Bravo

I know you're gettin bored dealin with him (sung 'sim' courtesy of Bobby's drug abuse induced lisp)

King of Ribs & Barbeque: I'm known like the president. They might as well give me the oval office.

Whitney "Keep The Receipts" Houston to annoying white woman who interupts her meal for an autograph and has the gall to say, "She's a sista. I'm not messing with her": Be me for a moment.

King of Rocks & Blunts: I had to dig a dookie bubble out of her butt.

Whitney "crack is wack" Houston: That's love. Black Love.

I thought this was gonna be pure unadulterated comedy but its nuanced: funny, true, but sad and sometimes beautiful.

P.S.-Every Little Step is where it's at.

Don't Drink the Kool-Aid

Hustla par excellence*, Cassidy

More importantly, it proved to his doubters that he was not going soft. Think of a slightly more refined "Grindin' " when you think of "I'm a Hustla." The drums are so rigid it sounds like the record's producer, Swizz Beatz, had a whole African tribe in the studio pounding away all night. And the lyrics are so unapologetically immersed in the ghetto's sludge that the record's ability to compete with the soft radio fluff that's been so omnipresent is testament to Cass' appeal. It also proves he doesn't need R. Kelly singing on the hook to give him his biggest hit record.
-S. Reid of MTV News on Cassidy's "I'm A Hustla"

I should say that I generally like Reid's writing (What little of it I've knowingly read. I tend not to pay attention to bylines.) which is why I was so suprised to see his byline attached to this masquerading press release. Maybe he's just a super duper fan. In the miniscule time I've been writing I have also been overly effusive on occasion (when the artist tells you he'd give the album a lower rating than you gave it you've gone too far). But I still won't apologize; The Vault 1.5 still gets heaviest rotation.

But beyond the syrupy praise this simile is killing me:

...it sounds like the record's producer, Swizz Beatz, had a whole African tribe in the studio pounding away all night.

No words.

...slightly more refined "Grindin'...

Dude, you're wildin'. That's blasphemous. "Grindin'" beyond banged. No discussion (and the remix? Pa it don't get no more ghetto than that. Respect to Lithonia's best for putting me up on it back in the day when we were young). The comparison doesn't work. I don't care how many JT collabos The Clipse do in the future their stuff resonates on higher and lower frequencies in a way that this kid Cassidy's stuff can't and won't. Ever. And I saw that ole battle with Free and eff it Philly "Put on a beat" Freeway is still light years better as an artist. Punchlines are so played.

And with regard to this assertion:

and the lyrics are so unapologetically immersed in the ghetto's sludge that the record's ability to compete with the soft radio fluff...

Cassidy IS radio fluff. His lyrics: bombastic, cliche, facile. His delivery: unconvincing. But I will give him this: the hustla dance is cute especially when middle schoolers at the bus stop on Chicago's Magnificent Mile spontaneously break out with it as you wait for reasonably priced transport to your homegirl's hotel for a little conference. So much so that your tired broke ass smiles. Hard.

*Hustling proficiency determined by ability to convince fans and media professionals that despite all indications he is not wack.

"And while the people sleep..."

She woke in the morning. She knew that her life had passed her by...

Love jah and live...
Luciano, "Love Jah & Live"

Sometimes, I feel the fear of,
uncertainty stinging clear.
And I can't help but ask
myself how much I'll let the fear
take the wheel and steer.

It's driven me before, and it seems to have a faint,
haunting mass appeal.
But lately I'm beginning to find that I,
should be the one behing the wheel.
Incubus, "Drive"

What's worse than being insecure? A paranoid obsession with coolness that prevents you from publicly or privately acknowledging your insecurity. While intellectually, intuitively and in my my god fearing heart I know ain't nothing wrong with battling one's inner demons its always seemed cliched at best and oh so lame at worst. I don't want to be like anyone else but I hate the fact that I am. Beyond hating the fact that everyday I confront the fact that for example my pops in his nagging and unpredicatable pathology has repeatedly maligned me as despicably bougie, unlovable and worthless for that matter (which my hyper impressionable sensitive spirit was always predisposed to concluding) I wouldn't have to see the reflection of so many black girls with daddy issues in me. It's just so fucking unoriginal. It's like my life like yours in many respects is preordained to be shitty. And this is not another post about my dad. I wasn't even thinking about him. It's about me, about being afraid to cut off my annoying hair and being another bald headed black girl despite having cut my hair off as teen in boarding school and worn it confidently short most of my time at Spelman, about worshiping the sun while being afraid of getting too dark -color consciousness is a bitch- and about a whole lot more. I have so much things to say right now, the words fit perfectly in my quick to snip mouth but I won't let them go. Maybe that's why it's so hard for me to write. My mouth's a fucking traffic jam; an endless bottleneck on the way to God knows where but hopefully somewhere better than here.

