Stop it. Right now.

I get all of my news from Facebook status updates (lol), which of course I then go and research for myself.  Yesterday, I caught wind via a friend’s update of the fact that Miss Argentina, Solange Magnano (38), died while undergoing buttock implant surgery.  A lot of the comments I saw online have been criticizing the procedure and people who decide to get them, saying they should work with what they have and so on and so forth.  In Ms. Magnano’s case, with all due respect, the woman’s whole career was based around the fact that the whole world considered her a stunna.  You probably don’t have to be anything special to get awarded Miss Wyoming, but to beat out an entire country and Argentina at that, you have to be doing something right.  The media had reported that she had undergone other surgeries and friends said she was concerned with aging and the effects childbirth had on her body, though, so I won’t go so far as to say “oh, she should have jsut been happy with how she looked”.  You never know what people go through when they get naked and look at themselves or as they lose some of their former glory.  I say if you can afford it and can do it safely, do you…just don’t do you in South America…or in any flyover states.  LA or New York, period.  No Dr. Nick Rivieras.

That being said, I believe booty implants are necessary in many cases.  It’s 2009…if you resemble a 13-year-old boy body-wise as a grown woman and have the money to get yourself some synthetic “gifts”, why would you not?  If you’re a white chick and weren’t naturally blessed with a “whooty”, but have an affinity for the brothas, by all means enahnce.  Add a Kate Gosselin/Envyi from KP & Envyi haircut and you’re in there like swimwear. 

Aubrey O'Day of Danity Kane fame and her alleged "whooty"

I’ve seen the fake booty inserts (thanks, Tyra for exposing this nonsense to the world at large) and buying and sporting these is highly ill-advised.  I think any man that brings a woman home only to find that she has a detachable booty is warranted to throw some ‘bows.  You’re now a complete stranger.  As far as he knows, he’s picking up Kim Kardashian, not Kirsten Dunst.  If you’re going to fake it because you can’t make it, at least save up so you can really do it!  Personally, I doubt that fake booty feels anything like the real thing, but if you need to normalize your frame by going under the knife and you’re willing to take the risks associated and shell out the necessary duckets, nobody should hate on you for it.

If you remember my previous post about how Beyonce Knowles must be stopped, you know that Beyonce is giving way too much unwarranted overconfidence to thousands of devoted fans, as evidenced by the clusterf*ck of “Single Ladies” videos on YouTube in people who shouldn’t even be in the same room as a unitard.  On the flipside of that, there are a select few women (and some closeted males…aka ol’ Pretty-Ricky-G-string-lookin’-boys) who still hate on the chick.  Let me be clear…you will not catch me rockin’ to any of B’s albums on my iPod.  Not that she can’t sing or that her music isn’t good or that I’m just too damn gangsta for it; it just doesn’t appeal to me as a grown-a** man (check your playlists, fellas).  However, I give her mad props for putting the whole R&B/pop music game in a headlock, marryin’ “up”, and staying the f*ck off TMZ, for Christ’s sake. 

In my humble opinion, nothing tells you how insecure a woman is than her feelings toward Beyonce.  While the majority will just go ahead and give her props, there are still a handful who will still go so far as to pontificate on the many failings of Beyonce.  A few months ago, as I was ragging on subpar sister Solange’s George Washington Carver haircut, an angry Solange fan commented on the post, going on and on about how Solange writes for Beyonce and sings better (lol) and so on and so forth.  I was talking about hair and wasn’t really comparing the two sisters, but the Beyonce-hate was in full effect.  Please detach the Haterade I.V. from your arm before you OD.  She doesn’t write her own music allegedly…who does, really, and if they claim to, what proof do you have?  So she wears a weave…who doesn’t?  Keep it 100.

