I had so many ideas for posts planned this week, but work got in the way. It got in the way of a lot of things — including sleep (more than usual).
So, yes feel free to curse me out. But, in the meantime I have two pieces for you to check out.
The first is my thoughts on the “It Gets Better” campaign for The Root. You can check that out here.
I also wrote a piece on the purported rising cynicism among young voters. While in hindsight, the polls I cited could be misleading, I think the notion of more people becoming turned off to be true. That’s here.
Now, if I still have your attention (I know some of ya’ll were like forget you, fool…until your next update) I would still like more feedback on a previous entry.
I’m working on something (not as slowly, but just as surely) and I’m trying to gauge interest in how readers to respond to things more at length at personal. I have an idea already, but more feedback would be really helpful. As in, would you want more, more in detail, and on and on.
It’s lengthy, but hell, it would make up for what I didn’t type Tuesday-Thursday, right?
As you can see, I guess homeboy told me because now bringing awareness to the issue by way of shilling a sex offender track app.
Indeed, for $1.99 “you and you peeps can be a-whur of those nasty bed intruders in yo hood.” As Antoine explains “how it work,” the little red dots on your iPhone will confirm the locations of various registered sex offenders in a given area.
You can use it ya hood.
You can use it at the park.
You can use it at you grandma house.
You can use it on a plane.
You can use it in the rain.
These people have this fool sounding like a cracked out country version of Dr. Seuss.
They also have him looking like Aunt Jemima’s wayward transgendered grandchild.
But, I shouldn’t be surprised by the antics of any group that would slap a Wikipedia citation on the screen to validate their claims.
Before you even suggest it, I checked it out and this is indeed for real. This is not a sketch, this is an actual commercial for a product being sold to iPhone and Android users. You can check it out, here. Don’t be shocked if they start selling limited edition rape whistles, too. If a live is spared that type of horror, does it matter how it’s sold to them? Seriously.
I know Antoine is making money he very likely would’ve never had the opportunity to make if not for the generosity of some kind people (likely white) who know how to make a buck off of seductive stereotypes.
Honestly, if you told me my student loan debt could be cleared if I won a fried chicken eating contest on national TV, I’d probably poke Al Sharpton in the eye with the winning wing if you caught me on a bad day. At the same time, it’s irritating to see people become willful participants in their own exploitation. Especially when they have no idea that they are.
I can’t get mad at him using what he got to get what we want. But dear boy, make the money don’t let it make you.
I sure hope he’s pocketing a heavy chunk of this money and will use it for the greater good. Like opening a hair salon or Fat Burger franchise. Something.
This is the problem with telling people they can be anything they want to be without offering specific details.
Perhaps it’s because I haven’t paid any attention to Marques Houston since the time those set of twins would shut doors in his face, but I had no idea that he and his fictitious relative, Omarion Grandberry were doing horror films directed by that walking colonic, Chris Stokes.
And little did I know that whatever straight-to-DVD feature they did the first performed well enough to warrant a sequel. Now who among you do I have to send sternly worded emails to for making this happen? No really, fess up now and get ready for my fired up font.
I suppose in theory, I should be supporting the notion of a black-helmed horror film given we’re typically sliced, diced, and discarded so easily in much of the ones Hollywood produces. Thank goodness I don’t often lose my better senses in the name of symbolism, though, because this movie looks like some old bullshit no matter who’s behind it.
Marques Houston has obviously all but abandoned the advice the acting coaches in his formative years shared with him, opting instead to embrace this hokey, blatant type of acting. I think there’s a term for it: bad (“you know it, you know”).
Spaghetti is a boring enough dish in of itself. He could’ve at least tried a little harder to make that student loan meal sound better. Focus, Marques!
Like that girl who walks into this rented home that I swear I saw on an episode of Keeping up with the Kardashians. The one that’s Khloe Kardashian’s friend and assistant (the best kind of friend, apparently). You know, the one that was pretending to date Rob but we all knew better even if they didn’t tell us they were just kidding? She’s actually not awful.
As for his brother in booty (according to Raz-B anyway), Omarion: As much as I enjoy looking at him (well, one part the most), he is to acting what Ciara is to operatic singing.
And really, he’s playing a security guard? Isn’t he like barely hovering over five inches? No shade to the short men as I dig them, but that dude can’t even throw his flashlight in the face of any bandit. Who exactly is he supposed to secure, Poking Stokes?
O seems like a really nice person, but I don’t see it for him as an actor. Go do some kid show, man. They have lower standards. Then again, maybe he already is. I can’t imagine anyone over the age of 14 and 3 quarters being into this.
Well, an unexposed teen anyway. I knew awful early on. I don’t know what damage “No Child Left Behind” has done for the future of film.
According to its Facebook page, Somebody Help Me 2 premiers on TV later this week. Ya’ll let me know how that goes down, okay?
Yesterday, a vicious and terrible lie spread across the Internet that my queen and yours, Beyoncé, had an unauthorized visitor in her uterus. Quickly, many assumed that Beyoncé was finally knocked up with Jay-Z’s seed and would be sending Gerber a request to make a baby food version of red beans and rice. Some then quickly moved to start conceiving baby names for the couple while others began to cry silent tears over a botched new album and world tour in 2011.
