Sideline Shay

Yesterday, I read on the Twitter that Shay and Momma Dee got into an altercation at a Red Lobster in Birmingham, Alabama. I shouldn’t want this to be true, but I find this story too hilarious to not want to. I can envision this happening in my mind so clearly that I’d be a bit hurt if it wasn’t brought up at the next Love & Hip Hop: Atlanta reunion.

Apparently, they were at separate tables so allow me to paint a picture. Butt hurt over love Shay sits one table over from the empress in her mind, Momma Dee. As a waitress comes back from the liquor store next door to fill Momma Dee’s order of Thunderbird with a splash of Dr. Pepper, Shay rolls her eyes, pissed off that Momma Dee shorted her on their shared club fee. Momma Dee catches that and Shay whispering Shade into some queen’s ear, takes a sip of her drink and proceeds to toss it at Shay’s head with half a cheddar bay biscuit in her mouth. Shay stands up, ready to plex, but someone wisely snatches her by the dyed ponytail she got straight from the Kentucky Derby. After all, as an ex-pimp and drug dealer, Momma Dee is trained well in the art of pistol whipping and bitch bodying.

Okay, so maybe it didn’t happen exactly that way, but I think we should run with this version of events anyway.

Meanwhile, if these two do indeed get into a scuffle it may mean that Momma Dee might finally stop trying toss Shay into Lil’ Scrappy’s sac despite that current space being occupied by his fiancée. I know Olivia Pope gave a lot of you unrequited love having folks false hope with that hilariously ironic “If you want me, earn me!” line on last week’s episode of Scandal, but in reality, you already gave it up so there’s no much else to earn as you’ve got silver and/or broze stamped on your ass cheeks. For the love of Beyoncé, Shay, if you’ve got to turn to your man’s mama to get a man, that ought to tell you all that you need to know.

Yet, here she is, like a stubborn buzzard, huffing, puffing, and chirping over a man who embarrassed the absolute hell out of her on national television by proposing to another woman right in front of her. I have certainly played myself over love, but at some point you’ve got to look in the mirror and say, “I’ve got to let my jaw heal from all the trauma I have put it through.” I hope Shay lets her cracked face repair itself.

In fact, if Shay’s looking for love, maybe she turn to Momma Dee. They’ve got a lot in common. They’re both obsessed with Lil’ Scrappy. They both can’t stand Erica. They both need some business. They’re both into Shay’s ass. I would not be surprised if Momma Dee has told Shay off camera, ”I can at least get 300 an hour off that ass.”

Shoot, even if y’all two did fight inside of Red Lobster like some Facebook trash, gon’ head and kiss and make up and go on a double date in Alannuh with Monifah and her lady. If that doesn’t work, use that VH1 check to find each of yourselves a man (or woman, noh8 and shit) on BlackPeopleMeet.com. Do anything besides…clucking like this on purpose, Shay. Unless something magically changes in the middle of the season, it looks to the victor goes the baby mama. Hell, even if you did manage to sneak in and get some cut, Shay, look at what you had to go through first?

Would you look at that? I’m a life coach and relationship expert now. Wipe me down, or better yet, find me a dashiki so I can give Iyanla Vanzant some competition.

Freddie Brooks Rap

When I read that Lauryn Hill had signed a new record deal with longtime label, Sony Music, I got the feeling that for the first time in a very long one, we might actually get some new music out of her. That is to no credit to her, of course. I imagine Sony put in a “Try us if you want to!” clause in her contract with respect to not ponying up new product.

Hello All:

Here is a link to a piece that I was ‘required’ to release immediately, by virtue of the impending legal deadline.

Exhibit A, B, C, D, E, and F. Who could blame the label given she’s been pussyfooting about releasing another album for a good decade now?

I am surprised that we’ve gotten music this soon, but as Ms. Hill points out, it’s not like she had much of a choice. Oh, how this woman knows how to spoil an occasion. And surprise, surprise, Lauryn has returned with another anti-establishment paean.

