bey's sacred womb. I'm tryin' to tell you. Shawn Corey Matthew Dereon Celestino Knowles Carter, coming soon to an Essence cover near you.
This muthafucka is proof that sadly wisdom is not always acquired with age. I'm really angry with him, and that's an understatement. His aloof manner, and tha arrogant attitude that he's displayed so shortly after tha passing of one of his youngest children just reinforces whut we all already knew... Joe Jackson is a supreme asshole. How has Katherine managed to stay married to him for 60 damn years? I'm so, so sorry that Michael and his siblings had to be born to this man and subjected to his ignorance and abuse.
"How's Mrs. Jackson doing?"
"Oh, she's fine."
NIGGA, SHE AIN'T FINE! HER CHILD IS DEAD!
"How's the family?"
"Oh, they're great."
GREAT? REALLY, JOE??? You sir are a monkey. With wings.
This nigga said that "we lost an icon". No, Joe... tha public lost an icon. You lost your son! Nigga, does that mean anything to you?
Apparently not.
At tha very least, he deserves a swift kick in tha ass, but since I can't giv him one, I'll just name him as this week's winner of tha Nigga Please Award and continue to pray for tha rest of tha Jackson family.
Everybody... and I mean EVERYBODY is writing about Michael Jackson. Well, as you already kno, I ain't everybody, however I felt tha need to say a little somethin' about that brutha Mike, since honestly I think he is one of tha main reasons I love music and dance tha way I do. In case you don't kno, it's a deep, unhealthy, obsessive kind of love... tha kind tha involves stalking. I'm not about to giv you a discography, a summary of his career, talk shit about him, or hype him up, cause you've already had all of those experiences, I'm sure.
All I wanna say is that he is very literally one of my first memories. I can specifically remember being 2 years old, hearing Billie Jean on tha radio and seeing tha video and just being in awe. I used to walk down tha street with my mother and wonder why tha sidewalk wasn't lighting up for me like it did for MJ. I was tha baby in my family with older cousins and God-Brothers and Sisters and they would terrorize me by making me watch tha Thriller video. I saw Mike Jack do tha Moonwalk on Motown 25. When Moonwalker came out, I watched that movie at least once a day for about a month. When the Remember the Time video premiered after In Living Color, everybody with electricity and a working TV watched it and came to school tha next day with tha song memorized and dance steps down. And all tha while, I knew that all of this music, all of this magic, all of this joy belonged to me and my generation.
I want to thank Michael Jackson for befriending us, for inspiring us, entertaining us, amazing us, and making us smile. For now, that is all I hav to say. My prayers are with his siblings and mother, and everyone who knew him personally and loved him, not just as an icon, but as a family member and friend.
Yes, please cut all tha way up and don't you dare stop! I want to go to tha church that this choir sings at. Admittedly, I was a little annoyed initially when some of them were clapping on tha down beat (you're in a choir, at tha minimum I'mma need you to kno when to clap), but once they got it together, I was able to drop down low and sweep tha flo' with it... in tha most biblical sense, of course.
*insert mischievous giggles here*
I need to experience this level of audacious ridiculum in Gospel form as oft as possible. And I especially want to thank tha tiny soprano in tha striped shirt and tha alto sista in tha back with tha real hair down to her booty. I got saved watching this video.
I decided that my project for tha summer will be to get a date with Lil' C from So You Think You Can Dance. Originally, I was gonna start this blog post off by saying that he could be "Baby-Boo" potential, but after thinking about it, I figured that might not be likely, as we probably would end up hating each other shortly after meeting. Pessimistic, I kno... but, hey... that's usually tha way it turns out. So I figured I would just hav a very minimum goal... one that didn't hav any expectations attached to it and would be fairly easy to fulfill. He's in LA. I'm in LA. He likes big words. So do I. You see how this is working already?
On tha opposite end, there are things that could potentially be disastrous to our "relationship": He's an Aquarius. I'm a Pisces. I'm sane. He's probably not. I'm 28. He's 26. Eeeeek! This is why I'm just taking it one step at a time.
