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February 2017

MySAYalogy

In Memoriam: The Truth

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Y’all just don’t know how long I’ve been inspired to write this post.  Ever since Porangetus started his ascendancy to the now most barftastic office in all the land, more and more the truth has become an incidental set of circumstances.  As I type, it comes to mind that a couple of my exes actually taught me this with Porangetus becoming one of his ever present exclamation points on the thought.  He and his minions lied their way thru birtherism, the campaign, the election, the inauguration and now his presidency – the truth failed to matter the entire time.  They got on tv and said incredulous shit bout alternative facts and folks being too tired to not misspeak.  Some media outlets – WALL STREET JOURNAL – doubled down on this fuckshit, by refusing to call him a liar or the lying words coming out of his lying mouth, lies – as lying “ascribes a moral intent to the statements.”  Like this muthafucka got morals.  Anyway, I don’t wanna talk to much bout him…the depression I have over him is real and I’d like to not fall down that rabbit hole. I’m here this post Oscar Sunday Monday because the ego to my id, Micaeh posted about the best picture debacle that occurred last night.  Now, I don’t really give a shit that this happened because:  I haven’t seen Moonlight – yet.  I saw 25 minutes of LaLa Land before I decided that it was boring and shit and turned it off.  History will remember that Moonlight won.  It wont give a shit that Bonnie and Clyde confusedly reported the wrong name.  Don’t believe me?  This happened once before in 1968.  Sammy Davis was given the wrong envelope.  Did you know that?  Nope.  Cuz it dont matter. But Micaeh posted something that really got at the heart of the subject of this piece.  And it had less to do with the movies involved, the debacle of the wrong winner or the show itself and everything to do with us.  Witness:     Almost everyone got this wrong.  And as I peruse social media today, Warren Beatty is getting dragged over the coals when WE ALL SAW FAYE DUNAWAY ANNOUNCE THE WINNER.  EACH AND EVERYONE OF US SAW HER SAY LA LA LAND OUT OF HER CONFUSED MOUTH.  Yet this is Warren’s fault .  Yet that video has been running non stop on every fucking news show on the W and K side of this country, people are STILL saying Warren announced the wrong winner. This shit is maddening. This is why Liz Claiborne/Tommy Hilfiger/Ya Grandma Sally will go down in history for saying that their designs ain’t for black folks. This is why Hillary and her pals raping kids (they weren’t) in the back room of a D.C. pizza shop, led to a madman showing up with a gun to that pizza place ready to rescue children that weren’t even there. This is why The Cos beat his case (he hasn’t) even though I JUST saw a story about how the case was staying in Philly to be tried instead of the Philly burbs. This is why black people lost the right to vote (we didn’t) when the Voting Rights Act expired even though I just voted for The Bern and Hills. This is why it’s now illegal (it’s not) for videotape police in Illinois. This is why Porangetus can get on television and say he had the biglyest whatever the fuck and scores of ignorant racists believe him. Y’all wont even try.  With the entirety of information in your grubby lil hands, you still wont take the time to google.  Its all there for you, and you wont even do it. I work at a news organization as some of you may know.  Last week I got a note from a very concerned citizen of my fair Chicago, who wanted to know why we hadn’t covered a story.  Concerned citizen sent me a link to the story.  I assured concerned citizen that we had in fact covered it – a lot.  I was told we obviously didn’t cover it enough. Well, now wayment.  Did we not cover it, or did we not cover it enough?  A simple google search would have revealed the truth.  Had we never spoken, concerned citizen would have went forward with her version of the truth, which is that it wasn’t covered.  And they would have told a friend who would have told a friend who would have told a friend who would have told a friend who would have told a friend.  This is how the truth dies. These are dangerous fucking times.  Do your research and get to the truth.  The truth matters. It absolutely does.

MySCREENalogy

Fraud? Not the Quad.