“Neurotic Society (Compulsory Mix)” (alternate link here) is a noisy, extended rant delivered in the spirit of fed up with society Speedy Gonzalez. It’s the kind of rant you would hear from Freddie Brooks before she pressed her hair, went to law school and decided to get her Uncle Phil on and be the change she constantly complained of seeking. The song also gives teases of, “What if Iyanla Vanzant read more than self-help books, How To Do Voodoo? and Ouija boards?

Lauryn Hill is the type of person to fuck your husband and call it a protest of institution of marriage because it’s oppressive and sexist and something else that makes her less culpable. You know, kind of like her refusing to pay her taxes for years and blaming it on everyone else. What was it again? She feared for her safety. So much so she couldn’t be bothered to pay her taxes.

Apparently, even though plenty of other people have lived in self-imposed exile without ending up on Uncle Sam’s hit list, her grave and pressing danger was enough to stop her from downloading Turbo Tax or asking someone’s accountant cousin for a hookup.

Not to be outdone, she showed up to court recently in a nice Gucci bag. Admittedly, I don’t have the pressures of being a fashionista and global superstar like Ms. Hill. Nevertheless, I feel as if I owed the government seven figures I’d have to show up in Bugle Boy jeans, an old Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle t-shirt from 1992, and some old Chucks I had to flirt to keep a discount on at Goodwill. But again, I don’t know Ms. Hill’s pressures to stay primped.

Thing is, as mocking as I am (for good reason, don’t trip) there is no one else on her level actually bothering to speak about the various societal ills going on. Everyone is at the club, getting drink, popping Molly’s and uploading fauxtivational bullshit on social media to deflect from the trying times we’re all burdened with. That is the only reason I can at least say to Lauryn, “Well, at least you’re trying to say something.”

However, I wish she’d try a little harder. Not to mention, I’d love it if Lauryn put her own actions in perspective before she wags her finger at everyone else. I can’t imagine paying $10.99 on iTunes to hear Ms. Lauryn Hill spend a whole hour blaming everyone else for her shortcomings in the most pretentious way possible. I’ve already heard her Unplugged album so I’m good on her bitching out her fans for giving her the fame and fortune she sought. I would love it if Lauryn would bother to sing again, or at the very least, rap without sounding like someone pressed the fast forward button.

Someone lock her in a room with Saleem Remi, Frank Ocean, Mark, and Questlove. Pretty please. It would do her a world of good. Ditto for her musical legacy, which she still seems content on ruining.

Ciara Makes Me Miss Janet Jackson

I love “Body Party.” So much so that I made a $1.29 donation to her “Keep Me Relevant” fund on iTunes. I want this girl to win even if she continues to express her own reservations with such an outcome. I don’t love the “Body Party” video, though, or at least, not as much as others seem to.

For one, she’s not dancing enough. Not to mention, I’ve seen this sex kitten bit from her. Don’t get me wrong. God bless the sex kittens, but at what point do you get the ones who offer the same purr the exact same way every single time spayed?

That aside, anyone working to bring back the butterfly has my full support on such endeavor. Beyoncé did her part by including it as an old school dance in the “Get Me Bodied” video, but I’ve got to give it CiCi just doing it because it felt right. You better believe the first thing I did when I was able to crawl out of bed from illness late last week was to do the butterfly.

So yes, gon’ Ciara, and might I add, I also enjoy the reference to Janet’s video for “That’s The Way Love Goes.” At the same time, I think that’s why I don’t completely love this video and why I can’t completely commit myself to the band of misfits known as the C-Squad. Well, I think that’s what they’re called. Whatever, you get it.

How many Janet Jackson videos is Ciara going to recreate exactly? Okay, so it wasn’t a direct rip like those other two drawn from Damita Jo’s “You Want This” visual, but once I found out Ciara’s album change, I began to frown.

There, There, Little Whiny, White Privilege Enjoying Teen

Oh, look, you guys. Abigail Fisher has a little sister. Suzy Lee Weiss wrote what she called a “satirical” piece about her not getting into the colleges she wanted.  In it, she whined and whined about why “diversity” kept her from attending her preferred institution of higher learning and excessive tuition. Never mind that her grades and scores weren’t up to par or that she got into other good schools that, when combined with her race, will still result to her leading a life better than most who live under much different circumstances.