Meanwhile, the sad souls of pop culture (those who suffer from Beyoncé denial disorder) started conjuring false hope for their respective favorites. You know, because they’re too clueless to realize that even if the Queen were breeding a princess or prince she wouldn’t simply get a doctor-approved p-pop ready for the promotional trail.
As if, folks. As freaking if.
When I read Us Weekly’s “report,” it immediately sounded sketchy to me. One, any real Beyoncé fan knows that she has been rumored to be pregnant every six months for the last ten years. In fact, if I played a drinking game themed around the number of times Bey has been rumored to be knocked up, I’d likely be dead within the first 15 minutes of playing.
Why do people keep trying to give this girl morning sickness?
Us Weekly’s source said: “B was shocked. She loves kids, but she wasn’t ready to be a mother just yet. She really wanted to get her album done and tour the world again.”
It’s highly unlikely to see someone as calculated as she suddenly have an “unplanned pregnancy.” So, ye ain’t fooling me.
The same goes to this other “insider” who added that Beyoncé was in her first trimester and realized that “this is a gift from God and she’s so happy.”
We may all differ on religious beliefs but I’d like to think we share a faith in a God who wouldn’t be cruel enough to leave us with just Keri Hilson and Ciara (look, she gave them a chance to shine and they failed miserably — those are the breaks). Yes, Willow’s whipping her hair back and forth, but she’s still a few years away from being tall enough to actually snatch anybody’s wig.
And while I am pretty certain I’ll enjoy Rihanna’s new album, you know that girl dances like she was choreographed by Ambien.
Beyoncé is needed.
Thankfully, Mama Tina shut this shit down before people really got carried away from themselves.
Hopefully, you learned a few things from yesterday.
Like: Traditional media outlets can be just as bad and factually flawed as the very bloggers they often like to criticize.
And: Your favorites still need prayer because the Queen won’t be jiggin’ for two.
Also: Don’t believe anything about a highly private person unless they confirm it. If it took Beyoncé 19 years to tell you she let Jay-Z have a piece of her drumstick, what makes you think she’s carrying his loosie that quickly?
Now, one day there will come a point when she decides to go off and have some super talented and incredibly blessed kids. That, of course will be quite lovely and stuff so long as it occurs after I get a new album and see her in concert.
Selfish? Yeah, but whatever. Who told you I was perfect?
Besides, based on the numerous interviews where she’s spoken on the matter, I’m inclined to think she’ll have some kids when she’s good and ready. Until she decides she wants to grant someone the green light to flow from her birth canal, leave her alone.
So I forgot to mention this a couple of days ago, but for those of you who don’t follow me on Twitter (if you’re on Twitter, read this site and don’t follow me — I mean, what’s the issue?) and missed it I did chime on Aliya S. King’s article, “The Mean Girls of Morehouse.”
I won’t rehash my opinion here, but if you want to read what I thought about that whole ordeal you can click here to see what I told VIBE.com in their Bloggers Circle.
I never really wanted to write so in depth about sexuality — especially mine. However, since last year I’ve started to open up more about it and I think it’s for the better. Mainly because I see the dangers in letting outsiders take control of the narrative.
That in no way is a knock to Aliya, whom I adore. Not the Prince “Adore,” because she’s a married lady but as a writer and worker she’s amazing. Plus, super duper sweet. Fantastic is she.
That said, her piece was well written but the responses to it and maybe the whole story in general just reminds me of how important it is to be a part of the conversation.
I have read a couple published pieces on the story since it went live and to be honest a lot of what I’ve seen has driven me mad.
People have good intentions, but people always like to make things out of something that isn’t there. People also like to exploit issues – both accidentally and not – for the sake of pumping out their own agenda. We all carry with us our own personal biases, yet we need to know when to see things how they are versus what we want them to be.
Given many choose not to do so I often worry that the discussion will never elevated. That is, unless more people who live in and endure it speak on it. So, as I’ve gotten more comfortable with embracing what I feel needs to be said you can expect to hear more about such issues from me. Here, there, and hopefully on your bookshelves in due time.
Now do you see why I wrote that post about Mya a few months ago? I had feared that she was heading towards rock bottom. Well, her cushion is clearly sitting on something swole now. An object that won’t lead to a child support check. Really, ya’ll have you ever heard a birthday song sound so eerie?
If you sang this to me on my birthday, I’d fear I would never enjoy another.
This literally sounds like a lullaby for Satan. I wouldn’t be shocked if you played this backwards and it said, “The temperatures will rise, the darkness wil fall, the beast will bring the masses to their knees & Christina Aguilera will behead Lady GaGa.”
I imagine this song isn’t for Americans, but that makes it even worse when you think about. I mean, hasn’t America done enough to the world? Why are we still purposely trying to tick folks off?
As Keith reminded me, only a year or so ago was Mya the H-Town chick by way of Washington, D.C. And now, she’s paying homage to Christine O’Donnell’s teen years with this. He’s right when he says, “Find an identity.”
