8 days left in this Black History Month, guys. We’ve gotta make it count. So far, Barack’s doing his part as a halfie to make sure our 40 acres didn’t go to waste, but other than that, it’s a poor Negro showing this month. I blame this primarily on the premiere of Season 3 of Flavor of Love—aka, Season 3 of “Why Negroes Can’t Have Nice Things—and Why Sojourner Can’t Find a Can-Do Black Husband."
Now, I think you all know my thoughts of Flava Flav—he’s a human cockroach with a gold retainer.
Yeah, I said it.
And, just like a cockroach, he never stops spawning. And he will never become extinct.
Now, like rapper T-Pain, I believe that Flav served his purpose back in his rap days. With Public Enemy, the young Flav gave ugly men hope, and proved that money CAN buy love—a theory which a young Patrick Dempsey tested shortly after the first Public Enemy album was released in 1987. See for yourself:
Flavor of Love: Season 3, debuted on February 11, 2008—smack dab in the middle of the month of negrosity. Now, Flav—or his handlers who sign his checks and make sure the baby-mammas get a cut—must have known people would pick up on this. At the very least, he should have anticipated the blacktress’ wrath.
I’ve been trying to avoid this show since it began, not only due to Flav’s blinding hideousness, but because nothing makes me sadder than unintelligent black women yelling, arguing, and pulling out weaves over nothing. I mean, I didn’t fight for freedom so these chicks could act a damn fool!
While eating China Place at Litsa’s last night, we had no choice by to stare at the giant image of Flav on her flat screen. Luckily, it was episode 1, where the sluts get their nicknames for the duration of the show.
Sidebar: Historically in African cultures, babies are named by a powerful figure in the community or family shortly after birth. The name is often meaningful, determined not before the child’s birth, but after. It involves a communication with a higher power, where the child’s destiny and identity are determined. The name is meant to act, in a way, as a prophecy.
On Flavor of Love and I Love New York, a slut appears in a mansion—primarily for free food, drink, and the chance to go from appearing in pornography on public access television to pay-cable—and is given a name that is easy to remember, touches on some trivial aspect of his/her/hir’s personality, and is often misspelled.
As the woman stood in line and waited to be named, Flav announced that this season he would do something different: The women would name themselves!!!
Who said pimps up, hos down? Not this time around! The women approached flav one by one, and explained why they should be named. One girl called herself “Bunz”—yes, with a ‘z’—because of her large posterior. Two identical twins (in bad need of pilates and orthodontia, if you really want to know) said they were “Sugar” and “Spice,” because that’s all a man could need.
As trite as this was, Flav was not satisfied with these monikers. In this instance, he decided to name them himself, giving them titles that were meaningful to him.
“My favorite book when I was little was Cat in the Hat,” he explained to the scary-looking ladies. “And my favorite characters were those little bad monsters—Thing 1 and Thing 2. So I’m call y’all Thing 1 and Thing 2.”
I kid you not.
We’ve come a long way, Negroes!!!
The women laughed, which is all one could really do in such a situation. Unless you’re me, and you stare at the TV with your mouth open and a lone tear in your eye.
As everyone gets acclimated and the women take their turns trying to woo flav, one woman shows herself as the next New York—her name is SHY, precisely because she is not shy at all. Two at a time bond with Flav, and the rest of the women are left to drink and intimidate each other, and Shy wastes no time.
One large white woman, nicknamed Peeches (yes, PEEches), is immediately attacked. Shy asks her why she’s here, and Peeches says she “wants to be his queen.” (um, really? Ew.)
Shy then gets louder and louder, screaming, “Are you ready to do what you gotta do? Do you want 10 babies? ARE YOU READY TO HAVE HIS 10 BABIES?!” She then begins pointing to her nether regions as she says each syllable, just in case Peeches doesn’t know where babies come from.
Once she makes herself clear, she begins to say, “See, me, 24-healthy, fit”—she flexes her bicep at this moment—“I’m all ready. Are YOU ready?!”
Okay, now, the last thing anyone should be trying to do is procreate with Flav. He is clearly genetically inferior, from his oral hygiene to his stature to his balding (though he tries to wear real jacked up cornrows). There is no reason why having his babies would be a good idea—we’re trying to LIFT UP the black race!! Listen, I’m only having kids if I know they’ll be in The Talented Tenth. I’m not popping out babies just keep some steady income. I mean, how do you think I’ve lived so long since the abolition of slavery? Cause I ain’t givin’ it away!!!
