Sarcastic, miscellaneous daily thoughts
and musings. And you probably feel the same.
In some households,
drinking the last of the Kool-Aid is grounds for a serious ass-kicking.
But when you think about it, doesn’t someone have to
finish it? It can’t last
forever, can it? I think
the beatdowns should be reserved for those who deplete the Kool-Aid
supply and then fail to make another pitcher of the red stuff.
Or better yet, those who leave like, two drops in the container
and then have the nerve to place it back in the refrigerator like it’s
full. Damn you.
You know who you are. You,
I will not aid during ass-kicking hour.
Because you’re old enough to know better.
Is it me, or is the
“I Hate Ashanti” thing becoming a little old?
Do I think she has the greatest voice in the world?
Nope. But I’m
certainly not going to be mad at her for cashing in on her success and
making her dough. And I won’t front—there are actually a couple of tracks
on her CD that I like.
So, I’m over it. Studies
show that excessive hating causes premature wrinkles, cancer and
constipation.
To the parents who send
tapes of their little darlings to shows like “Amazing Baby Videos”:
It was kind of funny at first when little Johnny tripped and fell
headfirst into that deep puddle of water.
But then he kept struggling, his little arms and legs
a-flailing—my laughter stopped, but your camera kept rolling.
What the f**k? I
know you really want to be on TV, but…heifer, put the camera down and
help him, already! Recording
little Chelsea as she tumbles down five flights of stairs does not
an entertaining video make.
The “Wow, Didn’t
See That One Coming” award goes to the increasing number of
newborns who, according to a recent report from the U.K., are popping up
with names like Ashanti and Shakira.
Why are we not surprised? But
parents, can we at least wait and see if these artists are going to last
beyond the standard 15 minutes before they become namesakes of your
firstborn?
Isn’t it interesting
how everyone these days is suspect of either a) being gay
or b) having had their nose “tweaked” at one point or another?
At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear rumors about KRS-One
or Barbara Streisand having had some “work done.”
Speaking of KRS-One,
whatever happened to Miss Melody?
A memo to soul food and
Caribbean restaurants that are always “out” of things.
You know how much we love you and the way your food sticks to our
ribs. But lately, it seems
that you’ve been having some trouble keeping your staples in stock.
What’s going on with that?
One of my girlfriends placed an order at her favorite soul food
restaurant the other day—and they were out of collard greens.
Huh? Of all the
things to run out of…and I can’t remember the last time I actually
ordered some available jerk chicken.
What is the world coming to?
Please don’t make us go to Super Stop & Shop for jerk
chicken wings and macaroni & cheese.
That just wouldn’t be right.
Disturbing trend:
Chicks in the club with breasts exposed underneath sheer tops.
Ladies, what’s up with that?
Call me old-fashioned, but what ever happened to leaving
something to the imagination, y’all?
Do your titties really have to shout “Hey, how the heck are ya?!?”
to every Tyrone, Jaheim and Big Woody in the club?
Then you get mad when you get treated like a hootchie.
Hmmm…I’ll just take a wild stab in the dark, here--could it
be because you’re dressed like one?
Call me old-fashioned, but what ever happened to leaving
something to the imagination, people?
Who would win in a
battle: Rakim, circa 1986 or Notorious B.I.G., circa 1996?
(I personally think Rakim would have swallowed Biggie like Big
Mama’s Sunday cooking, but that’s just me.)
The “What’s Wrong
with This Picture?” award goes to actress LisaRaye (Players’
Club, The Wood). Why,
pray tell, is she on the Bravo reality series The It Factor: Los
Angeles-- which follows nine unknown actors as they struggle for
their big break? “Mainstream”
Hollywood may not be up on her yet, but when you see her next to her
struggling, table-waiting, Ramen noodle-eating castmates, doesn’t she
look just a tad bit overqualified?
