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She can dress this up as an act of nobility all she likes, but it reeks of opportunism.

When Chrisette Michele was asked to perform for the new president, she had a choice: to stand with the marginalized or to align herself with their orange-tinged oppressor. In an interview with The Breakfast Club, she revealed that the question was an easy and immediate yes.

With that, her fate was sealed, though she’s certainly been trying to clarify an unconscionable decision in the wake of the immense backlash she welcomed. First, she released an open letter; the cyan font made it barely readable, but honestly, no matter the font or the color, none of it made much sense. Towards the end, she declared, “I am here, representing you, because this is what matters.”

Michele repeated that sentiment on The Breakfast Club. “I needed them to see us,” Michele argued. “I needed them to see what we have to say, what we look like, how we talk. With the entire campaign experience, I think that many of us were wondering, who is he talking to?”

The President is 70 years old and in his lifetime, he has engaged in housing discrimination against Black people, has called on the death of innocent Black men, has used racially inflammatory language over decades, and through his favorite job, reality TV host, has worked with Black people. The President has always seen Black people just as he has seen Latinos, immigrants, Muslims, and women; the problem is, he sees all of those sections of society as less than. As for who he was talking to, anyone that’s bothered to take a gander at any of his hate rallies during the campaign knew the answer: like-minded racist White people.

Given that line of thinking, the singer’s political naiveté made the interview nothing more than a 40-minute PSA on the virtue of not speaking on things you know nothing about. The fact that she continuously repeats the adage “I’m no political genius” doesn’t make her a sympathetic figure. No, it just painfully and frustratingly illustrates willful ignorance.

Let Michele tell it, it is imperative that we need to communicate. So, “I took a lot of heat, but I wanted to unite America.” The problem with this line of thinking is that it foolishly assumes that closer proximity to prejudice will help lessen it. However, in the first week of the new administration, needless walls will be built; cruel bans against refugees over their religion will be unleashed; the threat of martial law has been hung over major cities; Jim Crow is leering towards a massive return; stupidity is soaring.

In the end, Michele didn’t even get to engage the menace. “My family has disowned me,” she said, “If you decide to Google me, you’ll see that America is writing about me in their newspapers. I’m the Black poster child for discord right now, and he’s not going to shake my hand?’ So no, I didn’t get to meet him.”

And every Negro went “Duh.”

Michele then slipped and confirmed suspicion that this was more about herself than she lets on. When asked why she didn’t attend the Women’s March the next day, Michele answered, “They don’t invite D-list celebrities.” The self-deprecation displayed does not deny the hubris-laden subtext of her response.

Read the rest at Essence.

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I should have known Kellyanne Conway couldn’t be trusted when it became all too apparent that she couldn’t be bothered to place trust in a comb before appearing on national television.

If that sounds cruel to you, to quote my spiritual adviser, Beyoncé, “I ain’t sorry,” so don’t anticipate any Anita Baker-grade apology from me. It’s high time that Conway was taken to task about her hair, which often looks like her boss Tropicana Jong-il’s hair. If I can make fun of that heap of elderly golden retriever hair that sits atop his head, I reserve the right to speak on No Comb Conway.

That aside, Conway ought to be taken to task for other things—namely, how much she has in common with her boss.

Much like the madman she helped place in the White House, Conway has only a superficial commitment to her principles. This is a woman who routinely appeared on television in the 1990s to complain about the behavior of former President Bill Clinton while her husband, George T. Conway III, reportedly “played a historic—and largely hidden—role in the impeachment of Bill Clinton.”

So she doesn’t like working with men who don’t respect women, although she seems to have no problems working with President Grab ’Em by the Pussy. Then again, her working alongside 45 shouldn’t be too surprising given that she got a head start working with terrible, sexist men like Todd Akin.

“I’ve been in a very male-dominated business for decades,” she told the New Yorker last fall. “I found, particularly early on, that there’s plenty of room for passion, but there’s very little room for emotion … I tell people all the time, ‘Don’t be fooled, because I am a man by day.’”

What is the gender equivalent of “All my skinfolk ain’t kinfolk”?