Quite simply, some people just don’t know what to do with B.  They can deal with Ashanti because she kind of resembles a snapping turtle…oh, and she also makes crappy music.  They can deal with Mariah because she dresses like 10 pounds of sh*t in a 10 ounce bag…and because she’s married to Nick Cannon.  They can deal with Whitney because…you get the point.  Haters can’t deal when they’re not given anything to hate on specifically, so they just pretend things are wack that really aren’t.  The moral of the story is this…ladies, men like a confident woman who can point out when another chick is doin’ the damn thang.  So you won’t indulge our Booty Talk-inspired girl-on-girl fetishes…we’ve come to terms with this.  Next best thing is simply giving props where they are due.

Black love...hell yes!

Usually when I endorse a project, it’s because it came from someone I know who’s doing their thing.  Nothing like free marketing on the hook-up.  That being said, regardless of whether I know someone or not, I never endorse wack sh*t.  I saw a film this weekend called Medicine For Melancholy which at first didn’t seem like anything I would be interested in…kind of a romance, kind of emo, very indie.  My wife got it on Netflix and I said why not?  The more I watched it, however, I realized that this film and others like it are what Black America needs to be supporting.  Period.

While we love to b*tch and moan about how there are no positive Black characters on TV or in movies, yet we feel that the easiest way to go about acting upon that preference is to boycott BET or talk about how Tyler Perry movies ain’t worth a damn (come on…at least give my man a half a damn).  Sorry, geniuses, but all that does is tell the mainstream media that Black viewers do not support shows that feature them or projects by their own and inform the Hollywood bigwigs that investing in Black projects may not be profitable.  The reason so many projects do not get made is because no studio is willing to take the risk to back them financially.  Thus, we have to support our indie projects in addition to everything else.

I’m glad director and writer Barry Jenkins took a chance and got this film made.  Medicine for Melancholy had beautiful cinematography, a very realistic premise and script, and a pair of capable actors (Wyatt Cenac of The Daily Show fame and Tracey Heggins) with palpable chemistry who actually seemed like people I might actually know and hang out with, not just people I might run into at the local check cashing spot, whom I love just the same but I could use a change of pace on occasion.  I will not steer you wrong, folks…SUPPORT THIS FILM!  And once you see it, if you appreciated it, pass it or news of it along to someone else who will appreciate it too.

So this…this is what they want, huh?  “Have a baby by me, baby, be a millionaire”?  This is your hook?  Thanks, Fif.  The community definitely needed  that.  Sidenote…how many tubes of lip balm do you think need to be present to please Ne-Yo on a video set?  Just sayin’…

So who just wakes up one day and decides to become Dan Lauria from Wonder Years?

You need your a** beat.  I mean…I’m Black and you were blacker than me, skin-wise.  Now it looks like you’re trying to not only pass the brown-paper bag test, but also the manila-folder test, the french vanilla test, the the pina colada-flavored Slushee test, I could go on.  I know you speak Spanish and come from the Dominican Republic…you don’t speak “jive” and come from Detroit.  I know you identify more with Goya products than Lawry’s Seasoning Salt.  I know that to you, Dominican Lou is a blood relative and not a Tracy Morgan character.  All that is cool, but…skin rejuvenation?  You’re not even the first person to try and pull of this foolishness.  And to act surprised about the reaction?  Racial issues aside, you look like the living dead! 

Dominican Lou's take on it: "I don't know Papi!"

This is some old school self-hate sh*t.  Back before we had BET and JET Beauty of the Week, before Kiki Shepard and Tyler Perry movies.  Before we had a plethora of good-looking Black people in the public eye, on the big screen and on TV, in all their beige, caramel, chocolate, and blue-black glory.  Naps and perms, weaves and dreads.  It’s all beautiful.  So why in 2009 is Sammy Sosa (without the vitiligo excuse) brightening his skin?  Mental slavery…some folk just don’t wanna be free.

And yes, we know you’re Spanish-Black and all, but… 

No doubt in my mind that this BBQ spot (Mr. Spriggs) is the sh*t in Oklahoma City, solely based on the song.  I love this!  Now I want a styrofoam box with some beef brisket, links, ‘tater salad, and that delicious wheat bread that comes with any real BBQ meal…you know, half-soggy from barbecue sauce and what-not.  Shout-out to Everett & Jones BBQ in the Bay Area, CA, Kenny’s BBQ in D.C. and Virgil’s in NYC.  Y’all can front if you like, but if I die from eating BBQ, then I’ll go out with a smile on my face.