However, because Weiss threw in a few “jokes” with her rant, she doesn’t understand why people – us people – have any reason to pick at her.

After all, she’s the one who likely got her parents to fork offer large sums of money to enroll in SAT prep courses. That is, those standardized tests already culturally biased in her favor. I’m sure she also had them waste funds on school trips and interviews. Yet, it’s all so very, very unfair that of all the privileges she enjoys in the world, going to an Ivy League school isn’t going to be one of them.

Well, until she wrote this nonsense in the fucking Wall Street Journal:

For starters, had I known two years ago what I know now, I would have gladly worn a headdress to school. Show me to any closet, and I would’ve happily come out of it. “Diversity!” I offer about as much diversity as a saltine cracker. If it were up to me, I would’ve been any of the diversities: Navajo, Pacific Islander, anything. Sen. Elizabeth Warren, I salute you and your 1/32 Cherokee heritage.

So just like Abigail Fisher, whose Supreme Court case that might completely decimate affirmative action all over, her pity party is being treated by conservative-leaning entities who want to use their messages to further their anti-diversity initiative agenda. Now she’s being offered internships. Plus, as you can see, it’s come to my attention that she’s been furthered awarded for her musings on her mediocrity not being rewarded enough to her delight by being booked on Today.

I suppose it will never dawn on her that this whole hoopla demonstrates the kind of advantages she has in life and how a few ‘no’s’ cannot stop her show. Ditto for the realization that other folks with actual things of importance to say won’t get their voices heard in such far reaching media outlets.

But why would she care? It’s all about her, remember? Her. Her. Her.

Meanwhile, what a smug little something, she is.

“I was attracted to the sexy ivy league names.”

Gee, why wouldn’t anyone want you around, girl?

“It’s like 30 Rock taking on things politically correct.”

She’s young, so obviously what Tina Fey did on that show went completely over her head. Hopefully someone can cover the cost of a clue and send it fast delivery to her.

“We’re being judged on things that we cannot control as opposed to things that we can.”

Welcome to life. Don’t let it get you down, though. In the end, you are white, so gon’ flip that naturally straight hair of yours, girl. The system continues to be set up for the organically pale to be pushed into the promised land.

That said, damn you, Today show. There are millions of students who could only wish to have the options this brat does and you ignore them all the damn time. I don’t know why bratty white youth being obnoxious has become a recent trend in coverage about higher education in America, but I’d love for it to die a swift death. The sooner the better.

You’re No Good, Balou

Unless you, too, are a bitchy, mean-spirited jackass who likes to guise your insecurities by undercutting everyone else around you in order to pump more air into the balloon capsuling your faux sense of superiority, I can’t see how you see it for Baloo. I guess she’s interesting to look at as she spews out a bunch of bullshit she’s worked super hard of convincing herself to be true. Sort of like a gussied up version of your average fool on the sidewalk near a CVS. Maybe that provides a kind of entertainment value for some, but I’m exhausted by it.

If I could, I’d hire Cecily Tyson to visit Balou in a dream – A Christmas Carol style – and warn her to humble herself. She’d be joined by Nell Carter, Erica Alexander as “Maxine Shaw” and maybe one of the Backstreet Boys. No, someone from Troop or Portrait. Yeah, that’ll do it.

I want to be happy that a small town Georgian stripper who married her oldest and most generous stripper went on to secure cheap fame by way of a reality show and the graciousness of two white gay men who just adore her Black drag queen act as it’s the closet thing each will have to a gay Black male friend, but damn, why be so nasty even after you secured the dream?

Balou was starting to go back to her jovial, not as miserable persona in the first two seasons of The Real Housewives of Atlanta, but clearly evil is hard to keep captive.