Other visible traces of gross hypocrisy can be found in her previous support of comprehensive immigration reform and legal status for undocumented workers. According to CNN, in 2014 Conway co-authored a memo for a pro-immigration group that outlined the benefits to providing a pathway to citizenship for nearly 11 million undocumented workers. Now she’s the headmistress of propaganda for the Fried-Cheese Führer who has decided to make good on his promise to build that stupid wall along the Mexican border.

Another thing that makes Conway the Tamera to 45’s Tia is the shared trait of being a fame whore.

Read the rest at The Root.

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As the pool of white tears begins to flood from the influx of supporters of our newly elected authoritarian who are expressing regret over their votes, allow me to extend the following invitation to one and all: Drown.

Recently, USA Today published an op-ed entitled, “I Voted for Trump, Not Against Planned Parenthood.” In it, Melody Forbes laments that she voted for Honeysuckle Lenin “because I wanted to see change in our country.” Yet Forbes complains about the prospect of the man she voted for lending support to any legislation championed by the likes of Vice President Mike Pence and other Republicans in Congress who have long sought to dismantle women’s access to health care.

“It doesn’t make any sense for Trump, who said he would defend the American people from politics as usual, to sign a bill like this,” Forbes writes. Forbes then spends time relaying facts about Planned Parenthood, as if anyone on that side of the political aisle cares about reasons to consider women’s health, while continuing to write other delusional statements such as, “I did not vote to send him to the White House to take away health care from people struggling to get by.”

That is exactly what Forbes voted for, as is pretty evident to anyone who paid real attention to the campaign behind easily and often refutable rhetoric. Honeysuckle Lenin did indeed defend Planned Parenthood to some extent, noting last year during a Republican presidential debate that it has helped women. However, he said this while still promising to defund it because he claims to be pro-life. Meanwhile, even if the man did promise not to defund Planned Parenthood, anyone who was paying attention to the various stories about him curbing contractors’ pay would find it easy to reckon with the reality that the man’s promises mean nothing.

Still, Forbes has lent her voice to a growing chorus of folks who feign bemusement over a president who’s behaving the same way he did as a candidate.

When the then president-elect pulled back on his promise to build a “big, beautiful wall” along the Mexican border, numerous suckers took to Twitter to complain that a long-proven liar had misled them. The same has happened with respect to the repeal of the Affordable Care Act, which many voters ignorantly assumed was different from Obamacare.

As for his Cabinet picks, the man who swore that he would “drain the swamp” has appointed various billionaires and village idiots to assemble what historians have labeled the richest Cabinet in U.S. history. This Cabinet would include the likes of former WWE executive Linda McMahon, who on Tuesday spoke before the Senate in hopes of becoming the next leader of the Small Business Administration. Surely, her being a top Trump donor had absolutely nothing to do with this two-time failed senatorial candidate—whose greatest achievement, arguably, is introducing me to “Macho Man” Randy Savage—being nominated for that position.

Such moves have not yielded “Oooh yeah! Dig it!”-like expressions of glee about the Colby-Jack Führer. Indeed, the outpouring of hurt, dismay and anger gained so much steam so sharply that it has since given way to a Tumblr, Trumpgrets, that tracks the almost comical levels of bitching and moaning, and other musings, from regretful voters.

As this new administration continues to embarrass itself and drag the nation down with it, there will be more folks who will publicize their remorse over their vote. Such is their right, but I’d like to think I speak on behalf of the millions of marginalized people who will suffer the most under the tyrannical reign of a racist, sexist, xenophobic, narcissistic, pathological liar when I say, fuck all y’all. In fact, run headfirst into a wall. It’s not as if any of you appear to use your heads much, anyway.

Read the rest at The Root.

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When it comes to Melania Trump, multiple things can be true if you try really, really hard not to operate at the same intellectual level as her dimwitted husband. Like, even if Slovenia’s new favorite daughter chose to pose nude back in her modeling days, it was wrong for the New York Post to publish those photos as it sought to exploit her sexuality and demean her. Similarly, as I wrote last fall, Melania has long seemed uncomfortable with the spotlight that came with being a candidate’s spouse, since she only signed up to be a rich man’s wife and hawk some jewelry.

However, while those two truths may exist, there is another that takes precedence: She married a bigoted megalomaniac, a vile monster with only minuscule traces of characteristics associated with humanity who had discussed a potential presidential run as far back as wife No. 1. Perhaps, like most of us, she assumed that her narcissistic nitwit of a husband was merely bullshitting, but there was always the risk that he would actually go through with a real foray into presidential politics.

