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?

Girl, Get Up: Kenya Moore Edition

The more ridiculous Kenya Moore shows herself to be on The Real Housewives of Atlanta, the longer I hold out hope that her antics are a part of some secret documentary project in which the actress exposes reality television and celebrity culture at large. Something thoughtful that points to how increasingly difficult it is for trained actors such as herself to get ahead in a world where any random off the street who can string a snarky sentence together while intoxicated can secure cheap fame long enough to make a full-fledged career out of it. The kind of career someone like Kenya Moore should be enjoying consistently already, but has been harder to both attain and maintain given the state of the industry. Unfortunately, that would be too much like right, which leaves me to believe I’m holding said hope in vain and that Kenya is basically an actress playing a reality star hoping to parlay her newfound stardom into acting roles.

Or I guess a music career. And probably her mug on a grownup Just For Me box. Then a swimsuit line. Followed by a t-shirt line. With hopefully a spinoff. And who knows, maybe whatever else reality stars are doing these days.

I can’t tell if I think what she’s doing is genius, ridiculous, stupid as all hell or some weird fusion of the three. Whatever it is, I can’t stop looking even if it increasingly frustrates me. She does need to get her ass off the ground, though.

Bless her heart as I don’t know her struggle, but girl, what in the hell is this song?

I swear Kenya made a check list of everything she needed to do before she got in front of Bravo’s hired camera crew. I need a relationship and an engagement so I can be like Kim Zolciak. Then I need to have a beef so I can serve NeNe Baloo sprinkles. And oh baby, will I have me a catch phrase that’ll trend on the Twitter.

Ergo, “Gone With The Wind Fabulous.”

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Well, F*ck You, Too, Fantasia

As a practicing gay, you become accustomed to being blamed for the world’s troubles big and small. If your bitter homegirl can’t get a man, it’s because her hairdresser keeps turning all of the available breeders out. Should a sizable earthquake happen, it’s because the homosexuals have gotten way too beside themselves now that a few secularists have decided to co-sign their call for equal rights. The same applies for hurricanes, heavy rains, speeding tickets, and you getting the burnt biscuit with your five-piece spicy strip combo. And according to Fantasia’s Instagram feed, it’s also my fault that she met somebody’s husband at a T-Mobile store, fell in lust and love, had his baby, and proceeded to brag about their relationship as his wife went “What the fuck?” before deciding to take advantage of an old North Caroline law targeting home-wreckers and sue her ass.

Despite shouts to the contrary, it’s obvious that Fantasia still feels a way about some judging her. Never mind that she publicized the affair and proceeded to further antagonize the public by constantly trying to justify her relationship. Nope, it’s everyone else’s fault that a public person made a private affair public, and as a result, was criticized publicly. And surprise, surprise, since this soulful simpleton wanted to invoke the Bible to pan others’ for their perceived sins as a means to deflect from her own actions, she’s getting judged again, only this time she’s judging back.

As far as the Bible goes, I must’ve missed the part about God hating ganja. Also, as much as I would love to talk context and historical accuracy, re: the six verses that reference the gay in that book, let’s just say if I ever started a book club and thought to invite Fantasia over, she’d have to wait until we got on Patti LaBelle’s cookbook.

I will say this, though: Someone needs to sit her ass down and explain how what anyone else does has no bearing on her actions.

If I’m looking at a picture of Trey Songz from behind, the side, the front, or him just seductively eating some turkey sausage and start singing to myself “Oops, there goes my shirt up over my head. Oh my.” that has nothing to do with her caressing the scrotum of someone else’s husband.

The gays didn’t force you to be Antwaun Cook’s bottom, baybee.

Fantasia needs to come to gripes with what she’s done and move on. Maybe people were a bit too harsh on her — self included. However, get over it or at the very least, blame someone else for your problems in silence. Of the fraction of the fan base Fantasia used to enjoy, a fair share of it consists of gays. We’re the people that will ensure that she can afford white meat forever.

She’s got her nerve riding the rainbow and then taking a piss on it when she’s feeling crabby about her choices.