These women should also keep in mind that Flav already has about 8 children (like I said, cockroaches reproduce rapidly), and, like, 7 baby-mammas. And this is the THIRD SEASON of the show—his track record ain’t so great.
I honestly don’t get why these women don’t have higher aspirations than mating with an unattractive man. I mean, the only one who is showing her true colors is the white girl—who wanted to be called “Vanilla,” but instead he calls her ICE. Ice admits that she’s a budding radio personality, and is most likely on the show to earn some sort of “Street Cred.”
It’s a sad world when the only person clever enough on Flavor of Love is the white girl.
Okay, readers, I could go on, but I would probably end up crying, or nauseous.
Happy February 21st!!!!!!!!!
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Friday, February 15, 2008
Ode to Katie Walsh
I know I promised to talk about one important black person—a Negro of Note, if you will—each day during this month of blackness. However, today I must celebrate the birth of Katie Walsh. I think that, although Katie is biologically of the “Caucasian persuasion,” as it were, she is a strong black woman at heart. Here’s why:
Katie’s from the US Virgin Islands. She never had to go anywhere to get her groove back—she was born with it.
Katie isn’t afraid to give tough love. Much like my own mother, Katie will speak truth and tell you what you need to hear even when you don’t want to hear it.
Katie knows how to get free stuff. I mean, if there’s one thing I’ve learned as a po’ slave, it’s how to make something out of nothing. Katie’s a PR squirrel trying to get a nut, and she knows how to work it.
She’s street. I’ve received the following text message from Katie in total seriousness: “I’m in a Wal-Mart with Master P and Tyler Perry, and it is so crazy.” Um, if that’s not street tough, what is? Oh, I know—this photo:
I don’t think I’m doing my sister from another mister true justice. I think poetry is the only way I can express what is truly in my heart.
February 15, 2008: KATIE WALSH
I think it was that day in film class
You were wearing that hot dress that accentuated your sweet ass
I knew then, you were my friend crush.
We made a movie about mating season
And we got an A-, for no good reason
I took time to get to know you, there was no rush.
You’ve taken a blacktress out of her borough
And calmed me when my brow was furrowed
Your couch has been my second bed.
You showed me your green apples
You were there when I invented peach Schnapple
I can’t wait for our promise ceremony in Christiansted.
I can tell you when I’m trolling for vampires
And you don’t judge—and you ain’t no liar
Thank god for your 3 a.m. egg-and-cheese sammies.
Here’s to 25 more years of you and me
Drinking red wine and co-hosting dinner parties
Honestly, if it wasn’t racist, I’d have no problem being your mammy.
Katie’s from the US Virgin Islands. She never had to go anywhere to get her groove back—she was born with it.
Katie isn’t afraid to give tough love. Much like my own mother, Katie will speak truth and tell you what you need to hear even when you don’t want to hear it.
Katie knows how to get free stuff. I mean, if there’s one thing I’ve learned as a po’ slave, it’s how to make something out of nothing. Katie’s a PR squirrel trying to get a nut, and she knows how to work it.
She’s street. I’ve received the following text message from Katie in total seriousness: “I’m in a Wal-Mart with Master P and Tyler Perry, and it is so crazy.” Um, if that’s not street tough, what is? Oh, I know—this photo:
I don’t think I’m doing my sister from another mister true justice. I think poetry is the only way I can express what is truly in my heart.
February 15, 2008: KATIE WALSH
I think it was that day in film class
You were wearing that hot dress that accentuated your sweet ass
I knew then, you were my friend crush.
We made a movie about mating season
And we got an A-, for no good reason
I took time to get to know you, there was no rush.
You’ve taken a blacktress out of her borough
And calmed me when my brow was furrowed
Your couch has been my second bed.
You showed me your green apples
You were there when I invented peach Schnapple
I can’t wait for our promise ceremony in Christiansted.
I can tell you when I’m trolling for vampires
And you don’t judge—and you ain’t no liar
Thank god for your 3 a.m. egg-and-cheese sammies.
Here’s to 25 more years of you and me
Drinking red wine and co-hosting dinner parties
Honestly, if it wasn’t racist, I’d have no problem being your mammy.
