For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When Listening to Caucasian Girls

If you and I are friends on Facebook--or you keep your finger on the pulse of the latest madness from Inside Caucraysia, like I do--then you may have heard of or read the article "A Match Made in Harlem: A White Girl Reports from NYC's Legendary Neighborhood" on hiremegrantland.com.

If you haven't seen it--or, more likely, haven't been able to see it, as the page has been taken down--let me go ahead and paste portions of it here. Note: The quotes don't appear out of order, nor have they been edited. Because I know this has been all over the interwebs, I'd like to focus my attention on the apology from the editor of hiremegrantland.com. But first, highlights from CauCRAYsian Ivy Jacobson's article.

She writes that her uncle, who has lived in NYC for over 30 years, ripper her "about 50 new assholes" when he discovered she was moving to Harlem. But, you know, he did some reconnaissance and,

"After he assured my dad the neighborhood wasn’t completely terrible, but also pointing out the staircase in my building looked JUST like the one in a crack-den apartment in Serpico, he made me get mace (which I still carry) and named himself Deputy Commissioner of Ivy’s Security."

"If I feel safe in Harlem, what is the lingering stigma about Harlem that makes people scared for me?
First, frankly, it’s because I’m not a big, black thug."
[Note: this is the first of many references to "big black thugs" that appear in this article.]

"Do I feel safe? I never haven’t."
[Well this is just shitty grammar, most likely the result of some attempt to be witty.] 

"My roommate is muscular and black, so when we walk down the street together, people assume we’re just another hip, racially mixed couple to not mess with (we’re not, he’s gay). I like to pretend we’re Lady Gaga and Usher taking a stroll, just living our lives."

[Of course, the problems with these two sentences are worth a whole post in itself, but aside from the most obvious (Lady Gaga and Usher??? Are those the two most famous people you can think of, after referencing the 10-year-old television show Sex and the City and the music of Jay-Z?) I'd like to take a moment to address her black gay roommate. How has he not slapped this chick upside the head and set her straight? He is complicit in fostering her racism and ignorance.]

My favorite part:

"As opposed to many other Manhattan neighborhoods, there are no women on macrobiotic diets dictating to nannies on the sidewalks. On the contrary, women in my neighborhood let their husbands have it in the middle of the street, often wearing tropical-colored get-ups."

TROPICAL-COLORED GET-UPS.
ARE. YOU. SHITTING ME? 
That language is straight out of a National Geographic. Not even Richard Attenborough would stoop so low when narrating a documentary about the rainforest, and he's all about the sensationalism (Hello, Planet Earth was straight-up tawdry!). 

The fact is, she means it--she's earnest in her love of her neighborhood. Ivy Jacobson is misguided and lacks self-awareness, which almost makes her sad. It's like she really doesn't know any better. She uses objectifying language from start to finish, relying heavily on stereotype and pop-culture references to situate herself and the reader within this "crazy world!" of Harlem.  She also spends much of the piece commenting on how people are so surprised that she lives in Harlem but doesn't actually get into substantive reasons for such assumptions.

Also, it's 2012 and gentrification is the new frappucino--Ivy, you ain't special!

So with that in mind, I find the Grantland editor-in-chief's "apology" to be even more disconcerting.

"The article in question was taken down for several reasons. Once frightening comments were made on this site — which are moderated for coherence, spam and profanity regardless of the article – and on Twitter, we reached a state of emergency.

HMGL — and I personally — apologize as sincerely as I humanly can to those who were hurt by this or any piece.

I also apologize deeply and profoundly to the story’s author for putting her in a compromising position.

For the record, no one receives any money off this site save for our host, GoDaddy, and WordPress, who I pay out of pocket.

Today has been a very trying day for this website, usually a source of joy to those who work on it and read it. I am quite literally sick to my stomach for any distress caused.

Again, please accept my sincere apologies.

