How Rihanna Made Me Rewind

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Normally when I watch a Rihanna performance I’m left with one of two feelings: Regret or optimism.

Meaning I either regret wasting minutes of my life watching her dully sashay across the stage and/or pay tribute to 7^th grade talent shows, or I find myself slightly encouraged that maybe just maybe she’s improving as a performer.

The first Rihanna performance I saw on SNL definitely gave me the feelings of the former. She sounded bad on “Only Girl (In The World).” On the track itself, Rihanna sang the song with such veracity that I was left with the impression that she had grown legs as a singer.

Last Saturday, Rih-Rih made me wonder if she had already gotten those legs amputated.

To her credit, though, the second time she took the stage was much better. She managed to match the vocals on “What’s My Name” and the laid-back feel of the song actually complimented her style of performing.

But, there was something else that stuck out to me about this performance and I almost didn’t want to admit it. I’ve been trying to figure out a way to say this without sounding like a horrible version of a gay man.

Then I thought about it: I’m already considered one. Or as Luvvie put it about a week ago to me, “an inconsistent gay.”

I guess that means I might as well come out and say it: I wanted to have sex with Rihanna after watching this.

I can imagine how that sounds to my readers:

Probably something like that. I’m sorry, guys. We like honesty, though, don’t we?

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I Know, I Know

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?

Okay, so go here. Thank you.

Accepting Where My Piece Blows

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.”

Uh, welcome to the fold, ya’ll?

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Nice Guys Finish Shirtless

Can I tell ya’ll about the girl who vomited all over me the other night? If so, come closer to the screen but be sure to hold your food.

Last Friday after a festive happy hour, I was in the mood to twirk something. Or in the case of me living in a city that’s Top 40 hell, two-step every half-hour and hopefully do at least a dip or two by 1:45 a.m. when the club lights are turned on.

So I left the restaurant that we’ll refer to as doucheland (minus the great folks I was with, naturally) and headed off to gay world to meet with a friend. While waiting for that friend to find parking, I saw two girls try and carry their drunk ass friend.

As I was on the phone conversing with “Satana,” I watched these two girls struggle like hell to carry this poor foolishly drunk woman to their car.

They seemed to be moving fine albeit very slowly until drunk person tripped in her high stiletto and hit the ground.

Hard.

I mean, it was if she got shot in the head by a sniper snuggled on the roof across the street the way she went down. The poor person almost cracked their skull on the cement block. I felt bad for her.

I got off the phone and walked over to see if she was alright.

Mistake number one.

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(Me) On The Radio

As I explained last week, after my most recent Aol News piece on the Tea Party and racism went live, I got the typical flooding of my inbox from conservatives who swear I was going to lead the Black revolution to the sounds of a President Obama speech over a Nitti beat.

But, tucked away in my junk mail folder was an invitation from a conservative radio host by the name of Rusty Humphries who read my column and invited me to speak about my piece on his show. He swore that it was not a “gotcha” interview, but given the record of some of his colleagues, I was suspicious.

Thankfully, the incredibly wonderful and talented author, Mitzi Miller, encouraged me to do the interview. I’m glad I listened to her. Though we didn’t agree on much, Rusty was kind and allowed me to speak my piece in peace. I didn’t know it would be five million people (who likely won’t agree with me) were listening, but it beats screaming at the raggedy (when I was there) CVS on Georgia Avenue.

In the past some opportunities for me to do press about my work were suggested, but never came to fruition. So this is me breaking my virginity. I don’t think I sound like a babbling idiot so I consider this a win. Now, if you think at any point I sound like Soulja Boy raps, let me know and I’ll strip for a speech coach by next Friday.

In the meantime, if you want to hear me you can check out the link below:

Michael Arceneaux Interview, The Rusty Humphries Show by youngsinick

So yeah, that’s that. A producer of the show said Rusty was impressed by what I said and my view of things in the political realm. Go me, I didn’t sound like I was high on Four Loko.

Here’s to hoping I get to do more of this (and TV) and not just with politics (not at all a subtle hint, I know). I know my voice matters. It’s about damn time more people hear it.

It’s My Blog & I’ll Be Colored If I Want To

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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It’s Still Father’s Day, Right?

This is something I wrote five years ago. It wasn’t the easiest to write, but at the time, it meant the world to me that a writer and editor I admired left an encouraging comment.

I can’t make myself read the entry again – at least not today – but I encourage you to do so.

This is me on my dad in reference to Father’s Day.

Do check it out, please.

It’s Father’s Day, Right?

I’m Busy

For more than a year there’s been one recurring phrase everyone I know has heard me use: “I’m working.”

In the morning, in the afternoon, typically in the evening and most certainly on the weekends. I’m working. All the time. I’ve been busier than ever, and for someone who found themselves not so busy after college despite a busy resume, I find it comforting despite the occasional annoyance. Namely for one reason: I got bills.

Lots of bills. Student loans bills, mainly. The bane of my existence if there ever was one. However, in recent months I’ve realized this growing amount of work has hurt me in some areas — namely why I came here. I alluded to it a month ago when I took a blogging break to focus on my pilot script. Two drafts down and at least one to go in two weeks, I feel good about it. It’s only too bad I have to come up with something else in a really short amount of time.

Oh yes, I’m busy.

Last Saturday I tallied all that I did last week: 30 blog entries for work (typical), two op-eds for one site, three articles for another, and six blog entries for The Cynical Ones. There’s also an interview for an assignment for VIBE, transcribing that (pure unmitigated evil this task is) and then to chase down a celebrity (or a couple) for that same assignment. And then on Saturday I wanted a leg up on the usual work related stuff so I did nine blog entries in advance.

You know, so I wouldn’t be as busy on the usual stuff I do in order to focus on the pending deadlines.

And yet, I still feel lazy. Still feel unaccomplished. Still feeling like I’m not doing enough in a day. See Aliya S. King’s workload on why I sometimes feel this way.

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We’re On A Break…Maybe

There’s a perfectly good explanation for this picture. I swear. So come on, follow me to find out why.

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I Don’t See It, Do You?

Alright folks this is pretty much the blog equivalent of a quickie, but I need people to chime in.

Cue the video:

Now compare and contrast with:

And go.

Chances are if you agree with Renaldo, I’ll hate you to the core. No pressure, though. Just an FYI.

P.S. It’s my blog and I’ll partake in narcissism if I want to. Be self-centered if I want to. Try to get you to indulge me if I want to. You would be self-involved, too, if a Negro said you looked like Que.