Something that jumped out at me: in looking for Kenny’s BBQ in DC online, I found a review site which included the following review:

“The food is great and quick. If you live on the NE side of Capitol Hil it’s the perfect place to pick up dinner on the way home. Absent perfect weather (during which you can avail yourself of the patio) I would recommend eating at home as there is not much space and some of the patrons coming through might best be described as ‘rough around the edges’ and may not make the best dinner companions.”

This was from somebody named “Bill”.  Interesting.  I can’t get totally mad because there are some rough folks in DC in general.  But like they say, if you’re scared, go to church.  We don’t need your business.  The spot itself is a little rough and I’d rather eat in the comfort of my own home as opposed to most places, but personally, if I can’t feel safe around my own people, who can I feel safe around?  Oh, that’s right…yuppies.  To Bill, if you want BBQ and soul food without the Negroes, you need to be trying to track down Paula Deen.

Damn, I miss the Bay. Everett & Jones BBQ...no talking, just eating.

Seriously?

I completely understand and sympathize with all of the hoopla surrounding our first African-American president, believe me.  I was wildin’ out on U Street in DC with everyone else on Election Night too.  I also understand some people’s need to wear their political affiliations and ideas proudly on the clothes they wear.  No beef there.  The beef is that some of this stuff is getting a little bit worse for wear.  It’s been a year!  There’s a reason you only see those Essence Festival ‘98 T-shirts when it’s time to mow the lawn or wax the car…these items have a shelf life that is considerably shorter than anything you would buy in your local department store…or for that matter, anything you would buy indoors. 

Oh yes...yes they did.

Mitchell Rose is a former professional boxer known for knocking out Butterbean at Madison Square back in ‘95.  He’s also known for a brawl with Mike Tyson at a club called Sugarhill in Brooklyn which resulted in a $66M lawsuit (what is Mike’s issue with dudes named “Mitch”?).  In 2001, he tried to sue Jay-Z for stealing his rap style after handing Hova his demo tape.  Mitch also wrote an autobiography entitled Mike Tyson Tried To Kill My Daddy.  You get the picture.  Now apparently the brotha is back with the Obama sneaker.  These joints would be guaranteed to get you laughed out of your borough.  On his popular YouTube series, hip-hop personality Ed Lover ridiculed the shoe and even brought in Wu-Tang member Ghostface Killah to comment on these patent leather Air Debacles.  Mitch apparently felt some kind of way about it.  Actually, he saw fit to make not one but two videos.  Be prepared for absolute lunacy.

It's alright...we know sistas weren't checking for anybody this corny anyway.

I remember back when I worked in wardrobe consulting, I was training an incoming saleswoman who happened to be a relatively young, attractive, redheaded white woman.  I wasn’t into her at all, but I thought it was interesting to see the reactions from people when we would travel through D.C. going from one appointment to the next.  White dudes were looking at me like it was 1952 assuming we were together and sistas didn’t even care about hiding it; they were looking at me like I had stabbed their first cousin.  It being D.C., I got mentally smacked with a Crown Royal bag full of nickels every couple of blocks.  I started wondering if the reaction from the sistas was only as bad as it was because I looked like I might read books for leisure and was wearing a custom-tailored suit at the time.  Would it be the same if I had on a Fubu track suit, ankle weights and flip-flops?  If I was a short guy?  If I was as corny as Tiger Woods?

I wonder what the statistic is for Black men with "natural" hairstyles crossing over...do they do this before or after? Is Kelly going to have to learn to twist up his new-growth? Will they ever sell Sta-Sof-Fro at Whole Foods? So many questions.