Labels:
birthdays,
egg and cheese,
Green Apples,
katie,
Schnapps,
shoutouts,
Tyler Perry,
Virgin Islands
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Happy Lovers Day-- Negro Lovers, That Is!!!
Yeah, that's how I feel about this "holiday."Sorry to get all “angry black woman” on y’all, but I just don’t think there’s any point in Valentine’s Day. If you’re with someone, you should be good to them all the time, and all V-day does is allow everyday establishments to raise prices on goods and services as well as decorate their areas a hideous pink-and-red combination—which is flattering on no one.
Today is a day for celebrating one’s significant other, right? Well, I’ve decided I will celebrate myself, for I am quite the significant… other--get it?! Oh, my pseudo-intellectual race jokes are the best!!
Anyway, let’s get back to why black people are so great, shall we? Here’s a quick list.
Reasons I Love Black People
- We use wash cloths
- We have created a hip hop culture which has given suburban white males a means of channeling their misplaced anger at their parents for such atrocities as Little League, SAT Prep, and music lessons.
- The women of the race give white men something to fetishize.
- Without black people, Duane Reade would have no employees.
- Drag queens would have never learned to be so sassy!
- Gay men would have never had anyone to come out to, if not for the SBW—strong black woman.
- We may not have built this city on rock and roll, but we built this country on…slavery. I think we all know who won in that chapter of history.
- We have created a hip hop culture which has given suburban white males a means of channeling their misplaced anger at their parents for such atrocities as Little League, SAT Prep, and music lessons.
- The women of the race give white men something to fetishize.
- Without black people, Duane Reade would have no employees.
- Drag queens would have never learned to be so sassy!
- Gay men would have never had anyone to come out to, if not for the SBW—strong black woman.
- We may not have built this city on rock and roll, but we built this country on…slavery. I think we all know who won in that chapter of history.
So, on this day of both lovers and Negroes, and I’ve decided that my true love is none other than Sojo herself. And, unlike a man, I won’t oppress myself, I won’t hook up with myself and not call, and I will make sense in all my speech and only speak TRUTH.
God, it’s good to be me.
Labels:
Bitterness,
Black History Month,
Black Love,
lists,
some ecards
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Too Truthful?
I have a really good post, but I'm hesitant to put it up, for fear that it may be TOO truthful. Those who want to read it, leave a comment, and I will send it your way.
What is it? It's a cautionary tale. It's called...
"THE PHOTOGRAPHER WHO SHOT....TO KILL...."
What is it? It's a cautionary tale. It's called...
"THE PHOTOGRAPHER WHO SHOT....TO KILL...."
Labels:
Inconvenient Truths,
Photographers,
teasers
Monday, February 11, 2008
On Hiatus--don't hate us!
Readers,
I apologize for my lack of posting. I am not living up to my word of a new post a day. I, Sojourner, am not being TRUTHful. Please forgive this failure as I rebuild in the wake of the Photographer (more on that later).
For now, I leave you this e-card. It's something I've been saying all along.
And it reminds me of my estranged father.
I apologize for my lack of posting. I am not living up to my word of a new post a day. I, Sojourner, am not being TRUTHful. Please forgive this failure as I rebuild in the wake of the Photographer (more on that later).
For now, I leave you this e-card. It's something I've been saying all along.
And it reminds me of my estranged father.
Labels:
Black History Month,
Dark Times,
forgiveness,
someecards.com
Thursday, February 7, 2008
The Hook Brings You Back/HeavyVee
I’m sorry for this late posting on the 7th day of BHM. Perhaps moving on CP time* is fitting, given the month.
Today, I would like to bring an up and coming rap sensation to your attention. It was brought to me by JJSiii. I find urban rhythms are often brought to my attention by those of the Caucasian persuasion, and I’ve come to accept it. When I first viewed this video, I was put off. Why would I write about a young woman who was cooning it up during the month of pride? However, upon a closer look and a good listen, I began to see her worth. See the magic for yourself.
She goes by the name of HeavyVee. I think this clever moniker comes from the fact that she is thick and her name is Vanessa. Her song “I don’t need a hook” is a clever meta discourse on the tropes of hip hop culture and rap music. She repeats the refrain—the hook, if you will—repeatedly, which is: I don’t need a hook.
