Like Anderson Cooper, who is the vanilla spice latte to my caramel macchiato, soy with sugar-free vanilla sweetener, my nerves were also on swole following the manufactured controversy his network has since christened “Beyoncé-gate.” There are only so many varying ways to say to the simpletons and sensationalists “I hate you, Jody,” but thankfully, I have a troubled childhood and a silver medal in shade (we can always be better) that helps in moments such as these.
Please, please get into my latest column for “The Weekly Read” over at EBONY.com entitled “To Those Baffled Over Beyoncé.” Part of this is just your garden variety Beytheists being typical losers, but it’s more so the 24-hour news cycle that’s at fault. Hate it all with me by clicking here, why don’t you?
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.
Last week I read an article on The Root entitled “Beyoncé’s Incredible, Miraculous Pregnancy,” in which the writer basically assailed my lord and gyrator under the false allegation that she was shoving her pregnancy down everyone’s throat and that she needed to quit acting as if she’s the only person in history to be with child.
Part of the piece included jabs like this:
I’m happy for you, Bey, but the joy growing inside your womb is not the blueprint, and it is not biblical. It isn’t the Visitation; nor is it the dawn of a new epoch in the human calendar. It’s a baby.
Not to mention a subheading called “A Mom-To-Be Who Knows Her Place.”
Now you know I had to write a response to that. In my latest essay for The Root, “It’s Not Beyoncé, It’s You” I hit back at all of the author’s off base accusations and remind her and others that it’s none of our places to tell a woman to tame her excitement about becoming a mother. You can click here to check it out.
Feel free to hit like, tweet, and email the piece around. You an also hit your sexy and slow stanky legs, too. And remember: Watch you what you say about the Queen. The hive ain’t having it.
I wanted to call this post “Conspiracy Cunts,” but I figured that might not be the best thing to have on my Twitter feed and Google index. I blame the Puritans. That’s still pretty much how I feel about this ridiculous story about Beyoncé faking her pregnancy all the same.
I noticed on the very night Beyoncé casually announced being with child that the headmistress of online sensationalism quickly barked that it was all a farce. That was to be expected if you’ve ever read the blog. Unfortunately, I gave other people the benefit of the doubt. I never learn, damn closet idealism.
There are people who actually believe Beyoncé is fronting about her growing fetus. And not just fronting: She’s cut her fancy pillow up into the shape of a prosthetic belly, which folds in front of foreign journalists. This video is tagged as “Best Proof Ever Beyonce is faking her pregnancy!! But Why? What u think?”
I think an insanely sad number of people are fucking morons.
You’ll have to forgive my ignorance for not knowing that there is a show called Toddlers & Tiaras on television. I’m obviously not a member of the target audience. I realize this clip is about a week old now, but there was no way was I going to turn down doing a post about a little white girl yearning for brown skin. And not just any girl either. This adorable child wants to look like my lord and gyrator, Beyoncé!
Heavens to Murgatroyd! That is amazing. The press always belabors the point that little black girls don’t like themselves and want to look like Malibu Barbie. That’s why we get black women surgically transforming themselves into Mrs. Potato Head and reality stars rocking their homeroom teacher’s eye color (you’re too pretty for that Jennifer Williams!).
It’s about time we get a story claiming the opposite, giving black girls and white girls alike a different perspective. Bless this little girl’s heart. I don’t believe in reincarnation, but if I did I would say that little pageant child has been possessed by Teena Marie. Wait, that’s not how reincarnation works, huh? Well, is Remy Shand still around? If not, well…there you go. If so (damn, I checked and he is), just find somebody for me and fill it in. Thank you.
Anyway, hopefully this little girl finds her rhythm in the coming years. I’m sure if she watches enough Beyoncé DVDs she will. TLC should also do her a solid and link her with Heather Morris. The kid isn’t that bad. Hell, she’s already trying harder than Britney Spears has been lately. There’s hope for that little girl, I just know it.
There’s always going to be silly criticism about Beyoncé, but sometimes I wish I could borrow her fan to blow some of your asses away.
I have longed accepted that not everyone will like Beyoncé.
As I mentioned in a previous post, I think people like that suffer from some sort of personality disorder. Be that as it may I respect people’s right to deny greatness and available medication from their virtual pharmacist, iTunes.
What I don’t cut for her is the notion of coming for the Queen’s throat over an unfinished demo.
Such is the case for Beyoncé’s new single, “Girls (Who Run The World).”
The version that was leaked yesterday is not the finished product. Not surprisingly, that fun fact hasn’t stopped people from writing soliloquies about how it’s time to lock Beyoncé out of the studio based on what they’ve heard.
I don’t really care if some folks don’t like it ‘cause everyone else will.
What does irritate me a bit, though, is one aspect of the criticism largely centered on the idea that her single and its lyrics aren’t “deep enough.”
If you’re looking for the meaning of life from Beyoncé I need for you to go and let your forehead kiss the sidewalk.
If you’ve read this blog for a while then you know Beyoncé is my beloved Lord and gyrator.
You also know that I’ve long felt like I was the only one I knew who hadn’t met the Queen. I would run into the other members of Destiny’s Child through work or just being out, but every time I was supposed to meet Beyoncé it fell through. My unlucky streak ended on Saturday after I finally – finally, finally, finally, finally – met her.
I’m trying to type this without sounding like I’m filled with tang, but dammit, why don’t some of you like this video? What’s wrong with you? What is there not to like about this video?
It’s weird? It’s Lady GaGa. Stop it. It’s too long. It’s a mini-movie, enjoy the production value you attention deficit disorder suffering doof. OK, that was a little mean, but well…ten minutes isn’t going to kill you.
I also stumbled along up this opinion via MTV News:
However, Jess Wachtel had a more cynical view of the nearly ten-minute long video. “Looks like Beyoncé and her put together a video to sell some records,” he said.
Oh my God. A pop star is trying to sell records. The world is changing so drastically. I don’t feel like I belong anymore.
Judging from some of the comments I’ve read in recent months, there are a few readers here who seem to have a problem with ‘the ghey.’ Being the kind gent I am, instead of being mindful of some people’s sensitivities (or prejudices) and avoiding the topic at all cost, I’d rather post pictures like this and cause some to go blind — or at least cockeyed for an hour or so.
Anyhow, Beyonce has finally landed the cover of Vogue. I don’t read Vogue, but I know only the White House and broadcast television best this magazine in the age old American pastime, “Who Wants to Avoid A Negro?” So, two back-to-back Black covers is a big deal, so go you, Beyonce.
Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, this post isn’t really about her. It’s about the kid who clearly stole her shine in the above shot.
Lil’ homie is giving it, ain’t he? I didn’t even notice Beyonce at first. Folks can keep pretending gay people weren’t invented until 1996, but there’s no way you can convince me that “bitch please, this is my shot” posture isn’t innate. Not every gay is that way, but I don’t expect this kid to get married to a woman and coach his son’s football team — although he may have tackled a Keri Hilson fan recently.
Here’s an excerpt from the article:
As the kids are being put through their paces by a choreographer, Beyoncé makes a surprise entrance in a full-length purple gown. It slowly dawns on them that Beyoncé is standing right in front of them, and their faces are like little contained explosions. One of the only boys, Chris, actually fans his face with his hands as if he is about to faint.