To the woman who
stepped in front of a bunch of cars the other day during a green light
and strolled across the street like she was in the park: You and some of
your pedestrian buddies are now taking this “right of way” shit just
a tad bit far. See, the theory is not to abuse it. What’s
perplexing to me is how you seem to take for granted the assumed sanity
of the person behind the wheel! For all you know, I could be some
crazy-ass, fresh-out-of-Bellvue bitch-on-wheels (literally) who’s
severely PMS-ing and trying to concentrate on the voices in my head
telling me that I’ll get 50 points for mowing your happy, nonchalant
ass down—with 10 extra points for every 20 feet I manage to drag it
behind my Toyota. That never occurred to you, did it? Didn’t think so.
And for those of you who are quick to come back with that tired line,
“If you hit me, I’ll just sue:” Um, not if you get hit hard
enough, God forbid. Besides, even if you did survive, can you
really enjoy a million dollars as a vegetable? I’d rather have
my health, thanks. So if the light’s green, just stay your ass
on the sidewalk, okay? That’s my public service announcement.
(P.S.: If
you’re running late, you should have set your alarm clock earlier!)
Payless Shoes: Ain’t
nothin’ wrong with ‘em, dammit. Mind you, this is not an
advertisement—I’m just saying. Ladies, I think we need to come
out of the closet about Payless. Too many of us are getting
eviction notices stamped to our door, winding up like Leticia in Monster's
Ball with our stuff all out in the yard—over them damn Jimmy Choos
and Manolo Blahniks that we just had to have (which will probably
be out of style next season, anyway). Meanwhile, cute, lonely
little shoes are just chilling on the shelves of your local Payless,
just waiting at ½ price to be taken home and loved. Many of us
know this. Many of us buy the cute Payless shoes and when
complimented, try to front like we got them from Nine West
instead. Whatever, do what you have to do—just as long as it’s
understood that a) it’s better to pour your money into more important
things (i.e. property, investments) and b) if you have real style, you
can do Payless and still look fly. Because winding up like Carrie
on Sex in the City (i.e. a closet full of $40g in shoes and like,
$1,200 in the bank) is not cute, and will never be in
style.
That being said…who the hell does Star Jones think she’s
fooling? We know damn well she don’t shop at no Payless!
An Ebony
magazine rant: It is so time for an overhaul, y’all. Is it
me, or does it recycle the same three topics month after month (“10
Hottest Couples,” “What Brothers Want” or “Fashion Tips for the
Black Woman”)? Ebony, you’ve been on the shelves since
Jesus walked the earth—can a sister get a little more? And
let’s not even start on that Fashion Fair ad they’ve been running
for the past 15 years (the one with the pretty, dark-skinned sister and
her cute infant son, where she’s saying something like, “Fashion
Fair lotion keeps my skin as soft as my son’s!”) The kid’s
probably a college junior by now. And does the “Fashion Fair
Tour” still exist, even? Just wondering…
TLC is so going to hate
me after this (*taking deep breath*)…okay. I’ve tried to
ignore it and look the other way, but I just can’t any longer. I
finally have to give Chili the “I’ve Got Indian in My Family, Dammit!”
award, for her insistence on wearing tons of baby hair swirled around
her head like the daggone Milky Way. What’s going on with that,
ma? Didn’t baby hair go the way of Al B. Sure, JJ Fad and New
Jack Swing? I mean, “I Love the 80s” and all, but not that
damn much. A quick memo to her people—please hide the Dippity-Do
from her, because I’m becoming a bit concerned. Okay, so
you’ve got “good hair”—we get it, already, dang!
(*Please note the extreme sarcasm in that last sentence, people.*)
Please stop beating us over the head with the rat-tail comb!
Also…I know they’re trying to keep the TLC legacy alive and all, but
isn’t it painfully just not the same without Left Eye?
Isn’t it funny how
nowadays, you actually have to listen to an R&B-flavored track for a
minute to confirm that it’s actually a gospel song? I mean,
don’t you get just a tad bit unnerved when you’re up in the club,
throwing your booty to the south and grinding against a total,
well-endowed stranger—and then you hear the word “Jesus” in the
lyrics? Kind of messes up your groove, doesn’t it? (Or does
it?) Even weirder is when artists like Kirk Franklin and Mary Mary
perform on Soul Train—they’re busy singing about the Lord, while the
hootchies in the back are just shaking it fast like nobody’s
business. Am I the only one who sees the irony in that?
