Nicki Minaj is a fascinating person to watch. Hi, it’s me, Captain Obvious reporting for duty, sirs and ma’ams. Anyway, from the “Chaka Khan, let me rock you” quality to her face to the Krusty The Clown inspired expressions she makes with it: Young Nick is so damn interesting to look at. Even when she’s not doing anything particularly worthwhile, I do enjoying seeing her. That novelty is what helped me finish checking out the non eventful visual for her new single, “Right By My Side.”

I suppose it’s a perfect fit given the banality of the single.”Right By My Side” is one of those generic R&B-pop fusions dominating radio, which means it should perform really well. I guess it doesn’t matter how great the song is because it gets stuck in my head anyhow. I don’t hate it, but I enjoy it best when Nicki’s actually rapping on it.

Speaking of good looking rappers, hello, Nasir. Want to let me sing the hook to “You Owe Me” to you? No? Okay, maybe later.

Oh and Kanye East is present, too, sangin’ in the background. Christopher looked ready to wrap the shoot up so he can munch on his order of Buffalo Wild Wings getting cold in his trailer. I understand: I have done that “I enjoy you, but I really want my hot wings right now” smirk with many.

Dull as this video may be, the visuals for “Beez In The Trap” and “Stupid Hoe” suggests that much like anything involving her right now, Nicki is a lot better than people give her credit for. She’s simply not as great when subdued. When she’s quirky she’s awesome. Perhaps she should pretend to be a gay man trapped inside of a woman’s body more often.

You know, since she’s no longer admitting to be a half-gay anymore. Now that I think about it, although I do like seeing Nas and Nicki together, wouldn’t it have been intriguing to see the person who exploited society’s fetishizing of bisexuality tackle that from a different standpoint? Especially now that Jay-Z and Ice Cube are lending their support to gay marriage (never forget Fat Joe’s fantastic words last year about homosexuality in general, though)?

I guess  I’ll wait on Azealia Banks…when she turns 25 or something. To that end, I don’t have much else to say about this video. Well, besides the note that I’m increasingly realizing that Nicki’s body is kinda like “What if Betty Boop got butt shots and ate cornbread?” From this day forth, if you see me refer to someone as “Boop-Oop-A-Doop booty,” you know who I’m referring to.

It is written.

Unless this dreamer has Wayne Szalinski’s toy chest hiding somewhere, dude in the clip is wee bit too thrilled about living in a room that makes both Chateau Sheree and that old woman’s shoe look like real estate marvels. I adore New York City. Oh yes I do. Even if the city gets Satan’s right sac hot in the summer, old man winter cold as early as October, and known as Master Splinter’s playground all year round. I love it all the same for varying reasons. However, I don’t love it enough to pay a mortgage in rent (if you’re living in the South) to reside in a space that’s about 1/4 the size of a mid-atlantic home’s garage (and that’s being very, very generous).

I recognize that it beats the alternative: homelessness. Still, there’s something quite annoying about this trend of folks showing off their tiny living quarters as if they’re in a race to win the title of shittiest home. It gives attention whoring teases in addition to a sort of posturing from the featured. As in, “Suck it, mom and dad. I don’t need my trust fund. Look how I’m living.” Insert hipster love of all things ironic and pseudo rebellious here. If I had Scrooge McDuck for a mommy or daddy, I’d be calling for a deluxe apartment in the sky something that wouldn’t give claustrophobics an instant palpitations.

Maybe it’s a difference in background, but from where I come from (no Tami Roman) people who aren’t in the best shape aren’t this willing to “show off.” Why so happy to live so hollow? Wait, let me rephrase before I get some inspirational quote about being grateful for whatever you have taken from the strip of paper tucked inside of the dessert that came with your order of moo goo gai pan.

What I mean is: What is up with these New Yorkers trying to out ant hill each other?

Okay, a YouTube clip going viral is cute and all, but if I lived in an area that tiny I’d be working on an escape plan from top to bottom.

Top: Hugging myself while humming Negro spirituals up top.

Bottom: Doing squats while contemplating living up to Ronnie hoe quotes below.

