You have no idea how good it feels to be blogging again. I just got back from the D, which I haven't been to in over a year. As you know, when my mom and I go visit G-Unit, we must grapple with three generations of crazy, all with our own truths. This weekend was no exception and the only silver lining is that it was a mere 56 hours long. But it's amazing how, despite global warming, it's still so, so cold in the D. For those of you who still can't quite wrap your brain around what it is to be in the city that god forgot, let me share this internet vid. Not since T-Baby's magnum opus has the essence of the D been so eloquently captured.
I'm just glad that I don't have this guy's grandma!
The repeated requests for chili cheese, the support for Kwame Kilpatrick, the recollections of shooting various people--it's as spot-on as Stuff White Girls Say to Black Girls.
Some translations:
- "Run on Rose" means rose champagne--Moet. Apparently it's the balls. - "snatch some carties" = steal some Cartier sunglasses - Kwame Kilpatrick was the mayor of the D who was having an affair with his chief of staff--this was put out after he'd already been accused of corruption. That's why "he can't be textin bitches."
Jewboo alerted me to this news item with just the words "Jesus Christ" before the link. Unfortunately, I wasn't all that surprised--not even after reading about Detroit resident Julia Brown.
The last time Brown, 73, called the Detroit police, they didn’t show up until the next day. So she applied for a permit to carry a handgun and says she’s prepared to use it against the young thugs who have taken over her neighborhood, burglarizing entire blocks, opening fire at will and terrorizing the elderly with impunity.
“I don’t intend to be one of their victims,” said Brown, who has lived in Detroit since the late 1950s. “I’m planning on taking one out.”
Although Julia "Throw Down" Brown is obviously related to T-Baby in some way, she is no match for my G-Unit. At 95 years old, G-Unit has been keeping a gun in her house since the Regan administration (hence her lovable nickname). When my cousins and I would play hide-and-seek in her house, she always warned us to "go anywhere but in the front room. That's where I keep my gun."
Having seen Boyz N the Hood and knowing we were already living on borrowed time as black youth in Detroit, none of us were stupid enough to actually look for the firearm, but we were obsessed with the idea of my grandmother having it.
"What are you gonna do with a gun, grandma?" My cousin asked.
"I'll shoot an intruder," she said, with her voice starting to rise. "Some fool tryna come up in here and rob me. I may be old, but I ain't no weak person! I made it this far and I ain't letting some dumb son of a bitch take me."
Ever the logical one, I had only one follow-up "If you shot him, what would you do with the body?"
What my grandmother said next is still emblazoned on my brain 20 years later. So matter-of-fact that she was almost dismissive, she replied, "I'd let the dog eat it."
Y'all! Ethel will leave your body as puppy chow if you try to start some ish! She's gonna make sure black folks can have nice things!
(I think this level of hardness is what makes me such a difficult woman to love. I come from take-no-prisoners Southern sharecropping stock.)
At the time, I imagined a body on the hallway floor with Toby (her dog) biting off bits of it. Even at 7 years old, I assumed there'd be a stench and wondered how Grandma would get pass the corpse to get to the bathroom every two hours, as she was wont to do. I was able to have such a detailed vision because I had no doubt in my mind that G-Unit would do it!
I blame Clint Eastwood. Gran Torino was practically a documentary and then there was that Super Bowl commercial (see below). I guess this is what he meant by "Motor City fighting again."
By "the roar of our engines," did you mean the sounds of caps busting in asses?
As I got ready for bed last night, I found myself oddly excited that Addams Family Values was available On Demand. I loved the movie when I was little—particularly the racism at summer camp** (even as a youth, I loved when people spoke truth)—but I haven’t thought about it in years. Why the sudden hankering for the story of a twisted family of sadistic masochists in a decaying house?
Oh, right—I just got back from a visit to Detroit. Duh.
Thursday, June 9th, marked the 95th birthday of G-unit—the only reason “the D” is worth going to. Good times were had, y'all. Ain't no party like a 95th-birthday party, cause a 95th-birthday party ENDS EARLY AND HAS SALT-FREE FOODS.
G-unit was in top Gangsta form, calling everyone a “dirty dog,” and hurling insults like she was on The Bad Girls Club*. When I showed her my new business cards with my headshot on them, her response was, “That ain’t you. That’s too pretty to be you.”
Although my cousin thought it was pretty harsh (G-unit’s best insults are usually in front of an audience), I can’t fault a woman who’s been around as long as she has. She’s seen things and she has been hardened.