She is like that one country family member who is blessed with a come up and proceeds to act completely brand new. The sort that reminds you of her rags to red bottoms story every damn Thanksgiving and Christmas. All you want is your yams, macaroni and cheese, turkey, duck, chicken, ham, peach cobbler, cookies, and brown liquor and here comes this New Money Negro blabbing about her damn self. Gon’ somewhere, Balou. We can see you’ve “arrived.”

However, someone needs to remind her that while it’s “fabulous, darling” that she made it to broadcast television, she is not being chauffeured around the streets of Hollywood because the Emmy and Golden Globe awards attached to her tits are causing her big ass to stumble over. Not to mention, for all this “growth” she professes about her character – molded after herself, mind you – has exhibited, it’s not like she’s playing a paraplegic crackhead who found the cure of not just her illness, but the cure to AIDS and cancer while dreaming of a new pound cake recipe.

Again, shout out to you for making a way, but since you’re so adept at reading people, here’s food for thought: You are the 2013 equivalent of Rerun. In other words, so scale that shit the fuck back, b.

You can just tell she lives for the fact that she is on a white show as if that makes her so above everyone else. Even if you wanted to go  by that self-loathing logic, it’s just one white thus far so slow it down, Balou. You could easily be replaced by some other gag of a reality star.

I damn near threw my remote when I heard her say on the last episode of Housewives that some people can’t be happy for other’s success.

I’m like, what kind of trick mirror do you judge your life by? You shaded Kandi’s past, present, and probably already have prepared remarks about her future; you definitely gave Kim the cold shoulder when “Tardy for the Party” made some money, plus when she signed her spinoff; you never saw it for Phaedra because it seems to bother you that she finished her degree; I believe Sheree about you saying, “You could make way more money with just me”; already you’ve started giving Kenya the shade via Twitter for her imdb page when fact is, as it stands now she’s still done more than you overall no matter how hard she may have fallen.

All and all, Balou is a successful asshole. There have been others that have come and gone before her and there will be plenty more after. They all appear to be just as miserable as they were before they hit because they never cured whatever it was inside that bothered them.

Bloop that, remix Rerun.

‘Ye’s In Need…

Dear Kanye,

AHHHHH!!!!! RAHH!!!! YAHHHHHH!!!!!!

Apparently, screaming like you’re Lion-O en route for battle with Mumm-Rana is your new thing so I figured it’s best if I greet you accordingly.

You know, Yeezy, many of your fans might be deluding themselves into thinking that your recent onstage volume-high diatribes are instances of you bucking the system, being a free spirit, artistic or some kind of nonsense like that. God bless the believer, but nah, don’t let them enable you.

First off, on you bashing Justin Timberlake and Jay-Z’s “Suit and Tie”: It’s typically considered in poor taste for a peer to publicly bash another. Besides, we all know if Hov hopped on stage and talked about what a huge disappointment Cruel Summer was you would’ve recorded at least six songs bemoaning how much he hurt you: “Lamborghini mercy, I thought my big brother loved me.”

Also, I find quite peculiar how you, man who consistently gets mushy with materialism, suddenly wanted to bash the very sort of mindset that helped make you a millionaire several times over.

Then again, I’m operating under the assumption that you’re in your right frame of mind when offering this commentary, which leads me to this proclamation you made in Paris: “I am Michael Angelo [sic]. I am Basquiat. I am Walt Disney. I am Steve Jobs. Of this music s**t? Please!?”

When I was 13, I walked around telling people – including my own mama – to call me Batman. Why? It felt right to me. I imagine in response my mom kicked up the number of rosaries she said daily out of concern for my well-being.

It may sound fun in your head, but please stop this, especially if you’re going to follow it all up with assaulting a microphone. You are 35.

This Girl Should Be Fired

Judging by the grin she gave following the last shimmy of her All Star Halftime performance, Alicia Keys appeared quite proud of herself. That’s unfortunate. She did look great or whatever, but no one in her camp should’ve gone back and watched the tape and said to her in good faith, “Yeah, keep doing that.”

I don’t know who told her to step away from the piano, but their speaking privileges deserve an extensive rest period.