Pun not intended.

I read that that this guy is paying $800 a month to live there. There has to be a room – a real one – he could rent in Harlem or some borough. But you know, as he said, we’re humans…we adapt. I guess. Personally, I can’t live in a space where one overheated Lean Pocket might be my cause of death. Conversely, it’s gotta be convenient to know a q-tip can double as a mop where you stay.

Just not sure how “look at me, look at me” I’d be about it if that were my reality.

A couple for EBONY.com, naturally. Plenty, plenty of marriage equality. On select Blacks with misguided priorities and certain conservative columnists revisiting past mistakes.

I also took a look at Azealia Banks’ behavior and the despicable attempts at slut-shaming Rihanna.

Elsewhere, I’ve recently talked about mainstream outlets exploiting Black women for hits (with Blacks aiding them along the way), and yes, more on President Obama making history.

Happy reading? Yes, happy reading. Okay, let me work on giving you something to read here.

Ever been at a friend’s house and be in the midst of that person’s weirdness with their mother? That must have been the log line for the person who pitched Beverly’s Full House. Before this reality show I only knew Beverly Johnson as the pretty woman I kept confusing with Iman as a child. Now I know her as the supermodel whose child can’t stand her.

Have any of you seen this show? Of course not, it’s on OWN. No worries, Mother O, I’m still rooting for you.

The show features Beverly, the supermodel who left her child, and her big girl wonder daughter (my new name for plus-sized models), Anansa, who has a new baby and a bevy of lingering issues – largely tied around abandonment. Each episode features the two walking on eggshells and being completely odd with each other. Well, between the subtle shade being thrown.

Bless Bev’s heart, but she is completely aloof to what’s going on around her. Ma’am, you can’t say things to your daughter – who already doesn’t fuck with you hard – like, “You were ugly like your baby is now at this age, but don’t fret, the cuteness comes in time.”  To Bev’s credit, she cries all the time about it and tries her best to make amends – say, having parties in honor of turning 90 days alive. Yeah, I don’t get that either.

I suppose I understand Anansa’s bitterness, but whew, I wish she’d let some of it go if only to move this show forward a bit. I recommend the two taking time to smize or perhaps they could sit over wine and shade Chanel Iman or somebody.  That sounds like some shit models could do to bond, right?

Whatever they choose to do, it ought to be something more exciting than the activities they’ve highlighted thus far. In theory, the idea of a supermodel whose success spurred a dysfunction relationship with her daughter seeking to rectify the situation by moving her and her family into her home is an awesome concept. It’s basically “What if Joan and Melissa Rivers hated each other?”

Unfortunately, like many great ideas on OWN it’s not executed properly. The pacing of Beverly’s Full House is off. This show is at its best when it’s just Iman and Iman The Sequel bickering their way to bonding.

I don’t care about Beverly’s houseboy and his smoking addiction. Likewise, not at all interested in anything pertaining to Anansa’s boring ass husband. All he does is sit around and play video games. That or ask asinine questions like, “You having champagne at a kid’s birthday party?”

Hell yeah, fool.

In fact, how about you take a couple glasses to the head in order to take the entertainment value to a higher plateau. Problem is he’s a regular Midwestern dude and regular people are boring as hell on television without the correct set up and brand of liquor. Apparently, the same goes for wealthy people when they’re not sober or bitchy.

God bless Beverly all the same because if nothing else, she is giving face on her show. She gives America’s Next Top Model the ultimate bitch slap to the ground with her mug in every single confessional. Get into that, if nothing else. Vanity only goes so far, though. Case in point.

I sincerely hope Beverly and Beverly Jr. forge a stronger relationship. The two seem as if they could if only they learned to communicate. I would love to be able to see that take place on TV, only in a much more entertaining way. As of now, it’s not must see TV. Right now it’s merely “Oh, this is on? I guess I can watch this while my lemon pepper wings and roasted red potatoes bake.”

And as much as I love the bird, I only seek it when I’m in the mood for it.

