Queen of Jigs and Journalism

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The devil doth tempt me, y’all. I’ve been asked a few times for my thoughts on my lord and gyrator, Beyoncé the most high (and limber), winning a journalism award from the New York chapter of the National Association of Black Journalists. Some because I’m a stan, others who know that at one point I was president of the Howard University chapter of the organization — all over the fact that I’m a working writer…and journalist, I suppose.

I’ve been distracted in recent days (when am I gon’ get a piece of the pie, I already fried my fish in the kitchen) so it was convenient to avoid discussing it publicly. Now I guess I should.

From my understanding Queen Mother Creole received her award for the cover story she wrote on herself for Essence magazine. I recall reading the story and it was basically about her nine-month vacation. Her seeing the world, her enjoying time off for the first time in her life, and other fancy rich people shit. Frankly, I don’t remember much about the piece itself, but I don’t recall thinking it was written poorly. Yes, I’m aware that if I were actually wowed by the work – which an award would suggest that I should be – I’d remember it a whole lot better.

In any event, we all know that it doesn’t matter either whether the piece was well written or not. What is most important to the awarding party involved is that Beyoncé wrote it. Which is why I told friends privately when I was first asked about it, “I hope they’re successful in meeting her as that was the clear intention.”

Obviously, I think meeting Texas’ greatest trophy is awesome; however, maybe VIP passes for her next tour were the way to go. Not to offend anyone – intentionally anyway – but this is just another instance of stars benefitting from the celebrity culture that us all collectively swinging from their sacs. She literally wrote about her vacation. You know, to avoid having to be bothered with an actual journalist presenting her with questions she likely didn’t want to answer.

As the homie La put it, “Beyoncé got an award for writing about herself. I’ve been doing that for nine months. Where’s my Pulitzer?”

It’s coming, girl. Right after you show the world what the color of your bra strap is during a fight on the Oxygen network. Or after you booze it up on MTV with some Italians. Or after you romance Boris Kodjoe or Lil’ Romeo and find Jesus minutes later on the medium screen.

Congratulations to Beyoncé, though. Seriously. She didn’t ask for the award. The stan section of this journalism community showed up and showed out — meaning she has every right to accept it.

Still, this is kind of like:

Mike Tyson being considered a master of otolaryngology.

Evelyn Lozada hailed as a sex education teacher.

Marlo Hampton credited as a lobbyist for the National Association for the Advancement of Coochie Commerce.

NeNe Leakes predicated to be the next Angela Bassett.

Kim Kardashian deemed an anthropologist.

Any gay man referred to as President of The He-Man Woman Haters Club.

You get it, yes?

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