And since we’re on Jesus, let us pray that he and all his deity-friends work as a cohesive unit to help celebrities learn what “taken out of context” means.

What she argued was: “Y’all judging me, but look up at all the other unholy shit going on? The gays getting married and people are smoking weed legally.” What did we take out of context? If you’re going to two-step out of that shit with the hopes of getting future Pride weekend and Ru-Paul’s Drag Race bookings, start by admitting what you said and apologizing accordingly.

Otherwise, shut up. Her head is as thick as the bottom of half of her because she fails to see that if she had kept things to herself starting two years ago it would’ve only been Aunt Bunny telling her she and her married boyfriend are in the wrong. I hope Fantasia manages to bounce back with her music career and come to a place where she doesn’t need to pop one too many Advil PMs to deal (sincerely), but she needs to learn when to shut the fuck up. After a while, you get sick of artists who need your kind for varying reasons pretend to be down for you only to show you how they truly feel later on.

Bottom line: Illiterates ain’t shit and they ain’t saying nothing, a hunnid motherfuckers can’t tell me nothing. I’ll be in that ass, beez, beez in that ass.

God bless, though.

You Sent It: She Working That Nookie Thang

I think my friend is trying to kill me, only before I die, I’m going to have the loudest laugh Negronia has ever heard.

I wasn’t sure of what to make of Big Cynthia or new classic “That Nookie Thang” upon first viewing. I got easily distracted by the fact that both the song and video remind me of brown liquor and aunties whose stomachs have turned into giant Marshmallow Men, snatching away all of the attention their Duncan Hines’ used to get. Case in point, the blonde who looks like Khia as a senior citizen (so her in 2017, I suppose). For the record, she was working her nookie thang. Get it, ma’am. You and Tamar are proving that the twirking don’t stop past 30.

Then of course, there’s the very large Big Cynthia, who looks like Big Moe as a stud. Well, I thought she was stud because at the end someone with a real penis is trying to talk to her, mentioning how much he likes her apple bottoms. That part was a bit of confusing. You know, a 2005 reference to a song that sounds like 1978. Where am I? Then there’s the part about Black Chaz Bono looking way more interested in Khia’s Kousin than the guy. Plus, Cynthia’s not sitting on apples so much as abdominal snowmen. Damn, I’m not shit for saying that, but tell me I wasn’t the only only thinking it. However, no shade to big love.

Maybe I’m stereotyping too severely, but that scene between Big Cynthia and Big Daddy looked very Queen Latifah.

Also, did I hear her Black ass say, “Oh, papi?” before taking the Shades guide to dating i.e. tell me your name, what car do you drive, how much money do you make, as long as you have, I’ll be around? This video is so many things, but none of which deter from this song being kind of catchy. If you somehow convinced me to sip some gin or Wild Turkey, I might get up, find somebody’s nana and get to two-stepping while I wait for the peach cobbler to finish baking. Don’t worry, that’s a huge compliment in country.

Now are you ready to work your nookie thangs?

By the way, Big Cynthia’s been doing this for years. Also, she’s kind of a hoe. Sorry, Cynthia, you might be a lovely woman in person, but you know damn well eating is cheating. Nonetheless, I’m going to create a “Trife Hoe” playlist and this right under the “He’s Mine” remix.

Known Fools, Fake Damsels and Trite Spins

I enjoy entertaining Chris Brown’s attitude problem about as much I fantasize about feeling the burn while urinating, but even I am somewhat bothered by the way in which the narrative surrounding his most recent social media panic attack is being shaped.

The singer, who has repeatedly shown himself to be far more ornery than your average man in his 20s, got into an intense back-and-forth with former news producer and comedy writer Jenny Johnson. Their rift started when Chris posted a photo of himself with the caption, “I look old as fuck! I’m only 23.” In response, Johnson wrote back, “I know! Being a worthless piece of shit can really age a person.”

A friendship was not born.

True enough, the insults hurled at Johnson were misogynistic and vile, but it is not lost on me how those who share Johnson’s hue and gender are framing this as if she is some damsel in distress. On The View, Elisabeth Hasselbeck said that Chris’ comments “seem like verbal rape.” Hasselbeck has long proven herself to be as sharp as a gummy bear, but it should go without saying that the issue of rape should never be used for the purpose of metaphor. If you want a strong reaction to a point you’re trying to make, intellectualize accordingly.