You may contact me, a humble and imperfect editor of this site, via email: Matt@hiremegrantland.com."

Before going into the implications of this apology, I'd like to note that this editor is the very same Matt mentioned in the opening of Ivy's personal essay.
"Matt asked me to explain what it's like to live in Harlem. 'What's a nice girl like you doing in a neighborhood like that?' he wondered."

He also linked to the piece in one of his previous posts with the "sensational" tagline: Want to know what it's like for a white girl to live in Harlem? [with a hyperlink to the article that  now cannot be found.]

So, before reading the "humble and imperfect editor's" apology, it's important to keep in mind that both he and Ivy (who I don't think could be put in a "compromising position," seeing as she eagerly wrote and sought publication for her piece) find the idea of her living in Harlem to be out of the ordinary and worthy of further exploration. In Matt's mind, Harlem is not for sweet girls from Tampa, but for poor immigrants who fight in the streets and are so thankful for each gentrifier's presence in their lawless neighborhoods. He fumbles for the words to express his discomfort, not exactly addressing what in the piece may have incited such ire (or, as he puts it, "a state of emergency." Um, if nasty comments are a cause for FEMA-like tactics, perhaps he's in the wrong line of work).

It seems that he's primarily sorry that people got so mad that they said things that hurt Ivy's feelings.

I don't think hiding the article as though it never happened--and then removing comments that called out the many layers of offensiveness--is a professional or mature means of handling it.

When I posted the piece on my FB wall, I got over 60 comments--you'd have thought I just got engaged (but I'd just gotten ENRAGED!). This isn't my way of saying I'm popular or whatever. I use it as an example of how much conversation and emotion this article sparked. I'm having dinner with a friend tonight, and when we firmed up our plans via email she wrote:

Also, I'm looking forward to talking about that horrifying "White Girl in Harlem" piece you posted to fb. My wife and I talked about it for over an hour on Friday. We seriously could not get over it. The discussion that followed on your facebook wall is what facebook was made for :).

For reals! We can't just shake our heads and move on. Ivy Jacobson may have been the writer, but she didn't invent these beliefs--and she didn't decide to publish them on a website. We need to put out the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth!

17 Again

Just like Matthew Perry!*

As those of you who read regularly may recall, I am a mentor for a young, gifted, and a black high-school student at my alma mater. I started last year, and even though she and I hadn't spoken in, like 6 months, I think our bond is strong and relentless, like James. Last night was the mentor-mentee meeting, which was way later this year because of Hurricane Sandy. Seeing as it's practically December, I missed the chance to talk to her about college choices, but we met up before the meeting to catch up on life. 

And I discovered that I'm basically still a teenager. I walked into the school and felt like I'd stepped into a bizarro world--everything looked the same but also didn't, you know? All high-tech, with the student and faculty key cards and flatscreen TV announcing the day's events and lunch! But I did instantly feel poor and chubby, and I think I suffered a quick bout of anorexia when I first crossed the threshold, so it was sorta like old times. Before my mentee arrived, I did run into a former classmate who was now working there as an art teacher. In the first of what would be 5 catch-up conversations with classmates, I realized that I've pretty much blocked middle school/high school out with the permanence of a Vietnam vet. But what makes it weird is that I was very active in school and well-liked, so when I see alums, they don't really get why I'm not particularly interested in reminiscing. 

It's also cause they're almost all lawyers or work in finance. They live the kind of lives one would expect after attending one of the best schools in the country, and then some of the best colleges in the country. 

I work at a magazine. It's about art. 

But what felt most uncomfortable was that I was the only adult at the dinner who was dressed like the students. I felt the self-consciousness that plagued me in the 90s (and was briefly mollified by Lisa Loeb and Ani Difranco), and wondered if I deserved to be there. As I approach 30 (in a year and a week, but still) and assume the role of "mentor" in a young woman's life, I think I should probably have sensible eating habits, money for dreams, and.... my shit together, right? Alas, no. 