A date.
I'm fond of this brutha. He be puttin his tie on (with a hat, worn backward, as it should be) and sittin' on tha panel with tha white people, holdin' his own, while still maintaining a certain level of "hood" that I appreciate. He's cute, but not in an overly cute way. He's verbose... in an overly complicated way. In tha last episode of So You Think You Can Dance he critiqued tha dancers with phrases such as, "There's a certain divinity to your movement," and, "I believe that tha primary focus of all obstacles is to induce labor so that progression can be born."
LOVE IT. Every convoluted bit.
Folks be tryin to act like they don't kno whut he's talkin about. Shut tha hell up! Stop lookin' confused! You kno whut he's sayin!
But back to whut I'm sayin. I'm workin' on this date. Now, I kno for a fact that it is very likely that I kno several people that could probably put me in contact with him. Actually, let me re-phrase that... Put him in contact with me. I'm old fashioned like that. This brutha need to call me, ask me out on a date, come pick me up, and take me for a stroll through tha park where we will try to one up each other with our use of 4 syllable words, I will twirl my parisol, and he may lay his coat over a puddle for me to walk across.
Let's make this happen people. I'm counting on you.
If you've seen this man (tha black one, not tha old British guy), you need to direct him to me, in an expeditious manner (that means quickly). Thank you.
A few weeks back when I posted a blog expressing that I was confused and shocked that a woman had had a child with Mike Tyson, a few folks took it upon themselves to be bothered and offended. In light of tha fact that his 4-year-old daughter had just died tragically, I guess I can understand how they might feel some kind of way, but really, I don't kno if there's any "appropriate amount of time" that must pass before one tells tha truth. Tha situation was brought to my attention, I called it like I saw it, and that was that. Tha point I was making had little if anything at all to do with tha child and everything to do with women consistently making bad choices, selecting terrible mates/boyfriends/husbands, and fathers for their children.
I don't kno about you, but I'm tired of hearing tales of domestic violence, about women being brutally slain my their abusive men, or even worse, reading articles about how a crazy boyfriend with a history of questionable and/or violent behavior has abused or murdered an innocent child. Women are knowingly chosing these men over and over again and bringing them into their homes and around their children! Some woman, who was fully aware of Mike Tyson's instability opted to hav a relationship and pro-create with him. Fuck outrage about my blog... where's tha outrage about all of this violence and these stupid decisions?
Well, unfortunately, there isn't much. According to someone, my blog was "a low blow..." which makes me wonder, whut do you call it when a Heavy Weight Champ is habitually whoopin a woman's ass and raping her? Apparently it's fine, and I shouldn't hav anything to say about it. Supposedly, according to one person, I could've "waited like 6 weeks," before writing about it. Well, outraged commenter... it's funny you should say that, because apparently, Mike Tyson himself couldn't even wait that long before he decided to up and get married.
2 short weeks after his baby girl dies, he's jumpin' tha broom in Vegas? Once again, I'm confused. However, I should probably really stop trying to understand anything pertaining to this man.
It is a shame and should be a crime to protect abusers and not hold people accountable for their actions. If he needs help, then he should go get it. I encourage him and any and everyone on a path to destruction to take a detour and try to make themselves and their lives better. I sincerely hope (though I seriously doubt) that he finds some type of happiness and peace in this new marriage and that they are able to maintain a healthy relationship that is free of abuse. However, old habits don't just lay down and die, and for that reason, I feel a Nigga Please Award comin on.
In tha same spirit of last week's Nigga Please Award, this one is not gonna go out to tha man in tha midst of these shinanigans (though, he too should be hog-tied), but to tha woman. Lakiha Spicer, this is for you! Girl, you are truly cuttin' up, not only because you're fuckin' with Killer Mike, but because you thought it was appropriate to exchange vows so soon after tha death of his child. You are 32-years-old, and therefore way too advanced in age not to hav better judgement.
