Duly Noted: Thursday, August 26, 2010

I really like to keep it nice and light--especially when writing the daily Duly Noted.

But this called for a spotlight and a heartfelt exploration of a serious issue. 

150 women were raped in the Congo a few weeks ago.

I had been passing over this link in my friend's status update for days until, sitting in the airport, I had nothing else to do, so I figured I'd read some mindless dribble.  That is, afterall, what most people use their statuses (statii?) for. 

I was in for an intensely rude awakening when I read the above words.  Once I gathered myself and commenced to reading, a few things occurred to me:

1. The words that directly precede the headline are "at least."  Let that sink in for a second.  At least.  A simple phrase used often, yes.  But rarely does it come before "150 Women Raped in Weekend."  Meaning that 150 could  be on the low end.  There are no words...
2. This article can be found on the NYT "Africa" page.  Now, I can't get mad at them--I wasn't tapped in enough to not find this information out without the proverbial social network stroll--I'm just as much to blame in the "Americans don't prioritize foreign affairs enough" argument as the editors.  But at the same time, networks and papers cover Ballon Boy phenoms on the daily.  American news or not, maybe we should have a little perspective.
3. Speaking of perspective, atrocities like this should challenge ours:
1. How do we view and value "other" people?  Do we value women enough to care about this?  Do we think highly enough of the "third world" (their words, not mine) to do more than say "well, rape happens in corrupt, unstable nations."  
2. How to we prioritize worthy news?  Are we forcing media outlets to focus more on issues that matter? (see #2 above)

The last perspective was the most relevant to me: how to we view rape?  Let's strip away the location of this crime; let's forget the color of the assailants and the victims, and the lack of "development" present in this corner of the world.  

This way, we can comprehend the absolute degredating force of sexual violence.  

See, I'm troubled to think that we could become so desensitized to tragedies like these.  Sure--atrocities of this scope and magnitude can only be seen as vile, disgusting, terribly tragic.

But why don't we feel the same when we see this:

And why do we shake our asses so hard when we hear this:









All you have to do is "Say Ahh" a lot, so that you get wasted enough to "blame it on the alcohol"--which, in most parts of the U.S. and other parts of the world, helps make a substantial case for date rape.


So, let's get this straight--you can pay some money to get me drunk (with only the finest of liquors, of course), so that you can get my inhibitions niiiiiice and low.  Then, all I have to do is "blame it on the alcohol" when you get me to engage in acts that I would not have done with you had I been of sound mind?  Sounds like rape to me.


Yeah.  I said it.  Sounds like RAPE to me.


And where does it end?  Should we blame it on the short skirt?  Or maybe on the previous sexual assault that made her "fast" in the first place?


Or maybe, maybe we just blame it on regional instability and ethnic conflict in the corrupt third world.




Do Something.  Donate & Spread the Word--via whatever status you update.

Random Ish...

Hey everybody...




I'll be back with an actual post sometime in the near future, but in the meantime, here's a quick little song to brighten your day...




If you don't like it, well...
It's named specifically for you!!!

We Told You Coonery Doesn't Pay...

Seems like the Ice Cream Man took Project Slap-A-Negro to a whole new level:

Let this be a message to you all:  think before you coon. 

Duly Noted: Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Fill your head with some interesting pieces around the web...

• According to CNN,  coming up on the wrong side of the tracks may actually be worth something to the DEA--besides a higher conviction rate.  Duly Noted, indeed.

• Black Best Friends finally get some love from Hollywood over on The Root.  Honorable Mention:  The fading magazine industry looms especially scarily over the black magazine sector 

• The Hill examines Kendrick Meek's succesful bid for the Florida Senate's Democratic nomination, and whether or not he can he come out on top in a 3-legged-race.  Well, at least Meek's turn at bat can't be as strange a ride as the Distinguished Gentleman from Tennessee's,  so there's hope yet... 

• Strippers for a Healthy Waterway?  Hmmmm...

• In more WTF?!?!?! news, apparently we can just throw our animals away these days. Damn Brits.

