This Is My Confession

I just finished watching Akeelah and the Bee and I'm feeling a little emotional.
This is nothing new.
I have seen Akeelah and the Bee on more than one occasion.

There, I've said it.

The film tells the story of a young, gifted, and black girl who discovers her gift for spelling with the guidance of Laurence Fishburne, a surly college professor who has led many spellers to the championships. Angela Bassett plays Akeelah's single mother, struggling to keep the family afloat by working overtime, all the time.

This film speaks to my heart on many levels: as a woman of color, a writer, a blacktress, and as a former young black girl--and a former spelling bee champ.

Yes, Sojo can spell.

I was never all into the Latin roots and reading the dictionary, but back in my Harlem schooldaze, I represented the 5th grade in our school-wide spelling bee. I didn't take home the big trophy, but I made it to the top 3-- and I even beat an 8th grader.

So, watching Akeelah and the Bee is always tender and heartwarming, and I tune in for at least a portion of it whenever it's on the boob tube.

And I always cry at the end.

Wow. I can't believe I just admitted it. I must really feel safe with you guys here in cyberspace.

But for serious, I do cry during the film. Something about the cast of a who's-who of blacktors and blacktresses, Akeelah's glasses and braids in a ponytail--she is a young Sojo. Her ill-fitting outfits, nerdiness, and friendship with the soon-to-be homosexual fellow speller Javier is everything I was growing up. Then just add Angela Bassett to the mix, and I'm feeling empowered, intimidated, and desperate for her approval--much like I do with my own mother.

At the end, when Akeelah is triumphant (come on, that wasn't a spoiler, you know it's a feel-good film), there's a montage of everyone cheering: her classmates back in South Central LA (obvi it had to be set there), her family back home, neighborhood residents in the diner. And I don't know why, but the slow-motion clapping and hugging just really got me this time around--Sojo's spirit was lifted. I am so happy when a young nerdy negress can triumph and lift up the whole community.



The young blacktress Keke Palmer, floating in the Caucasian Sea, stands--and spells--alone.
I think I own the outfit she's wearing.

Late Birthday Love/ An Ode to a Strong Black Woman

When I first met you, I must admit I was scared
You were a strong white woman, and said things other wouldn’t dare.
Gender, race, politics, and class
you were into it all and you had great hair and a cute ass.
After admiring you from afar, the clouds parted in heaven
Something magical happened between us in the summer of 2007.
You let me into your heart (all it took was a glass of red wine)
And I found your inner bourgie pig, and you came to accept mine.
You’re a strong black woman--or so people think when they hear your name--
And when I’m feeling down, you remind me that I’m just the same.
Inter-office emails keep the love fires burning when we were apart
Procrastination is my destination when you’re in my inbox at the day’s start.
You remind me that men are a dime a baker’s dozen,
And I even love your Swedish pseudo-cousin—
And I think me and little sis may become besties.
You help Sojourner find the TRUTH, from the very first day,
And when a man oppresses me, you tell me I don’t need them.
I know if I was still in slavery today,
You’d be the white person to buy my freedom.

You Don't Own Me!

I think facebook is trying to bring slavery back, much in the way that JT tried to bring back sexy.

I, as a blacktress, am offended by this.

Today I went in to the good ol' f-book to see who wanted to be friends, who had a new special friend, and who was kicking my butt in Scrabulous. I haven't really been into facebook since they decided to add more applications than an Ivy League school, but I go along for the ride because seeing the number of internet friends I have gives me a boost on really rough days. Usually I ignore the applications people ask me to add, knowing that this will do nothing but clutter up my page full of hilarious, wry quotes, and clever inside jokes that friends write on my wall--you know, just to see if you remember that time that really funny thing happened a couple years ago.
Today a particular application caught my eye. Invited by a dude from Denmark who I met at a hostel in New Orleans 3 years ago (I kid you not, you know how random f-book gets), it read:

M- L sent a request using Owned!:

Hey , I just bought you. Find out how much I think you're worth!

Block This Application | Ignore All Invites From This Friend

Um, excuse me. Did he just say he bought a blacktress? In the words of Whitney--hell to the no!!!

Is facebook trying to put me back on the auction block? I think it's quite humorous that only two people have asked me to add this application, and they are both men who are whiter than a monster truck rally held in a ski resort.* One of them was a dude I made out with who then had no love for a blacktress--he most certainly doesn't get to buy me when he already got some chocolate milk for free!!!

I'm sorry, but this application is just too much. When it was pink ribbons and vampires, I was okay with it. I even went along with a good game of Oregon Trail (always caulk the wagon) and some Scrabulous (even though it takes 12 weeks to finish a game). Then bitches started asking me to take a quiz to determine "what kind of American accent I have." I thought facebook was being run by a monkey with Down's Syndrome.