sincerely,

the anti jazz juner

Fix Up, Look Sharp

It is not the answer that enlightens, but the question.
Eugene Ionesco

Why do white people love MF Doom so much?* I'm pretty cool on the ashy elbows, pot belly, and general dishevelment not to mention his entire lack of stage presence. In retort, I'm sure Doom's even portlier hype man would cite his ability to sound just like his recordings which I would argue, if I cared, is not necessarily a good thing.

Obviously I attended the not quite star studded rap spectacle that so many folk anticipated except me (I am however anticipating Bobby & Whitney's reality tv debut). Only reason I went is cause fam had an extra ticket AND I still left early. It was beyond hot and muggier than South East Asia. I should know. I should have stayed home and watched the BET awards then hit up Quo or Table 50 later even though it was a good show. On my way out I ran into dude who throws the Thursday night shindig at Triple Crown which should, from this point forward, become apart of your life unless you're lame cause you'll f##k up the rotation.

Nobody was feeling Sadat X but me and like three other folk and I concur with Joey, Primo got zero respect despite having sweated through his T-Shirt which I can confirm occurs whether or not it's infinite thousand degrees outside. Hearing De La's "Much More" for the first time live followed by my fav "Stakes is High" was hot although the whole audience seemed to be anticipating Doom's entrance for "Rock Co.Kane Flow" their whole set.

The Roots, as dude already stated, have morphed into a jam band. A great one but a jam band nonetheless. I'm glad I saw them in '98 with Com at the Roxy in ATL even though they didn't do "Silent Treatment." Oh yeah and Hub killed it. I want him to play at my wedding along with 'Sandra and D'Lo.

I missed most of BCC's abbreviated set but please believe I won't be late for their Ft. Greene Show (cause it's around the corner) which undoubtedly will have better energy.

On that note a show is as much about audience as it is performers and the Central Park audience wasn't doing it for me excepting the Hill Harper lookalike catty-corner to my left. I think I'll attribute a good part of my blah to the phenomenon about which Kitwana writes, The Perceptionists malign, and O-Dub tries to pin down.

If we had to depend upon black people to eat, We would starve to death. You've been out there, you on the bandstand, you look out there, what do you see? You see Japanese, you see... you see West Germans, you see Slobovic, you know, anything, except our people man. It makes no sense, it incenses me that our own people don't realize our own heritage, our own culture. This is our music.

That's bullshit!

Why?

That's all bullshit. Everything, everything you just said is bullshit...The people don't come because you grandiose motherfuckers don't play shit that they like. If you played the shit that they liked, then the people would come. Simple as that. Bleek and Shadow, Mo' Better Blues sampled in The Roots' "Act Won," TFA

*Which is not to say that all colored folks dislike the full grown man.

Band Aid

TONY: So how do you guys make band decisions? Is it a democracy?
Corin Tucker: It's more of a consensus. If someone really doesn't want to do something, then we won't do it. The internal dynamics and structure of the band reflect our ideals as much as the music does. We want to do something progressive and meaningful, something that could actually change things in a small way
TONY: What is it you would like to change?
Corin Tucker: The traditional rock & roll structure where the people in the bands are the guys and the women are their girlfriends. I grew up wanting to be in a position of power, but the more I thought about about doing a rock band in a totally different way, the more I realized the whole power dynamic had to be overturned for it to be truly revolutionary.

Notes from an unaborigine daughter

The Original Document: Interpolate The Clark Sisters' classic into your set, move your body like a sanctified snake while gettin redemptively low and holy ghost happy and I'm sold. Watching/Listening to you, my hatred for Joss Stone metastasizes exponentially.

The Hop: Your Thursday night 'burg residency now ensures that I can respond in the affirmative to Phife & Tip's enduring question.

Good Friday: Right after I tell all who will listen that--all things being unequal-- Conjure Man and you will sing at my wedding. You cover "Brown Sugar." I don't know how to behave.