P.S. Find another producer, too. No shade to DJ Drew G., but this sound isn’t for Mya.
Because this shit, this right here…is for the birds. Black birds. That swarm the decaying carcass’ of roadkill or soon to be terminated babysitters in a horror film.
Now, if this kind of music is your thing then that’s on you. But, please don’t leave any vengeance spells in my comments section. Trust me, the student loan companies have brought enough fear into my heart. Besides, we all know I’ll hearing this song in my nightmares in due time.
“This is what happens when you get discovered, honey.”
This video was sent to me under the direction that I must write about it. The problem with such a request is that when it comes to Antoine Dodson, I can’t think of many words to use. Well, words that require more than four letters anyway.
Far be it from me to knock the next man’s hustle, but at the same time I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t say that Antoine Dodson irks the living hell out of me.
When video of him telling people to hide their kids, their wives, and hide their better senses after a man allegedly tried to rape his sister first went viral, I ignored it. For two reasons: Largely because it was all prefaced to me as some sort of joke and there is never a time I find anything related to rape remotely funny.
Yes. I’m one of those. I’m the type of person who can’t laugh at anything like sexual assault. I’m so serious. Damn me. And stuff.
My personal feelings aside, I didn’t knock the queen for ranting and waving his bus pass as he energetically told a local reporter about what apparently happened at their place in the projects. This is like what if Good Times came out during a reality TV world and Michael Evans wasn’t in the closet. I didn’t knock anyone else for finding amusement in it even if I didn’t.
But that was when I thought this video would be a one off deal and he would quietly go away. That would have been too much like right, though. And sadly, thanks to the Internet when it comes to people lusting for fame and those who will help hand it to them in exchange for providing them something to past the time with during their work day, things will never be quite right again.
First there was that song that I don’t think I’ve ever heard in full. Now, there’s a Halloween custom. Seriously?
There’s really no sense in trying to dissect a Rihanna video anymore because they’re all essentially the same.
By the same, I mean they’re all model shoots guised as music videos. No matter how she’s dressed or what he hair color is, I’m usually waiting for Rih-Rih to tell me, “Because you’re worth it!” at the conclusion of all of her videos.
Nevertheless, she always manages to deliver videos that leave her looking amazing with a final product that looks expensive and shot extremely well.
She is consistent about looking the part and making sure it’s captured effectively.
Unfortunately, she’s also consistently boring in much of her videos. That is, with the exception of “Rude Boy.”
In that video she showed energy and a slight bit of oomph.
More importantly, she actually bothered to dance on a dance tune. In her video for “Only Girl (In The World),” we don’t get much of that outside of a two second uninspired two step.
This is a dance song, right?
Some feel her not dancing is for the best considering she’s not the greatest dancer.
Or as one of my friends put it, “She dances like a stripper on the last 15 mins of her shift. #lazy”
Lazy is such a way to describe her. I keep saying it and she keeps not caring (not that I blame her, she’s winning).
Rihanna reminds me why average people can always snatch your man. They’re willing to do more to get you off while pretty people rely on pretty. As catchy as her songs are, Rihanna still hasn’t reached her full potential because she doesn’t shake her cool.
Maybe you don’t want her, but that’s why Beyoncé is Popeye’s and Rihanna is hood Chinese carry out chicken.
Yet and still, I still like Rihanna (even more if she came with an eggroll), the song has grown on me and she’s still very likely going to get my money once her album is released.
The more she speaks in interviews, the more I like her. I don’t like her enough to go to a CD signing at a cemetery or anything, but I will give the girl credit for being able to make even a ratty red weave look breathtaking…in a good way.
I can’t give her much credit in other areas so that’s the best way to accentuate the positive.
Don’t get it confused, though: I don’t care to ever see that boring video again. Ever.
Lucky for her there are other videos even blander this time newly sent to the Web.
Perez Hilton is a self-loathing, mean spirited, tactless asshole with delusions of grandeur but equipped with only one notable skill: The ability to turn on a computer.
To his credit, he had enough foresight to start a blog (that is, after recommendation and explanation) that would help blow away the myth that its only use was to play the role of “dear diary.”
That vision has allowed him to achieve a sense of fame, obvious fortune, establish the now abusive term that is “brand” and inspire others with his same range of talent (none) that they, too, can reap the benefits of a celebrity-obsessed society willing to crown anyone a “star” for the mere sake of having one lying around on a slow news day.
In theory, one could say that reason is enough to hate him.
I’m fair, though, so even I can acknowledge that if he weren’t him, it would just be someone else benefiting from our culture’s crack addict-like need for celebrity. So you can’t be mad at him for that.
Thankfully, Perez’ personality provides plenty of others to.
In yet another sign that I’m a horrible gay man, I had no idea that today was National Coming Out Day. Actually, I had no idea such a day existed so I imagine that makes it even worse.
I guess this manufactured holiday you only discover through social media is a day people deep in denial about the natural order of their sexual eruptions step forward and say, “I’m here, I’m queer but I’m just getting used to it.”