When we got to the location of the dinner, one of the admins introduced me to senior boy who was applying to colleges. 

"Do you have any advice for him?" She asked expectantly, as he stood next her awkwardly tall. 

Without really thinking, I said, "Don't fuck it up."

#ifit'sgoodenoughforadragqueenit'sgoodenoughforastraightteen

I mean, what else is there--lord knows I don't have the answers!

But really, it was a nice evening. I got to talk to friends I hadn't seen since graduating, and we all marveled at the changes in the school. (They have Women of Color and Men of Color clubs now! And Asian Cultural Society! And LGBTQ club! And Ujamaa! Y'all, back in my day the only "women of color" club we had was the cheerleading squad, the members of which were all black, plus one white girl who had rhythm!) My mentee also told me about a trip she took to Europe in the spring, and it was kinda heartwarming and magical to hear a young blacktress squeal with excitement over the first realization that she was beautiful. I don't know how many of you have traveled while brown inside Caucasia, but there really is nothing like the boost you get when you're a young traveler in a land where everyone's down with the brown. I'm glad she found out when she was young, so she can go to college with confidence and not settle for less! My high-school themed evening continued into this morning, when I went to the dentist to get fitted for a new retainer--or I guess, to be specific, it's a night guard. 

Because, you know, I'm winning. 

I must say, though, I love having a mentee--aka a constant reminder of how far I've come. Plus, she gets all of my jokes, which is pretty great. But does that mean I'm really immature or just a crossover sensation?

*Speaking of Perry--talk about a comeback kid, am I right? His show Go On is nailing it!!!! I think what I love most is that the lead blacktor from Everybody Hates Chris is a series regular. He's on his way to being the black Neil Patrick Harris.

I think I'm turning Japanese, I think I'm turning Japanese

I really think so. Because they have an island on which cats roam free!!!

I want to go to there.

But honestly, I'm not sure what I love more: The precious cat pics or the fact that this was brought to my attention by Jewboo, who sent an email titled, simply, "OMG." #howyouknowyoufoundtheone

Of course, my penchant for anthropomorphizing animals makes each of these pics so rich with meaning. 

Yes, I created captions. 

You're welcome.

Clearly these two are on some sort of quest, probably to buy kitten-sized beers without an ID. I imagine the one in front is Michael Cera and the one struggling to catch up is Christopher Mintz-Plasse. 

A MOTHER'S LOVE IS SO TENDER!!!!!!

I have a feeling these two sleepy heads aren't even hers, but she's one of those cool neighbors who ends up taking care of all the kids on the block because she could never have any of her own. 

"Are you my mommy?"

Okay, these three are clearly the bad-asses of the island. I bet they have some cool name, 

like "The ME-YOWZAS!"

Just go ahead and make this your desktop background--you are powerless against this cuteness. 

If this just gave you a reason to hold on, Wilson Phillips style, there are 44 more photos on BuzzFeed! Like Tom Haverford says--TREAT YO'SELF!

I am Ashlee Simpson. Or Voldemort--whichever you prefer.

Yesterday I finally bit the bullet and set up a tumblr account! I'd been putting it off forevs, especially since it would have meant transferring every single Blacktress post onto the new account. Even though Blogger is the new Geocities, I can't bear to let go of this safe space, and will be using Tumblr basically as a networking tool, since all the cool comics are in on it. Blacktresscomedy.tumblr.com will be where I post pics, vids, and links (and use words like 'pics' and 'vids') that move my spirit (to LOL or vom!).

I must say, Tumblr's weird. It's basically a newsfeed for people who want to read just a bit more than 140 characters. I feel like its tagline should be, "Tumblr: For when Twitter just isn't enough."