I pray that tha Lord be with this woman, help her to mature and grow wise, protect her from Tyson, and her own foolish self as well. I don't want them to hav any kids, I want her to leave (or take an aluminum bat to his head) tha first time (if ever) he hits her, and really, that's all I hav left to say for now. However, on tha subject of domestic abuse and violence against women and children, I can't, won't, and don't even kno how to stop talking (or writing) about it. When I don't hav to hear about it or see it anymore, that's when I'll shut up.
As promised in a prior blog entry, I'm just gonna take this little bit of time to briefly update ya'll on whut I was doing tha last part of April and all of May. It seems that I suddenly disappeared into a vortex of some sort, without explanation, and honestly, that's just tacky. You and I were gettin' close. I was posting everyday, and our future together was lookin pretty bright. Despite all kinds of mess and low key chaos in my personal life, I was faithfully writing and sharing my poem a day and doing quite well, if I must say so, myself. And then, whut I do? Just up and leave, that's whut I did! Shame on me.
Please accept my most sincere apologies.
*sigh*
This is whut happened.
See, I was writing my little poems everyday and feeling proud. I stayed on top of it for a good long while, but it was only a matter of time before my full time job, Super-Aunt duties, and Rock star Poet obligations caught up to me. Round about day #23, after having to drive back and forth to San Diego (2 hours each way) 2 times in one week, and then competing in a Final Slam to make tha Empire Mindstate Slam Team, I fell behind. After a few days, there was no coming back, and so I just put down my pen, picked up a white flag, and solemnly waved it to and fro. This is not something I'm proud of, but when it comes to sleeping versus finishing a poem... ummmmmmm... precious sleep, please.
So, I made tha Slam Team...
DUH!
Then I went to tha East Coast with tha intention of visiting Pony Jones and my relatives.
Of course, I didn't see any of these people... however, whut I did manage to do was catch a cold, completely lose my voice, Boom on hoes in silence, hear a whole lotta poems at tha Nuyorican and Bowery Poetry Club, and hang out with these folks, who were pretty damn cool...
Then, I returned to my beloved LA, where I had tha pleasure of experiencing a little bit of Earth rockin' and a whole lotta dumb weather. In tha weeks that followed my return, I completely lost my mind and cut all my hair off.
...And here we are. I am currently writing feverishly and working with my team to get ready for this year's National Poetry Slam. Tomorrow night, we will be at Da Poetry Lounge for tha Battle for LA. We hav a book for sale that you should buy, 'cause it's full of good poems and only costs $10. From now until August, we'll be all over Southern Cali, poetizing and slamming away and you should definitely come out and see us... but mostly come see me, cause, well I'm somethin' to see, ain't I?
Monday, my boss and I were talking about this episode of Oprah that she had seen that had totally freaked her out -- something about some flesh eating bacteria. Basically, there's this rapidly spreading strain of bactera called MRSA (which stands for Methicillin-resistant staphylococcus aureus). Its resistant to commonly prescribed antibiotics and kills more people every year than AIDS. If you get a cut and it gets infected with this bacteria and it goes untreated it can destroy your muscles and spread to your organs. Scary shit.
As we were talking about it, I brought up tha Swine Flu and all these other diseases and whut not that honestly can probably be prevented and in most cases avoided or contained by simply washing your hands. This led to a recent observation that I've been making in tha Ladies Restroom of tha building that I work in. There are alot of hoes that ain't washin their damn hands! I've been in tha stall more than once very recently and heard women come and go and either not go to tha sink at all, or do that "I'mma run tha water for literally 3 seconds" bullshit and exit tha restroom. Forreal? You WASHED your hands in that 3 seconds? Did you even touch tha water? NASTY.
Ladies, wash your hands!... especially if you've just handled any business that involved your vagina and/or ass! Anything less than hot water and soap for a minimum of 30 seconds before leaving tha restroom is UNACCEPTABLE! If I catch you leavin' a public restroom without gettin familiar with some basic hygiene and common courtesy, I might hav to bring Wayne Brady into this... and nobody wants that. Real talk, I don't want your urine residue or coochie juice on tha door knob I'm about to touch!