The devil doth tempt me, y’all. I’ve been asked a few times for my thoughts on my lord and gyrator, Beyoncé the most high (and limber), winning a journalism award from the New York chapter of the National Association of Black Journalists. Some because I’m a stan, others who know that at one point I was president of the Howard University chapter of the organization — all over the fact that I’m a working writer…and journalist, I suppose.

I’ve been distracted in recent days (when am I gon’ get a piece of the pie, I already fried my fish in the kitchen) so it was convenient to avoid discussing it publicly. Now I guess I should.

From my understanding Queen Mother Creole received her award for the cover story she wrote on herself for Essence magazine. I recall reading the story and it was basically about her nine-month vacation. Her seeing the world, her enjoying time off for the first time in her life, and other fancy rich people shit. Frankly, I don’t remember much about the piece itself, but I don’t recall thinking it was written poorly. Yes, I’m aware that if I were actually wowed by the work – which an award would suggest that I should be – I’d remember it a whole lot better.

In any event, we all know that it doesn’t matter either whether the piece was well written or not. What is most important to the awarding party involved is that Beyoncé wrote it. Which is why I told friends privately when I was first asked about it, “I hope they’re successful in meeting her as that was the clear intention.”

Obviously, I think meeting Texas’ greatest trophy is awesome; however, maybe VIP passes for her next tour were the way to go. Not to offend anyone – intentionally anyway – but this is just another instance of stars benefitting from the celebrity culture that us all collectively swinging from their sacs. She literally wrote about her vacation. You know, to avoid having to be bothered with an actual journalist presenting her with questions she likely didn’t want to answer.

As the homie La put it, “Beyoncé got an award for writing about herself. I’ve been doing that for nine months. Where’s my Pulitzer?”

It’s coming, girl. Right after you show the world what the color of your bra strap is during a fight on the Oxygen network. Or after you booze it up on MTV with some Italians. Or after you romance Boris Kodjoe or Lil’ Romeo and find Jesus minutes later on the medium screen.

Congratulations to Beyoncé, though. Seriously. She didn’t ask for the award. The stan section of this journalism community showed up and showed out — meaning she has every right to accept it.

Still, this is kind of like:

Mike Tyson being considered a master of otolaryngology.

Evelyn Lozada hailed as a sex education teacher.

Marlo Hampton credited as a lobbyist for the National Association for the Advancement of Coochie Commerce.

NeNe Leakes predicated to be the next Angela Bassett.

Kim Kardashian deemed an anthropologist.

Any gay man referred to as President of The He-Man Woman Haters Club.

You get it, yes?

Here’s a peek of the piece:

She doesn’t bother me in the least, but I can see why some don’t care for Kim Kardashian. She’s merely the most successful symptom of an otherwise greater systematic problem in our culture, yet I understand how Kim could come across as a vapid opportunist with no discernible talent. And yeah, that can be kind of annoying, especially if she’s sort of a media whore to boot.

There are two gripes about the person I like to refer to as “the Beyoncé of nothing” (it’s kind of a compliment) that irk me, though. The first is the disingenuous question (that comes with an obvious insinuation), “What does Kim Kardashian do?” She tells viewers banal stories of about her life in the best clothes on E! Oh, and use her celebrity to hawk various things no one really needs for bountiful amounts of cash. Duh.

The other complaint expressed by Kim’s numerous detractors is more nefarious and always manages to be brought into the conversation anytime something new is being reported about her: That she’s a hoe. A hoe whose purported promiscuity is the source of every single success she enjoys – thereby making her undeserving.

The criticism was particularly nasty when Kim announced her engagement to Kris Humphries. The marriage was a blink-and-you-missed-it-affair, but way too many people suggested she was unworthy of even brief marital bliss based on their assumptions about her sexual history. As soon as her relationship with Kanye West became public, it felt like déjà vu. Even ‘Ye’s rap brethren joined in as Cam’ron took to Twitter to talk about Kim K. by professing “hoes be winning.”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that her first widespread news headline – a sex tape with Ray J – is the source of that branding, but the complaints are unfair and problematic for varying reasons. Most of which revolve around the sexism attached to the sentiment. Frankly, there’s no real basis to make such a harsh declaration, and even if you don’t care about Kim Kardashian per se, there’s still something wrong with allowing rigid ideas of sexuality to stigmatize someone for their entire lives.