A Burst of Light: Headachy from two nights of club crawling, a week of hosting always welcome out of towners, and a couple of hours waiting to interview an artist who never shows up, I slide into the Nuyorican way past colored folk late for your event and witness your triumphant embodiment of elements of Oprah, Michael Eric Dyson and James Baldwin all dwarfed by your own unique extraordinariness. Real talk. (P.S.-Don't forget the cool people later in your blownupedness)

Babylon or Bust: Did it real big, before and into dark, in the park. Black folks do read and write and my friends are the best!

Try to munch that

Heesheeee,
Uhhhhh...blowticious,
Skeevee [mmmmmm] delicious
Gimme couscous love me good
Uhh damn
Hollis to Hollywood but is he good?
I Guess like the jeans...Uhh
Flava like pralines
Sick daddy knawmean?
Papa love it when he does it
Niggas buzz it
But tell me was it really just the flava that be clogging your ears
The most safest behavior is to stay in the clear
It's all for you...It's really all for you
[Now what?]
Punch back
Close your eyes try to munch that
Oil up your ankles let your Timbs tap
Bite the flava it reacts to your gold caps
Word to mama
I tongue kiss a piranha
Electrocute a barracuda...I'm here to bring the drama

Pink Cookies in a Plastic Bag...

The act of reading my Stat Counter is like pink cookies in a plastic bag getting crushed by buildings. Turns out the global web citizenry ain't coming here for insight into unrealized girl geniuses but "stocky women,", "morehouse titties," "sexy negro girls," "spelman hotties," "black hotties," "hot Haitian girls," and "fiyah jungle fever." I'm sorry that I could not oblige, well, except in the case of ole boy from San Jose whose internet surfdom comes courtesy of DSL Extreme (I guess regular dsl was too tempered for his expansive tastes) and whose search for "stocky women" landed him here for, thankfully, but a few seconds. If he had stayed any longer right now I would be keeled over my office bathroom toilet vomiting up my alleged stockiness. No disrespect to thick chicks intended.

More fiyah (Dylan, what's up!), hotness (if that's not redundant), sexiness, and Negritude, at she real cool in the immediate future. I promise.

What a Fool Believes

capricious capo

You get to see me in a white linen suit — that's probably the closest people will ever get to seeing me in a suit."
~Jim Jones to MTV

"Lean not unto thine own understanding."
Proverbs 3:5

Luck of Lucifer

Granny Goeppert


Oh, luck luck will drive you...

Lady luck: Lottery player wins twice

BETHLEHEM, Pennsylvania (AP) -- Some people seem to have all the luck. Just ask Donna Goeppert.

Earlier this year, she won $1 million playing a Pennsylvania Lottery scratch-off ticket, then turned around and won another million-dollar jackpot last week.

"What are the odds of that?" the 55-year-old woman said, calling her good fortune "just unbelievable."

The odds of winning just once are 1.44 million-to-1, according to state lottery officials.

The odds of winning twice vary depending on how many tickets are scratched.

Lehigh University professor Bob Storer placed the odds of winning twice at 419 million-to-1, if 100 tickets are played.

Goeppert's win in January allowed her to pay off her mortgage and her children's mortgages, buy a new Cadillac and save money for her grandchildren's education.

She purchased her most recent winning ticket for $20.

Lottery officials confirmed Goeppert has filed a claim for the jackpot, which will take four to six weeks to verify.

The devil doesn't need an advocate and hell's nonexistence precludes the onset of Fahrenheitian 32's but damn it all. Everybody else is getting money but me. In addition to Granny Goeppert my beloved peoples, Lafayette Slim, with whom I travailed LLC1, GS, Tuck, and NYU (except she graduated on time) won the lotto again. Short of Mega Millions by a hair she won a couple g's before and yesterday I picked up my cell (currently dead until M dot gets to town with the charger I sleep deprivationally/inebriately left at her apt. to catch an AM flight to BK) and learned Slim had did it again. I'm happy for her. After enduring unimaginably inconsiderate houseguests while achingly sick, she was subject to an eery assault in broad daylight, so if anybody deserved it she did. Granny's good fortune, on the other hand, just makes me mad. My life's goal has and will continue to be winning the lottery and this Depends covergirl goes and wins it twice. So if I sound bitter with envy, please blame it on the son of the morning.

What Looks Like Crazy On An Ordinary Day

"Bass drop out"

Normalcy is overrated. Sunday Q, M dot, & I pondered what the world would look like if we all admitted to each other that we have problems. I can't imagine it and I am a little too afraid to try. Superhonest people, shameless people, fearless people scare me. I'm as strangely attracted to them as I am repulsed. The truth is really ugly sometimes and lies are almost always beautiful.