I can’t log in to Facebook without reading a status update or seeing links to articles about sistas giving up on the brothas, so this post has been in the pipeline for a minute.  Interestingly enough, you don’t see brothas doing the same thing, dissing the sistas.  No real brothas anyway.  And when I say “real”, I mean self-respecting brothas who don’t suffer from deep-seated self-loathing and identity crises.  Sistas who pontificate on how there are no good Black men amuse me because assuming there is something wrong with every Black man based on your experiences with Andre, Carlo, and Ty is utterly ridiculous.  And to also assume that there can’t possibly be something wrong with some of y’all is even more ridiculous.  Don’t like the fish?  Change your lure.  The fish are gonna do them regardless.

Quite simply, I think most brothas understand that what one sista does or even what 100 sistas have done does not define what all sistas will do.  Such is life.  And even with the rise of the “whooty”, we still love that nat’rah Black derriere in all its splendor.  Let those lames limit themselves to watery Kool-Aid (or worst-case scenario Crystal Light), going to see Kate Hudson movies in the theater (even if they’re single, said lames will attend these movies just to pick up their type), and dating women who may think that during sex when a man says “throw it back” he’s talking about a vintage jersey.  Or asking her to throw back her blonde tresses.  I’m cool.

Now I’m not going to say I have never in life been attracted to any white women ever…just the only ones that have caught my eye had distinctively Negroid qualities (i.e.: a ”whooty”) and I’ve never actually dated a white chick (and I went to high school in the suburbs…there were only like 5 sistas worth looking at and I didn’t play basketball, so you do the math).  Understand that sometimes I even need to get away from Negroes for a minute and hit up a Whole Foods or sit through an episode of The Hills (no Blacks, Mexicans or even gays in all of LA, huh?  The audacity).  I’ve heard the arguments that love has no color and woopty-woop, but with Black people, I’ve got to say “c’mon son!” (word to Ed Lover).  You know damn well it matters in so many ways.  Like I’ve said before, I have no beef with people who are open to it and just happen upon a white person that they fall in love with.  Do you.  However, nothing turns my stomach more than one of our own who has put their foot down and decided they will no longer date people who look like them.  Kill yourselves.  Sorry.  Not really, though.  Self-hate is a disease.  Please don’t spread that ignorance to your kids.

And sistas…stop “threatening” to cross over for good.  Just go already.  Don’t talk about it, be about it.  There is only one Barack Obama and only one Will Smith…and we don’t know what kinda foul sh*t is going on behind closed doors.  Nobody in the real world is trying to be like these brothas.  Berating Black men due to the few you have dated in your narrow-a** lane is just as bad as white people assuming off top that all Black people know how to cook up a mean batch of crack (just to keep it real, I do know how, thanks to Raekwon and Young Jeezy…gotta be ready in case B-Rock doesn’t deliver us good folk out of this recession).  Giving up on brothas is giving up on yourself and the same for Black men giving up the sistas.  I’m not saying to settle, but what can you have faith in if you don’t have faith in your own people?

Okay, for 2010, can we all commit to following the principle that the male perm is not a jail-friendly hairstyle?  If you have one, just stay out of jail.  Nobody wants to see you looking like Thing 1 and Thing 2 from the Dr. Suess books.  Speaking of which, how long is James Brown’s rap sheet?  Is DMX trying to break his record?  Messin’ with them white girls, I guess…or that white girl (*cocaine*).

James looks like he's fresh off a performance...not the worst thing I've ever seen.

This right here? This IS the worst thing I've ever seen. James looks like Darnell's mama from up the block with the full 5:00 shadow who chain-smokes Virginia Slims on her porch all day.

Um...Buffalo Soldier?

So I just heard that terrible excuse for a song “Papers” by Usher.  I know R&B singers think we want them to chronicle their lives for us and “keep it real” on every song, but I think I’m okay on all that.  Just record something for the club, something for that late night creep and a few ballads for the chicks about normal stuff.  Divorce papers?  Anti-sexy.  Your testimony about how you went and proposed to a hair-doin’ chick that already had three babies by two other cats?  I may vomit.