The “Hey, Didn’t
Stevie Wonder Sample Ja Rule's 'Livin' it Up'?” award goes to...
BET’s “106th &
Park,” and Power 105.1. Guys, I know this is a youth-oriented music
industry—but come on. “Back in the Day--1998?” Yeah,
we’re going way back on that one. Have our attention spans
become that atrophied? Then again, if the demographic consists mostly of
kids in their mid- to late teens, I guess that would be
considered “back in the day” by quite a few...
To the guys: Quite a
few of you often complain about getting the cold shoulder when trying to
say “hi” or start a conversation with a member of the opposite sex.
That’s very interesting. Because here’s a suggestion, based on what
we women have often noticed: When we do speak to you first (which
is a bit more often than some of you care to recognize), you could
actually just respond in turn instead of:
Looking at us like we
have horns growing out of our foreheads, or…
-
Misinterpreting a
regular “hi” as “let’s go back to my place and fuck each
other’s brains out” and promptly trailing after us like horny
little puppies, hollering, “But I’m saying, though…can I talk
to you for a minute, Shorty?”
Newsflash to R&B/hip-hop artists who think they’ve “made it” because they’ve scored one or two semi-hit singles
right out of the gate: Tupac has released yet another posthumous double album,
Better Days, and there’s an issue I think needs to be addressed here, y’all:
The man has been dead for six years. And he is still outselling you.
Need I even say more? Think about that. Now squash your petty little beefs and get back in the studio, already.
Oh, and don’t forget to think "outside the box."
Open message to Ronald
Isley (aka Mr. Biggs). Okay…now, you know I love the Isley Brothers'
music like cooked food, right? But I’m thinking that maybe
you're getting just a wee bit carried away with this “Mr. Bigg” thing.
Let it go, dude. We get it already, you're a player. Put the
pimp coat/hat combo down and back away slowly. We love ya just as you are.
Hearing radio stations play the same two or three tracks by a particular artist can get a bit tiresome, especially when those tend to be the weakest ones on the CD—perhaps that’s why “R&B” is now an acronym for “repetition & bullshit.” Wouldn’t it be nice to bring back the days when radio DJs would play the “album cuts” of their choice—giving listeners some variety for a change?
Okay..maybe that's a bit much to ask in this day and age. (*sigh*)
To the women who still insist on wearing foundation two or three shades lighter than their actual skin tone (and you know who you are): It is time to let go.
Just stop it (I'm mentally smacking you on your three-shades-darker
hand). We're aware of how tough things were back in the day, when only three shades were manufactured for women of color—“dark,” “medium” and “light.”
But now you’ve got M.A.C., Miss Iman and others to help you out, so there’s no longer any excuse.
And who exactly are you trying to fool anyway, walking around with a café au lait face and cinnamon brown body?
Come on, now. Ready for the P.C. message of the day? Here it comes: All skin tones are beautiful, from the darkest to the palest.
Embrace yours, and stop fronting/trying to achieve someone else’s!
The “What the Hell
Were You Thinking/Smoking?” award goes to….
Artists or groups who
have, at best, one or two semi-hits before fading into obscurity–yet
later feel the inexplicable need to release a “Greatest Hits” album.
This gets a big, fat "WTF" ("what the f*%k")?
See, the last time I
checked, the term “greatest hits” usually implies that one has had a
career long and distinguished enough to generate a string of hits—and
they then, in turn, have the luxury of being able to select the greatest
out of those. “Greatest Hits” CDs by the likes of Prince,
Aretha, Mariah, Billie Holiday…good ideas. The “Greatest
Hits” of Jade or Hi-Five? Um, not so good. (Unfortunately,
I am not making up the existence of the latter two.)
The “Single Raised
Eyebrow” award goes to…
Common. I’m
sorry. As noble and respectable as the concept may be, do we
really believe he’s been abstinent for the past few years (as he
recently claimed in an interview with WBLS jock Wendy Williams)?
Hmmm…okay, I will not comment any further. Can we get some
hip-hop groupies to put an addendum on this?
Nonetheless…
Common is still the
man. How absolutely gorgeous is the “Come Close (to Me)”
single and video? Wasn’t it refreshing to see a rapper beaming
at his woman with an expression of pure love instead of scowling at the
world? Didn’t Mary J. Blige sound really nice and mellow during
the chorus, sans all the usual hollering and vocal drama? And I am
totally digging this “handicapped chick” thing that’s going on
(remember Wheelchair Girl from Musiq’s “Don’t Change” video?
Let's also not forget the forerunner of them all, Lionel Ritchie's
"Hello" video). Because true love will kick a physical
limitation's ass. But video directors, let’s keep it
sincere, please—a few months from now, I do not want to see an army of
sistas with leg braces up in the club or amputee strippers chilling in
the hot tub with bottles of Cristal, okay? If you’re
planning on running with this trend, do it right!
Hater Spotlight: The
Mullet/Shag
Just say "hell
no!" |
Some people call it the
Mullet, others know it as the Shag. Either way, it’s just an
ugly-ass hairstyle and should be banned from the planet, period. I
guess it was okay waaay back in the 80s (was it really, even
then? Or did we just not know better?), but this is damn near 2003 and
for people to still be wearing this is an unacceptable outrage! (*voice
steadily rising*) I am shocked and appalled...down with
Mullets! |
Just wondering about the Monster
Jamz R&B compilation CD that's being advertised on TV. As in,
are there any songs on the CD that came out after 1995?
I'm saying...Silk? Jade? "I'm So Into You" by SWV? "Just Kickin'"
by Xscape? Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought the year was 2002, not
1992! I was thinking that perhaps they might want to skip Mary J.
Blige's recent releases and just go with "Real Love" or "What's
the 411?".
Damn a drug
allegation...what inquiring minds really want to know is what the deal
was with Al Sharpton, that tight little cowboy hat of his and the overall
"GAP Band reject" look he was working on that grainy, 1983
surveillance tape. Can someone say, "You dropped the bomb on
me/Baby/You dropped the bomb on me...."?
Love the magazine...but
haven't you been tired of seeing Oprah chilling on every single cover
of O? Has anyone at Harpo dropped an anonymous "knock it off,
already!" note on her desk yet? (If so, I'm sure they were being escorted
out by security within the next five minutes--complete with file box full of
belongings.)
Recently spotted:
Sean "P. Diddy" Combs out with his sons Justin (whose mom is stylist
Misa Hylton-Brim) and Christian (whose mom is model Kim Porter). Also
with the trio was Kim Porter's oldest son, by R&B singer/producer Al B.
Sure!. Now, here's the rub: Combs has reportedly been a
significant influence (both as a father-figure and financially) to Porter's
son, in addition to his biological children. So, I think you know what
I'm about to ask. Where in the world is Al B. Sure!? I know we
haven't heard/seen hide nor hair of him since, like, '93--but hopefully his
son doesn't have to say the same. If so, come on, Al--stop hiding out in
the "studio," and handle your business!
What exactly do you call a
person who does hair weaves? A weaver? A weave-ologist? A weavetrician? Funny...I never thought about that until now, for some
strange reason--and it has me stumped. I see sleepless nights
ahead.
Memo to overly-ambitious
new moms:
Nobody said that new motherhood had to stop you from being a fierce
diva. But since your little angel is only 2 weeks old, it might be a wee
bit premature to try stuffing yourself back into that hot little spandex club
number that's been chilling in the back of your closet for the past seven
months. You ain't ready yet, Ma. Why? Because the new-mommy gut
says so. Easy, sis--just a few more months of gym time, and you'll be
back to your original fierceness!
Memo to the
ghetto-fabulous:
One knock-off Burberry item at a
time, please. If you could just stretch out the blouse, pants or skirt,
jacket, hat, purse, umbrella, headwrap, fingernails, stilettos, diaper bag and cell phone holder
throughout the month instead of cramming them all into one day, that would be
absolutely wonderful--and our eyes would be extremely grateful for the relief
from stress caused by seeing all that damn plaid. Thank you.
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