I perform erryday as much for other people as for myself so maybe Lauryn is seven steps ahead of the pack. I'll admit she's wounded; that's obvious. I won't ever forget her vacant eyes during the DCBP. It was really disturbing especially since I have a wierd admittedly obsessive onesided relationship with her. Remember how those Romanian kids would pass out when MJ performed? (Or how those diehards ecstatically sobbed and shook when he was pronounced not guilty? Yes, I did hop twice and exclaim once as the verdict was announced. Thriller is my MJ prize.) Well my fandom exhibits that same intensity, without the fainting. She's managing her burdens: womanhood, motherhood, and a triflin' abusive negro affliction the best she can. 'Clef fucked with her head, that is on record but I been hearing that Rohan "I am legally married to another woman" Marley who in the spirit of his Rita-beating father is laying the smack down physically since we already been know he's been battering her psyche. Say it ain't so. I am not into kicking people while they're down. I'm with Amel on this one. I know L's down I just want to know when she's getting up.


"You will RIZE"

This isn't an audioblog nor does it pretend to be. It's just me. But I uploaded some Amel from Bravebird. Amel is slick with her shit and insightful about womanhood and its trippy trappings. These two songs seem like appropriate soundtracks for this bootleg rumination.

Giving Something Up

All I Got

"All that talk is seasoned to perfection..."

You dream about your sheep and the Pyramids, but you're different from me, because you want to realize your dreams. I just want to dream about Mecca. I've already imagined a thousand times crossing the desert, arriving at the Plaza of the Sacred Stone, the seven times I walk around it before allowing myself to touch it. I've already imagined the people who would be at my side, and those in front of me, and the conversations and prayers we would share. But I'm afraid that it would all be a dissapointment, so I prefer just to dream about it. Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

Life can sometimes get all up in your ass with urgency and I'm grateful for that. I have taken to worshipping my own hurt feelings in the quiet indisputed ignominy of my cool pose until the pawn hits the conflict or the dawn comes softly signalling an impending jaunt to Hartsfield. A few Stellas garnished with an awkward toke, a cha cha slide and a refreshing promenade down memory lane collaspe into the transcendent somber that is the moment after. It betrays and illuminates all that has come before. The love that space demands wills me to shake the shackles off my feet and live. Rize, they do, and it is that easy. The homie knows as do I and we say we're committed to freedom. I ain't worried about her though; she stay 'bout her business but me on the other hand- I love myself when I'm looking mean and impressive but maybe not enough for laughter. During one dusk 'til past dawn salon I realized I might need a manager, a life coach of sorts. I'm afraid I don't have enough follow through to hire one so I'll fly away ASAP and stare heavy lidded into the clouds and imagine, again, that I have heaven right here on earth.

"I'm in a good mood, you lucky, I got a good groove. (And I ain't trying to fuck my thing up?)"*-Shawn Carter

*Parentheses and ? added.

Give Up The Goods

Frank or Leon as his jump offs call him has/is/and will continue to invogorate the blogsposphere. He's got a top 5 list thing going on over there and at his instruction, I and his other blog fam are to compile are top 5's. HEEEERE WE GO!

5 SCHOOLGIRL CRUSHES NO LONGER ON THE HUSH
(This isn't what Frank said but since dearest knows about google and the blog I made it less suggestive)

1. Morris Chestnut
2. Cedric the Entertainer (The quintessential renaissance man.)
3. Mario
(M edged out BV on the strength of his height and, for the record, I'm undeterred by rumors about his preferences.)
4. Bobby Valentino
5. Professional International Football (as in soccer) player.
If no one emerges out of the upcoming World Cup then I'll settle for a rugby player. What y'all know about Foster's, "Tubthumper", meat pies, illegal cigarettes, and the 1997 Hong Kong Seven's Champs? Unless you're my Fijian homie for life Su or R or K, I suspect, not a damn thing.


5 PEOPLE WHO MADE THAT INEVITABLE TRANSITION THAT I WOULD LIKE TO MEET

1. Messiah
2. Gwendolyn Brooks
3. Sojourner Truth
4. Zora Neale Hurston
5. Madam CJ Walker (To personally thank her for her hair straightening innovation.)