Who goes to Houston and begins a performance singing “Empire State of Mind?” I can’t imagine this former soft stud and hip-hop head hasn’t played “Wanna Be A Player,” “Southside” or some UGK on her piano before. Know your audience.

As a native Houstonian, y’all should know that she is quite lucky that the population of H-Tine has shifted in recent years and the All Star crowd overall seemed to consist of out-of-towners living on the paler side of life. Had she tried that before a crowd of longtime locals of the Negro variety, she would’ve been booed all the way back to Hell’s Kitchen — deservingly so.

And for the love of God, will someone please tell her to stop performing “Girl On Fire?” I know that technically, that song is a hit because little children love screaming along to it and Citibank made sure to drill that song into our psyches by way of an overbearing marketing campaign, but no more, Alicia. No more.

Stop remixing the song. We get it already: The girl is on fire. Hell, the girl must suffer third-degree burns by now. Pour some cold water over her and let her heal those scabs. Retire that noise already.

The same goes for the ill-advised remixes of “Girl On Fire” like “Obama’s On Fire.” I’m surprised none of the secret service on sight didn’t tackle her to the ground. Again, quit it, Alicia. Several last nerves will thank you for it.

As for that voice, can you imagine all the shade Whitney Houston is throwing in heaven over it? “My Lord, were you taking a bathroom break when she was auditioning for a record deal?”

Look, I can’t sing, but I can hear. All those years of crying out out to God in pain through song has done its damage. Learn to sing within your range, Mrs. Keys-Beatz. Whatever is left of it anyway.

Take your time and stop shouting because no one, no one, no one wants to hear those screams. I say that with love, concern, and some honey and lemon tea for your vocal chords.

On to her dancing: She tried the absolute shit out of it, didn’t she?

To be fair, she sort of improved on the choreography. You know, she’s finally out dancing a baby who learned how to walk six hours ago. Even so,  just as I don’t expect Sade to start rapping about being able to make a sprite can disappear in her mouth, I don’t want to see diet soul singer try to give Britney Spears teases.

Speaking of soul music, where did hers go? What is this last album doing? Correct me if I’m wrong but wasn’t Alicia Keys supposed to be something light-skinned Roberta Flack with Aretha Franklin leanings? Bono is cool, but when is she going to return back to ripping offJames Brown and Prince, or better yet, start releasing singles again along the lines of the gorgeous “You Don’t Know My Name.”

Some of you might dismiss the suggestion as reductive, but many of the people who bought your first few albums – yes, I have receipts – would call that restoring the natural order.

Following this interview, I get these sense that Alicia has lovely spirit. Cute for her, but in the end, after watching her All Star act I think it’s time someone calls on an Amber Alert for her lane because looking like Lena Horne, singing off brand U2 tracks and dancing like Ashanti impersonating Beyoncé is not her truth.

She can keep that short haircut, though. Girl, that’s cute.

Overcompensation, Party of One

If I had any lingering doubts in my mind that Miguel has gotten his life from “Freakum Dress” at least thrice, consider them confirmed now. Oh, wait a second. That comment is part of the reason why Mr. Pimentel is doing this, isn’t it? Eh, maybe but even so someone should explain to this young man that it gets better and it will even sooner if one doesn’t start air wrapping their dicks in preparation to simulate sex on stage in Sweden.

I’m sure Left Eye is somewhere above smiling at the realization that her lessons of safe sex have carried over to her follow processed hair artists. Or maybe it’s from laughing her ass off with Rick James and Eddie Murphy’s singing dreams in the afterlife. Pick your poison.

Look, I really like Miguel. He’s a nice songwriter who is trying in earnest to evolve R&B and soul music. Also, I’ve run into him a few times out in LA and he’s a very nice guy. Not at all like some of the pricks I’ve come across who don’t possess even a fraction of his talent or morsel of his potential.