Should you be unable to do so, embrace silence.

Speaking of points, somewhere along the way, Jenny Johnson felt compelled to tweet: “I have zero respect for a person who seems unapologetic for the terrible crime he committed and shows no signs of changing.”

Also, Jenny doesn’t seem all that funny when you really look at it. One of Chris’ fans created an image depicting all of the tweets Jenny has sent Chris since 2011. There are many, many tweets – all one-sided until yesterday – in which a person who apparently feels so bad about what is rightly described as a “terrible crime” that she jokes about it all the time.

Jenny jokes about domestic violence, Elisabeth Hasselbeck downplays rape. Yes, misogyny is deeply embedded in society, but let’s not be so linear in our finger wagging. Instead of trying to solely write on this from the basis of “Chris Brown attacks a woman…again,” call it what it is: ignorance begets ignorance.

Read the rest over at The Shadow League.

This Girl’s Throat Sounds So Bothered

As I started watching this Alicia Keys performance I couldn’t help but start singing “W-W-W-W-W-W-B.” After the laughter the anger surfaced. I absolutely hate “Girl On Fire,” y’all. Like, I don’t understand how this song gets any airplay besides the fact that the person behind the monstrosity is Alicia Keys. It’s not catchy, it’s not at all interesting, and yo, Alicia sounds so bad throughout it.

Who in her circle heard this song and went, “Yeah, baby! That’s the move! You’re about to win the world over with this one!?!” I assume the person leading the charge vacations inside her regularly, which would explain the inclination to not share the harsh truth. Whatever, when you love someone you tell them to toss that track in the trashcan at the bottom right of your screen and move forward if compelled. Love is blind, but it damn sure isn’t deaf.

I won’t pretend to be the biggest Alicia Keys fan around. I mean, I’ve seen her in concert multiple times and have purchased three out of four of her albums. Sidenote: I want my $4.99 back for that last mp3 download of The Elements of Freedom, Alicia. You suckered me with that sale and I could’ve gotten some chicken strips with that money and been far more satisfied.

Anywho, somewhere along the way Alicia abandoned what made her worth giving a chance.

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Maia Campbell And Mama Odie

It should be surprising to no one that the person behind a site called The Cynical Ones isn’t going out of their way to wobble on over to the hear the wisdom of someone who reminds me of that mean, older lady on the block who takes discipline way too seriously and acts like a sprinkle of Tony Chachere’s can treat knife wounds.

That’s not to say that Iyanla and her Oda Mae Brown meets Mama Odie hustle can’t serve any purpose. I guess it’s effective in the case of someone like Evelyn Lozada, who essentially needed some sassier woman to offer her the verbal equivalent of cutting a switch from a tree and taking her to task. So yeah it can work if you’re into that sort of thing.

However, that style of self-help shouldn’t be used in the case of someone with legitimate mental health issues. As soon as I heard about Maia Campbell signing up for an episode of Iyanla, Fix My Life, I asked on Twitter, “Isn’t Maia Campbell bipolar? As it relates to fixing her life shouldn’t she lean more Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman less Mama Odie?” I was half-joking then, but after watching clips from Maia’s appearance now I’m just bothered.

Here Iyanla is telling Maia to “own her stuff,” but when you’re bipolar you might not necessarily be able to own “your stuff” without proper diagnosis and subsequent treatment. As in, Iyanla, Maia isn’t just some drugged up celebrity who can’t own up to her transgressions; this is a person who may not conceivably be able to understand her actions to the degree in which you feel she ought to. Therefore, she needn’t be chided on camera. Maia may have signed up for this own her own accord, but that’s because she used to be fame and continues to covet it. That’s not Iyanla or her producers’ fault and they’re not necessarily wrong for booking her, but this feels exploitative all the same. Iyanla just doesn’t seem qualified to handle that severe a mental health issue.

And for the record, it makes me cringe to hear Iyanla assail someone for not owning up to their mistakes.