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Question, Have you ever settled in after a long day, your Pope wine glass/popcorn bowl in front of you, alpaca/llama/german shepard throw askew your body, glued to the tv to watch your favorite show – the one where the scrappy heroine walks to the train station, boards the train, hits up the starbucks, enters her workplace speaks to Bob and Mary Ann, has a great day, meets her boo for a hot dog stand lunch, and works on some Excel spreadsheets before hitting that same train headed back home, where she tears off her bra, and settles in to watch her favorite show where the scenario that I just described unfolds for her favorite scrappy heroine before her eyes? No?  Me neither.  The scrappy heroine wouldn’t come home after her mundane day and watch another muthafucka have a mundane day either.  You know why?  Cuz that shit would be boring.  Who the hell wants to watch a television show about real life?  Especially a scripted one.  Even on reality shows, the producers ramp up the drama…now seems like an appropriate place for some edifyin and educatin; drama: any situation or series of events having vivid, emotional, conflicting, or striking interest or results.  (from dictionary.com) Anything vivid, emotional, conflicting or striking, or even interesting about our scrappy heroine’s day? This is why these nonsense around BET’s new D-R-A-M-A The Quad perplexes me.  I’ve watched it since its premiere and its a soap opera set in a HBCU. Hazing, murders, affairs, departmental infighting, class warfare, drugs, and drinking  all figure prominently.  I attended an HBCU, two of them actually and with the exception of murder I can say definitively, all of these things happened during my matriculation at Hampton and or Clark.  Im pretty sure other attendees of HBCUs would agree with me, but one administrator at a very prominent HBCU is here for none of it.  Dr. William R. Harvey, president of my beloved “home by the sea” – Hampton University is bigly upset with Debra Lee and BET for what he feels is an unfair depiction of life at an HBCU, especially his special assed Hampton.  He is so upset in fact that he wrote a 3 page letter to detail his complaints.  I read his letter, which HILARIOUSLY opens with him thanking Jasmine Guy “for the one academic scene in The Quad series about the mythical and fictitious Georgia A&M University in which students are seated in a classroom.”  An actor getting credit for a scene that was written for her to appear in…fine.  I checked – Jas aint got shit to do with the creative end of this show, sooooooooooooooooooo, yeah.  He goes on to say that in his nearly 50 year esteemed career in higher education administration, he has NEVER witnessed the actions portrayed in The Quad.  Come with me on a cherry picking expedition of Dr. Harvey’s letter if you will…. He’s never seen: students driven by sex, alcohol or marijuana.  Does this even deserve a rebuttal? Bands that condone hazing.  Someone should tell him to google FAMU and read about the hazing death of a drum major.   Trustees/School Presidents being beholden to band directors/football coaches.  Now, I don’t know this to be the absolute gospel, as I’ve never been an administrator, but I’d bet your baby mama’s link that Eddie Robinson, who famously coached Grambling State University football for over 50 years had more power and pull on that Louisiana campus than ANY of the 7 presidents that presided over him. He goes on to say that the show should have touched on the myriad accomplishments of Xavier, North Carolina A&T, Tougaloo and SHOCK, Hampton. He posits that if any of the things he’s never seen happen, happened on any of those campuses, none of those schools could have accomplished anything they accomplished. He closes the letter by saying that we “cannot afford this kind of story telling.  It amounts to the type of fake news that is prevalent today.” Sir….I know Porangetus has blurred the lines between “story” and “news” but you can’t compare the two.  One is a STORY and one is the NEWS.  What a false equivalency.  Stunning in its irresponsibility. I’m unclear about exactly what it is about our cousins that only want the not only positive, but righteous side of us shown in movies and television dramas.  I mean I get it….but this aint blaxpoitation here.  There are no pimps hanging on campus ready to set out the fresh faced freshman.  No one is eating chicken and watermelon while bagging up their weed.  People are living, loving, succeeding and failing just like they do on college campuses and life in general…these people just happen to be black. This is such made up bullshit, its a shame.  I feel quite comfortable in saying that not one kid watching The Quad is gonna clutch their pearls and decide to attend a PWI over an HBCU because a girl got drunk at a college party and ended up kissing a girl.  If anything, in this day and age, I imagine it would have the opposite effect. Black people and their experiences are not a monolith.  Say it with me. BLACK PEOPLE AND THEIR EXPERIENCES ARE NOT A MONOLITH.  Just like an HBCU can graduate most of the black MBAs in the country and still have a hazing death occur, a black doctor can marry a black lawyer, create 5 upstanding kids and afford a brownstone in Brooklyn….but hey, back then we said that was fiction too.                              