It's certainly not fit for extended musings and self-indulgent ramblings (save that ish for Wordpress--am I right?!), but that's fine because I've got enough going on--this "internet upkeep" is so much work! (#firstworldproblems)

Between the blog, the twitter, and now the tumblr (not to mention my "job" and "human interactions"), I'm being pulled in so many directions. I was just sharing the tumblr news with a friend and she was worried that I'd stop sharing TMI on the blog. It was then that I explained--and realized--a deep truth about myself: This blog is my horcrux. A part of my soul is in these webpages (mostly the slutty, awkward part, but still). Tumblr will be just one more location you'll be able to find the pieces, pieces, pieces of me.*

I mostly want to use it to create photo albums but since Tumblr is structured like a newsfeed, I'm not sure how it'll work.  I'll have to figure out how to use the system to showcase my favorite photos of middle-aged men holding animals against their will and disapproving transracial adoptees in the arms of their Caucasian parents. 


But don't worry--if there's anything I can figure out, it's how to work a Caucasian system!  Hope you will follow me or friend me or just generally F me.



*that's how you call back to a title, people!

New York, I Love Hate You

I am so over this damn city.

I got on the train this morning and, honestly, there was nothing particularly special about today's rush-hour madness. I spent 30 minutes clutching my purse to make room, apologizing for my every movement and occasionally my own weary sighs, and trying to move in ways that would let the dude behind me know that we shouldn't be touching butts--you know, the usual. But I just hit a wall of Danny Glover-ness (I'm too old for this shit!) combined with Samuel L. Jackson fed-up-edness (I'm sick and tired of these muthafuckin' snakes on this muthafuckin' plane!!!) that I can't get through.

Listen, I know it's "the greatest city on earth," and I sure as hell wouldn't want to live in another city in America, but we're selling ourselves short, people! And the worst part is that these low standards are acceptable. Living in New York City and taking public transportation, I smell human excrement on a daily basis--sometimes several times a day--and this is commonplace. WTF??! This ain't Calcutta! This sure as hell ain't 14th-century England during the bubonic plague--why is there excrement in the streets?! We're worth more!

This started getting to me when I was walking to the subway and saw this homeless guy. He's tall and skinny and looks about 70 years old (thought he's probably 40) and he's balding with basically two long matted dreadlocks. When I saw him on the platform, my first thought was, "Aw, shit, this guy again. I better get a damn seat so he doesn't touch my shoulder and call me 'beautiful miss.'" Y'all, this man is not violent or loud, but he is relentless. But the point is: Why do I have a history with a hobo??? I am not, nor have I ever been, impoverished (praise black Jesus). I have never dated a hobo or performed at a hobo benefit. And yet I see this person and can immediately recall his life story and personality quirks as though he were an old school chum. I'm not okay with this! Of course, the fact that I'm annoyed by him just gets me one rung closer to hell, and I'm not proud of it, but this is how NYC gets you. You get inoculated to pain, y'all.

Yesterday after work I was getting into the train at 28th street and I saw two men on the steps, standing a few feet apart from each other. Black guy was standing further down, White guy was standing toward the top (I'm ID'ing them by race to make it easier to describe, don't worry!). On the other side, a guy was trying to exit, so I waited for the clog to clear. The guy came through but the other two men didn't move. The Black guy waved the white guy down and told him to come closer. I'm thinking these two are going to walk down so I start going down but they stop about 4 steps up from the subway platform. The Black guy reaches into his sock and pulls out a baggie. The white guy peels off some bills and hands him cash. I interrupt this exchange with, "Excuse me, um, can I get through? thank you."
Y'all, I walked through a drug deal!! LIKE I'M JUST STRAIGHT OUT OF A SPIKE LEE JOINT AND DON'T GIVE A F#?!%

I didn't realize this until a minute after I swiped my Metrocard--and that's what really got me. Growing up in pre-gentrified Harlem as the child of a mother who worked in family and criminal court, I am anything but cavalier, and I know that killers are around every corner (oh yeah, I'm a drama queen who grew up on Lifetime movies). I never thought I'd see the day I'd burst through an interracial illegal drug trade. That guy could have pulled anything out of his sock (like a weapon!) and I woulda been up in the crossfire! I need to go back to Australia so I can get my head back on straight and appreciate this place. Who's with me?