Actual Line: “To all my fellas up in here, if you had enough and you’re ready to sign say…”

I’m not saying anything.  Ursher, that was YOU, playboy.  If another cat already had two by her and didn’t say “Okay let’s work it out for the kids”, then I think I’d keep my million-dollar joy juice to myself, not to mention the wedding ring.  Now it’s divorce, so let’s see what the damage gon’ be…

I hate that I even know any of this, though, to be honest.  I can’t even listen to this dude’s music anymore.

I’ve discovered the major difference between old school celebrity and modern celebrity.  We know way too damn much about every person since 2000 who has ever picked up a mic, jumped in front of a camera, or did anything publicly at all, including just being the offspring of somebody who did something.  Whereas before the Internet, people never really paid attention to the Enquirer or took gossip rags seriously, you’ve got Bossip and TMZ just ruining lives and hyping the BS 24-7.  Sure, back in the day, celebs damn near went crazy behind the scenes.  Rock Hudson, Phyllis Hyman, the list goes on and respect due.  I think today, though, celebs are more over-exposed than a Chi-town ho in the wintertime.  Look at Beyonce and Jay…you never hear anything about what’s going on with them.  Far as we know, they’re the Black Cleavers and never fight or fall out.  That’s how it should be.

Love this couple. Why? Because I don't know a damn thing about them for real.

 Back in the day, I didn’t know anything about celebrities.  Mr. T was just B.A. Baracus.  Jasmine Guy was just Whitley Gilbert.  Nowadays, a conversation between my wife and I abotu an actress goes like this:

A: “You know that’s Diane Lane right?”

Me: (blank stare)

A: “Married to Josh Brolin…”

Me: (blank stare)

A: “Josh Brolin…Brand from the Goonies?”

Me: “Word, hell yeah! The Goonies, that’s what’s up, my man…”

A: “But you still don’t know who Diane Lane is?”

Me: “She ever make anything that would at all concern [ninjas]?”

A: “Good point…maybe if you consider Hardball…”

Me: (“stop it” face)

Basically, I choose not to retain any information about actors beyond the roles they play on film or TV.  It just ruins everything.  I thought Payback was a dope movie and Mel Gibson got street cred from me the same way Rob Deniro gets undue street cred for playing a mobster 17 times.  Then, Mel went and got arrested talking some craziness.  Bruce Willis was the man after Die Hard, but after the Demi/Ashton thing…would John McClane let that fly?  I don’t think so.  Somebody woulda got punked and it wouldn’ta been Bruce…yippee-ki-yay muthaf****z.

Ayo John McClane, WTF?

With rap it’s different because the artists often let beef spill over into their music and a lot of the culture is based on rivalry and who-said-what.  It’s like the WWF minus all the rednecks, throw in a hearty helping of Negroes.  Though beef often produces some of the worst records I have ever heard in my adult hip-hoppin’ life, I like rap beefs because they don’t have any bearing on anything.  Nobody talks about all the illegitimate hip-hop babies or who got their kids taken from them or who called who a “fire-crotch”.  Britney Spears on the other hand needs to be slapped for being out there performing and living life when Kevin Federline has her kids.  Kevin Federline.  I don’t wanna see any shows, performances, new albums, radio spots, any of that until you get custody of the babies you pushed up outta yourself.  Get it together.  And as you can see, I’m extremely judgmental without all the facts which is like most people watching from the outside in.  Knowing this, you would think some of these people would have the good sense to at least smooth the sh*t over and make it look better.  At the end of the day, here’s my preference…let your work speak for itself and paparazzi…simmer down.  The main thing is it’s become harder and harder for celebs to keep a personal life with TMZ employees falling out of hedges, climbing over fences and recording their every move.  It’s up to us as consumers to stop feeding into the bullsh*t and basically say collectively: “Let me know when some sh*t really jumps off”.

And now for one of the sorriest excuses for an R&B song I’ve bothered to listen to all year (I did this just for this post, so y’all should feel blessed):