Does she or doesn’t she? I’m not really sure.
But, what I do know is that HeavyVee is large and, like Charles, she is in charge!!! She’s not afraid to rock white suspenders, and she gestures with the bravado and confidence of a rapper twice her age (she’s only 17).
I would also like to show you an excerpt from the “about me” section of her woozyfly page:
When Vanessa turned 15, she gained the confidence to share her own songs with others and booked her first ever live performance at a local steak house in Jersey. From these humble beginnings, Heavy Vee was born!
Steak house? Did she get a shank or slab of meat as payment? Perhaps this is what I’ve been missing.Should I go to Bennigan’s and start spreading truth? Can I become internet famous after a string of performances at Ihop? I think I’m going to have to talk to HeavyVee’s people.
What I want you to learn from HeavyVee on the seventh day is this:
DO YOU.
HeavyVee proudly shuns “hooks” in favor of a….hook-shunning hook. She is a walking contradiction, and there’s just no stopping her. She’s a juggernaut of hip hop flavor, 17 years young, and she has a confidence that only a large black woman can possess. Having grown up around melanin-deficient individuals, I have been brainwashed with ideals of beauty. Luckily, I had my Detroit crew and strong black Massa-mama to give me truth. My classmates longed to be skinny, and proudly wore size 0 jeans on their petite frames. At the age of 17, some girls had the hips of a 12-year-old Korean gymnast—and guys actually thought they were hot.
But HeavyVee don’t go for that. As she says in the song, "She ain’t not snitch or trick. And if you cross her, she can be a real bitch"—just like Sojo.
While I’m slightly put off by the hairdo (or, in this case, hair-don’t), I think that HeavyVee deserves a day in the blacktress sunshine. What do YOU think?
*this is an abbreviation of the popular phrase, “colored people time,” which is based on the stereotype of black people being late all the time. I guess it’s cause they’re too busy eating fried chicken and getting pregnant.
Today, I would like to bring an up and coming rap sensation to your attention. It was brought to me by JJSiii. I find urban rhythms are often brought to my attention by those of the Caucasian persuasion, and I’ve come to accept it. When I first viewed this video, I was put off. Why would I write about a young woman who was cooning it up during the month of pride? However, upon a closer look and a good listen, I began to see her worth. See the magic for yourself.
She goes by the name of HeavyVee. I think this clever moniker comes from the fact that she is thick and her name is Vanessa. Her song “I don’t need a hook” is a clever meta discourse on the tropes of hip hop culture and rap music. She repeats the refrain—the hook, if you will—repeatedly, which is: I don’t need a hook.
Does she or doesn’t she? I’m not really sure.
But, what I do know is that HeavyVee is large and, like Charles, she is in charge!!! She’s not afraid to rock white suspenders, and she gestures with the bravado and confidence of a rapper twice her age (she’s only 17).
I would also like to show you an excerpt from the “about me” section of her woozyfly page:
When Vanessa turned 15, she gained the confidence to share her own songs with others and booked her first ever live performance at a local steak house in Jersey. From these humble beginnings, Heavy Vee was born!
Steak house? Did she get a shank or slab of meat as payment? Perhaps this is what I’ve been missing.Should I go to Bennigan’s and start spreading truth? Can I become internet famous after a string of performances at Ihop? I think I’m going to have to talk to HeavyVee’s people.
What I want you to learn from HeavyVee on the seventh day is this:
DO YOU.
HeavyVee proudly shuns “hooks” in favor of a….hook-shunning hook. She is a walking contradiction, and there’s just no stopping her. She’s a juggernaut of hip hop flavor, 17 years young, and she has a confidence that only a large black woman can possess. Having grown up around melanin-deficient individuals, I have been brainwashed with ideals of beauty. Luckily, I had my Detroit crew and strong black Massa-mama to give me truth. My classmates longed to be skinny, and proudly wore size 0 jeans on their petite frames. At the age of 17, some girls had the hips of a 12-year-old Korean gymnast—and guys actually thought they were hot.
But HeavyVee don’t go for that. As she says in the song, "She ain’t not snitch or trick. And if you cross her, she can be a real bitch"—just like Sojo.
While I’m slightly put off by the hairdo (or, in this case, hair-don’t), I think that HeavyVee deserves a day in the blacktress sunshine. What do YOU think?