5 PEOPLE I’D LIKE TO BE STUCK IN AN ELEVATOR WITH AT THE SAME TIME

1. Dad
2. Chris Rock
3. Pearl Cleage
4. Paul Beatty
5. Cheri Oteri


5 THINGS YOU’D PROBABLY NEVER GUESS ABOUT ME
I'm not as frank as Frank nor have I had as exciting a life (I can't compete with paralysis or Say What Karaoke?) not to mention all the really good stuff--I have some unbelieveably good dirt on myself--that you'll never guess will remain a closely guarded secret but...

1. My right knee is permanently damaged from a freek heel clicking accident in between Cosby and the Fine arts bldg circa '98.
2. I was the best heel clicker in the world.
3. It hurts my heart that I can barely click my heels anymore.
4. I almost ALWAYS lie to make a story more interesting.
5. I may not have been the best heel clicker in the world but I was the best in greater Atlanta, the HK SAR, and Washington state.
Bonus-I talk to myself cause there is no one to talk to. People ask me why I do what I do.

So since Frank passed the baton on this post. I want to pass the baton back since he is an expert. Have you seen RIZE? What did you think? Did you see similarlities between Ball culture? What did you think about the silences with regard to sexuality?

Nota Bene: I'm fully aware that no one reading this supposedly revelatory exercise will know me any better than before and that's the way I intended it. Just step.

Chocolat Popcorn

Tiona to documentarian on homophobia in hip hop:

I told her how I felt the conscious crowd vs. the plain ole ignoramous scene is the same when it comes to the homophobic shit spewed out of their mouths…I said the conscious, “I smell like nag champa and mad oils combined” niggas be on some bullshit just the same…instead they talk a little slicker and bring shit back to the “African American family” and how it is destroying it…what?…when really you are upset that I may have caused some arousal in you that cant be fulfilled…so now its my fault and you now wanna tell me in a sexy stupid way…clearly it always is encoded language for “since I cant fuck you and get you pregnant you are now the single handed reason why black families aint shit”…”it aint my bullshit fuck ass…”…”its your- don’t want my dick ass”…this is then followed with a couple of “my beautiful queen mother of the new earth risen in a horizon of all things black and holy and Egyptian and goddesslike”…fuck outta here dudes…id rather take the simple “dyke bitch” that I hear from the ignorant simple ass niggas ive met on the scene of hip hop…at least they don’t take 10 to 20 minutes off my life saying the exact same shit and keep it moving…its pretty equal to me…

What more can I say? Not much. But I can draw your attention to two examples from Badu exes and so called hip hop boho's, Outkast's 'Dre (I can't call him Andre 3000; that suggests forward thinking and this shit is straight backwards) and Common (displaying a lot more sense than 'Dre) speaking on fluid female sexuality:

...said there were some girls that did attract her, a new chapter she was after so I said let's go to a place that you wanna be..., Common, "Go," BE


you start smokin wit ya girl
She nigga bashin sayin you don't need em in your world
Niggaz all dogs? If niggaz all dogs, then what you call broads?
Felines in heat, meowin for some yarn balls
Now you and her done got to drankin
Oh now it's really crunk, cause y'all silly drink
and your girl done got to thinkin
She talkin bout, "Girl you look so beautiful"
You say thank you bein nice you try to change the subject
Want some beans and rice? But she's back at you like a pit
mixed with a chihuahua how much meaner can you get?
Don't let her have her way with you she's gonna have a fit
You're the candy apple of her eye and bout to get bit
here's what you do -- you
grab her by her neck, throw her on the wall
Say, "Bitch don't ever disrespect me never not at all"
These simple words can put a pause to half of the applause
Them black ball laws of balance at all cost
'Dre, "Mamacita", Aquemini

"Go" has been battered by the masses even by the audacious new jeru kid in the 106 & Park audience the day it premiered who said, "I think he could have done better with the video" before Melyssa Ford saved the day with effusive praise. I've already said my piece on the song's aesthetics but I been meaning to address the girl on girl action. To be fair, in Com's instance as opposed to your boy 'Dre's, the female's same sex encounter is in the context of her heterosexual encounter with Common so although he indentifies the menage a trois as a means to satisfy her desire, he's got double the pussy and has therefore no reason to be upset or threatened and in tune with the song's theme ("everybody run back to your fantasy") the same sex encounter undoubtedly fulfills his fantasy.