Guys, let’s think about this. G-unit was born 95 years ago—in 1916. She was the grandchild of slaves. She’s been retired for 33 years. Let’s look at just a bit of what Grandma has witnessed over the last 95 years:
1916: WWI in full swing when Granny was born. 1918: Woody Woo (that’s what I call Woodrow Wilson) was ready to end this thing, like Bruce Willis in any movie he’s ever in. Prior to the war’s end in November, Woody could often be heard in his room in the White House chanting, “down, down, down, Kaiser’s going down.” 1939-1945: WWII 1950-1953: Korean War 1960-1975: Vietnam War 1961: Bay of Pigs 1976: Steve Wozniak designs the first Apple computer 1977: Kanye West born 1981: Princess Diana weds Prince Charles 1989: US Invasion of Panama 1990-1991: Persian Gulf 1995-1996: Intervention in former Yugoslavia 2001: Invasion of Afghanistan 2001: Apple’s first iPod released 2001: A movie called Pootie Tang is released. 2003: Invasion of Iraq 2004: The Facebook—a “social networking site” that allows you to “re-connect” with people you haven’t seen or spoken to in years, as well as people you’ve only met once—debuts. 2004: Kanye West’s first album drops 2006: Twitter debuts 2008: The first black president is inaugurated 2008: The word “sexting” becomes part of everyday speech. 2010: Apple invents the iPad 2010: Kanye West joins Twitter 2011: Prince William, Diana’s son, weds Kate Middleton 2011: A US Congressman is embroiled in what the media refers to as a “sexting scandal.”
Can you imagine standing in lines for WW2 rations and then living to see your grandchildren walk in the house, watching a movie in the PALM OF THEIR HAND??? When I told G-unit about the wedding Jewboo and I went to, she said, “pull of the pictures on the Facebook!” My brain almost exploded at this statement. Grandma used to pick cotton as a child! The goal was to collect 2 lbs each day, and the trick was to get up really early, then the cotton was still wet with dew, so that it weighed heavier than it actually was. HOW CAN YOU KNOW THAT AND KNOW ABOUT FACEBOOK?????
I am in awe of her existence.
When I got to the D, the words of T-Baby rang in my ears. I left the 98-degree city of New York and landed in the cold, rainy, Detroit airport, so improperly attired that I had to wait for my ride in the vestibule. It was indeed so cold in the D.
While in the D, I made the acquaintance of a 9-year-old boy named Chancellor. That is not a name. That is an occupation. My visit to the D was brief, perhaps—dare I say it—too brief. I didn’t have any time to eat any of my favorite trans-fatty foods, check out the latest fashions at the local malls, or visit the Target. I also only got a taste of the family’s latest madness, but I did learn that my cousin is already working on another hood tale (he’s quite prolific), and my aunt stole my other aunt’s identity. Just another day in the D!
*A reality show on Oxygen—television for women (who have no self respect.)
I had to explain it in the title so that no one would get upset.
Happy Wednesday, readers! Even though I'm bout ready to pass out, I've got to stick to my every-other-day rule.
Just got back from seeing the new Broadway show "The Motherf**ker with the Hat," starring Chris Rock, Annabella Sciora, and Bobby Canavale, and it was soooooo good!!! I have loved Bobby Cannavale since he was on "Will & Grace," and he was just beyond unbelievable. The emotions were at 10 from the beginning of the show, and they sustained it throughout.
Chris Rock was great (the character suited his style, and he was natural on stage), that Bobby Canavale is an out of this world actor, and the 100-minute show was relentless in its rapid-fire pacing.
Okay, enough Ebert-ing from me.
I went to see the show with my mom and my secretly-gay uncle, who's here for a week on vacation (he lives in The D--you know, where it's so cold). He's staying with me, and at first, I was nervous, as I've gotten quite accustomed to having my morning Saved-by-the-Bell-watching "me" time, and he is up with the sun and chatty-chatty. But the best part about secretly-gay uncle is that as a childless 60 year old, he's always happy to break a piece off to his young, gifted, and black(tress) niece. He also fancies himself an aesthete and mostly wants to spend his time in museums, but being from Detroit, he's very easily impressed (this became apparent when he raved about the service at the neighborhood Applebee's--bless).
He really enjoyed the show (not as good as Sister Act, which he loved), but our fun was dampened a few times during the show by some very ignorant audience members who acted as though they were watching a damn movie! During Chris Rock's first scene, an audience member yells out "Love you, Chris Rock!" and totally threw him off. Rock even turned out a little bit and said, "What did you just say? I just forgot my part" and he fumbled for a bit while Cannavale--ever the professional--fed him a trigger to get him back up to speed. This isn't a fucking Bieber concert--you can't be yelling out like Chris is gonna bring you on stage and serenade you! After sharing a three-way look, my mom, uncle, and I see an usher tap a young black guy on the shoulder--he was the yeller. This is why black people can't have nice things, y'all.
Toward the end of the play, during a really emotional scene, another knucklehead yells out to Bobby Cannavale, "We love you, Jackie [the character's name in the show]!" What the?! When did Broadway become a scene out of Dangerous Minds? As much as I love Chris Rock bringing all kinds of people to the theater, I think there needs to be a sobriety test or something before you're allowed to take your seat.