Now I'm starting to believe it's being run by my former Massa John Nealy (who was straight trippin' on me cause I spoke Dutch and not English--um, just be glad someone let me learn one language!). I haven't even clicked the link that that says "what's my price?" cause I'm sure it'll put me on some sneaky government list of people to re-slave. Besides, if I'm worth less than Beyonce, I'll just be really pissed.



*could that even happen? I don't know, but it sounds like two things that are stereotypically Caucasian. Maybe I should ask that guy who does Stuff White People Like before I go throwing these terms around. Next thing you know, Aliza Shvarts will come after me with some blood in a cup, saying it's her unborn biracial baby.

Future Baby Daddy on 7th Street

OMG guys!!!!!!

I was totes walking down 7th street, in the east village, enjoying my lunch hour and the warm sun as memories of the motherland caressed my mind, and I saw two women in my path. They were standing next to a thrift store called “Fabulous Fanny’s,” and were looking down at the ground. With my headphones on and the tint of my sun-specs, I wasn’t paying much attention—I figured they were looking at a dog or something (as many people do in the east village).

Suddenly, however busybody in me followed their gaze and I saw they were talking to a man.
A HOT MAN.

A man who turned out to be none other than CLIVE OWEN—the hot actor I’d love to get Closer to (you know I love a British man)! He was ruggedly handsome and looked camera-ready in a white button-down and jeans. I don’t know if he knew the old broads, but he talked to them casually. Does he live in the neighborhood? I wondered, as I made a note of the location for future star-gazing. He noticed me looking, I guess, and our eyes met through our sunglasses. I quickly walked on, not wanting to bother him (stars—they’re just like US!) or be “that girl,” but I think we had a moment.

I think he wants me.

Clive, you can have me any which way but loose!

A Real Blacktress Gives Back

You'll never guess what I did yesterday, y'all.
I helped an old lady cross the street!!!

For real.

I fleed the plantation yesterday, and enjoyed the sunshine as I fortified my weary bones. Part of this involved getting my hair did in the Bronx-- you know, where the Dominican ladies will work it out. A blacktress can come in looking like Macy Gray and walk out looking like Pocahontas**!!!!!

Anyway, after applying burning chemicals to my scalp to deny my nubian nappiness, I left 2 hours later feeling hungry, kinda sweaty, but surprisingly grown and sexy. I put on my sunglasses as I stepped out into the sun's glare, which only increased the sexy feeling (and allow me to eye-fuck hotties without consent--holla!).

As I waited for the light to change across the Grand Concourse, I heard a voice behind me call out. A true New Yorker, I ignored the initial call, certain that I didn't know you, so I wasn't even going to invite a random conversationalist--or a dude hell-bent on calling me "shorty" or "ma" (paging Dr. Freud!). The voice repeated, this time softer, gentler, with a hint of an island accent. I turned around to see a small old woman resting on her cane. She held out her hand to me and the another young woman who was approaching the corner. "Can you please help me cross the street?" the old woman asked us. I hurried over, and grabbed her hand.

The Grand Concourse is a rough strip, and there are often accidents as people try to cross the quadruple-lane pavement. She was already about 4'11", and was wearing a parka on a 60-degree day, so I knew it was behoovy of me to come to the rescue.

It took us about 10 minutes to cross the street.

The whole time, she kept saying, "Thank you for being patient with me, the Lord will bless you," her sweet West Indian accent pouring into my ears sweeter than syrup.

I assured her I was in no rush, which I wasn't. Not only was I now feeling grown and sexy, I felt useful.

And she was totally right about being blessed. I knew she'd totes given me a "get out of jail free"--or, rather, "get into heaven VIP"--card.

Dude, I helped an old lady cross the street!! That doesn't even happen! Do you know what that means? I can steal candy from a baby, double park my imaginary moped, and kill a man just to watch him die--and totally break even!!! How awesome is that?

God, it feels good to help people.




**(have you ever heard the wolf cry????)

A Letter from a Reader

Hi,
I live in India, and Im an artist, painting mostly in oils.
Most of my life I had this desire to come to the US and paint its lovely hills and deserts .
Unfortunately that has been fantasy so long.
But , just last week, I visited a shopping mall, and there in a bookshop I laid my hands on the very first ___________ magazine!
I have been seeing your mag online for so long, and have heard of your mag for decades , and it was a thrilling experience to lay my hands on your mag.

In life there are so many of these yet-to-be-experienced moments that you can't describe the joy and thrill when you come to these moments.
I thank you for your lovely mag! Im considering subscribing to it, as I have just applied for my first credit card.
Thank you , and please keep up your quality.