So when it comes to the question of whether or not she deserves pity, ask yourself another question first: Why bother?

Over the weekend, Melania looked noticeably uncomfortable at every event associated with her husband’s inauguration. The visible discomfort was so obvious that some outlets reached out to body experts to further explain what may have been going on in Melania’s mind. On the pair’s awkward, rhythm-challenged inaugural dance, body-language expert and professional speaker Patti Wood noted to Mic that Melania leaned away from her husband, Parmesan Putin.

“That typically says, ‘I don’t want to merge with you as a partner,’” Wood explained, adding that Tangerine was “pulling her in sexually.”

In other words, the leader of the Aryan version of Love & Hip Hop: New York’s Creep Squad behaved exactly the way you’d expect—to Melania’s apparent horror. That, coupled with a GIF of a visibly bothered Melania, has sparked cries of “Free Melania.” No matter how well intentioned these efforts, there are ample reasons to scream up “Hell nah” in response.

Even when feeling somewhat bad for her, I always kept in the back pocket of my mind that she willfully chose to marry a racist, sexist jackass dedicated to the hobby of being disrespectful. As we move forward with this shit show of an administration, it’s time for all of us to keep such a tidbit front and center. We should also recall that when it comes to bigotry, Melania was an active participant in the very racist conspiracy theory that fueled her husband’s political rise.

Read the rest at The Root.

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During a recent appearance on Bravo’s Watch What Happens Live, Queen Latifah revealed that there has been discussion about a revival of Living Single. While some of us were immediately joyful about seeing the return of Khadijah James, Regine Hunter and Maxine Shaw and hearing the phrase, “Put some beans in that oven,” others were naturally skeptical. After all, we did see the Shaft reboot, which, for some odd reason, is getting yet another reboot.

Still, given the boom of white-led revivals and reboots in recent years, it’s about time that black shows cash in on nostalgia and Hollywood’s total disinterest in original ideas. With that in mind, I’ll be playing the role of fake-ass development executive and outlining potential reboots of previous Negro-focused programming of yore. If you hate me playing the role of melanin-enriched Andy Cohen, that’s fine, but remember this, beloveds: This shit still sounds better than a second Shaft reboot. Can you dig it?

Homeboys in Outer Space

We don’t invite back the original characters, only the title. In the revamped version, we get a sci-fi drama about black people who venture to another planet after the 45th president of the United States of America, Mango Zedong, blows up the damn world. They leave white people—and, thus, most of their troubles—behind in a new world they build from scratch. Put this on Netflix so they can really talk their shit.


I feel like Tracee Ellis Ross is too busy for this, but we really need to see this show back, if for no other reason than that Toni and Joan have got to make peace. Also: William needs to tip out of the closet. No shade.


After six seasons, the show ended on a cliffhanger—incredibly insulting, given how instrumental the series was in making UPN matter as long as it did. Brandy herself was asked about this and said: “I don’t know what happened, and I feel so bad because, you know, so many of the fans, they’re mad about that. That’s not the way you end a show that’s been on for six years. So, I’m sorry, y’all.”

You know, looking back, Moesha Mitchell was annoying as all hell. I still loathe that brat for turning down a free car just because it was a Saturn. She’s like a middle-class Vanessa Huxtable who behaves like Donald Trump Jr. during his terrible-twos stage.

In any event, in a revival, it’s worth exploring what happened. In my mind, Dorian’s friend kidnapped Myles, killed him, and 20 years later, we come to see a less obnoxious, humbled Moesha working in media. As for who was pregnant, it was Niecy, and she takes a more prominent role in the show.

Now, with respect to Kim Parker, she fell off with both of them, got colored contacts and a terrible wig and ended up a sad reality star. The new season would focus on the trio renewing their friendship. If Sheryl Lee Ralph and William Allen Young are available, they can come back, only I feel like Dee Mitchell would be on her Tina Lawson after divorcing Mathew Knowles.

New York Undercover

Ideally I’d like to forget the horrific last season of this show and bring Eddie Torres back from the dead. Unfortunately, the illegally streamed YouTube episodes don’t lie, so we have to deal with the conditions we’re given. To that end, J.C. Williams should play an Olivia Benson-like leader of a new squad. It would be interesting to see a minority-centered crime show, notably in an era in which law enforcement increasingly targets minorities. And we need to figure out how to bring in George Gore II and Lauren Vélez.