MySCREENalogy

Strange Thing About the Johnsons

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“What the fuck did I just watch?” “I feel scared.” “I don’t know that I have the mental fortitude to watch this.” “Oh God.” “OH GOD!” “WHY ARE YOU CRYING?” (In response to a crying emoji.) What follows is the story of how the first MyMoviealogy post came to be. I was sittin, chilling, minding my bidness, perusing the Good Book, when a Suster H, a trusted source, inboxed and asked if I’d seen Strange Thing About the Johnsons.  I told her I had not.  She told me, you GOTTA watch.  Its an old flick, but shits trending for some reason, gotta blog bout it.  She’s from the same tribe as me, so I told her I would google it and check it out.  So, I clicked on the first youtube link I saw, which was 3:30 of my life that I wish I could rewind, but let’s table that for a moment. We open to just a ‘fapping’ sound….no visuals, just a black screen and fapfapfapfapfapfapfapfap. At this point my heart is racing, my stomach drops and Im filled with a sense of impending doom. Think how it felt when we heard what The Gimp was doing to Marcellus Wallace before we saw it.  I know I got a witness somewhere. Disclaimers: Disclaimer  #1.  I am a punk.  I love scary movies. If I go see one and no man has attained semi-regular cold side of bed clearance, my 41 year old ass will still go sleep at my mommas house. Very possibly in her bed. Disclaimer #2.  I’m really good at scaring myself.  I used to be part of a twitter group called Dateline Divas, but I couldn’t stand the pressure  and anxiety of watching and commenting on true crime stories every Friday night.  Every single time and I mean everysingletime I return from vacation to my deluxe apartment in the sky, which has 24 hour round the clock security, I walk thru this bitch with a butcher knife in one hand snatching back shower curtains and snatching open closets doors with the strength of 40,ooo slaves, wishing a mofo would, but praying they wouldn’t  – because I’m a punk. I tell you these two things, to give you context of why the fapping disturbed me so much  – because, well, I’m a punk.  After an eternity, we open to a sheet furiously moving back and forward and my spirit is restored.  Clearly, a young black man is taking the time for a lil solo afternoon delight.  He is holding a picture of his latest greatest inspiration which is jussssssssssst out of focus.  The door flies open and a very Heathcliffish old man walks in an catches him red handed, literally. AW YEAH!  This the black American Pie!  I am ready for some laughs!  A slight twinkle returns to my eye as I anticipate all the laughs I’m finna have.  The dad gives him the standard issue talk, how everyone does it, how there is nothing to be ashamed of.  The son asks the standard issue questions, does dad do it, how often, etc.  The dad tells the boy he’s gonna let him get back to it – hardy har har har – and prepares to exit.  He stops at the door and assures the boy he is loved by his old man.  The boy falls back down on the bed in relief and relaxes his hand just enough to reveal the object of his affection, the person on the picture…..the man that just left the room.  His dad. Dear Madams and Sirs, I regret to inform you that you have now reached the end of the first MyMoviealogy post.  There is no way in hell I can accurately described what I think followed and now know the broad strokes of.  I know because I watched reaction videos on youtube and read the comments.  So when I say there is NOT ONE WAY I can accurately and succinctly and wittily describe this madness, please believe me. I implored this PREVIOUSLY trusted source to write this review, since she had the ovaries to watch this shit, but she denied me, so….here we are.  Me reviewing/recapping a movie that I have never seen.  Sorry to have wasted your time or perhaps made you lose your eggmcmuffin/chipotle/flaxseed smoothie/latest tasty recipe leftovers you caught Margie from Sales “just moving to the side to make room” in the break room fridge, but someone had to suffer other than me. If you are so inclined; If you like watching true horror; If you want to have a strong negative film experience, one that may possibly rob you of sleep, google that shit like I did.  Im not even linking to that horrific shit. 3o minutes of pure……something. You’ve been warned.     for life.

MyPOPalogy, MySAYalogy

We Need to Talk About Adele

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Well, maybe you don’t, but I do. I just…..but…..okay. Fam can sing.  Fam has a big assed voice. Fam is talented.  Fam makes monster hits.  That being said….. Grammys were on last night.  ATCQ killed it with Agent Orange disses and Black Power Fists raised in defiance.  Chano more than put on for his city.  Rih got popped cuz she knew the recording academy is too fucking stupid to recognize the greatness of Anti.  Bruno showed us why no one else should have ever been allowed to do it. TP Henson wore a dress that looked like it was made by Jim Henson and I don’t give a fuck who it was wore in honor of.  And then Adele, poor, sweet, put upon, depressed Adele  – with her inexplicable sad sack ass rendition of Fast Love, performed in honor of the late great man almost every woman I know would have relished being the beard of, George Michael.  Listen, Fast Love is my shit….its about a man looking for a one night stand.  When isn’t that a good time? Upbeat.  Jam. With Father Figure, Jesus to a Child, and You Have Been Loved all in his library, Fast Love is a questionable as fuck selection.  It was turrible.  The mood of it was horrible.  That lone piano key being struck was Yeezus-level ominously depressing.  Her “let me start over, I’ve got to get this right” was asinine, cuz nothing was right about this from the beginning.  I thought she sounded just fine, didn’t even realize there was an issue, cuz the whole thing was an issue.  Shudder.  There she stood in her sad ever present black garb, with tears starting to streak down the same path on her tear stained face, asking for a redo, which she was granted, which likely led to the co-writer of her smash hit Hello, Greg Kurstin, not being able to say even ‘HI MOM’ in his acceptance speech, which led to the crowd seeming like it was booing Solange, which…..woosah. Anyway…..I posted something myatastic on THE BOOK in response to this fuckery, to which a very good pal and sometimes Myalogy contributor, Big responded: “I’m over her and this sad fat chick routine! SING THE FUCKING SONG HOW ITS WRITTEN HEFFA!” Finally, someone was able to tap into how I feel about this chick.  Before the Thick Girl Mafia of the Body Shamers Sect of the Big Boned Brigade gets their grannies in a knot, this ain’t bout her weight, not at all.  This is about her overriding sadness all the damn time.  Ma’am, WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU ALWAYS CRYING?  Grimacing in Pain. Why?  You have won a game that women built like you don’t usually win.  You and your instrument are celebrated the world over.  People from South Shore to the French Riviera buy EXPENSIVE assed tickets to your concerts.  Whoever all them sad songs on 19, 20, 45, 55 and 11 are about, they obviously ain’t a problem anymore, as you announced last night that you’d gotten married. For me, she is getting dangerously close to that Swift chick, whose “golly gosh me?” antics make her Captain of Team Too Much.  Adele, you do alot of golly goshing who me-ing and I’m fucking sick of that shit. The jig is up.  You are successful.  Does that cure everything?  NO.  But got damn.  Lemonade should have won – fine it didn’t.  You can break that Grammy in half if ya wanna…..Bey name ain’t going in the books cuz of it.  No one outside the Hive saw that and did anything other than roll their eyes at it.  Then, cuz I tuned out early to catch the last season premiere of the last season of Girls, I log on the Twee-uh, as you would pronounce it, this morning and saw a headline that compelled me to write:   A. PIECE. OF. HER. DIED. INSIDE. How? I thought all the pieces were already dead. And more importantly why, Bec, I mean Adele? Listen take some of this advice, whenever you are feeling small, white, inadequate, not worthy of standing next to Bey, remind yourself: Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people will not feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone and as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.  Nelson Mandela said this to Frederick Douglass at the White House Black History Month Lil Meeting this year.  Ask one of your black friends.  