I must admit that this letter is only funny if you replace the 'm' in "mag" with a v.
Go ahead. Do it.
Now laugh.

The Hotness: A Review

Last night I had the pleasure of being the plus-one of none other than JJSiii at the screening of the upcoming film The Wackness. We didn’t really know what we were in for, and I attended for three reasons: it was free; Mary Kate Olsen was in it; as was Method Man.

I figured disappointment was highly unlikely—and I wasn’t wrong.

The Wackness centers on Luke Schapiro, a young Jewish prep-school gangster lazing about the city over the summer before he’s set to go to college. To pass the time, he sells weed out of an ice truck, and hangs out with Ben Kingsley (yeah, that Ben Kingsley—Ghandi, Sexy Beast, etc.), who plays a therapist who's a hot mess himself.

How hot of a mess? Well, he buys weed from Luke and makes out with M-K O.

Don’t worry, that’s not even the best of it.

The film’s true hotness comes in the form of witty one-liners and the great soundtrack, which harkens back to our youth (I mean, what’s better than watching a teen boy swipe his v-card to R. Kelly’s “Bump ‘n’ Grind”?!). Set in the summer of 1994, the film is a period piece of the finest degree, showing us the early years, when having the channel 1 was a big deal, when Notorious BIG was just coming up (and, you know, not dead), and Giuliani was getting rid of whorehouses and cracking down on crime.

Unless you were a white boy from the Upper East Side selling weed.

Before the screening of the film we were given a detailed information packet, which included a “glossary of slang terms” that appeared in the film. Some words included:

Breasteses: the plural of breasts.
Bounce: to leave a place. Eg. This party is wack, let’s bounce.
Weed: marijuana.

I kid you not.

I didn’t think these words were so foreign, especially when coming out of the mouth of an actor who played basically every guy I went to high school with. Apparently, I’m a bit more urban than their target audience.

But I’m certainly not more urban than Luke Schapiro, who takes his love of 90s hip hop to the nth power, making mix tapes for the therapist and his stepdaughter, Stephanie (played by Olivia Thirlby, the bff in Juno), who he is has a fat crush on.
No, “fat crush” would be an understatement. I believe his exact words are:
I got mad love for you, shorty. You make me, like, want to listen to Boyz II Men.
Best. Line. Ever.
I think I now know what I want my future husband to say to me on our wedding night.

The film works best as a story of child-men, with Ben Kingsley smoking weed, suggesting that the cure for Luke’s malaise is just getting laid (or, as he puts it, “the pussyquest”), and getting them locked up in the clink for a hot minute (where he asks a scrawny old black man what he’s in for and the man answers matter-of-factly: “I stabbed my wife in the pussy.” I know why this film won so much buzz at Sundance). Ben Kingsley is the hotness in this film, and the relationship between him and Luke is unexpected and only something an indie film would create, but it’s actually believable and enjoyable to watch. As JJSiii put it, “it didn’t give me an indie boner or anything, but I liked it.”

Truth.

Luke is a sad case, and is well-played by some dude who is usually on Nickelodeon (Josh Peck--have you heard of him? Fresh face to watch). He has no friends and just wants to love Stephanie, who cannot handle his tenderness. Stephanie’s rejection of Luke’s affection was particularly eye-opening for a blacktress. He was ready to start of college in a long-distance relationship, give her the love he had no one else to give it to, and she played him like a game of Chinese checkers!!! It’s girls like Stephanie that made it impossible for me to find a man willing to commit at any point from 2003-present. Awkward, tender guys gave their heart away to skinny boring girls who just got bored, and then they vowed never to love again.

I bet in the sequel to The Wackness we see Luke in college, sleeping with any and everything with a vajayjay, as one lonely girl just tries to make him an honest man, but he won’t let her cause he’s “going through a lot right now” which is code for “I don’t like you, and I am incapable of love because I’m so self-involved.”

Sorry, I digress.

Other highlights from the film include:
- Method Man as Percy, Luke’s weed supplier, who for some reason has a Jamaican accent.
- Ben Kingsley's final words to Luke at the end of the film: "Good luck in school. Try and sleep with a black girl--I never got to do that in college." How many times did I say at Diversity U, "black is like bi--you try it once in college"?!
Many times.
And Ben Kingsley simply confirms it.
- The line that gives the film its title:
While on the beach on Fire Island, Luke is confused and scared, wondering if Stephanie really like-likes him. She tells him to relax, and not think about the end of the summer, saying, “see, that’s your problem Schapiro, the way you look at things. Me, I just see the dopeness. But you, you just see the wackness.”
I will now be referring to all negative things as “the wackness” and all cool things as “the dopeness.”
Except for this film. It is most definitely THE HOTNESS.