Family Matters

I only want this show to come back on a limited 10-episode run in which Steve Urkel has been placed in a mental institution because, let’s be honest, that nerd was a stalker, and when he became Stephan Urkel, that was a sign that he needed to be committed. Let Little Richie be his psychiatrist. And, no, Eddie Winslow cannot come back because he’s going to try to sing again.

Also: We need to find out what happened to the youngest sister who went upstairs and never came down.

Read the rest at The Root.

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Now that doomsday has happened, there are certain things to which we can look forward.

For one, there will be pain. Lots and lots of pain. Unfortunately, it won’t be like a Betty Wright track in which said pain will yield some gain. It will just hurt.

There will also be plenty of stupidity because if the confirmation hearings are any indication, we will be beset by inept buffoons, who, much like the 45th president of the United States, have absolutely no business doing the jobs with which they have been tasked.

Of course, there will be loads of corruption because when you elect a con man to the highest office in the land, he’s going to give you your money’s worth. However, of all the nuisances that await us, one that’s increasingly sticking out to me is that we will be embarking on having the political Ike and Tina Turner in Mango Zedong (Donald Trump) and Vladimir Putin.

For quite some time now, Frack and Fuck-Up have been whispering sweet nothings to each other in the public space, reminding me of a Drake song in which he is oh so smitten, only to end up vexed over the fact that she has dared to have a life aside from him.

If previous comments are any indication, these two will very much behave like a celebrity couple desperately trying to sway you into giving a damn about their union.

Recently, Geppetto (Putin) took up for his new boo thang (Mango Zedong) by addressing the now infamous dossier in which a former MI6 British intelligence agent claims that the Russian government has compromising information about the new U.S. president. During a press conference Tuesday, Putin said, “These things that have been alleged are clearly false information.”

(Because if you want truth, you turn to a man trained in the art of lying like hell for the advancement of specific agents.)

Among the various forms of malarkey the lying head of state presented to a forced audience, though, this portion was particularly comical: “Did Trump really come and meet with Moscow prostitutes? Firstly, he is an adult, and secondly, he is a person who for many years has organized a beauty pageant, socialized with the most beautiful women in the world. It is hard to believe that he ran to a hotel to meet with our girls of a low social class, although they are the best in the world.”

This is not how prostitution works, but it’s clearly a sign of someone standing by his man. I suppose if the former KGB agent allegedly put in all that effort to housebreak his new pet, it would make sense for him to go above and beyond to protect him. You know, even if that means saying with a straight face that loads of women want to smash a man who looks like a pot of lasagna made from old slices of Kraft cheese.

Still, it was already stomach-churning to watch an American campaigning to be president laud an authoritarian figure from a hostile foreign government, but now we have to spend maybe four years living with this.

While the crowds in Washington, D.C., were thin-crust pizza for the inauguration, it was apparently a lituation over in Moscow. Indeed, The Independent reported that supporters of Putin held an all-night party in celebration of the U.S. president who U.S. intelligence agencies all agree benefited from the assistance of the Russian government in winning the presidential election.

Adam Lusher wrote: “One of the organizers, Konstantin Rykov, who has served as a Russian MP affiliated to Putin’s United Russia Party and has also been described as a ‘Kremlin web propagandist,’ invited his Facebook followers to the event with the comment: ‘See you in the evening. Washington will be ours.’”

Despite the new administration’s claims to the contrary, we undoubtedly will soon have to bear the sight of Mango Zedong and Putin standing side-by-side in jubilee like they’re Ja Rule and Ashanti about to perform “Always on Time.” While there is a special shade of irony in the guy who promised to “Make America great again” being so clingy to the de facto dictator of Russia, it is not enough to gloss over how infuriating it is to see such a low-level ruse happen in real time.

Read the rest at The Root.

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When a show is moved to Friday nights, it’s typically a sign that said show is not only no longer a priority, but nearing its end.

There are not many shows airing on Fridays that can lay claim to active promotion from its network. So, when Bravo decided to shift Married To Medicine from Sunday nights––during which it aired directly after ratings behemoth The Real Housewives of Atlanta––to Friday nights, fans like me took pause.

