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I was two-years-old when Joan Rivers premiered her late night talk show. Needless to say, I knew nothing about her in my earlier years. My first knowledge of Joan Rivers was probably her stint covering the red carpet for E! — long after she was heralded as a comedic “semi-legend” who paved the way for female comics the way Phyllis Diller and Moms Mabley did for her.

I knew Joan Rivers was funny, but I was introduced to her at the point in her life where she had already become a bit of caricature. Her face, which has been surgically altered numerous times, has nearly become such a pervasive punchline that it often overshadows any joke that comes out of her mouth.

She looks like an overbotoxed Muppet. Or Lil’ Kim’s grandmother. Whichever you feel is a worse description, go with it. Regardless, it’s distracting. It makes it easy to hear her brand of humor and quickly lash back out at her.


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I love when people read the site archives. At least a few times a month I get a comment from a new reader confirming that up until their cousin, co-worker, or Google search results (probably for something nasty, but no judgment) sent them my way they had never known I was alive. It’s good to exist to people, you know?

Hey, ya’ll.

So yes, I love newcomers — especially those who go back and check out what I’ve written previously.

What I don’t always like, though, is that sometimes people go far so back on something I wrote and leave a comment that’s more or less assailing me — usually under anonymity.


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Given last week’s updates or lack thereof (insert shade here), I’m thinking about bringing back “The Week In 10” — a very short-lived feature on the blog where I sum up various events of the week in – aha – 10. That way, I can continue to train to become a stripper.

To that end, here we go ya’ll:

1. I’m super glad that G.I. T.I. has gotten out of jail and will likely go on to capture numerous monster hits at radio as if he never left, but I have to say I long for the days when his twang was a lot countrier and his talk a lot tougher.

I don’t mind the singsongy rapper in theory (see Drake review), but when did every emcee decide to become Ja Rule? I know each time Rule turns on the radio he has to belt out a, “Ain’t this ’bout a bitch?!”

These whiny, materialistic boo thang anthems irk the hell out of me.

As for Keri Hilson, she is the R&B female singer equivalent to a lil’ dick overcompensating man.

She tries so hard. Less is more. Bless her heart.

2.“Less is more” is certainly the logic applied in the planning of Nicki Minaj’s video for “Your Love.” After the massive flop of “Massive Attack” I can see why Bird would rather spend less of the money he allegedly takes from producers on its followup.

It’s a very fiscally responsible video, but when a song you did for the hell out of it two years ago becomes a radio fixture all its own, why bother with a heavy budget?

As for the video itself, uh, it’s OK. It illustrates why I believe Nicki Minaj isn’t as great a Lil’ Kim ripoff as some would make her out to be. To me, she often looks more like she ought to be breakdancing behind Gwen Stefani. That point reads as even more credible to me now that she’s taking cues from Jaden Smith.

Honestly, while Nicki looks absolutely beautiful (shout out to her make up team), “Your Love” reminds me of why I quit karate after getting my blue belt — the shit is boring unless you’re fighting.

Speaking of fighting, I’m sure Lil’ Kim gave a Rick Ross inspired “Hallejuah” after watching her die on screen. Don’t get too happy, girl — that death scene is Nicki’s way of paying homage to the state of your career.


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I try really hard not to talk about other people’s children unless the comment is prefaced with something along the lines of “that bad ass kid…” Otherwise, I feel like a jackass. So if I see a child at a talent show sounding like puberty being waterboarded, I usually close my mouth tight and hold in the laughter as best I can.

Sometimes, though, you can’t fight the feeling so when you watch a performance like this, you form an opinion. Now, I don’t want to talk about these young girls’ respective talents. They’re young and still in training. I know this because I’ve seen them on Tah-ney and Toy-yuh.

However, this performance made me want to vomit in my mouth a little. Not because of any particular girl’s voice or dance step. No, my disgust stems in what they’re singing about.

Twenty seconds into the performance I’m accosted by the cries of the group: “We got haters! We got haters! Where they aaaa-ah-ah-ah-at?”

Not this bullshit again.

From read I’ve read about the group, their ages range from 11 to 13.

Who in the hell is hating on them? The girl who asked for a cracker from their Lunchable? The hall monitor? Mrs. Johnson for giving out homework? Cliff’s punk ass for not giving them good enough notes to pass the reading exam they didn’t study for?


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Running a little behind today. That’s what happens when you spend Sunday turning planned discussions about work and life into strong drinks and dancing under tables to “Rude Boy.” Or, so I’ve heard.

In any event, this is a little late in posting, but nevertheless, wrote a new piece for AOL News about Governor Bobby Jindal signing the controversial “guns-in-church” bill that paves the way for some to bring concealed weapons into religious institutions.

Although the Texan in me wouldn’t mind being a legal carrier at times, the longer I thought about it the more this all seemed like another instance of why we need more gun control.

If you’d like to check out the piece, you can do see here.

More updates are on the way.