MySAYalogy

Passa Scott & the 3 Lil Top Gang Thugs

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Hello to you on this first day of Black History Month and the early days of the Apocalypse.  Last evening, I sat down to write a love letter to Oprah, and her impact on my young black life, which I intended to finish and publish this morning, until 9:45am.  What happened at 9:45 ante meridian, you ask?  Good Question, Myalogists. Porangetus Donald Trump held a Black History Month Meeting with all of his colore-, I mean coo-, I mean darki-, I mean black supporters.  MAN O MAN, did it not disappoint.  With his Negro Bed Wench ‘Rosa by his side, Porangetus basked in the darkness of all HIS people, tho Diamond and Silk were conspicuously absent.  They were likely greasing the scalp of the newly revived Frederick Douglass, as he sat on the east lawn pondering exactly what was the hair-like substance atop the heads of the young gals servicing him.  And why they were so loud.  I digress, Trump was up there just a smiling and laughing with his supporters, who proudly rattled off their names and titles.  It was miraculously barftastic. Then it came yall.  IT CAME.  The moment where my mouth literally dropped open. With the biggest shit eating grin,  Darrell Scott, pastor of New Spirit Revival Center and BLACK TRUMP SUPPORTER, introduced himself to as much thunderous applause as 20 self hating negroes can muster.  Yall know Passa Scott.  He is the negro that got up at the RNC and proved he is 1. a staunch supporter of #alternativefacts and 2. an utter disgrace to his race.  His comments this morning at the Black History Month “little breakfast, little get together”  showed that he has no current plans to stop being either of those things. Apparently Passa Scott who resides in Ohio,  was alternafactually contacted by “some of the top gang thugs in Chicago, for a sit down.” The rest you must see for yourself.   President Trump and Darrell Scott on Chicago. pic.twitter.com/z83487FOXJ — Christian P. Bryant (@BryantCP) February 1, 2017 I have questions. First, have you ever heard such fuckshitery? Who hit you up, Darrell?  Mad Dog?  Huggy Bear?  Ozone?  Stone?  Robert? Chi-raq?  Cyclops? Tell us. You say they reached out to you, because they are apparently so concerned about all of the crime committed by themselves and their friends,  that they want to have a sit down WITH YOU to talk about lowering it.  Can’t they just do that on their own without talking to you? If they agree to lower the body count, then Porangetus will send in additional resources in the form of social programs? WAIT.  Did you just tell us that we have to help ourselves before anyone else will help us? “Couple weeks” you will be here in Chicago for the parlay (use that term, when you talk to them, it will solidify your downness.)  Isn’t the carnage dire enough for you to come now instead of meeting with Porangetus? They wanna work with him.  They believe in him.  They didn’t believe in Barack.   You know what the lie detector determined about those three statements right? FUCK OUTTA HERE, FAM. Updated:  Apparently DOCTOR Scott was a lil loopy from a lack of sleep.  He told a local Chicago news outlet that a lack of sleep caused him to tell President Trump that Chicago gangs had offered to “lower the body count.” He said he actually spoke to one former gang member, and not to any gang leaders. ONE Former. NOT TO ANY GANG LEADERS. http://www.fox32chicago.com/news/local/233182412-story FAM DIDNT I TELL YOU OUTTA HERE?

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