Now 'Dre is just plain angry since this potential same sex encounter ain't got nothing to do with him or any other man and is therefore very threatening. This potential same sex coupling excludes him which may account for his violent expressivity within the lyrics of this song or the fact that his former girlfriend Keisha Spivey (who last I heard was making house with Omar Epps)of mid nineties Hip Hop Soul outfit Total was known to be pretty fluid with her own sexuality. Sound like a nigga was just a little bit bitter. But moreover Andre 3000 is not all that progressive. Ski boots and wigs are no more indicative of progressiveness than buttondowns are of being a grown ass man.

[Edit: I know this song was released in 1998 and recorded some time earlier. It would be interesting to know if ole boy's perspective has evolved.]

I want to go to Duke..

New Black Man, Mark Anthony Neal

Despite the fact that thesis is in limbo I still have doctoral aspirations and dude, as O-Dub already said, is handling it. Oh yeah and he gave me a pound after my EMP presentation. Take that, take that...

Pay Per View

The god's son, Juelz Santana

..like i tell my bitches: listen, don't watch me, watch T.V.
Juelz Santana, "Mic Check"

To gaze is to think.
Salvador Dali

There is power in looking.
bell hooks, Black Looks

Rakim came to the video — I didn't even know, he just came through. He was telling me how much love he had for me. I was like the teacher of the class in the video and he sat behind the desk like the overseer. That just meant so much to me.
Juelz on The god, MTV.com


We have the eye, which of the five senses is the closest to the brain, or rather is the sensory channel through which the brain itself directly perceives the external world.Light is indispensable for the proper functioning of the eye. Our visual power (function) to discern objects is more easily frustrated by manipulating light than by directly blocking the direction of our gaze, as is illustrated by the dark changes of scene in a theater. This also means that our discernible world varies with the quantity of light. Often we feel peaceful when we settle into an indirectly illuminated space or dim corner. As we know, in such a relative darkness, (not?)* so deep as to risk our safety, we feel more reassured than scared, and the faintness of light calms and relaxes us.
James Turrell

*parentheses and questionmark added.

...and the living is easy

alter exterior

"Have you any dreams you'd like to sell?"

Prefix's Summer Concert Guide, comprehensive schedule of NYC free summer concerts aka what I live (here) for, is up. Kinda dissapointed with Summerstage although the jazz offerings are enticing: Pharaoh Sanders & Cassandra Wilson in particular. I adore Cassandra Wilson. In fact so much so that although I know (well actually I'm hoping therapy will help me reach this foregone conclusion) that God doesn't make mistakes and I am perfect just the way that I am, if I could look like any other person in the world it would be her. That's an unqualified statement. She's four years younger than my mother but I'd trade skins with her today. She's glamoured. Lauryn Hill is the only other exterior I covet and if assumed I promise I wouldn't be so tortured in it.

To bring it back, Ft Greene Park is where its at. BCC & Omar: Crazy! I will head uptown to see Kindred for the millionth time cause they're the truth. I'll probably check Dar Williams at Madison Square Park on the strength of "I Will Not Be Afraid of Women" a song me, l, and cheryl swirly girled to in her midtown atl apartment in between sun stroked stints across the street at Music Midtown. (PS If all goes well I'll be round those parts friday for VIBE Music Fest.)

Oh yeah and I want to be in a iPod commercial. Does anybody know how to make that happen? I want to dance hard to Gift of Gab's "Just What Can Happen." Blackalicious has been making a lot of noise on the commercial scene, with "Way of the Light" and all so this wouldn't be too out of character. I'll also bust to "Congo" or "Giving Something Up" and if those are too old I'll settle for "Go" or "Gotcha." Since big crazy hair is necessary for silhouetted iPod dancers I promise to trash my assortment of hot combs and flatirons for the shoot. I think Kris would be good in the commercial too if she's not busy snapping pics of herself. She could vary her hair flinging white girl dance with the Josephine Johnny of her native land. Steve Jobs, what up?!

[edit-I'm gonna add Gabrielle Union to the list of epiderma I would inhabit. I'd keep my hair though. I suspect she doesn't have any and her weaves are messed up but with a face like that it really doesn't matter.]

Papadonna!?!?

