Bad, Bad Blacktress!

I am a terrible abolitionist.

I know it's 4 days into Black History Month and I haven't posted a damn thing. You've probably been sitting at your computers, waiting on my hard-hitting thesis on black culture in our new Obama age. Or maybe you were hoping for an interview with Eli Whitney, inventor of the cotton gin, asking him why the hell he had to go f shit up and make slavery fun for people.
Unfortunately, Eli wouldn't return my calls.

Even more unfortunately, not a soul in good ol' Sydney town knows what Black History Month is, so it's not like there are any TV specials or kids with school assignments asking me what it means to be black, like me. Or, for that matter, anyone sitting around reading the book "Black Like Me" (educate yourself to this reality). This, coupled with the 80-degree February weather has me all confused and forgetful. The most black-related things I've gotten is a series of puns from a music producer friend of mine. They include:

blacklash (we all know i've been there)
blaccent
blackground check
blaccident--"for when daddy forgot to strap up." I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean.

Clearly I'm lacking and slacking. However, I do enjoy using the phrase, "You can't blackmail this black male!" when faced with opposition.

Luckily, the Persian Excursion is on the case, repping a different unsung black hero every day of BHM. Check it out here.

To be fair, I've been partially behind cause I was wrapped up in my redheaded lover, who landed in New York City mere hours ago (Nothing like some white folks to make you forget all about your month of empowerment ;). Since his departure there has been crying on my part--for more info, see the next post.


Oh, and this is random, but I thought I should share:

The resemblance is too uncanny. Homegirl is part cray cray AND part muppet!

Since We're in the Mood for Change....

Hey guys, so I don't know if you heard, but America has a black president. He's really into change--and not in the begging-for-it-like-a-hobo kind of way. He's about making ish different the world over.

So, in that vein, I have a thought: why don't rich and famous white folks stop adopting brown children and go get some white babies? Seriously. I was kicking it in the Broadway Mall in Sydney and saw the cutest brown baby with his white mom (he called her mama, I'm not assuming). For some reason it got me thinking about how, when a white person adopts a child of another race, they are seen as extra-giving and self-less. But what about those white folks who live in poverty? Poverty breeds hate which leads to the dark side. Perhaps if we took some poor white folks out of their backwoods homes, there'd be fewer KKK members.

My plan is to get Brad and Angie to adopt some poor white babies from right here in America, cause nothing teaches cross-cultural acceptance like having siblings straight out of a United Colors of Benetton catalogue. Since Brad's stopped returning my calls, and Angie's mad cause I told her to get someone to handle Zahara's head, I'm going to just write an open letter. Here goes...

Dear Brangelina,

Hey guys, it's me, Blacktress! How are you doing? Brad, I was totes about you in The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, but I found the trope of the 'magical negro' to be off putting. At first I thought it was just F. Scott Fitzgerald, but it turns out the short story had no negroes at all, let alone magical ones! You got a black baby now, stop perpetuating stereotypes!!

Anyway, that's not what I'm writing about. I'm writing because you guys love adopting babies. Angie loves walking around with a baby on each hip and two on each side, much like a glamorous childcare worker. However, you seem to adopt brown babies only. While this is all well and good, there are several white children in our fair country that could use some wealth and the education that it brings. Brangie, what about going into some rural areas and picking up some kids who are 12 years old and still can't read? What about asking some angry racist white folks if you can borrow their babies for 18 years, and then sending their children back armed with knowledge of Vietnamese, African, and Cambodian culture? I'd love to turn to Page Six and see a glamour shot of a former farmhand turning his KKK robes into a dashiki while braiding Zahara's hair.

So, um, yeah, that's just what I'm wondering. How are things? Angie, you're looking a little rough around the edges, boo. No matter how rich you are, you can't raise 6 kids and make it through the day. I loved you in The Changeling, but I am wondering if maybe you need a kid or two to disappear just to take the edge off. Actually, give me the white twins. I'll have them coming back reading Audre Lorde and "See Spot Run When Your Eyes Are Done Watching God"--it's Zora Neale Hurston for kids. Expect it in fall 2009.

Okay, well, I hope you take my lesson to heart. I've got a list of some towns you can start in when you're ready.

xoxo,
Blacktress!

What do you think? Is this the kind of change we can believe in?

From the Mouths of MILFs

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Performance Anxiety

So, as I said in my previous post, there is a red-haired man that's got me swooning! As I also said, he is leaving me for my hemisphere. Other than the terrible irony and complete unfairness that is an Australian man leaving me when I'm in Australia, this now means two of my future husbands will be in Canada: him and Michael Cera.

I don't know how I'm supposed to live in a world where everything I love is sent to Canada. I'm gonna have to get Obama to do something about this.

Anyway, we were talking about exchanging some music to broaden his horizons and provide him with some new tunes as he embarks on a new voyage. I believe his exact words were, "I want some cruisey tunes."