Granted, I may be a person that washes my hands more often than tha average individual and I think it has to do with my cosmetology background. In school, they stressed tha importance of disinfecting combs and other utensils, keeping your work area clean, and always washing your hands between clients or after handling equipment. As a matter of fact, we were instructed to just wash our hands during our State Board Exam if we were ever nervous or at a loss as to whut to do next. And I find myself doing this in real life. If I need to think, I just stand at a sink and wash my hands. Its actually a good way to clear your head... but aside from that, it's just a good habit. Folks that kno me kno I KEEP some antibacterial soap at my sinks! I DO NOT PLAY!
But back to tha nasty hoes that ain't washin their hands. There's this one girl that works in my building that I see pretty much every day. I don't kno her name or whut she does and up until this point, I've only ever noticed that she's kinda thick for a white girl and always has on either Seven or True Religion Jeans. That's it. That's all I kno about this chick. Well, a couple of weeks ago, I was in tha restroom in one of tha stalls and she flushed tha toilet in tha stall next to mine and walked over to tha sink. I could see it was her through tha space between tha door to my stall and tha wall. No sooner than she turned on tha water, she turned it off and then she proceeded out of tha restroom. DIDN'T WASH HER HANDS! A couple of days later, tha same thing happened with tha same girl. TRIFLIN'!
Folks, I can't make this up... tha other day, I was coming from tha restroom, walking down tha hall back to my office suite and she came walking into tha building from tha parking lot with two of her co-workers. I gather they were talking about some cupcakes she made or somethin, cause one of tha guys was like, "You made those from scratch?" and she was all proud and said somethin' like, "Yeah! Nothin out of tha box. I sifted tha sugar and everything!"
I was DYING!!!
"Cupcakes from scratch"?... as in scratching yo dirty ass???
I wanted to scream, "NOOOOO! DON'T EVER EAT ANYTHING THIS TROLLOP MAKES! SHE DON'T WASH HER HANDS! UGGGGH!"
But, I just threw up in my mouth a little, hid my disgust with a smirk, and went on to my office.
*laughter*
Nasty!
Gutter butt!
So now, every time I see her, all I can think is, "That's tha girl that don't wash her hands." That's even how I refer to her when my co-workers and I are talking about whut all is going on in tha building. Sad.
*sigh* This was long. Tha point (that I'm sure you've already extracted) is: WASH YOUR HANDS! Also, don't shake hands with tha thick white girl in Seven Jeans... and don't eat her cupcakes, either. You've been warned.
Given tha subject of this Youtube video, tha reciepient of this week's Nigga Please Award might be a bit of a surprise for you, but then again, if you've learned anything about me in all this time, it really shouldn't be.
Yes, this ignorant fool got 21 kids. However, really I ain't lookin at him crazy. Tha ones that need to be tied to a tree and flogged within an inch of their lives are these dumb women. And so, this weeks Nigga Please Award goes to tha trollops that laid down with this negro (sometimes more than once) and made more babies with him, knowing good and damn well he had a tribe of children. Men can't do whut women don't allow. Once those of us with vaginas learn this simple truth, tha World will instantly become a better place.
I normally don't publish two posts in one day, but this here is breaking news of tha most important kind: NEW MUSIC! And whut makes it even better is that it's Jay-Z (and if you don't kno how I feel about that brutha... then you need to get familiar).
OH JAY!
And whut's funny is that earlier today, I was just thinkin about how much I love him and need to dedicate a post to him. See how tha Lord just works things right on out!
Apparently, HOT 97 just played Death of Autotune not even a full hour ago. YUMMY GOODNESS! Every bit of it. I'm all over it, boys and girls. I think I've listened to it about 27 times. I know tha words.
And he still gonna get another post from me, cause he's just that fuckin' dope. Now, excuse me while I run around my livingroom chanting, "HO-VA! HO-VA! HO-VA!" for tha next 30 minutes or so.