Okay, so she taped herself boning Brandy’s brother, but engaging in sexual voyeurism (of any form) doesn’t necessarily make a whore. If you’re some Puritan who thinks otherwise, chances are you suspect a huge chunk of the people around you are tramps. Present company included.

The rest can be read by clicking this link. And no, I didn’t write this just because Kim should be my sister-in-law. Although I probably would entertain the idea of filming me and Rob. I mean, some accomplishments need to be record. You know, God forbid my memory goes bad. Totally kidding! I guess. Go read and spread, y’all.

Here’s a preview:

When I tune into Basketball Wives, I know exactly what I’m getting, which is why I don’t bother feigning shock that people paid to behave ridiculously on camera do so diligently week after week. It’s why I also refuse to completely join the guilt fest currently spreading across the Web.

The show’s biggest personality, Evelyn Lozada, has become the subject of anew online petition rallying against her alleged bullying ways. And after watching Evelyn’s ex-BFF, Jennifer Williams, get smacked in the face on camera by her former friend on a recent episode of Basketball Wives, Star Jones is seeking to bring about a caucus in order to boycott and “tell the truth about the image of women of color in the media.” She also declared, “[L]ittle Black girls deserve more than what we’re giving!”

Even some of the stars of Basketball Wives are speaking out about the direction the show has taken. Shaunie O’Neal, who executive produces and co-stars in the series, acknowledges that some of the behavior on the show – largely from her friends Evelyn and Tami Roman – can conceivably be perceived as bullying, though she attributes that mainly due to their “strong personalities.”

Roman, on the other hand, has cited “editing” as the culprit and claimed, “I would love to see a season 5 where VH1 and Shed Media are called out to show more positive things that we’re doing and show us how we are 90 percent of the time, instead of how we are 10 percent of the time.”

Oh.

Check out the article in full here.

If you listen very closely, you can probably hear the sound of my heart cracking through the computer screen. This is a sad, sad occasion, y’all. I was ratchet when the term was only applied to a dance and accompanying song from Lil’ Boosie. Needless to say I was a huge fan of the Ying Yang Twinz. Was being the operative word.

I understand we’ve all got bills to pay, but what in the techno hell happened to these trap stars? The fact that they’re so shameless about their shift makes the dagger sitting in my chest slide deeper in. “Fist Pump, Jump Jump,” fam?

Seriously? You’re going to be that on the nose? Two can play that game: jump, jump, off a cliff, cliff.

I don’t understand. Well, let me rephrase: I understand the mindset behind this bullshit ass song, but  I’m not sure what narcotic was responsible for helping them cultivate it.

Listen, Kaine and D-Roc (yes, I had to Google their names), y’all are the Ying Yang Twins. People want to hear your drunk uncle with the missing teeth sounding selves talk about asses shaking like Lawry’s bottles and using your inside voices to brag about your phallus, not your fists pumping in the air with a bunch of Euro queens on the dance floors of West Hollywood.

I don’t appreciate you two ruining such wonderful memories I have of your catalog.

Say, twirking on the ground drunk to the “Wait (The Whisper Song)” in a sweaty Black homosexual lounge in the summer of 2005, the year I decided I no longer cared if I danced like a gay dude as that’s what I was. Or hanging on some rail and gyrating to “Salt Shaker” in a gay bar with bad ventilation with a lesbian fools to this day still think is my secret girlfriend. You know, inebriated and all. Then there’s reciting the lines to “Get Low” too loud at a family restaurant at an inappropriate hour on Sunday morning. That one was like four weeks ago.

See how much of a fan I am?

This wack sauce-drenched song won’t necessarily strip me of those good memories, but it does throw a bit of dirt on them. I’m so disappointed in you two. Even if you rapped about your dicks ad nauseum, I expected more class.

