Racism is definitely still alive in America. Just last week, Atwater City Councilman, Gary Frago, sent racist e-mails about President Obama. Here is my favorite excerpt:
“Breaking News: Playboy just offered Sarah Palin $1 million to pose nude in the January issue. Michelle Obama got the same offer from National Geographic.”
Oh, but his response is even more classic:
“They weren’t threatening. I’m not a racist person, I don’t know what to tell you,” said Frago.
Yea-huh. Anyway, that’s racism. What happened between Professor Gates and Sgt. Crowley wasn’t racism. I mean, maybe possibly it COULD have been racism, but I really doubt it. On what do I base this? Simple. The two stories are just too friggin different.
According to Crowley, Gates was a damn near lunatic and shouted insulting epitaphs about Crowley’s mother. In Gates version, he was the model citizen and complied with every police order. Come on…..
I don’t believe either side is accurate. Now, did Gates feel annoyed when this white police officer came to his door? Most likely. Gates, like most Black people in America, has dealt with the ever-present pressure of simply being Black in America. And it’s the little things that make up that pressure. Being followed in a shopping store. Having your ID more closely scrutinized than your colleagues. Being the only one who gets carded. People constantly wanting to touch your hair. (Like I said, it’s the little things). So the last straw on the camel’s back was most likely having to break into your own house and then having a white officer asking you to step outside.
Now let’s see it from Crowley’s perspective. Cops get a bad rap day in and day out. Some of it is deserved. By and large though, most cops do the right thing. More often than not, though, they get put in difficult situations. And I’m somewhat gritting my teeth as I type this because I’ve ALWAYS had a bad experience with the police.
Anyway, the point is, both sides are dealing with sticky situations and were probably at wits end. As a result, they both came out with outlandish stories to make themselves sound like the victim.
The other problem with this ordeal is that it detracts from real cases of racism. Sean Bell. Mostafa Tabatabainejad (the Iranian student tasered at UCLA). Megan Williams. These are all issues that have been swept under the rug because of cases like the Crowley/Gates incident and the Jena 6. At the end of the day, perhaps you could say it was racism. Rather, it was the fear of racism that led to this whole situation. And until we sit down and talk about racism in a reasonable fashion, you will continue to have more ridiculous situations like the Crowley/Gates fiasco.
Until then, it’s all in the pocket. Racism. Crowley. And Gates.
I may not be in the U.S. right now, but I know a coon when I see one. Actually, I can’t decide what to call these two blaxploitation throwbacks. I am leaning towards CoonBots from the planet Niggatron. Let me backtrack a minute. These are two characters from the Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen movie. If you’re like me, you grew up watching Transformers and were hyped about the first movie. Even though Jazz (the only Black transformer at the time) died. That’s okay. It was wack, but okay. And then the sequel came out. To put it bluntly, I wish they kept Jazz alive and killed these two metallic sambos.
Why are these characters offensive? I’ll lay it out simply for the skeptical ones:
- they look like monkeys (as much like a monkey as a giant robot can look i suppose)
- they talk in “street dialect” clearly identifiable with certain demographics in America
- they admit to NOT BEING ABLE TO READ
- one has a gold tooth (and if you think I’m analyzing too much… ask yourself, why does a robot need a gold tooth?)
You do the math on what type of character/stereotype these two are trying to portray.
The clever guys behind Transformers already pulled all existing clips of Skids and Mudflap (yes those are the names) from youtube. But I did manage to find this scene:
If I’m reading too far into this then Jar Jar Binks is an excellent role model for kids.
Going back to the irony of the situation. Jazz died in the first film. Jazz. In the second film, he was replaced by a couple of knuckleheads who both lived. I’ll let the metaphor sink in.
As much as I love cartoons, Transformers 2 (especially Skids and Mudflap) will have to hold my pocket.
Oh my goodness I’m back!! Don’t ask how. I don’t even know how, but I’m back. This comeback post is short, but simple.
Bottle Specials.
I’m from DC. And one thing we love in DC is happy hour. DC is all about knowing “where are the free drinks, where is the free food, and what time do I get there.” But some people don’t get it. They capitalize on DC’s other aspect: the “I wanna be somebody” aspect aka the “young professional” aka the “grown & sexy” persona. Quite simple, people want to feel important. To feel important, they pay extra for VIP in clubs so they can go upstairs to restricted levels of clubs and be seen from those levels. Hey, we’ve all done it. And most of us have realized “wow, no one is dancing up here… did I really just spend $100 to be looked at?”
Anyway, part of the VIP persona is this concept of bottle specials. The other day I got the following flyer in my e-mail:
$200 bottle special??
If you can’t read the flyer, it offers a $200 Grey Goose Bottle Special. The rest of the e-mail goes as follows:
What?!?! I have two issues with this and then I’ll shut up.
1) The audacity of someone offering a $200 bottle of liquor as a happy hour special (fyi, a bottle of grey goose might cost $40 in the store)
2) The audacity that someone is reading that flyer and says “wow… we gotta get in on that!!”
Sigh… but on the flip side I guess it keeps the economy stable. Those with excess income will certainly continue to lavish themselves in outlandish gestures. And to those that do, and to those that are selling… hold my pocket.
Long story short: A Muslim family boards a plane, has an internal conversation about where the safest seat is, passengers get jittery and have authorities haul them off the plane.
The FBI investigates, clears them of any wrongdoing, and the plane refuses to let them re-board!! WOW. We could focus on a lot of things here (passengers nervous for no friggin reason for instance), but the fact that the airline which shall go unnamed (Airtran) refused to let them reboard and refused to book them on a later flight is outlandish. This is even AFTER the FBI talks to the airlines directly to try and get them back on the plane. http://www.cnn.com/2009/US/01/01/family.grounded/index.html
The truth is, America, we’re not safe. Doesn’t matter if the person is white, Arab, Black, brown, Mexican, purple, plaid, Democrat, Republican, British, French, estranged cousin, or Bill O’Reilly. We’re not safe. Harping on one demographic of people is not going to make it any better either.
And specifically I’m talking about the general populace and its overt uneasiness with Muslims. Most people with the biggest fear/hatred of Muslims have never met one (yet they know specifically that they are dangerous and hate Christians… fascinating).
So, look. In 2009, do some research and learn about your local neighborhood Muslims. If you don’t have any in your neighborhood, then read a book about Islam or simply Google some information about Muslims. I promise, God won’t hate you for it and America might be a little better off as a result.
If you can’t do any of the above, then simply hold my pocket.
(caption: Rev. Al Sharpton marching with the motherof Mychael Bell of the Jena 6)
The Jena 6 debacle is unfortunately one of the worst examples of our attempt to continue the work done during the Civil Rights Movement. Here you have a classic case of wrong on both sides (racial abuse that leads to physical violence) and an honest to goodness chance to transform this instance into a vehicle of in-depth and necessary racial debate and discussion.
Alas, no. First there was the youtube video of the Jena 6 tossing money in the air like a BET Uncut rap video. And yes, I too initially defended the video as false, until the parents came out with a statement defending the actions taking place in the video. The original video has been removed from youtube. The closest I can find is a news report asking what happened to all the money. Close enough:
Technically nothing wrong with that. I’m from Texas and we have guns everywhere. Your friendly neighborhood hairdresser probably carries a gun just because.
The problem here is image. Tact. Let’s take it to the extreme. Were Rosa Parks’ civil rights as a human being as an American violated when they arrested her on that bus? Yup. Now would you support her if she was also out on the town every night, a heavy drinker, and loose? No. And that’s the point. The Civil Rights Movement was about discipline. The horrid truth is that you cannot effectively fight for your rights if you are not disciplined.
Black people were heavily uneasy about OJ’s infamous victory. True, we wanted to see a Black person finally not get trumped by the system, but dammit… OJ???? And of course he continued to spiral even more out of control, but that’s a different story.
Racism is difficult to fight if… well… it’s always difficult to fight. It’s harder to fight if you can’t convince others that the delicate race-based issue at hand deserves a close intraspection and carefully crafted analysis. The desire to craft this analysis and engage in this discussion dissipates when you feature yourself in a youtube video and throw money in the air. At that point you become a thug (right or wrong) and no one wants to hear you. The courts don’t want to hear you. I don’t want to hear you.
Mychael Bell may have just been cleaning his gun, but damit why after all that drama does he have a gun? That’s like OJ writing the If I Did It book. Sure it’s your constitutional right, but what the heck man…
First thing’s first, read the Washington Post article entitled Obama’s Not Black, where the first line reads “he is also half white.”
Ok look. I love multiculturalism as much as the next person, but Obama is as Black as the ace of spades sitting at the bottom of a cup of coffee.
Black is not defined by “were my parents slaves…” Black is a global definition to define not only those of African descent (not counting the way way back historic descent of everyone coming from Africa… or the Middle East, depending on who you ask), but Black in America is particularly defined by the shared and collective experience that such people have. Sure not everyone experiences racism… directly. But even if you are mixed and came out looking white or asian or hispanic, you know personally of Blackness in your life and at the very least you had to confront it on a personal level.
A close friend of mine summarizes the situation best:
Yeah, we’re all well aware of the fact that Barack Obama is of mixed ancestry but, so are a majority of so-called “African-Americans” in this country. I am tired of people trying to steal our moment of pride and advancement with their semantics. Being black is not about you’re genotypic make-up (because most of us are comprised of very different ones). The binding force is the brown skin that gives us a certain outlook on society, and sometimes, to our detriment, a certain perspective of ourselves as we relate to it. As DuBois said, it is a double-consciousness that I believe we have yet to escape, no matter how “diverse” our backgrounds are.
So, Washington Post, I’m sorry, BUT, man oh man!! You’re holding a pocket for this one.
I’m back on the blog with a vengeance. First item of business: the club.
Now, true enough clubs differ from region to region within the U.S., but I think grown & sexy or whatever the 2008 terminology for it is about the same across demographics, so we’re going to focus on that.
Rule 1: No Simping You may have read my earlier post on facebook simping. Well simping in real life is even worse. Chivalry’s not dead… it’s just been infected with spineless folk who do anything to get some digits. Case in point…
Houston, TX. Standing near the front of the line waiting for the club to open. 3 beautiful women walk up behind us wearing your pretty much standard tight-fitting short dresses (no complaints here). One of the guys in front of us starts eyeing them… I mean HARD. I’m thinking “take it easy buddy… the girls are cute but damn stalker…” Turns out the girls are making comments about how cold it is. No sooner had one of them said something along the lines of “yea I’m really starting to get cold out here” this dude damn near busts out of his skin with “here, you can have my jacket!” And like magic, a chorus of “awwwww, that’s so sweet!” bursts out from the females.
Now right here is where we have the problem. The problem is not the nice deed. It’s the different expectations. The dude is thinking “GOTCHA! I’m one jacket closer to getting in there.” The females are thinking “free jacket.” Note the difference.
If you need an example of how simping ruins the dating economy, simply look at the stock market. You keep giving out corporate bonuses to females who simply look good and next thing you know you’re in a damn deficit, begging for a corporate bailout. And like they told em in Congress, it ain’t happening! Those curious about how the story ended, that fella never saw those females again once they got inside the club. But they sho nuff remembered me and my homeboy as the ones that did not give up the jacket/sweater/warm gear. Hence, we had a valid conversation piece to go on. Try it for yourself.
Rule 2: Dance “What do you mean you don’t dance in the club?!” That was the exact comment from another friend of mine when a certain female friend admitted she goes to the club not to dance, but to stand and talk about people. Cut it out… You wanna do that go stand in a corner. I came to the club to drink (in moderation) and dance (in excess).
Now, true, sometimes fellas get TOO hyphy and try to dance with the wrong female. Sometimes we try to pick up the female who clearly does not want to dance at that moment or is in the midst of dancing with her homegirls (another topic altogether) or just plain doesn’t want to dance with you. That’s okay, let it go! If you observe, you realize that these women did actually come to dance and you either just came at the wrong time or just aren’t the one they want to dance with.
BUT, for those who came to NOT DANCE, are you kidding me? You should be shot. Ladies, how brokeback would it look if you go up to a fella with some “i know you didn’t come here to just stand around…” and he hits you with “well actually, i just wanna stand here with my homeboys all night. We just came to talk about people.” WOW…. There’s no place for that at the club, male or female. Dance, be a winner.
Rule 3: Tip Your Bartender Now I don’t believe in tipping shoddy service. I had one experience (LA) where a bartender straight up tried to tell me they didn’t have the type of rum I was looking for (though her co-worker had just served me that type of rum earlier). Long story short, I gave her co-worker a $20 tip on GP. Now that was actually excess and me just being on some revenge ish, BUT I digress: tip your bartender. There’s nothing worse than having the appearance of being grown & sexy and then the ladies around you find out how cheap you are (let em find out later).
Those are just my intro rules. Following those will prevent you from holding someone’s pocket.
If you haven’t seen the commercials, Burger King is issuing a new global challenge to prove that the Whopper is better than the Big Mac. To do this, they are going to indigenous communities around the world and flying them out to Burger Kings to have them do a Whopper/Big Mac taste test. WTF?!
I don’t have much time online, but come on! Is this the future of consumerism? Get an Amazon tribe to endorse your product and all of a sudden you’re not only genuine, but also global friendly. But leave it to Burger King to let “these people” know what to think. Thank you Burger King. You’re winning just like McDonald R&B commercials.
As always, Burger King can hold my pocket. (Damn shame, I like those chicken fries too….)
Once again we have another debate for the pocket universe (this time guys, seriously, debate). If you haven’t heard Busta Rhymes’ semi-new track, Arab Money, I’ve got a youtube link below. Essentially the song talks about how he has so much money, he’s on the same level as eccentric, Arab billionaires. Aside from the fact that the Arabic portion of the song (in the hook) isn’t actual Arabic (it’s literally just a guy yodeling in a way that sounds Arabic), the potential controversy is that what if a white guy made a song saying “I’ve Got That Nigga Money!!” You also have to consider lyrics such as “I got oil well money in the desert playing golf” and if there were to be a similar song with lyrics like “I got rap lyrics money but I really call it bling” or something to that nature.
Racism isn’t just black and white, it’s a lot of different things. And though we know Busta Rhymes would not intentially be racist towards Arabs (particularly since he practices 5% Islam… which… is another topic altogether), the fact remains that the song just might be offensive to Arabs.
What do you think? Should Arab Money hold my pocket?
This is a short post. McDonald’s has a habit of featuring Black Americans in its commercials. A loong time ago they even had an ad proclaiming how they were uplifting the Black community with its employment opportunities (Dave Chappelle has an excellent spoof of this in a Season 1 sketch; if anyone can find the actual original commercial, let me know).
Now things have gotten a bit out of hand. McDonald’s straight up has an R&B artist crooning for mcnuggets. And no, it’s not coincidence that the word crooning is just one letter off from cooning.
I’ve heard the idea tossed around that Black people are actually just oversensitive when it comes to Black people portrayed in the media. Possibly. But you know… when you’ve been burned so many times and made into a blackface mammy and/or pickinini time and time again (or a friggin California Raisin!!), you kinda want to make sure that you stop getting the shaft in 2008. I don’t think McDonald’s got the memo. Enjoy:
McDonald’s, in all its urban-marketed splendor, can hold my pocket.