Though he uses this word often, I'm still not quite sure what 'cruisey' means. This is one of those Aussie terms that I'm still grasping three months in. Like that time he said there was a "biffo at the cricket," which I assumed was some sort of foodstuff, but actually means "there was a fight a the cricket match."


Basically, I think "cruisey" means laid back, rhythmic tunes you can sort of bop to--the kind of jam that puts a pep in your step, but doesn't overwhelm an afternoon bbq. Regardless, I'm basing my CD creation on this theory.

Guys, this is a very high-pressure situation. Remember back in the middle-school days when you were totes crushin' on someone, and you wanted to show your luuurrvvv? You went back home, broke out a cassette, and got to recording tunes that you were convinced proved your coolness--and your ability to be the perfect partner. The result looked something like this:


Remember how hard making a mixtape was? Stopping, pausing, trying to keep the flow seamless, so you'd even rewind a little bit to make sure the time between songs wasn't too long? It was a labor of love, and by the time you handed over it was not unlike your still-beating heart--only way less gross.

To this day, nothing proves you're into a guy like rolling up to him slowly and whispering in his ear, "Damn boy, you so fine I wanna make you a mix tape."
Go ahead, try it on your next crush.

He's going to judge me based on my musical taste! What if he listens to it and is like, "oh em gee, she sucks balls. but not mine. no sir, not mine." ?!?!??! This is very stressful. He will be listening to these tunes as he backpacks the Canadian wilderness. I will use these tunes to keep myself on his mind even when we are separated by thousands of miles. I can NOT have him remembering that I'm kind of lame.

As you can see, I'm really into him. So into him that I did not blog about him for a week and refuse to talk about our actual interactions because the only comedic fodder comes from my giddiness, not his foolishness. So into him that he left his man-deodorant at my place before his flight, saying that I should hold on to it cause he can't take an aerosol can on the plane, but I'm pretty sure he's leaving it here because he wants me to sniff it and think of him.
So into him that I almost told his brother how I felt.
I IM'd the friend of mine who got me in touch with him, and our conversation would have gone something like this:
me: HEY GIRL
HOW DO I GET [FRED WEASLEY] TO MARRY ME?! IT'LL BE LIKE IN HARRY POTTER BOOK 5 WHEN THEY ALL NEED DATES FOR THE YULE BALL AND FRED ASKS OUT ANGELINA, THE BLACK GIRL!!!
my friend: roofies. [i think she would have said this]

Instead, it went like this:
me: HEY GIRL
then, for some reason unbeknownst* to me, I paused and waited for her to respond. I never do this, seeing as I have a lot to say at all times.
my friend: hey Sojourner, this is her boyfriend [and my Weasley twin's brother!!!]. she's out right now.
me: oh, hey, sorry about that.
her boyfriend: no dramas.

AAHHHH! Can you imagine how that would have gone if I'd kept talking?! I'd be the mayor of Awkward City!!!

So I'm sitting here at 11:30 am on Australia Day trying to get some cruisey tunes. I made one sure-fire winner only to discover that the disc won't play in a CD player. I AM BEING FOILED BY TECHNOLOGY!!

I now have to go buy new blank CDs that are more versatile. This is way hard, guys.

As I wipe the sweat off of my brow, I try to remember that this is just a nice thing, and he'll appreciate my follow-through-- even if he thinks I have the musical taste of an emo 14 year old.

But, um, seriously, how do you record music so that it plays a subliminal message that makes him want to wed me in a rushed Canadian ceremony?

Whoever's got the answer gets to be the flowergirl.


* I'm trying to bring this word back into the general lexicon. What do we think?

I Cannot Watch This Without Cracking Up

The rhymes aren't the cleverest, but the hook just has me rolling.

Clearly I spend way too much time on youtube.

Oh, and these last few posts are my way of stalling since I don't know how to begin to write about the fact that I am totes crushing on my very own real-life Weasley twin. Like, for serious. This is an even bigger crush than the one I have on my podiatrist.

And, in line with the tragedy of my life, he is leaving Sydney in about 10 days to spend the next TWO YEARS in Canada!

Fucking Canada.

I Cannot Watch This Without Tearing Up

It's Been A Long Time Coming.....

I think my favorite part would have to be Malia's pre-inauguration pep talk. Here's a quote from the Prez, found on This Week With Barack Obama:

For Barack Obama's historic Inaugural Address:

"And then we go and look at...Lincoln's second inaugural'' etched on the wall of the memorial, Obama said, recounting his daughters' remarks to him. "And Sasha looks up, and she says, 'Boy, that's a long speech. Do you have to give one of those?' I said, 'Actually, that one's pretty short. Mine may even be a little longer.'

"At which point, then Malia turns to me and says, 'First African-American president. Better be good.''

Oh, Malia, it was SOOOO GOOD!!! While I wished I could have been at home--or, even better, in DC--watching it bleary-eyed at 4am, then again at the Democrats Abroad inauguration party, I felt the same chills I felt on election night.

So, um, Michelle, I'm sending in my application to be the girls' governess. I've got the reading list all set, and have no problem picking up dog poop.