The King Wants Rings

Sometimes, I make myself sick.  I waited for the LeBron James ESPN special, “The Decision,” like it was a Michael Jackson music video premiere.  (Remember the time?)  I sat in front of the television and waited for LBJ to moonwalk, spin, grab his crotch, and scream “Shamon,” at Jim Gray.  But, alas, that never happened.  Instead, LBJ broke northeast Ohio’s heart, and told the viewing public that he planned to take his talents to [W]ade County, Florida, thereby turning the Miami Heat into some kind of NBA version of the United States circa the middle of the 20th century: young, rich, and with world domination on their minds.  Of course, the analogy probably doesn’t hold all that well, but still, if I may borrow my friend jmscott’s hashtag, it’s #nbaimperialism if there ever was.   I guess that makes the Boston Celtics England or something.  I don’t know. I digress.

Although the super homies, D-Wade, Chris Bosh, and King James have yet to adopt a nickname, I’m inclined to refer to them as Miami Thrice (kind of wack, I know, but you know you want to see those three dressed like Crockett and Tubbs.) or as The Triumvirate.  I don’t know if that makes the Lakers the senatorial elite or something, but Wade especially better watch his back.

Drake's "Thank Me Later": The Review

Drake’s official debut album Thank Me Later is arguably the most feverishly anticipated Hip Hop release since his mentor/boss Lil Wayne unleashed the instantly classic Tha Carter III back in 2008. And in all honesty, they are both fantastic albums…but they couldn’t be any more different from one another.

A Rant About USHER…

 As reported by Rolling Stone, Usher knocked B.o.B.’s “Nothin’ On You” off the top of the Hot 100 Chart this week, snagging his ninth number one with “OMG,” featuring Will.I.Am. His last number one was “Love In This Club,” from back in 2008.

Quick question: are you guys buying/supporting this guy’s songs out of sympathy or something? I mean, I hate being an asshole about these things, but I don’t get how either of the songs listed above could have reached number one in any way other than largely off of the strength of them being Usher songs. All things considered, Usher ain’t been the same since Confessions.

You know that; I know that.

Single Black woman says, "I ain’t the Problem, Nightline, Black Men Are!"

So, that we are crystal clear I do not run behind black men. I do not beg them to spend time with me. I am not desperate for their attention, money, or third arm. I am so tired of Nightline, CNN, ABC, and yes the great matriarch himself, Tyler Perry, telling me that I am the problem. There is a political project afoot to make black women feel they are woefully inadequate. And to this, I say bah hum bug.

– April 24, 2010 Facebook’s Status, Fallon

Just in case you’re wondering, yes, I started my blog with a status update I wrote last week when Nightline aired its show, Face-Off: Why Can’t a Successful Black Woman Find a Man? The Facebook status update conveys my sentiments about this latest cycle of blaming black women for the woes of the black man, the woes of the black community, and the woes of the economy. Yes, if only I would become barefoot and pregnant unemployed and desperate for Big Daddy’s benevolent protection then I would be married [cue the Disney’s music] and the mice with their little mice hands would make my white wedding dress . . . living happily ever after . . . yes, if only I could be that type of woman again. Yes, I use to be a version of her (i.e. wanting to marry the senator instead of being the senator syndrome) when I was searching for my voice.

But, I ain’t her now and I don’t know too many black women who are. If you want a more scholarly understanding of this issue I suggest you read Melissa Harris Lacewell’s Nightline asks why black women can’t get a man or Farai Chideya How Does It Feel to Be a Black, Female, Single Problem because my blog is going to be a rant about how I think black men are the problems. Yes, I said they are the PROBLEMS. Okay, not the pen-ultimate problem, but definitely the problem when it comes to how they use their hetero-male privilege in romantic relationships with black women in particular black women like me who are not willing to put up with their shit cow dung.

WHAT THE F@%! HAPPENED?! (PT. II): D'Angelo

Early on the morning of March 6th, 2010 Michael Eugene Archer, better known by his stage name D’Angelo, was arrested and charged with solicitation after allegedly propositioning an undercover female police officer for oral sex. D’Angelo requested a $40 blowjob from the young woman, yet upon searching his vehicle after the arrest, officers found $12,000 in cash stashed in his SUV. The incident made headlines across the country, many of them humorous and sarcastic (“D’Angelo: R&Busted!”, etc.), and news of the incident shocked both fans keeping track of D’s progress in regards to his recovery and return to music, as well as those who maybe haven’t thought much of the guy since he was half-naked on their TV screens every night for 3 or 4 months.

Now I guess after a decade of an utterly debilitating drug and alcohol addiction, and repeated run-ins with the law, one perhaps shouldn’t find such news all that shocking. But, delays and all, D’Angelo had seemed to be seriously getting the ball rolling on his looooooong-awaited third album, entitled James River. Collaborators had been announced, songs had been leaked; there were even reports that the guy had finally gotten clean, was hitting the gym, and potentially poised to make a triumphant return to the scene. And that only makes D’s most recent fuck-up all the more disappointing.

Ten years after taking R&B music to new heights, after becoming the sex symbol of the moment with his iconic “Untitled (How Does It Feel)” video, and after respected music critic Robert Christgau dubbed him “R&B Jesus”……

WHAT THE F@%! HAPPENED?!

Women’s Her-story Month: Why Not Sex Workers (Sofia Maldonado’s Mural)?