A few months ago I asked on the site, “Why would I want Iyanla Vanzant to fix my life when Oprah had to fix hers twice?” To put it more pointedly, I watched Iyanla’s on air reunion with Oprah and I was mystified by how she refused to acknowledge her actions in her downfall. She babbled a bunch of pseudo psychological nonsense as Oprah repeatedly dragged her by the unshaped up hairs on her head back to reality. That’s what I meant behind that quip: Who is she to be getting people together when she’s on OWN largely due to being a means to an end i.e. Oprah building her network off the backs of Black women?

Earlier today I saw someone tweet the following quote from Iyanla: “I went to law school not to study law, but to train my mind.”

Ma’am, what? That sounds like some bullshit you say in a dark room full of 20-somethings into snapping their fingers at the slightest instance of something seemingly profound (overeager beavers, let it happen naturally). That’s that shit I don’t like and why I’d rather rock with someone with depth and a medical degree. Hell, I’d rather take a teaspoon of ‘Tussin for my mental health treatment than turn to her.

I wish the best for Maia, but I sure hope someone close to her finds her a real therapist because based on the clips I’ve seen, Mama Odie ought to be selling Maia seem incense or a brown sugar scented candle and nothing else.

Trouble With Nicki’s ‘Truth’

While touting her new E! special, Nicki Minaj told USA Today, “I’m not trying to have a façade. I’m showing exactly what goes on in my life. I think people will be surprised at seeing that.”

Through no fault of her own, there was reason to be skeptical about Nicki Minaj: My Truth; most “inside looks” into the lives of today’s mega pop stars prove themselves to be as carefully story boarded as anything on VH1’s Monday night line-up. To her credit, Minaj has lived up to the standard she set and validated remarks like “You’ll see by the first episode that I didn’t care that the cameras were on.”

However, the honesty she’s shown thus far on the three-part mini series isn’t always easy to watch. Despite having pledged allegiance to #TeamMinaj since watching Minaj proclaim her greatness on the streets of NYC five years ago, even I can’t dispute critiques of the rapper as a “whining, demanding diva over the most frivolous things” and an “egomaniac convinced that she is doing so much for the world.” Recently Minaj used Twitter to big up the production company behind her 2010 MTV special My Time Now for not “trying to sell a story,” but her on-air behavior on her latest TV foray plays into an unfavorable narrative about her that’s been brewing all year.

Watching Minaj lay into employees over a side of greens, articles of clothing, her set and other trivial matters just felt unnecessary. Yes, you get an understanding of why she can be snippy—she’s under tremendous pressure from juggling a bevy of responsibilities— yet that’s no excuse. All it does is remind me of interviews like one she gave to VIBE earlier this year in which she went into condescension overdrive over not having things go the way exactly as she wanted them to.

Read the rest at EBONY.com.

She Ain’t No Diva

What in the whitewashed hell is this poster for VH1 Divas supposed to be? And shut up, I’m not saying white people cannot be divas. I country two-stepped to Faith Hill when she appeared on a past edition of the show. Fine, I didn’t, but “Wide Open Spaces” is a personal favorite. Regardless, this is wrong.

Like, what is VH1 trying to give us here? Sexed up M.I.A.? Coked out cage dancer? 1975? Whatever they’re trying to convey in this poster, I’d like to return to sender and give them a do over.

I distinctly remember reading that the show would be honoring the late Whitney Houston. If Auntie Whitney saw this poster, she’d probably spit on it. Wait, that’s more of a Aretha Franklin kind of thing. Nippy would at least roll her eyes something terrible.

You get it. Bad poster. Bad, bad poster. Boo, hiss. For shame. Etcetera, etcetera.

If Only You Were As Good As Think You Are

I wish I could lie to myself as convincingly as Christina Aguilera does. When I feel like my career is stagnated, I sit down in frustration and go upside my own head repeatedly trying to figure out what exactly I need to do in order to evolve and advance. I try to do that humbly, but as Christina Aguilera has shown me, there’s always another way. Just listen to her.

“Bionic was ahead of its time…”

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