At the end of the show, the cast came out to their standing ovation and Cannavale talked about Broadway Cares. "You've been a really great audience--most of you," he began. He was instantly met with resounding applause. I could imagine being on that stage and being so pissed; I can't believe they were able to stay with it through that foolery. (the show was really intense, and although it was funny, it was very dark)
Secretly-gay uncle wants to see some more shows while he's here, so I may try to tag along. I want to see "Book of Mormon," but he's really itching to check out "Priscilla: Queen of the Desert."
I write to you in my final hours in Detroit. I worked hard to make the best of it, but this city refuses work with a blacktress. Yesterday's foolery was manifold:
1. I wanted to go to the gym real bad, because I feel like I've been eating hypertension and type-2 diabetes ever since I got here. My cousin's a member of LA Fitness, a national gym chain that she joined in the ATL. We found the location nearby and when we got to the front desk we were told we had to pay because: 1) her membership wasn't valid in this state; 2) I couldn't use a guest pass unless I lived within 20 miles of the gym. What kind of fuckery??????? I mean, who joins a national chain and doesn't think they can use it anywhere in the nation? They give out guest passes like they're candy, yet I can't, as a visitor, get my treadmill on if I come in with a member who pays a monthly fee? And why on earth would you a member pay an additional usage fee each time she visits the chain instead of just transferring the account to Michigan? To top it all off, when my cousin asked to cancel her membership, the girl behind the desk printed out a form that had to be mailed in--stamp not included!! Since when is an in-person cancellation not valid? I can't even cope with this madness.
2. After the gym was a bust, we headed to the nearest Payless so that I could return the cheap gym shoes I purchased. With box and receipt in hand, I waited in line at the Payless in the Northland Mall. I did my best to be patient and pleasant as the tweens in front of me had all sorts of issues. When I finally got to the register, the woman sank her head in her hands and said, "Please don't tell me you're doing a return." "Um....ok. I'm not doing a return. Here are the shoes and receipt. Can I have my money now?" "I been doin' returns all day, I can't do no more," she said. I assumed this meant she was fatigued, or maybe her manager wasn't around to punch in the proper return codes, but she certainly couldn't have been serious. "We don't got no more money," she said as she chewed on her acrylic nail. So.....what am I supposed to do? Grammar aside, how on earth does a store in a mall run out of money? And, if that was really the case, couldn't she have said that to me during the 10 minutes I waited in line so that I could have been on my merry way? (#whyblackbusinessesdon'tthrive) "There's another Payless down the road you can try." Okay, fine. I leave without an attitude and have my cousin drive me to the next Payless a few minutes away.
It didn't bode well from the moment we pulled up, as the lights were on, but no one appeared to be home. Good lord--they didn't close for another 2 hours. Look alive, people! I walk in and call out to someone. A woman in the back of the store says, "Hey," like we're old friends. "Um, I have a return." I yell to her from the front, near the register. "We been doin' returns all day; we don't got no more money," she says without moving a centimeter closer.
WHAT THE FUCK???? WHERE IS ALL THE MONEY IN DETROIT??? The worst of it is that such shady business operations are completely against yesterday's principle, Ujamaa (Cooperative Economics): To build and maintain our own stores, shops, and other businesses and to profit from them together.
Payless was certainly refusing to economically cooperate with a blacktress, instead sending her on a wild goose chase for some basic funds. I can't build, maintain, or profit from a damn thing if you don't have at least 18 dollars and 1 cent in your registers! As we drove to the third Payless (I kid you not), I wondered when Detroit became the streets of Calcutta. I felt like a slumdog millionaire without the millions. I was about ready to cut a bitch.
I was finally given my $18.01 at the third Payless, and vowed to destroy Cuntinental Airlines once and for all (it has officially replaced Delta as the worst airline ever) for leaving me here.
As we commiserated in the car, my cousin told me about this "music video" called "It's So Cold In the D," which is all about Detroit. "Nay Nay, it's kinda Antoine Dodson-style, but kinda sad-funny" she explained, referencing the "Bed Intruder" jam I introduced her to on Christmas. Of course, after a long day of foolery, I had to see it.
What I witnessed on her laptop was unlike anything I've ever seen. It really encapsulates Detroit--and clearly struck a chord, based on the more than 2 million YouTube views. From the lead singer's neon-orange braids (that match her hoodie--um, if it's "so cold in the D," why isn't anyone wearing a coat?) to the still photos of slain family and friends to the crew walking through the graveyard, it reminds me of how my cousins and I would spend our summers "making movies" (I'm trying to find the footage of "Life in the Ghetto" so that it can be burned before my bio-pic).
OK, enough explaining. Let me just embed it. This, gentle readers, is where I've been for the last 5 days:
