If you’re going to act all saddity, then you might as well wait for my looming entry about Nina Simone. But, if you’re looking to get this down by Friday (or even tonight — it is Thursday and all), it’s time to focus.
Fortunately, I have a soon-to-be nine-year-old niece that doesn’t mind teaching me to do this dance as she and her two uncles gather around the TV to watch the video on 106 and Park.
It’s the least she could do after I showed her the dance I do to “Tattoo.”
Before you judge me (even more), I’ll have you know I tell her to go to school, make good grades, and that she respect her elders. I also tell her that she’s the prettiest girl on Earth and my favorite person in the entire world. As you can see, I’m a strong advocate of self-esteem.
Back to the topic at hand. I’ve tried to avoid this movement, but I can’t resist it any longer. He may sound like a Negro from the Reconstruction era, but there’s something oddly amusing about yelling, “Yuuuuuuule” as you jump around like one of those kids you felt sorry for on the short yellow bus.
Thankfully, he was kind enough to create an instructional video for those of us that sometimes forget the steps of even the most basic choreographed dance.
Senator Larry Craig is not gay. I repeat, Senator Larry Craig is not gay. Accusations that Craig approached a police officer through a crack in a restroom stall door and for two minutes made gestures that suggested he wanted to engage in “lewd conduct” are completely false — because Senator Larry Craig is not gay.
“Craig would look down at his hands, ‘fidget’ with his fingers, and then look through the crack into my stall again,” Karsnia wrote in documents accompanying the arrest report.
That’s not something I would do, but perhaps we don’t know the circumstances. Maybe all of the stalls were taken and he wanted to rush him out or something. Or maybe that’s how nervous guys like him make new friends. Doesn’t mean he’s gay!
Craig said the officer misinterpreted his actions.
Because he’s not gay!
After he was taken for questioning, the police report says, Craig pulled out of a Senate business card and asked the officer: “What do you think of that?”
I find the notion of there being a number of self-hating conservative Republicans knee-deep in the closet to be completely and utterly preposterous.
The officer wrote that he was on a plainclothes detail in the restroom because of citizen complaints and arrests for sexual activity there.
So Craig went into a restroom known for being a secret outlet for gay men and gay men with straight titles to have recess. And?
Karsnia wrote that when the person occupying the stall beside him left, Craig entered it and blocked the door with his rolling suitcase.
Maybe he just wanted to put pressure on the door just in case the guy may have tipped over.
“My experience has shown that individuals engaging in lewd conduct use their bags to block the view from the front of their stall,” the officer said in his report.
The senator then tapped his right foot, “a signal used by persons wishing to engage in lewd conduct,” Karsnia wrote, and Craig ran his left hand several times underneath the partition dividing the stalls.
Democrats never quit, do they?
“The presence of others did not seem to deter Craig as he moved his right foot so that it touched the side of my left foot, which was within my stall area,” the officer’s report said.
So touching someone’s foot in a restroom after you block their stall while making hand gestures that symbolize some sexual act to another person of the same sex makes you gay?
When the police interviewed him later, the senator said that “he has a wide stance when going to the bathroom” and that was why his foot may have touched the officer’s, the report said.
Touched his foot in a straight way, obviously.
Craig also told police that he had reached down to the floor to pick up a piece of paper, the officer wrote.
And this is what Craig gets for his courtesy.
“It should be noted that there was not a piece of paper on the bathroom floor, nor did Craig pick up a piece of paper,” Karsnia wrote.
Oh he lied. Well, lying doesn’t make you a homosexual, homophobe.
“During the interview, Craig either disagreed with me or ‘didn’t recall’ the events as they happened.”
Heterosexuals have too much on their mind to pay attention to every little detail.
After Craig ran his hand underneath the partition wall three times, Karsnia held his police identification down by the floor so the senator could see it, the report said.
“With my left hand near the floor, I pointed towards the exit. Craig responded, ‘No!’
As in, “No! I’m not gay.” Duh.
“I again pointed towards the exit. Craig exited the stall with his roller bags without flushing the toilet,” Karsnia wrote.
I can’t help you there, homie. That’s nasty.
Sen. Larry Craig said that he “overreacted and made a poor decision” in pleading guilty to disorderly conduct after his June arrest following an incident in a Minneapolis airport bathroom.
For the record, it was his heterosexuality that helped him come to his senses. Not his lawyer, political advisers, or beard/wife.
If you’ve been questioned about the ghey since the 80s, you would distance yourself from any charge, too. Especially when you’re straight.
Polow Da Don, the self-professed “King of the White Girls,” has touched on his adoration for white women before. He once touted the oral benefits from the melanin-deficient female to Complex magazine: “My boys would give me junk about it, but [the white girls’] head game is on a different level.”
Polow seems like the shy type. Although it’s painfully obvious that he’s reluctant to give his opinion, Polow expounded on his preference in an interview with All Hip Hop.
AllHipHop.com: Now, you call yourself the “King of All White Girls.” Elaborate on that for me.
Polow Da Don: Just the “King of the White Girls.” I ain’t self proclaimed but I run with it. [Laughs] There was a stage in my life where I went crazy with dating white women. I have nothing against black women, but they’re raised differently. White women are raised to respect and serve their men. Black women are taught to question [their men]. Black women look at submission as being weak. White women look at submission as being a woman. And anyone who has a problem with this statement is ignorant. Just look at the divine order; it goes man, woman, child.
Nevermind the fact if you’re a self-important, self-centered, jackass that has a thing for women who won’t question you or your asinine ideology, you’re going to be sure to find all those that fall under that category…black or white.
He passes off a baseless ignorant generalization about two races of women, then dismisses anyone who dares to disagree as ignorant.
Not to mention he’s bastardizing scripture to suit his own argument. God ought to dropkick him in the throat. How’s that for divine order.
If you have a preference, ok, have your preference. But, do you really have to put down black women (and white women for that matter) in order to justify your own issues with black women and predictably, showcase your own insecurities?
I doubt it happens, but I wish he be Vick’d all the same. Or worse: May he end up with Britney Spears.
Aren’t you glad to know Laurie Ann is still breathing…a boom boom cat? Hasn’t Making The Band suffered without her…a boom boom cat?
Are you as excited as I am to know Laurie Ann says that this is only the beginning…a boom boom cat? Isn’t Laurie Ann the only one with enough choreographed swagger to use her ride in a horse and carriage in Central Park as a backdrop for her Youtube clip for her fans…a boom boom cat?
Anyone else noticed that her username is boomkack…a boom boom cat? Hey, I’ve been spelling it wrong all this time, haven’t I…a boom boom kack/cat? Is that the gotcha, gotcha?
As a bonus, check out my beloved Ms. Gibson boomkack all up and down CeCe Peniston’s “Keep On Walkin'” video in her fresh mushroom cut…a boomkack boom.
In fifth grade, I won an essay contest sponsored by the D.A.R.E. program. After being selected winner, I was told I would read my anti-drug essay at an assembly in front of the entire school. No stranger to the effects that drugs have on people’s lives, I nervously sped-through my essay detailing how drugs can destroy a person’s life and the lives of all the people around them. Many of the people who sat through my essay would later go on to consume and/or sell drugs, which goes to show how convincing I was. After looking at these new shots of crackdome’s latest celebrity victims, I’m thinking I could have really driven the point home had I gone with a visual.
Seeing is believing, isn’t it?
Amid speculation that Amy Winehouse’s husband, Blake Fielder-Civil may have Ike’d her, Amy contacted blogger Perez Hilton to clarify:
“I was cutting myself after he found me in our room about to do drugs with a call girl and rightly said I wasn’t good enough for him. I lost it and he saved my life. He is an amazing man who saved my life again and got cut badly for his troubles,” Winehouse explained.
Ain’t love grand? It’s a shame when your life gets to the point that any British tabloid could create the most ludicrous story about you, but because your behavior has been so erratic over time that it’s easily believable. The Sun could easily report that the two fought over what gives the better high: rat poison or weed dipped in white out and I would believe it.
It’s an even bigger shame when someone as talented as Amy thinks she’s the one not good enough for the man who enables her and her destructive behavior.
I don’t know how else to say this: I don’t want Amy Winehouse to die. After reading this interview with Amy’s mother, Janis, I feel even sorrier for her. It’s as if no amount of convincing will do any good if she’s attached at the hip to a man she thinks is needed to complete her.
I’m a huge fan of Amy’s, but it’s become increasingly hard to watch someone self-destruct. I swear I would sing her the corny D.A.R.E. song we were forced to perform if I thought it would do any good.
Do you know what it’s like to love someone so much that you turn a blind eye to their transgressions? When you have such strong feelings for them that you only leave enough room to reflect on their positive qualities, forgoing any negative thoughts that might tarnish the divine image of your beloved? I’m sure you can recall, but try not to in this instance because, unfortunately, none of this applies to Mariah Carey today.
I like Mariah Carey, I really do, butterflies, rainbows, and Sweet Valley High-like way of songwriting and all, but Mimi refuses to end her futile attempt at becoming a sex symbol.
Mariah, you are very pretty, but you can’t force audiences to see you as a sex symbol the same way you couldn’t force them to see Glitter. Your attempts aren’t the least bit convincing and after ten years of trying to become contemporary music’s answer to Marilyn Monroe, aren’t you tired?
Never known to mince words or pass up the opportunity to be self-congratulatory, Kanye West has decided to open his mouth and allow hot, musty, funky ass garbage pour out of it.
After being lauded for his not-so-impromptu outburst on a telecast to raise funds for Hurricane Katrina relief in which he famously decreed that George Bush doesn’t care about black people, Kanye has taken that praise to new heights with claims that he invented artistic expression.
“Before me, nobody spoke their mind. I broke down the boundaries for Amy Winehouse, Lily Allen, Brandon Flowers from the Killers. Now everyone says what they think.”
The second I begin to let my guard down and give this purse-rocking, diva-mimicking fashionisto a chance, he reminds me of why I put him on ignore.
Someone send me a 50 Cent interview and remind me of why I should still care about Graduation. He has a knack for garnering attention, I’ll give him that.
Oh and if you’re wondering, Kanye is Dale. The hat, jacket, and need to accessorize is all Kanye.
I preferred Eve when she looked like Cleo from Set It Off’s little sister back in 1999. Not that I mind that her look has changed over the years, which has her now looking more like a well paid Ronnie from The Player’s Club, but artistically, there was a certain rawness to her when she came onto the scene. She seemed real with very little inhibitions. Despite her previous stint as a stripper, she didn’t rely much on sexuality to sell records like her counterparts Lil Kim and Foxy Brown. Her aggressiveness made her stand out among a sea of half-naked female emcees.
Then she went Hollywood and found Marilyn Monroe’s old wig.
Outside of a few singles here and there, her music has become stale, predictable, and she seems incredibly bored with it all. Though I’ve never seen a tambourine used to rile people up outside of church, the Swizz Beats-produced first single from Eve’s fourth album, Here I Am, has finally grown on me. It happened the second after I realized that the line in the chorus is saying “Go and get yourself a whistle” instead of “Go and get yaself a Mus-sa-lem.” I’m slow sometimes.
What really gets me about her, though, is that now she seems more guarded and has seemingly developed some bizarre disease that forces her to talk out the side of her neck.
It started when she criticized certain forms (re: regions) of hip hop, namely D4L’s “Laffy Taffy” for being disposable, but opted to forgo leading by example with the release of “Tambourine.” Or maybe there’s some social commentary included in the song that went over my head.
And in a recent interview with HX magazine, Eve discussed support from the gay community. Interestingly enough, Here I Am features a collaboration with Sizzla, someone notorious for the homophobic content in his music. That’s kind of like someone saying I appreciate the coloreds, then appearing at a fundraiser for David Duke.
Also, despite her speaking on people who are closeted in the entertainment industry in the Q&A, she glanced over a few things about herself.
Ok, so maybe she’s not gay, but I do remember seeing a picture of her being ate out by another chick. Not completely over the rainbow, but I do see a lot of colors in the sky.
Back to those comments about disposable music, here’s what she told HX about her own album:
I didn’t want to do anything too slow or serious, and I didn’t want to do anything that was too much me talking about myself and me coming back in the game and how long it’s been. I wanted to do an album like the ones that make me drive in the car or make me feel good to get dressed to go out to the club— just make my day right. Those are the albums that I listen to, and hopefully that’s the album that I made.
I became a fan of Nicole Schwhatchumacallit after the Pussycat Dolls placed a stronghold on the music industry as the corporate-packaged PG-13 version of Vanity and Appolonia 6. Her status as the sole audible member and the only Doll fortunate enough to have a name audiences can remember (first name anyway) has made her the most prominent member of the group. I’m not even sure if the other 4 or 40 (I can never tell how many there are) girls in PCD know their own names.
What I love about Nicole is that she managed to bounce back from her brief stint as a member of Eden’s Crush, the singing group formed on the WB’s pre-Making The Band band-making reality series, Popstars, and still enjoy a successful career in music.
You don’t know see Trevor from O-Town making waves, do you?
When I first learned that Nicole would be ditching her background for a solo(er) career, I had high hopes that she would become the 00s answer to Vanity, only more racially ambiguous and with actual singing talent.
But, I’ve been very disappointed by the Doll-less Nicole thus far.
It all started with the leak of the first single, “Whatever You Like” with T.I. The Polow Da Don produced-track originally belonged to Chilli for a song called “Straight Jack ‘Em.” The track itself sounds a lot like Kelis’ “Blindfold Me.” Two points for originality.
Then came the video, which borrows heavily from the treatment of Beyonce’s video for “Ring The Alarm.” Add one more to her tally.
First singles aren’t always a strong indicator of how an album will sound, so, still hoping for the best, I listened to another leaked track from My Name Is a Nicole…, “Baby Love.”
You are my baby love, my baby love. You make the sun come up. Oh boy (oh boy), you’re my every, everything that I could ever dream of.
I can already picture the video of in my head.
Nicole, in a flower dress sits at the table with her friends, scribbling sweet nothings about her crush on a spiral notebook. Then, as the other children finish their Lunchables, Sour Patches, and mayonnaise sandwiches, Nicole’s suitor, looking fly as can be in Osh Kosh B’Gosh, walks up to her and hands her a letter that bears his soul on wide ruled paper.
Do you like me?
He then takes her out for an intimate afternoon snack by the swings.
Or at least, that’s what she ought to be doing if she’s that dead set on sounding like a little girl.
My anticipation for her debut album didn’t grow after watching Nicole’s performance on So You Think You Can Dance?
Judging from this performance and the breakdown in her video, I think I can answer the question for Nicole.
I knew that her struggles with rhythm were carefully guised through a sea of Pussycat Dolls surrounding her, but I was hoping that her solo venture would lead to her team to find new and better ways to mask it. Her performance wasn’t that bad, actually. I think it’s great she actually sang live. I would just prefer if she didn’t bother to try and fool me or herself into the idea that she could pull of choreography. I’m fine with her standing there and looking pretty. As should she.
And finally, the album cover. For someone so skilled at portraying the role of pop sex kitten, I was expecting an edgier album cover. A friend (shameless insertion of a compliment: a gorgeous and brilliant friend), mentioned that there’s something that looks like a bruise near her right shoulder. Good eye. Bad editor.
I really hope that if it is a bruise, that it stems from an in office brawl Nicole had with the people behind the cover, the video, and the person who told her it was ok to not have seventy girls grinding around her on stage as usual.
In the meantime, I’m going to continue to hold on to hope that Nicole hasn’t left the strip club for daycare.