If one were to rate their emotions based on Mary J. Blige’s catalog, let’s say before the sudden air date shift, I was one of the more upbeat tracks on The Breakthrough. In a post-move to Sunday, I’m basically “Everyday It Rains” from The Show soundtrack. I’m basically sobbing in unison with Faith Evans gorgeously crooning in the background.

How could Bravo do this to me, and by extension, y’all watching the show with me? Last fall, Bravo launched a spinoff of Married To Medicine: Houston. Most of us––even the Houston natives––had no clue. Why? Because it aired on Friday nights. Friday nights are for hanging out, or if you’re just tired from the workweek, eating catfish dinners while drinking brown and catching up on DVR and/or Netflix.

Now, according to one television-centered site, Bravo was not intentionally setting up the show for failure: “While Friday nights typically haven’t been a focus for primetime TV–especially reality TV–that is definitely changing and Bravo wants a piece of the pie. WE tv, for example, airs many of their hit shows on Friday nights like Marriage Boot Camp.”

I’m not a television executive, but that sounds like the cable network equivalent of trusting your 1990s era Bad Boy record deal to lead you to lifelong prosperity. Perhaps the original Married To Medicine was moved to assist its Houstonian little sister, but even that seems like a miss. Why not on Tuesday? Or Wednesday? Maybe Thursday, especially since WE tv airs a lot of its programming that predominantly features “The Blacks” on that night.

The show now airs repeats on the same bloc it used to run new episodes. Most recently, the show was still scoring more than a million viewers on Sunday with a repeat. It’s unclear whether or not that figure is up to Bravo’s standards, but this weird new setup has me still clinging to a singular sentiment: please do not cancel my show.

While I will admit that The Real Housewives of Atlanta has managed to be the most entertaining it has been in quite some time, Married To Medicine offers far more in scope. I’ve written about the show before, but this season has taken it to new heights.

In addition to delightfully shady moments and dramatics that keep people hooked, there have been story lines of sincere depth. Take Dr. Simone, OB-GYN, being filmed in her office assisting a transgender man in his transition, while also stressing the importance of tending to his healthcare in spite of his discomfort. Moreover, she allowed viewers to join her in her search for her missing father, a man who struggled with alcoholism and was ultimately discovered dead. Then there was the episode that featured Dr. Jackie, who did a nude photo shoot for breast cancer awareness in the wake of her own double mastectomy rooted in her surviving breast cancer twice. Being able to watch a single episode in which a woman can tackle her body issues in the wake of cancer and seeing other women hilariously curse each other out is like my dream TV show.

Read the rest at Essence.

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When the unthinkable happened on Election Night, many Democrats tilted towards tradition and congratulated the victor. Some were more conciliatory than others, but given the President-elect was an untraditional candidate who spent more than a year-and-a-half insulting sizable portions of the U.S. population, it’s a wonder why most Democrats even bothered to extend the luxury of decency to a bigot.

Thankfully, there have been politicians like Rep. Maxine Waters (D-CA), who have not bothered with actions that could be considered gracious, opting instead for moves far more virtuous: sticking to one’s principles.

As some Black celebrities rushed to Trump Tower to kiss the ring and bend over for the burgeoning tyrant, Waters didn’t bother with pretense and pageantry. Speaking with MSNBC last December, the longtime congresswoman said, “I don’t trust him, I don’t believe him, I have no intentions of sitting down with him; I’m going to fight him every inch of the way.”

Waters rationalized her stance by noting that the incoming president has “stepped on everybody and has no respect for his colleagues” or his political foes. As for Democrats in general, she argued that they tend to be too “nice” and are willing to “bend over backwards” to work with a Republican majority––an effort never made when Democrats control Congress. Case in point: Senate majority leader Mitch McConnell and his delightfully hypocritical actions with cabinet appointment hearings.

Not only has this party worked to actively obstruct and vilify the first Black president, they used a demagogue who sought to humiliate the first Black president as his successor. Why even bother pretending the Grand Old Party and its attitudinal new head are anything other than what they have shown themselves to be? What is the point in pretending you can work and play nice with them? Why not speak of them as the threats their actions suggest them to be?