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=thzHCAjOgAI

There is a “moral panic” that Keysha Whitaker highlights in “Latin Female Artist draws criticism for Times Square Mural” brewing on the streets of Times Square where Sofia Maldonado, a young Puerto Rican-Cuban woman, is under fire for creating a mural that for many embodies the sins of rap videos . . . big booty black women . . . exotic looking Latina women . . . crouch mesmerizing poses . . . and at the end of the day “un-respectable” images of black and brown women. One incensed passerby said the mural harkens back to a time when 42th Street was a “red light” district . . . a place where prostitution . . . drugs . . . and un-catholic like debauchery reign supreme. People are mad not ordinary mad, but “witch-hunt” mad. Men of color are mad not ordinary mad, but I need to protect “my woman” mad. But the question is: why? Why are they mad? Why are they Mad Men?

And all that I can think of to answer this question is that these images are not “respectable” images. They do not paint black and brown women are Supreme Court Judges—Sonia Sotomayor—or as First Ladies—Michelle Obama—or as multi-billionaires—Oprah—or as activist— Linda Chavez-Thompson—or as writers—Sandra Cisneros. Nope . . . as one mural viewer said, “They look like prostitutes.” And in response to this I say [silent drum roll], why not sex workers? Why not a mural honoring sex workers during Women’s Her-story Month? Of course, this is not to say that the mural showcase sex workers, but the way in which people are talking about the images of the mural gives substance to the claim that people see the images as such.

Tavis Smiley and Al Sharpton: The Street Fight Edition who will wear the Hood Crown

Some of you are wondering what this word “prognosticator” means. Well, I’m glad you asked young grass hopper. Webster defines it as someone who predicts the future or as someone who speaks powerful insights. Perhaps, at one point Tavis Smiley and Al Sharpton spoke powerful insights on behalf of Black communities. Of course, this was before corporate sponsorship took over State of the Black Union and before Al launched his media blitzed hunger campaigns. However, they like so many other self-appointed black male leaders are more invested in waving their third arm when their ego is being challenged by another third arm waving black brother. Just in case you’re unsure what the third arm is it’s something that is strengthened by the use of Viagra. Get in? If you don’t get it please email me and I will share with you the correct anatomy name.

Well, I am sure many of you have heard by now that Tavis Smiley and Al Sharpton are fueling an old school bring your boys to the playground West side story brawl where Tavis is banking on Michael Eric Dyson’s academic hip hop lyrical flow to mesmerize Al’s crew while Tom Joyner and Tavis launch a sneak attack on Charles Olgetree and Bill Cosby by throwing a piece of pound cake.  I know this may sound outlandish, but the level of argument between Tavis and Al makes you wonder what a fight would look like between all the black male intellectuals and all the black male political leaders that profess to speak on behalf of Black communities while padding their pockets with various corporate interests.

Scribbled Paper: Notes on a Scandal

I had a bit of a family emergency last week that resulted in me spending several hours in New York Presbyterian Hospital instead of checking out that tree in Rockefeller Center, seeing Shrek before it leaves Broadway next month, and visiting my favorite sneaker boutiques.  (To the folks who commented on last week’s blog, my apologies.  Life happens and I didn’t have much time to engage.) As a result, I kind of have no idea what’s going on in the world.  I do know, however, that Victor and Nikki got back together (AGAIN!) after his heart transplant.  Thanks, Grandma Charlotte.

Beyonce Says Big Ego, but Ruth says, “Eat your [damn] eggs, Walter Lee”

So, why is it that every time I talk about black women’s lived experiences feeble-minded always on the black woman’s titty black man hollers in his best tonka truck voice, “We got it hard not black women?” Wow. My first immediate response is, “Did I say anything negative about the black man?” No. My second response is, “Did I even use the male pronoun in any part of my statement?” No. So, how is it that you, Mr. Beans and Rice eating barefoot and pregnant needy black man, are offended, wounded, and betrayed by my acknowledgement of black women’s stories? You see, Beyonce calls it your big ego. I simply refer to it as your broke-down Napoleonic black male privilege having @$s. I know the tone of this blog seems reminiscent of Erykah Badu’s Tyrone and Beyonce’s Irreplaceable, but my intent is not to lyrically serenade you with all the ills black men have visited upon black women, but to say that I am sick and I am tired of the, “I am black man and the world is on my shoulder boo who who” whine every time I mention anything about black women.

I mean, I can say, “I as a black woman sneezed today,” and the black man would counter, “I have a sinus infection.” I as a black woman could slip and fall and the black man would argue for dear life that he invented the slip then fall movement. I can say, “As black woman I love my vagina,” and the black man would say, “Not as much as I do (hearty John Coffy from the Green Mile’s laugh).” I can say, “I scraped my knee,” and the black man would moan like an old southern Baptist minister, “I am quadriplegic . . . I am so oppressed.” Really, is it that important that you, Mr. I am an Endangered Species, be the center of attention all the damn time?  When I go to the bathroom, I have to seriously think about how my brown poop will oppress you. When I sleep at night, I have to think about how my dreams will challenge your manhood and rival your oppression. I am so over, “The world is against me” black man’s dirge. Go sing that song to a group of people who care, people like Tiger Wood’s wife and even they are tired of your big ego.

WORLD AIDS DAY: Reflections and Memories

In honor of World AIDS Day 2009, I want to open up a conversation/discussion about sex.

luvboo2 Sex makes me nervous! I get nervous both before and after sex. I am nervous because in my head I picture this spinning chart of numbers and statistics that makes me realize that sex is the ultimate Russian roulette. You pull the trigger you get a risk-free nut; you pull the trigger again and you get a parting gift.    

 After having sex, I hate the immediate realization that I am at risk for a slew of different diseases: Herpes, Gonorrhea, Chlamydia, HPV and HIV are just a few of the “gifts that keep on giving,” especially for us black folk.  After that thought come the charts and statistics: