Still Ready To Protest For Ciara?

After word let out that BET might have banned Ciara’s video for her first single, “Ride,” many a stan and contrarian for convenience was ready to stage a twirk off right in the front of Debra Lee’s house in protest. How dare BET refuse to air Ciara kegel instructional video?! Such a move was considered a harsh stance against Ciara’s creative freedom.

The common argument was, “Well, BET shows every damn thing else?! Why not Ciara’s video in which she teaches us the art of humping?”

As I previously wrote I don’t feel strongly either way about the video, but I do share the fears of the person who emailed a clip of two very young girls reenacting the video (to view video, click the bold text), though.

That fear being Ciara’s video would find its way onto the eyes of the young and impressionable. It’s not Ciara’s responsibility to be somebody’s parent. Also, as unpopular a sentiment as this is, I have to say that a child singing inappropriate lyrics or doing certain dances that puts fear in the heart of Chris Hansen doesn’t necessarily mean she will grow up to be Kat Stacks.

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How Did You Get Here?

Last night after consuming ample amounts of fried chicken with a friend I engaged in one of my favorite stereotypically gay pastimes – talking about female pop stars.

I don’t remember exactly how her name came up, but I do recall saying, “You know what? I wish Mya were in a better position than she is. It’s kind of sad.”

A few hours later I stumbled along this video and realized that maybe her situation was sadder than I thought. Days ago, I read a story about Mya in which it said she was working on a new album.

I started to get a little excited – for a millisecond anyway. A few sentences later it was reported that the sound for the upcoming record was described as “electro-dance-rock.”

In other words, something for the kids who identify with the Euro and the lighter side of the Crayola box (no offense intended).

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It’s More About Commerce Than Complexion

In, nah, that ain’t it news, this morning I stumbled along a piece entitled “Alicia Keys vs. Fantasia Barrino.”

Writer and editor-at-large, Nsenga K. Burton, outlines her theory as to why Fantasia Barrino has been purportedly assailed in the mainstream press for her alleged role as homewrecker and not Alicia Keys, who is also believed to have involved herself with a married man.

Short admission: I maintained a blog entitled “The Recession Diaries” for much of last year and have written several pieces for The Root.

That said, with all due respect to the writer, this piece is nothing but failed projection.

Burton writes:

“I’m wondering why the mainstream media are so willing to let Keys off the hook for what many would call socially unacceptable behavior at best, and immoral behavior at worst, while taking Barrino to task for similar behavior.

Is it that Keys is too pretty to be pummeled?

Yeah, I said it. Keys, who is beautiful, fits the dominant standards of beauty in the black, white and brown worlds. Is that why she’s being handled with kid gloves by the mainstream press? We wouldn’t want to beat up on someone who is just so attractive.”

While I do agree with her core point – that regional differences, Eurocentric standards of beauty, and other things that can lead to bias in how people can be covered – I think in this instance it doesn’t apply.

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He Needed 14.66 For Their Lunch Date

I have been on some pretty awful dates in my time. There was my first date at 17, where I was driving so bad that the girl asked me to pull over and let her drive my mother’s car to her destination of choice – a Chinese buffet (where she threw all the way down). Afterwards, I didn’t bother making any kind of play for her.

Can you guess why?

I might have finally gotten the gender right, but I still can’t pick a reliant member of the Y chromosome to save my life.

Which leads me to the second date I ever had with a man. What was starting off to be a decent date went sour once he looked at me with befuddlement when I explained to him that I had no interest in women.

Him: “So wait, you don’t like women at all?”

Me: “No. I’m gay.”

To this day, I’m not sure why such a statement baffles the gay men I meet but I hell I’ve come across stranger things – like red velvet fried chicken.

There was this one date where I ended up being eaten alive by fire ants and becoming BFFs to Palmer’s to heal the scars.

I can’t forget to mention the last date I had in which it turned out to be a non-date that ended in me wanting to beat the shit out of the guy for wasting my time. This person previously asked about sexual positions and my belief in God all in the span of ten minutes. He then later claimed I was the one who came on too strong.

Why I even bothered with this person is a mystery only a future therapist may answer.

But yet like the saying goes there’s always someone worse off than you.

Enter my best friend of a decade, Kim, who over the weekend told me about a date so bad that I felt compelled to apologize on behalf of men everywhere.

Gentleman, if you ask a woman out for lunch, could you please have the money to pay for the meal?

Kim alerted me about her lunch date minutes before it started.

She said he was good-looking, younger, but broke.

Kim was never sure how broke, but she did notice he would always suggest the two go for a walk. In theory it sounds a bit traditional and romantic. However, in Houston, a walk in the park is like taking a tour ride through hell.

Yesterday Houston had a heat index of 115 degrees. On Saturday night it was still 95 degrees at 8:00 p.m. Would you want to walk in that?

No, so a cheap lunch sounded more appealing.

I told her that so long as she didn’t marry him moments after the date ended, it was alright to go out with him. You know, for the hell of it.

Yeah, I will never tell her that again. In fact, when you don’t want to go somewhere with a person, quote me on saying it’s better to not even bother. Otherwise, you might end up putting in on a meal you didn’t even want.

This man, ya’ll, ended up asking my friend to chip in on the food because he didn’t have enough cash on him.

Mind you, she did the man a solid by picking Chili’s for lunch. It’s not a place she would normally pick for a date (maybe not at all anymore, I heard they lost their touch), but she knew dude was light in the wallet so she was being courteous.

She was punished for it.

Kim tells me after the bill was laid on the table, the guy looked down, confused, and grabbed his iPhone to do the math.

“Yeah, I think Imma need you,” he told Kim.

Kim says she shot him a crazy look like, “Negro (with an igga), I ain’t paying for this shit.”

So he responded to her non-verbal communication verbally with, “Wait a minute, I gotta see if I can transfer.”

He looked around, pulled out an ACE card, and laid it on the table.

She asked, “What is that? A Rush Card?”

Close, it’s a card issued by the check-cashing place to people without bank accounts.

Now, the man has two phones – an iPhone being one of them (Yes, I know Walmart sales them now, but still) – but no bank account?

If that’s not a nutty Negro failure, I don’t know what is.

The bill total was $33.12.

She asked,  “How much do you need?”

He needed $14.46.

She had $14 on her.

He put the 46 cents on his credit card.

This is the type of mess that leads to shows like Basketball Wives.

So what did they order?

She had a Triple play, which is an appetizer, and a drink. He had a chicken sandwich and a drink. He could only afford his chicken sandwich and maybe two sips of drink.

Broke people, order water with lemon.

Or better yet don’t order shit and all.

I think he knows this, because he told my friend that next time he’ll just eat before he takes her out.

Bless his heart, they’re not going out again.

I don’t want to judge anyone struggling given you never know what ambition and fate can do to a person in their respective future. At the same time, though, if you can’t even afford a meal at a restaurant two bar stools ahead of a clean fast food chain, why are you asking people out on dates?

Do you have a horrible date story? If so, gon’ and share.

I See You’ll Get Mad Anyway

Yesterday, I woke up to about 2o-plus emails from angry readers over my latest piece for Aol News. If there’s one thing I noticed about Aol News readers, it’s that whenever I write about race a lot of people get upset.I think that anger stems from their frustration that I refuse to acknowledge “the truth” that racism is over and black racists like me will never succeed to launching a race war because Dr. Martin Luther The King made America a utopia once he publicly aired out his nighttime brainwave activity.

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Mama Flocka, I Love You

I think I’ve fallen in love with Waka Flocka Flame’s mama. Seriously, watch this video and pay very close attention. Where has Debra Antney been all of our lives?

Now, I am no stranger to hood parents. In fact, given my dad used to steal my sister’s No Limit CDs to entertain the unemployed and newly released outside of our house, has trimmers of gold in certain areas of his mouth, and offered me a gun for college I’d say I was pretty much an expert in that department.

Growing up, it would sometimes irritate the shit out of me. Well, that amongst other things. Longtime readers know what I mean. Despite all that, I’m fascinated by Mama Flocka.

Just listen to the way she starts off this interview with All Hip Hop.

“So, you think I’m gonna start some shit again, but I’m not even though I really want to.”

She is not your typical gangsta mama. This is a star, people. Recognize.

She speaks with such confidence. And yeah, aggression. Goodness, I love a woman who could probably bitch slap a man so hard he’ll take a piss sitting down for two weeks. I can only imagine what a business meeting like her is like.

As a matter of fact, I wish President Obama employed her to lobby for health care reform. I bet if you had her visiting various holdouts in the Senate that bill would’ve gotten signed a lot sooner than it did — and with a public option.

So, I don’t really care about the actual dispute with VIBE magazine she’s addressing (if you do care, VIBE posted audio of Wacka Flocka Flame), I just wanted you all to join me in basking in her greatness.

She is her own publicist. She is a businesswoman. She is a personality. A renaissance woman, for sure.

Better yet, as she put it: ”I ain’t no damn manager. I do a lil’ bit of everythang. I am the crea-tah.”

Yes you are, ma’am. All that and then some. A triller Mathew Knowles, if you will.

I love the fact that despite losing Nicki Minaj and Gucci Mane, she’s still looking for talent to provide me thoughtless music that I can shake my ass to on the dance floor (and your local sidewalk should a car drive-by blasting some dope shit).

I love it even more that she recognizes that Texas is chock full of undiscovered talent (that people from other regions bite extra hard from without giving proper credit, but I digress) and now realizes she needs to change her business acumen as she moves forward with new clients.

In other words: ”No more hand shakes, but for the most part leave my people the hell alone. Stay out of their got damn ears. Stay out of it. Got damn haters.”

Please put her on the “Hard In The Paint” remix, Waka. She would kill it. And world, give this woman a reality show. Now.

If You Say You’re Not Racist, Prove It

In my latest piece for Aol News, I gave the Tea Party the benefit of the doubt.

For well over a year now members of the group have denied accusations that they are a racist organization. Sure enough, founders of the group are more tied to libertarian ideology than classic American klansman philosophy, but that doesn’t negate they’ve allowed the buffoons of the country to hijack their movement because there is strength in numbers.

I really, really tried to be fair to the group despite wishing to send the whole lot of them to some deserted island. Those interested can let me know if I did a decent job. I’m pretty certain I’ll be seeing “you’re racist you black bastard” emails by mid-afternoon, though.

Click here to check out “Time for Tea Party Leaders to Act on Racism.” Yes, the title could be better. Leave me alone.

Girl, Wake Up

Let me start off by saying that I’m happy Fantasia isn’t dead. That would really, really suck considering she just got her GED and has both a new album and reality show to promote. Plus, she is somebody’s mama. Speaking of her parental status, while I’m glad she’s safe after an alleged suicide attempt, for the sake of her and her kid I hope someone pulls her to the side and shakes some of the stupid out of her.

That should not to be interpreted as an example of my insensitivity towards those who have attempted or contemplated suicide. Quite the contrary, I understand those in pain and despair. The stupid in Fantasia’s situation refers to the actions that brought her to the moment she felt compelled to mix her poisons.

I don’t know why everyone is following the Alicia Keys guide to love, but I wish someone would send out a bat signal that in most cases it’s probably not in one’s best interest to slurp someone’s spouse.

Already I can hear the jezebel comebacks.

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Twitter Makes Me Hate You

I’ve been sitting on this post idea for weeks because I didn’t want to potentially offend friends of mine, but I can’t take it anymore.

There are some wonderful people on Twitter only some of them make it extremely difficult for anyone to notice because they come across irritating as hell online.

As I previously mentioned in the entry “You’re As Deep As A Wad of Spit, Shut Up,” one of my biggest gripes about Twitter (and Facebook to a degree) is all of the faux philosophers who fill my timelines with random drops of “wisdom” that seem inspired by Sesame Street and methamphetamines.

But, it’s not just those folks. I wish they were the least of my worries.

Twitter is a microcosm of the world, but only a short time ago were we all afforded the privilege of only finding out the worst qualities about our friends if we placed ourselves in awkward situations – such as dating and/or sexing them. Thanks to social media, we get it all one tweet and status update at a time.

I want to continue to love some of these folks, however several of their Web antics are making it hard to.

Like a natural jackass, I’ve compiled a list of the worst offenders. Feel free to agree, curse me out, tell me “pot meet kettle” or whatever you deem necessary.

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A Star May Be Born

I don’t know Montana Fishburne’s relationship with her father. Since announcing that she was launching a career in pornography, many assumed that the 19-year-old must harbor some deep seated resentment towards her pappy, Laurence Fishburne and that this stunt is nothing more than her attempt to bring pain to him. And yet, Montana says that simply isn’t the case — telling TMZ that up until her pornography press the two enjoyed a good relationship.

That could turn out to be proven false, but until it is I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt and believe her when she says that she looked to a sex tape as a launchpad for a successful career.

When I first heard her say this I assumed that she might have grown up with some learning disability that wasn’t treated in time. Her father’s career didn’t exactly start off on a high note (shout to Pee Wee Herman) so perhaps Laurence and her mother cut corners. Maybe they lived in an apartment building immersed in toxins, taught her how to read with a coloring book, let her top her Happy Meal fries with Wite-Out and whatever else might put fear into the hearts of your local CPS worker.

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