How to go from a "Maybe" to a "Hell to the No"

Just when I think these artists can't get to me, an email comes in that amazes me to no end. 

We got a submission from a woman a while back and unfortunately can't do much with her work, so we sent a perfectly succinct rejection letter that read:

Dear [Cray Lady],

Thank you for submitting your artwork to our magazine. We don’t currently have an opening to feature your artwork. But the drawings are most impressive, and if the appropriate occasion arises, we will be in touch.

Sincerely,

[A respectful and competent adult who serves as the editor of this magazine.]


Maybe that was a bit impersonal, but we don't have all day to be buttering up egos. 
Apparently, we're also mentally ill. Her response:

Look at my web site I am included in every major museum collection in the country  you do not think you can do an article ?   What are you thinking [Cray Lady]. Connection

Sent from my iPhone

I have no idea what "connection" means. I also don't think that you can be that bitchy when you seem to lack a grasp of basic punctuation and grammar. I swear, they are TOO MUCH. 

I have EXHALED!

Whew child! You know these last couple weeks have been straight out of the Mayans Guide to the End of the World (now in paperback). With Hurricane Sandy and the election, I didn't know if it was okay to keep breathing, let alone have dreams! Luckily, I can now write to you with the comfort that comes from knowing that our president is not Mitt Romney and our VP is not Paul Ryan--and that my vagina is still a safe space!

Look, I'm not someone who believes Obama is a god (although I do wish he could be my dad and Joe Biden be my baby daddy!). But I am almost 100% sure that Mitt Romney and Paul Ryan are minions of Satan, so I'm happy with how things went down. For me personally, as an able-bodied, heterosexual, college-educated female in NYC, I'm somewhat sure that if the Republicans had gotten their way, I would have been inconvenienced, but mostly ok--I'd currently be packing up all my shit, figuring out how to break my lease, and asking around about how to find work in Canada (would they love a blacktress?). Plus, Jewboo probably wouldn't want to move and then we'd have to negotiate a long-distance relationship (which would probably work well since I wouldn't be able to afford birth control). I really didn't feel like starting over, so I'm glad I get 4 more years in America. Perhaps by then I will be a powerful celebrity in the vein of Brangelina and able to help the Dems hold it down yet again. 

Of course, many of us have joked about moving to Canada when the political climate got colder than life in the D, but I am for SERIOUS. I know Obama has let folks down, but I never expected him to be a magical negro, so I'm cool. And, quite frankly, I hate that the race was even close in some states. It proves that there's still so much to be done, and it's crucial that the energy that built over this election (and actually carried over on election day) be maintained as the president struggles to work with many Republicans who are dedicated to his demise. I found an NYTimes opinion piece that succinctly articulates why Tuesday's results were so hopeful:

Still, Mr. Obama’s victory did not show a united country. Richer Americans supported Mr. Romney, while poorer Americans tended to vote for Mr. Obama. There also remained clear divisions among voters by gender, age, race and religion.

African-Americans and Hispanics overwhelmingly supported Mr. Obama. White men voted for Mr. Romney; he won among those who said they opposed gay marriage, wanted to outlaw abortion, or favored mass deportation of illegal immigrants. None of those are majority positions in this country anymore. ... The polls were heartening in that they indicated that a solid majority of Americans believe abortion should be legal, and that half of Americans now say their states should recognize marriages between same-sex couples.

Of course, I added the underlines. To me, the election of Romney/Ryan would have been indicative of a growing hatred for minorities of all kinds (ethnic, racial, socioeconomic, sexual orientation)--and I would have had to get the hell out of dodge.

Besides, do we really think it's okay for one man to have his own planet and his own country?