This disturbed young man looks like a special teen version of Law & Order: SVU. Or better yet, “What if Spotify had a pervert playlist?” I don’t know who this lil’ boy is, but judging from the clip he’s rather young. How young? I think old enough for a pollster to be weary of shaking his hand, but not nearly old enough to gross out a pretty female bartender with the way he ordered his shot and all around creepy disposition. Hopefully he’s not young enough to send my ass to jail for posting the clip. I refuse to be flipped into someone’s personal Rihanna in prison over this nonsense.

That said, I’ve had one of the absolute worst days ever, so as disturbing as this video is, it managed to make me laugh for a few minutes. You know, before I prayed for the women on his friend’s list. Judging from his over 9000 likes on Facebook, KillaKarisma is some sort of entertainer.

Okay, this cannot be real, right? It just can’t. No one could be this crazy. Someone tell me this is just a crude joke and that he’s not legally allowed to roam the streets freely. Go on, do it.

Then again, KillaKarisma, nee Jalen Thomas, is also an all around fool. I’m not sure if a fool in the ‘ha-ha’ sense or the de facto ‘yo, you need to be locked up’ fashion. I saw this because he tweeted the following to Lil’ B: “YOU’RE AN INSPIRATION!”

Damn fool, 1990s baby: What’s the difference really? I kid…towards some of you anyway.

Back to this song, which is captioned with the following damn lie: “This romantic song is dedicated to all the sexy females on my friend’s list……..I didn’t even write the lyrics, this is all one take…… raw emotion.”

Nah, dude, you wrote this in between playing with your other pencil.

You’ve got to at least acknowledge his honesty, though. “If you take a picture of your booty out, Imma jack off to it.” That and: “My penis loves your body, but I know that I can’t get you in real life.” The latter sounds like a Tumblr self-love story.

You all start watching what you post on Facebook. Or not, if you’re into this sort of thing. Either way, I’m about to go listen to T-Boz’s “Touch Myself.” That’s a much classier song about masturbation. Learn, children. Learn.

2. Am I to be stoned for admitting that I kind of dig the idea of Kanye West and Kim Kardashian as a couple?

3. Although she’s designed to be Halle Berry’s sequel, isn’t Paula Patton basically just a luckier Lela Rochon?

4. If Madea were a few decades younger and way more honest, would she be Funky Dineva?

5. Anyone else revisiting this after seeing that bland trailer for the Sparkle reboot?

6. What the hell, Harpo?

7. Can we please get Regina Hall more high profile comedic roles?

8. Is Britney Spears really about to get $15 million to just sit there and try not to scare people as she struggles to form a declarative sentence on The X-Factor?

9. Doesn’t Brian McKnight sound like ‘naughty gynecologist’ in this awful ass song about quirting vaginas in need of tutorials?

10. Has anyone actually tried the new chicken wraps at Burger King?

11. Can someone inform Nicki Minaj, Roman Zolanski, Martha Zolanski, Onika Maraj, the Barbz, Ken Barbz, and whomever else residing in the fold that criticism comes with the territory so chill the fuck out already?

12. Speaking of her, whatever happened to Nicki Minaj’s bisexuality?

13. How long will the good people at Roc Nation try to convince us that Rita Ora isn’t just a Rihanna hologram?

14. Will the self-appointed respectable Negroes of the world ever let me watch my trashy reality television programming in peace?

15. Drake recently acknowledged that he has a sex tape locked away, so although we’ll never see it (no complaints either), what are the chances that it looks like a Lifetime TV movie? You know, before the tragedy happens.

16. Why won’t Eve just fess up to not liking Nicki Minaj already?

17. After Lil’ Kim announced her “Return of the Queen” tour, who else instantly thought, “OOH! I can’t wait for Beyoncé’s next tour?”

18. Considering she throws out the word faggot in anger and thinks all it takes for gay men to fall for her is a fresh weave and vintage coutour, why do some of you gay men like Marlo Hampton exactly?

19. So if I tell you I’m kind of turned on by this, must I start referring to myself as a limited Rihanna gay?

20. Can we have a moment of silent for Sheree Whitfield?