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In theory I can understand why Whoopi Goldberg wanted to defend her friend, Mel Gibson. Sometimes the most horrific statements can come out of our mouths at the height of our fury. We might not be able to take those comments back, but we can show the people we hurt that we didn’t really mean what was said.

At the same time, though, you got to know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em. Kenny Rogers never lied, ya’ll. If Mel Gibson had limited his racism to the drunken episode he had back in 2006 when he faulted Jews for every single major war, then it would be much easier to take him at his post-rehab word that he wasn’t some racist jackass. However, now that he’s screamed racial epithets like “wetback” and told his baby mama that her style of dress “may get her raped by a pack of niggers,” I think it’s pretty clear how easily Melly Mel could rock with the Tea Party at Happy Hour.

Some people vehemently feel otherwise:

I don’t defend people harassing members of Whoopi’s staff. She’s right in calling it cowardly and should be upset over it. But as far as people being upset with her comments in general, well, Whoopi, the hell do you expect?

For the record, most of the bloggers I saw tackle this story quoted Whoopi verbatim. They made note that she while she doesn’t defend Mel Gibson’s comments, she doesn’t find him to be a racist based on personal observation.

So we got what you meant, Whoopi. We just don’t understand how even Foxy Brown could hear racism shouted at her but not you.

First, let’s go back to origins of the Mel Gibson is racist theory.

People don’t say things like, “Jews started all of the wars” just because they’re drunk. That’s the sort of opinion you’ve taken time to develop and carry with you. Or maybe it’s the sort of opinion passed on to you. Didn’t Mel Gibson’s father openly question the Holocaust? Wasn’t Mel Gibson himself criticized by members of the Jewish community for their depiction in The Passion of the Christ?

And he just so happens to yell out wild conspiracy theories about Jews in the heat of the moment. I could chalk it all up to coincidence. You know, if I freebased. It doesn’t help Mel’s cause to see he’s been outed for more  racist commentary four years later.

This misogynistic bully told his ex-girlfriend that the way she was dressed would lead to her being raped by a pack of niggers. This is a combination of two age old stereotypes about both women and black men. Yet, in Whoopi’s mind, this makes Mel a bonehead rather than a racist. How about we brand him both and celebrate the compromise?

Now because she’s played spades and shared ribs with Mel at her home, Whoopi suggests that she has more insight into the mind of the soon to be ex-movie star and his true feelings on race.

Maybe she does, but she certainly didn’t show any proof of that the other day.

Just because he didn’t call Whoopi a nigger to her face doesn’t mean he doesn’t harbor racist feelings.

As one Huffington Post commenter put it, “I’m sure that Ted Bundy didn’t kill every woman he met either, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t a serial killer.”

With all due respect to Whoopi Goldberg, whose talent and achievements I greatly respect, she is the same person who once defended her then ex-boyfriend, Ted Danson, for wearing black face.

She’s also the same person who while discussing Roman Polanski last year, said what he was accused of doing (drugging and sodomizing a minor despite cries to stop) doesn’t classify as “rape-rape.”

These sort of stances might make sense to her but they often baffle me.

Whoopi’s point about many of us saying things that can be perceived as racist while driving is one I can acknowledge. In six months my car, Cameka Camry, has been hit twice — once by someone without insurance, and more recently (sigh) by Toby Keith’s dimwitted cousin driving an 18-wheeler.

Did I think the worst? I did. Could it have been perceived as racist? Surely. Do I liken myself to Mel Gibson? No. Why?

Maybe it’s not fair of me to try and separate myself, but I don’t share Mel’s habit of making vile racist statements in anger, nor do I bring pointed views about any particular racial group into my work (and I’m presuming he was sober while filming).

We all make mistakes and we all sometimes say things we wish we hadn’t, but how many times can you be accused of the same thing and it not have any validity to it? Hopefully she’ll get Mel Gibson to answer this question the next time she has him over.

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I can understand why some may have been initially put off by the book, Bitch Is The New Black, based on the introduction via the Washington Post profile of its author, Helena Andrews.

I remember the morning that article was published and various women collectively hissed and rolled their eyes at the idea of a book being released about the plight of the single black woman.

Though, I don’t believe the article was that damning, I do understand why some felt a certain way.

Over the last year (at least) there’s been an increasing amount of attention towards figuring out what’s “wrong” with black women and “why” they’re single. And “experts” – like a comedian twice divorced, an actor with an Ivy League degree, a novelist – have all released works and done press telling black women what to do.

Act like a man. Date a white man. Or, whatever the others have told ya’ll to do.

It must be maddening to hear this trite narrative repeatedly.

No wonder why some saw a headline that included the phrase “lonely black women” and sharply dismissed Bitch Is The New Black with, “Bitch please!”

Those that did, though, are certainly missing out.

For those fortunate enough to have actually read the book, you realize quickly into the first few chapters that the Post profile offered a limited view of a multi-faceted memoir.


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