Before the election, Waters categorized Tangerine Mussolini’s campaign rhetoric as “unpatriotic,” asking, “Who is this man and where did he come from?” Such questions have become more pertinent as the incoming commander-in-chief has picked fights with the CIA, plays the role of parrot when echoing foreign policy stances held by Russian dictator Vladimir Putin, and continues to provide reason after reason to believe he is ill-equipped for the job of president.

That makes it all the more important for Waters to continue to speak out. Last week, she sharply declared to a reporter, “The FBI Director has no credibility.” This week, in an interview on Hardball with Chris Matthews, Waters said that if the President-elect is proven to have colluded with the Russian government in any way to help him win the presidential election, it is an impeachable offense.

Read the rest at Essence.

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Even before he won the 2008 presidential election, there was already talk of making a movie chronicling the life of Barack Hussein Obama.

The first to discuss such a film was Tyler Perry, who, in 2008, said that he was inspired to make a film about Obama and his relationship with his wife, Michelle Obama. Perry said that he sought to cast the likes of Angela Bassett and Denzel Washington in the film. Through the grace of God and/or some development executive, the Perry-helmed Obama biopic never happened. Others include Ed Norton and, on a semifrequent basis, Will Smith, who just last year joked that he had the ears to pull off the role and mentioned it to President Obama himself.

Of course, while the more established Hollywood folks have yet to produce films, thanks to indie filmmakers, we now already have two. Unfortunately, neither film has lived up to the stature of our history-making 44th president.

Last August, there was Southside With You, a film about the first date between Barack and Michelle Obama. It’s not bad per se. It’s a cute, mythologizing look at the president and the nation’s first lady. Thankfully, it doesn’t take itself too seriously.

Such characteristics are the problem with the other Obama movie now out, the Netflix-distributed Barry. There are two things to like about Vikram Gandhi’s film. It may be a low-budget effort, but it certainly doesn’t look like it. Then there is Devon Terrell, the 20-year-old Australian-born actor playing the first black president of the United States, who deserves credit for learning to play basketball with his left hand and nailing Obama’s very distinct accent.

Terrell is undoubtedly a star in the making, and if he doesn’t mind playing Obama again, he should welcome any future opportunity to do so—because he could likely do a whole lot more with better material.

That said, Barry makes for strange viewing.

In an interview about the film, Gandhi explained his intentions: “I never set out to make a film that celebrated Obama’s charisma—instead, I wanted to make a film that shows how universal and human his personal story really is.”

Gandhi is right to assert how universal the human experience can be, but there’s something to be said for knowing the specific experience you aim to help explain. Gandhi, too, attended Columbia University in New York City, and apparently lived in the building next to the one Obama moved to on Manhattan’s 109th Street. OK, but the black experience—notably when you are of mixed race and have as varied a background as Obama does—requires a certain kind of perspective. Gandhi turned to Adam Mansbach, author of the children’s book for adult children, Go the Fuck to Sleep, and novels like Angry Black White Boy and The End of Jews, for that.

Together they made a movie that often feels aimless in some cases and heavy-handed in others. After Obama lands in New York, he meets every cliché about New York City in the 1980s. Fair enough, but then, the very next morning, he’s eating breakfast while listening to Jesse Jackson. Not long after, Obama quotes Jackson in class, only to be confronted by a white student who inquires why Jackson hugged Yasser Arafat. This same person, who becomes a friend, also wonders why we black folks always talk about slavery.

Perhaps this wouldn’t feel like so much if we then didn’t see Obama reading Invisible Man on the basketball court. I’m certain Obama has read the book, but the imagery still feels hokey. The same goes for later in the film when Obama is buying The Souls of Black Folk in Harlem (from Fab Five Freddy).

Maybe Obama did confront a Black Israelite in Harlem for calling a white woman on the street a “cave bitch” by highlighting the irony of folks who can’t stand white people who nonetheless read the King James version of the Bible, but really? The same goes for the minority roommate (a bartender who doesn’t attend Columbia) advising Obama not to attend a university party because they’ll never be welcomed, only to have Obama object, highlighting his long-spoken belief in the goodness of everyone (despite all the white people vocalizing their hatred of him to the contrary).