Plus, his sophomore album is sublime and I’m actually still a little put off that it hasn’t gotten as much attention as channel ORANGE. It lacks the backstory that makes Frank Ocean’s debut so powerful, but as total a body of work Kaleidoscope Dream is a bit more versatile (as opposed to Frank’s, which I think has stronger songs but a bit lopsided when looking at it wholly). I think there remains a disparity in terms of attention given to each artist, but the above clip is yet another reason why I can see Frank continuing to be the critical darling that gets the sort of accolades Miguel’s more honest about wanting to get.

Little pretty man with the press and curl, you’ve already pressed your head so there’s no sense in giving the rest of you that treatment.

I, of all people, would never discourage anyone from using their sexuality if that’s what moves their heart. Hell, I think “T-Shirt & Panties” is one of the most underrated records of all time. Nevertheless, this all feels like overcompensation, party of one.

Dude, we get it.

You like girls or something. You’ve been working out. No need for the oddly simulated reminders.

Bobby Brown would hump the stage back in his day, and if memory serves, Trey Songz has faked fellatio once or a dozen times during a concert, but as much as I like those artists, they’re not on the sort of creative wavelength you’re on, man.

Those two seem like 13-year-old boys who just discovered an erection (for the rest of their lives) whereas in this clip you’re sort of giving me the one who wants to prove you’re just like them so a kickball won’t be hurled at your head. I get it, but quit it all the same. You have enough talent to fill up Andre the Giant in your Prince barefoot short frame. Act like it.

You don’t have to do this, especially not that hard. Yeah, what was with that grind, dude? Not to mention you throwing your hand back to make sure you bangs didn’t move too much out of place while you hit your daddy stroke. You out here fucking like Trade Little Richard?

Meanwhile, between this and the Los Angeles District Attorney giving Chris Brown failing marks on his progress report, Frank Ocean is having the best week ever.

P.S. As my homie, Devon put it: “And somewhere young gay men are making million of gifs to use for their personal time. Well played MigMoney. Well played. lol”

See? Didn’t stop it.

Breezy Reading

Christopher Maurice Brown, why must I always read about you being involved in a fight?

I see that you’ve invoked the passion of the Christ in defense of yourself, but Negro, you’re going to mess around and have God smite thee with all Thy might. And so we’re clear, Jesus, as legend has it, died for our sins so that we could be forgiven and go find out whether or not heaven has a ghetto. He wasn’t crucified for beating up R&B singers, male, female or otherwise.

Okay, enough with the small talk, let’s get to the matter at hand.

Admittedly, there are some discrepancies regarding who started this apparent fight between you and Frank Ocean. Some say you swung first, others claim it was Frank who let his New Orleans out of the cage. I don’t really care who initiated the brawl on this week’s edition of The Real Husbands and Parolees of R&B. I’m more concerned about the lingering pattern here with you.

As much as you hate being reminded of your transgressions, there’s your horrific beating of Rihanna in 2009. Your deadly assault of a Good Morning America window in 2011 inspired by questioning about the aforementioned incident of violence. There’s also that reported scuffle between you and Drake last year, although in your defense, it was apparently Aubrey who channeled Ms. B’Havin’s “Bottle Action.”

Then there are your antics on the Twitter, which is true root of your beef with Frank Ocean. I know parking in LA is a hassle and I’ve been tempted to go oops, upside someone’s head over a stolen spot once or twice, but we both know the issue between you two is bigger than that.

In addition to your social media tiff with Frank, you’ve had Twitter fights with the following: rapper/producer Tyler The Creator, WWE performer CM Punk, country singer Miranda Lambert, walking sob story Raz-B, internet troll Jenny Johnson.

You did not start most of these volatile exchanges, but they each highlight your inability to ignore the nonsense, instead opting to highlight your rage issues. Speaking of, while I’m aware it’s currently trendy to dismiss any constructive criticism as “negativity,” maybe, just maybe it’s time you start listening.

You can read the rest of the latest “The Weekly Read” at EBONY.com.

Plus:

Nicki’s Rockin’ ‘Idol’…Who Knew? (via EBONY.com)

T.I. On Gun Control: ‘If Illegals Have Them, Legals Must Have Them’ (via NewsOne)

Beyoncé and Thirst Bucket Journalism

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?