*this is an abbreviation of the popular phrase, “colored people time,” which is based on the stereotype of black people being late all the time. I guess it’s cause they’re too busy eating fried chicken and getting pregnant.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Mama Didn't Raise No Fool!
And so we thank her, on this day, the 6th day of BHM.
I thought it behoovy of me to praise Mama Dukes because we went to Bank of America this morning to apply for my mortgage, so I can get off her plantation. Thanks to her hard work and good credit, I have been pre-approved! Clearly, this is not something I could have done on my own. When I asked Big Mama Thornton* if she really wanted to do this, if she was really ready to be my blackup in case of nonpayment, she said to me, in all seriousness:
“I see this as an investment in you. I believe that in a few years you will be a financial stable and responsible adult, and I want to help you get on your own two feet—and off my couch.”
It was touching moment. Massa-Mama is enabling me to break free from the shackles of oppression and get my own 40 acres and a mule—or, in this case, several hundred square feet and a doorman.
MaDukes should be thanked for several reasons:
1. She taught me to read.
2. She didn’t give me up for adoption, when she most certainly could have.
3. After I was born, she sent me to Africa for 6 months and I lived with my grandma while mom studied for the bar exam. If that’s not being a strong black woman, I don’t know what is.
3a. If she hadn’t passed that bar exam, she wouldn’t be the lawyer she is today.
4. She taught me that when a White person tells me I’m “well-spoken,” they are being “condescending” and “racist.”
5. She fed me until I was old enough to cook for my damn self.
6. She’s shown me that a woman is never too old to get a Latin lover.
7. She taught me all about TRUTH.
As a young girl, I looked to my mother for validation, guidance, and support. If I was wearing a hideous outfit, she would tell me; if I complained about gaining weight, she’d stop buying sweets, “cause the Buddha-belly was bulging.” When tears would well up in my nubian eyes, she’d calmly explain, “I’m your mother. If you can’t count on me to tell you the truth, who can you count on?” It was rough, it was harsh, but it was always the Sojourner Truth.
I hope you, too, go to the strong black women in your lives and show them some love this month.
This is what you find when you google search "Slave Mother." This is a still from the movie Beloved, starring Oprah Winfrey. Neither of these women were actual slaves at any point.
*not her real name
I thought it behoovy of me to praise Mama Dukes because we went to Bank of America this morning to apply for my mortgage, so I can get off her plantation. Thanks to her hard work and good credit, I have been pre-approved! Clearly, this is not something I could have done on my own. When I asked Big Mama Thornton* if she really wanted to do this, if she was really ready to be my blackup in case of nonpayment, she said to me, in all seriousness:
“I see this as an investment in you. I believe that in a few years you will be a financial stable and responsible adult, and I want to help you get on your own two feet—and off my couch.”
It was touching moment. Massa-Mama is enabling me to break free from the shackles of oppression and get my own 40 acres and a mule—or, in this case, several hundred square feet and a doorman.
MaDukes should be thanked for several reasons:
1. She taught me to read.
2. She didn’t give me up for adoption, when she most certainly could have.
3. After I was born, she sent me to Africa for 6 months and I lived with my grandma while mom studied for the bar exam. If that’s not being a strong black woman, I don’t know what is.
3a. If she hadn’t passed that bar exam, she wouldn’t be the lawyer she is today.
4. She taught me that when a White person tells me I’m “well-spoken,” they are being “condescending” and “racist.”
5. She fed me until I was old enough to cook for my damn self.
6. She’s shown me that a woman is never too old to get a Latin lover.
7. She taught me all about TRUTH.
As a young girl, I looked to my mother for validation, guidance, and support. If I was wearing a hideous outfit, she would tell me; if I complained about gaining weight, she’d stop buying sweets, “cause the Buddha-belly was bulging.” When tears would well up in my nubian eyes, she’d calmly explain, “I’m your mother. If you can’t count on me to tell you the truth, who can you count on?” It was rough, it was harsh, but it was always the Sojourner Truth.
I hope you, too, go to the strong black women in your lives and show them some love this month.
This is what you find when you google search "Slave Mother." This is a still from the movie Beloved, starring Oprah Winfrey. Neither of these women were actual slaves at any point.
*not her real name
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