As for the scene with the Jesse Jackson hater telling Obama that he’s half-white and therefore fits in anywhere, to which Obama hits back with, “I don’t feel anywhere, man”? God. That line feels lifted from Mariah Carey’s “Outside.”

The only scene truly believable in the film is a young Obama dancing off the beat with the black girl. Yeah, a lot of folks say Obama can dance, and the shimmy has gotten better over time, but c’mon; nah.

Ultimately, and what’s really grating about the film, is that the majority of it chronicles Obama’s relationship with his white girlfriend Charlotte. By the end, he doesn’t want her, and honestly, who cares? We know he married Michelle Robinson anyway, but I guess you can cite Charlotte for asking him, “Do you not believe in change?” which—dun-dun-dun—turns into “Change you can believe in.”

The film ambitiously seeks to explore race and identity through Obama’s journey coming to grips with his biracialism, while offering larger observations about America’s racial divide. It doesn’t really net either goal and, for all its good intentions, just comes across as two people who aren’t black trying to explain a black experience they haven’t lived and clearly cannot fathom, research be damned. It comes across as a remixed version of Obama’s life story in order to present their own feelings about racial identity in America. Someone as nuanced and complex as Barack Hussein Obama deserves better.

Read the rest at The Root.

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If I had a dollar for every headline our president-elect generates in a single day, let alone an entire campaign season, I would probably have enough money to pay off both my student loans and at least half of the debt his lying ass pretends not to have. As someone who can see, hear, read and use Twitter, I’m fully aware of all the places Mandarin Orange Mugabe can take us in the shortest amount of time. And like the “failing” New York Times, I do wonder if “the continuing reality show that Mr. Trump creates may help protect him from deep damage by any particular scandal.”

In this week alone, the man—yes, I’m feeling benevolent today—has had stories of him paying prostitutes to pee in places not near a toilet, all while beefing with Meryl Streep, CNN, BuzzFeed and his archnemesis, the truth.

Not to be outdone, the next prez also held a farce of a press conference that did nothing but further confirm fears that we are in for an insufferable time contending with such a corrupt, clueless, pompous, vicious and clownish administration. However, whenever Mandarin Orange Mugabe bombards us with far too much information (just about every single day), there are calls for us to focus on the “bigger picture.” Whenever our little rambunctious buffoon of a president-elect generates too many headlines within a teensy space of time, some will argue that we are being had!

You see, when Mandarin Orange Mugabe starts tweeting about Streep, he’s not doing it because his frail ego can’t take criticism. No, no. He’s doing it to distract us from some more heinous act, and apparently, we’re being too silly to notice. It’s dressed up as concern, but it’s wearing feelings of intellectual superiority underneath.

Yes, there is reason to worry that a reality-TV president would employ theatrics as a distraction tactic. After all, this is a man known to call tabloids and feed them stories about himself. Some people live by the mantra “Keep my name out your mouth,” while others, like our president-elect, not only want you to keep their name in your mouth but will also take an Uber to your home in order to place their name directly inside it.

Nevertheless, when people say, “Trump is doing this to distract you,” they are giving this Canal Street version of Lex Luthor way too much credit. If there’s any singular thing this demagogue needs to be given less of, it is credit. The president-elect is not that hard to figure out. He is a narcissistic buffoon who cannot stand not being liked.

That’s why he went after Streep. He’s on the verge of being sworn in as the 45th president of the United States of America, and the popular kids in Hollywood still don’t give a solitary damn about him. If anything, they loathe him now more than ever. That’s why he took to Twitter to call her “overrated.” It’s the same reason he took shots at Vanity Fair over the review of Trump Grill(e). The same goes for the cast of Hamilton, Jay Z and Arnold Schwarzenegger.

This is not the work of a mastermind; it’s the labor we typically associate with insecurity.

Still, whatever we are being fed by this tangerine tyrant in the making, rest assured that all of it is bad and, because he will be president, worth considering.

One can focus on stories about golden showers, along with reports of campaign staffers meeting with Russian-government officials, along with unbecoming public beefs with thespians. They all point to different issues. While the piss-stained stories may sound the most superficial, keep in mind that this is the guy who claims to have grabbed women by the pussy. The same man who reportedly walked in on teen pageant contestants as they were undressing. A man who threw a party so raunchy that Uncle Luke said he had to leave. Uncle Luke!

Read the rest at The Root.

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