Detroit is Deadly

What up, gang! It's another dysfunctional day in Detroit. My cousin, who works in auto insurance, just came in from work to visit my grandmother. He immediately goes into the kitchen and begins frying chicken (I swear, I'm not being racist). As his chicken fries, he sits down and takes off his sweatshirt (my grandmother keeps her house a cozy, menopausal 80 degrees). A turn to the left reveals the gun on his right hip. I have to share the following exchange:

Mom: Jay, you got yo' gun on you today?
Jay: Yeah, auntie. I had to go to the bank.

Um, are we in the wild wild West? Why on earth would you need a gun to go to the bank unless you're about to rob it? I didn't see a red kerchief, so I assume he was making a routine deposit. When his sister comments on the foolery of this, he replies:

Jay: It's not loaded like that.

"Loaded like that"? What does that mean? It's either loaded, or it's not. My fear mounts as I realize that anyone who has their own rules of what qualifies as "loaded" probably shouldn't own a firearm.

Jay [in a condescending tone]: To actually shoot, the gun has to be engaged.

OK, so what he's saying is that there are bullets in the gun, but the safety's on. I think that qualifies as "loaded."

I have no idea how Detroit expects to engage in Ujamaa* when a routine trip to the bank requires "back up."

Y'all, I still have another 24 hours here. Meanwhile, my mother is angry at me for a facebook post that my cousin mentioned (family has officially put on the limited view), and is not speaking to me. I need a kwanzaa prayer for patience.




*Ujamaa: Cooperative Economics-- To build and maintain our own stores, shops, and other businesses and to profit from them together.

London Calling, Pt. 2

I am currently in Spain, sitting in the oficina of my step-aunt and uncle. If this post contains several typos, I apologize in advance; i am having problemas with this keyboard.

anyway, i got in to spain at noon yesterday, and hadn´t slept since friday night-- and even that sleep was questionable. It was a whirlwind three days, involving meeting relatives I didn´t know I had (an unearthing daddy drama), going on a "magical pub discovery adventure" with a friend who hadn´t seen in 2.5 years, and getting crunked on the streets of LDN. Things I´ve learned:
- Brits don´t think it´s funny when you´re walking through the tube/subway station and start singing "America, Fuck Yeah! Coming again to save the muthafuckin´day, yeah!"
- Chips means "french fries." And, funny enough, actual potato chips are called ¨crisps."
- The customer is never right. The sassy attitude of the English server makes no apologies for f-ing up your order.
- You can not go walking around Notting Hill asking strangers where you can find Julia Roberts.
- The English lad epitomizes the word "strapping"-- you will never get osteoporosis on this side of the pond.
- The next time Brits start talking about fat Americans, remind them about the English breakfast: beans, toast, eggs, bacon AND sausage, roasted tomatoes and mushrooms. Seriously, all as on meal.
- I am indeed not black enough. When meeting my Nigerian relatives, the question of my "African side" was raised, as it was a bit upsetting to them that I interact with the white Other and had no Nigerian pals. If only they knew about my romantic life.....

Trapped in the CLUTCHES OF R. KELLY!

I have come to one conclusion this weekend:

R. Kelly is an egomaniacal genius.

Yes, I watched the latest installment of his urban opera-- a.ka. 'hip-hopera'-- 'Trapped in the Closet.'

And I don't think I've had so many emotional orgasms in one hour.

Chapters 13-22 begin with what may be the greatest recap in the history of cinema and television. First of all, R. Kelly is dressed in a blindingly white suit-- he is a black angel Gabriel. As he comments on the action thus far, he uses the refrain "Oh SHIT!!"-- Which is exactly how the viewer feels with each twist and turn.

LOOK!!! It's THREE R. Kellys! And they are all saying "OH SHIT!!" And I'm sitting there, going "OH SHIT!" not only because TITC is so intense, but because there are now THREE R. KELLYS for my eyes to feast upon!!!

Anyway, after the recap, we are brought to 13, where Sylvester and Twan "embark on a serious errand." I am on the edge of the couch-- not only due to the drinking game that I've invented, which requires you take a sip of your DRANK every time someone brandishes a barretta--but because Twan is one of the most capable can-do ex-convicts I've ever seen. Any mission he's on has to be for serious. In chapter 5(ish), Twan comes to his sister Gwendolyn's house straight from his 3-year prison stint, only to be shot in the scuffle between Sylvester and the policeman. As Gwendolyn says, "my brother's been through alot/and now to come home from prison and get shot," we instantly feel sympathy for this innocent bystander-- and this sympathy becomes awe as Twan refuses to go to a hospital to tend to his gunshot wound. He simply asks for the bathroom, where, in a McGuyver-esque fashion, he cleans and covers his beefy arm with gauze.