• I guess someone actually took the time to defend the atrocity that is "College Hill."  Judge for yourself, but personally, I want to see something more "A Different World" and less Jersey Shore: HBCU Style.

• Vanessa Williams has a job again.  Praise Black Santa Jesus. 

 If this doesn't make you thankful for everything you have, check your pulse. Your veins are probably filled with ice:

 Women from a church choir sit on benches in Goma, Congo atop lava flow from a 2002 eruption. (Time)

Project Slap-A-Negro

Before the founding of this magnificent blog, Gen. Leroy and I had many conversations which generally centered around the rampant ignorance in our very own community.


None of these conversations were very out of the ordinary, despite being particularly well-informed, hilarious, and better than yours. The magic happened when Gen. Leroy, in a stroke of pure genius, developed Project Slap-A-Negro.

I know what you're thinking: I would slap black folk all the time if I could never put my hands on another person. And giving my absolute disgust for batterers (irrespective of their ability to honor MJ well) , you would think I would declare never to slap a negro either.


But just hear me out.


Gen. Leroy's plan does not allow for just random slappin' all willy nilly. On the contrary, it requires a discerning eye and precise form. Here's a scenario:


You are responsible for recruiting, selecting, and advising your company's interns. You take particular pride in your role, knowing that you can provide the opportunity a deserving young black or brown kid might not have without your help. You're looking out. Paying it forward. After all--someone gave you an opportunity once, provided guidance, and helped mold you into the Y(B)P you are today. So, now it's your turn to make a way for someone else.

All you need for them to do is hold up their end of the bargain.

But then, they send you some shit like this. Worst.Resume.Ever. Misspellings everywhere, piss poor grammar, and irrelevant ass jobs like "concession stand trainee" and "marker manager, ms. dodson's third grade class."

So, being the benevolent coordinator that you are, you write back to lil dude and give him a chance to redeem himself. You tell him, "Look, I'm going to tell you something most people wouldn't: This shit sucks donkey balls. You can't apply for a writing intensive job and not be able to write. Have a friend look at it, fix it, and get it back to me by the end of the day."

You pat yourself on the back for passing on the priceless wisdom of a 23-year-old seasoned professional, and probably saving this poor kid from years and years of rejection.

Surprisingly, lil dude gets it together enough to get an interview.

And this youngblood shows up late. Really, really late. Don't even worry about it late.

At this point, you realize that Project Slap-A-Negro is not only appropriate, but necessary.

You invite this simple fool into your office, grab the thickest, most well-worn, hardcover copy of "The Souls of Black Folk,"





look him square in the face






and slap the dog shit out of him.



By now you should be able to see that Project Slap-A-Negro is not inherently violent, but rather, a vital firearm in the arsenal against ignorance. Hell, it can even be called uplifting. And by now, you are thinking of tons of negroes would slap if given the chance. (Just for good measure, let's give this stellar guy another shout out.)

Now, after slapping the offending Negro with the Du Bois masterpiece, you must give him/her a copy and demand any or all of the following:

• Repentance in the name of self-respecting black folk everywhere;
• An apology (written or verbal) to the offended party(ies);
• A written report, powerpoint presentation, or policy brief examining the malfeasance of their actions and their detailed plan for improvement;
• Monthly donations to the United Negro College Fund for proving their motto with foolish ease;
• The destruction of all coonerific paraphernalia in their possession, beginning with any Soulja Boy (is that how you spell that crap?) items

Note Bene: Heighten the impact by pre-highlighting important sections and provide liner notes you deem necessary.


So now you see: Project Slap-A-Negro is downright healthy. You get to exorcise your frustrations, and the youngblood gets a lesson in the ways of the world. It's really a win-win.


Before I wrap this up, you should know that this Project can have any incarnation you deem necessary, and is not limited to race or literary selection. Maybe you need to slap someone with the The Feminine Mystique. And I think we can all agree we need to slap this cat, who is clearly not black, or sane.


So, perhaps Project Slap-A-Negro can be the precursor to Project Slap-A-Fool, because in order to curb this pandemic we call rampant ignorance, we all need to do our part.

So let's all get together and start by slapping Montana Fishburne.