William H. Johnson, Cafe, about 1939, oil on paperboard

What's Love Got to Do With It? Everything.
In a new book, a marriage historian says romance wrecked family stability.
By Barbara Kantrowitz
Newsweek

June 6 issue - For the true commitment-phobe, living among the Na people in southwestern China would be paradise. The Na are the only known society that completely shuns marriage. Instead, says Stephanie Coontz in her new book, "Marriage, a History," brothers help sisters raise the children they conceive through casual sex with nonfamily members (incest is strictly taboo). Will we all be like the Na in the future? With divorce and illegitimacy rates still high, the institution of marriage seems headed for obsolescence in much of the world. Coontz, a family historian at Evergreen State College in Washington, doesn't proclaim the extinction of marriage, but she does argue that dramatic changes in family life over the past 30 years represent an unprecedented social revolution—and there's no turning back. The only hope is accepting these changes and figuring out how to work with them. The decline of marriage "doesn't have to spell catastrophe," Coontz says. "We can make marriages better and make nonmarriages work as well."

To understand how we got here, Coontz traces the evolution of marriage from Paleolithic times. Throughout human history, people married to arrange child rearing, pass on property and organize life. Until relatively recently, most of these alliances were not legally sanctioned but rather informal arrangements accepted by society at large. The choice of partner was rarely left to the couple; parents and other respected community elders made the match. "Marriage was a way of turning strangers into relatives, of making peace, of making permanent trading connections," Coontz says. "There are many different languages that call wives the Anglo-Saxon equivalent of the word 'peace-weaver'."

In the Western world, that model held until about 200 years ago, Coontz says, when the idea of marrying for love emerged. Those who bemoan the current state of marriage should blame the Enlightenment emphasis on self-fulfillment and the pursuit of happiness. It took a while for the love revolution to have its full impact. Some other barriers had to be knocked down first: inequality between men's and women's roles, little social mobility, unreliable birth control and harsh penalties for illegitimacy.

By the 1970s, Coontz says, these obstacles were gone and marriage became a potentially much more satisfying personal relationship but a much weaker social institution and the subject of intense debate. In this country, it has become a lightning rod, Coontz says, "for our anxieties about our speeded-up, materialist, winner-take-all society. People think if only marriage were more committed, that would take care of all the other problems." But Coontz argues that it's pointless to try and roll back time. For better or worse, we're stuck with marrying for love and accepting the consequences of living happily ever after—until someone better comes along.
© 2005 Newsweek, Inc.

Hanh!

D-Roc & Kaine

"Niggas laugh but my expression wasn't hardly the same."
Masada, "Mamacita," Aquemini, 1998

Growing up, D-Roc and I had to be thinking because of the way our fucking lives were. He had a short hand. I got a short leg. It put us in double jeopardy.
Kaine, VIBE, July 2005

Not only are colored women with ambition and aspiration handicapped on account of their sex, but they are almost everywhere baffled and mocked because of their race. Not only because they are women, but because they are colored women are discouragement and dissapointment meeting them at every turn. Mary Church Terrell, National American Women's Suffrage Association, 1896

As a group, black women are in an unusual position in this society, for not only are we collectively at the bottom of the occupational ladder, but our overall social status is lower than that of any other group. Occupying such a position, we bear the brunt of sexist, racist, and classist oppression. At the same time, we are the group that has not been socialized to assume the role of exploiter/oppressor in that we are allowed no institionalized "other" that we can exploit or oppress. White women and black men have it both ways. They can act as oppressor or be oppressed. Black men may be victimized by racism but sexism allows them to act as exploiters and oppressors of women. White women may be victimized by sexism, but racism enables them to act as exploiters and oppressors of black people. Black women with no institutionalized "other" that we may discriminate against, exploit, or oppressd often have a lived experience that directly challeneges the prevailing classist, sexist, racist social structure and its concomitant ideology.
bell hooks, "Black Women: Shaping Feminist Theory," Feminist Theory: From Margin to Center, 1984

"In addressing the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) Legal Defense Fund in 1971, Fannie Lou Hamer, the daughter of sharecroppers and a civil rights activist in Mississippi, commented on the special plight and role of black women over 350 years: "You know I work for the liberation of all people because when I liberate myself, I'm liberating other people...her [the white woman's] freedom is shackled in chains to mine and she realizes for the first time that she is not free until I'm free" the necessity of addressing all oppresions is one of the hallmarks of black feminist thought."
Deborah K. King, "Multiple Jeopardy Multiple Consciousness: The Context of a Black Female Ideology," Words of Fire, 1995

"Show me respect cause it's due, you keep the fear cause I'll get over and believe I'll come back at you."
Masada, "Mamacita," Aquemini, 1998