Until a couple of nights ago, I had never actually seen Late Night with Jimmy Fallon with my own two baby browns. I had only heard that my band aka The Roots were providing tha music, and I thought it could be a tragic disaster... or possibly tha coolest thing to ever happen to white insomniacs all over tha country. I wasn't all tha way with it, but admittedly I wasn't 100% opposed, acknowledging that them bruthas are gettin old, touring ain't necessarily tha life, and yet, bills are constant and demand payment.
Fast forward to Monday night. I watched in horror as The Roots did a bit called "Slow Jam the News", where Black Thought (who, I say is one of tha illest, most underrated emcees EVER! Step up and debate me on this! I will Batman your ass!) sang about California's budget crisis (ugh!) while Jimmy Fallon interjected in a supposedly sultry tone with innuendo laden "humor"... none of which was funny. And all night, he kept referring to Questlove and Black Thought as "Amir" and "Tariq". I know those are their actual names, and maybe I'm just being sensitive because of my deep and abiding love for The Roots, but it felt a little disrespectful. When Jimmy Fallon or any of tha guests would refer to The Roots, it always felt slightly patronizing. Of course, I can't really give a lot of details about tha episode I watched nor am I really qualified to critique it, since at about 10 minutes into tha show I started booing loudly, throwing anything within arm's reach at tha TV, and frantically tweeting and texting about how much I hated whut I was seeing.
I know, I know. You don't have to tell me. As long as those of us who love Hip Hop are still alive, Hip Hop lives...yeah. I got that. However, you must understand... tha past few years have been a little too much for my fragile (though enduring) spirit to take. First, Lil Wayne proclaims himself to be "The Greatest Rapper Alive" (when plenty of other rappers that are clearly better than him ain't laid down in their graves yet) and, to my shock and great dismay, people who are not hearing impaired agree. Then, whut I personally consider to be the greatest collective sonic force in tha Hip Hop genre, The Roots, end up as a corny house band on a bland ass late night talk show. Maybe it's a bit of a stretch to say that Hip Hop is dead, but if it isn't yet, surely it's on it's way.
Monday morning, I was watching The Today Show, which is basically whut I do every morning during tha week, cause Matt Lauer is tha muthafuckin man. It just so happened that on this particular Monday morning, the families of two American Journalists that are currently being held in North Korea were on tha show being interviewed. Apparently Laura Ling and Euna Lee were arrested in North Korea on March 17th and are charged with crossing the North Korean border from China along with other unspecified "hostile acts." They go to trial tomorrow and of course, just like their families and so many others that are familiar with this incident, I am hoping that these women will soon be released and allowed to come back home.
As a side point, Laura Ling is sister to Lisa Ling, who also is a reporter, whom I enjoy very much. You may remember she had a brief stint on The View or perhaps you're familiar with her appearances on Oprah. None of this is relevant to whut tha actual point of why I'm writing this blog, but...whutever.
Okay, on to my observation.
Here are tha families of tha imprisoned women...
Now... notice tha two white men on tha back row? Yes? You may (or may not, depending on how you've been socialized) be surprised to find out that those are the women's husbands. Surprise, surprise! Two Asian women are married to White men!
And with that observation I thought, "Wow, black women aren't tha only ones who are hated by tha opposite sex of their racial/ethnic group and often deserted for tha prospect of white booty!" ...and at once, I felt irrevocably bonded to Asian men all over tha World.
You kno how it is when a good thing has run it's course... Let's use a relationship for an example. Even if it's time to move on and you about to giv that former special someone their walking papers, it doesn't mean that tha good times you had weren't good. And sometimes, you just want one last kiss before you say, "Goodbye."
Well, last week's Pretty Ricky debacle was a good time, indeed. I don't think I've laughed that hard this entire year. And tha giggles didn't stop once tha video did! My friends and I (shout outs to Chas and Ebony Janice) engaged in hours of hilarious conversation with laughs that no doubt added a couple years to our lives and definitely got our abs right and tight for tha summer. I want to personally thank "Sexy Spec" for that none sense. Sadly, it's a new week and therefore time to move on to new foolishness, but I can't resist, so here's one for tha road. I hope it's as good for you as it was for me.