Clearly, Twan spent those three years in prison studying for the MCATs and getting an associate's degree in nursing. And doing bicep curls.
As Sly drives, Twan begins to roll a marijuana cigarette-- much to Sylvester's dismay. "Man, you must be crazier than a fish with titties if you think you're gonna smoke that in here," he sings.

Yes. Re-read that again. CRAZIER THAN A FISH WITH TITTIES. This is the only phrase I will ever use to describe something ridiculous again.

Anyway, this errand involves Sylvester meeting with Kathy-- aka Queen of the Black TRESSES! Her hair is unbe-weave-able, and her blonde locks make her a bit hard to identify for those who aren't sufficiently obsessed with every twist and turn of this magnum opus.

As Sly and Kit-Kat recap their issues in the diner over dranks, their waitress continues to butt in, and tells them to "keep it real" as Sly leaves her a hefty tip. Initially, this character with the odd twitch seems be as irrelevant as Rosie the nosy neighbor, but by now I've learned better than to doubt R. Every character who appears in this seedy version of a Tyler Perry musical has a purpose, and will undoubtedly carry a mysterious "package."

Their waitress is none other than TINA, the woman who Twan blames for his prison sentence. And she works with Roxanne, a cook at the restaurant who jumps from the kitchen holding a skillet, ready to bust some heads. Twan bursts into the restuarant, hell bent on exacting vengance on these two good-for-nothing hos. R. Kelly reminds him what awaits him if he acts on his rage: life in prison. Here, we see Professor R. making an insightful commentary on the US Prison system: those who enter rarely leave with a chance at rehabilitation.

We discover through excellent flashbacks (almost Hitchcockian in their scope and vision) that Tina never ratted out Twan because.... SHE WAS PREGNANT WITH HIS BABY.

OF COURSE she was. What else I was expecting, I don't know.

Chapters 15-17 explore this former trio's past and their future, as we now learn that Tina and Roxanne are an item.

This is R. Kelly's second introduction of a homosexual relationship into the world of TITC. What is shocking here is that, unlike in the case of Chuck and Rufus, R. Kelly is less judgmental of Tina and Roxanne's union. He brandishes his baretta (for the 75th time), but falters, saying, "Y'all lucky I like that kinda shit, or both y'all asses would be dead." What R. Kelly does here is perpetuate the stereotype that lesbians are hotter than regular women-- and, in this instance, they should actually be allowed to live and thrive, like characters in a BET version of "The L Word."

Chapter 18 wrenches us from the gorgeous visions of lesbian love and shuttles us to the church, where we see Pastor Rufus in his chair of holy righteousness (though we all know he's living life on the down low). R. Kelly employs his second wig as he embodies the choir leader, and sings to the city's head pimp, Lucious (also played by R. Kelly). Clearly, R. has taken a page from the Eddie Murphy book of blackting-- use wigs and prosthetics to become as many humorous 1-dimensional characters as possible, thereby winning your audience with your tongue-in-cheek slapstick.

BOTH OF THESE MEN ARE R. KELLY!!! He is both pimp and churchgoer, good and evil. Brilliant!

As the choir sings to Lucious to find Jesus, we see that Chuck has called Rufus on his celly and begs him to come back. Chuck even threatens Rufus with contacting the media, and Rufus asks if he can see him. Chuck tells him no, because... HE'S IN THE HOSPITAL!!!
Cut to Chuck in a wheelchair with bandages around his head.

In the span of no more than 48 hours, Chuck has gone from a sassy, knife-wielding, popped collar-wearing virile black male to an incontinent hospital patient who has had some sort of brain surgery.

The only answer: he's got "the package."

Nosy Rosie's husband Randolph overheard Chuck and Rufus' conversation while hiding in the-- yep, you guessed it-- CLOSET of Rufus' office. He immediately goes to his gossiping wife and tells her that Chuck has "the package." This then leads to a dynamic and emotionally intense telephone tree (you know, the kind the PTA used to tell each other what to bring to the bake sale) where every character discusses who may or may not have "the package."

WHAT THE FUCK IS THE PACKAGE?????

R. Kelly never explains. While the logical conclusion would be AIDS/HIV, who calls it a package?
Oh, look honey-- UPS just brought us a brand new bundle of AIDS!!!!!

I don't think so. Who would ever sign off on such a package?

But, then again, logic is not what R. Kelly has proven to be about in the creation of this epic work of demoralizing black people. Would he really create a world in which NO ONE uses a condom? Even after they help each other cheat by introducing each other to possible sex partners? This seems a little too ridiculous. But, then again, Professor Kelly is crazier than a fish with titties.

And I love every minute of it.

I will actually be creating my own version, called "Locked in the Foyer," which will expose the seedy underbelly of white suburbia. It will star Joe John Sanchez III as the narrator, and Colin Casey as a meddling pool boy.