But I Love Basketball Wives (Part II)

"My faux shame is fake.  These 'itches are making me RICH!  Lawd, I just have so much money to count...SMDH...."

~Shaunie O'Neal

Yeah.  I'm a total effin hypocrite.  I hate scripted drama between black women, but I love the real stuff!  It's shameful, I know...

Maybe it's the reminder that my life isn't all THAT jacked up.  Maybe it's cause sometimes, when I do something messed up, I need to know that people are capable of doing worse stuff than me.  Or maybe, I just like judging real people more than fake characters.

Sadly, the latter is probably the most true.  Oh well.

If I'm honest with myself, I can't really decide what makes a worst impression of black people--this or the God-awful Single Ladies.

Think about it:

The scripted show gives everyone an excuse to think that few black people are capable of making good film and television, and put us all in the Tyler Perry Coon category.  But at the end of the day, you can look at the characters and a rational person will think, "these are characters and not fully indicative of black hoes women."

And then you watch Basketball Wives (or RHOA) and most rational people think, "these are real women.  They behave worse than the black chicks on Single Ladies.  These people have a serious problem.  Also how do they walk in high heels with butts that big?  Isn't their center of gravity off?"

So, even if you can excuse the former, the latter show gives some credence to the "black women are crazy" mantra so many people want to hold on to.  And tragically, through my viewership, I support such shows continuing.  

Yeah--normally I take really hard stances on sh*t like that.  I haven't turned on BET in over a year, EXCEPT when they air positive things--I figure adding my viewing to their Neilsen Share will help aid in more positive programming replacing the trash I don't watch.  (Hasn't worked so far, but I'm still trying).

But VH1, part of the Viacom conglomerate which owns BET, MTV, and CMT, is only a part of the problem.  As am I, if I keep watching.

Maybe I'll go back to watching it bootleg on Megavideo the day after it airs.  I can feed my dirty habits without helping to corrupt the rest of the world...

Le Sigh.  I love my trashy reality TV.  I'm a coon.  Go find a copy of DuBois while I brace myself.

I Hate This Sad Sack of Single (Part I)

"Raise your glasses ladies.  This sh*t may be awful, but at least we have jobs again..."
~Lisa "You betta call me LisaRaye" Raye

I tweet.


I do so rarely, but I do tweet.  It usually takes something of epic proportions (at least to me) to make me do so.  And do so I did last night, because #SingleLadies, VH1's new "Romantic Comedy" series, was effin terrible.  So bad that I had to use my 140 rarely-used characters to say just how much.


VH1 was plenty clever, airing the 2-hour premiere directly after the now beloved Basketball Wives season premiere, thereby catching a lot of women who like trashy television for the second show.  


That, unfortunately, included me.  And Single Ladies had me.  For about 12 minutes.  By this time, I had discovered a few things to be true:


1. People throw around the term "romantic comedy" far too freely.  


And by people, I mean everyone involved with this show.  There are very few (if any) romantic comedies shot in an hour-long format.  And even fewer comedies of any kind shot in an hour-long, zero-laugh  format.  Seriously--there was nothing comic about this show.  It was a bunch of obvious one-liners, sad sistagurl jokes (delivered, oft time, by the white one, no less), and complete lack of comedic timing.


2.  I'm really pissed off at Queen Latifah.  


In my book, she can do no wrong.  Sure--she makes jazz albums that no one buys, and won't just come out already (Queen: ask Ellen--you can be here, be queer, and still be rich.  Who gives a crap?), but in reality, her singing voice is actually quite soothing and I could care less if she likes to snuggle up to another pair of twins. 


So again, I thought she could do no wrong.  That was, until I watched this show she produced. I just knew that with her name attached to it, it would have some artistic integrity.  After all, she's a Covergirl and a decently bankable star--with 30 Rock cameos and all: 



Fact of the matter seems to be, no matter how many times you star, guest star, or cameo in well made television and film, you can apparently still behave like you graduated from the Ice Cube School of Production when you get behind the lens.

To a friend of mine (shoutout to @Tookstastic), I described the show as "the ultimate combo of pretty people, famous people, and pretty famous people acting pretty poorly."  Her amusing and seemingly feasible retort?  "Should I watch it on mute?"  You'd think that would solve the problem--but even without sound, the hotmess.com that this show is would still be palpable.  


Poor production value has nothing to do with what you hear--you can tell a bad show without ever hearing a single word.  Log into your Netflix Watch Instantly account, choose "African Amerian Comedies" from the genre section, choose any of the "romantic comedies" you see (best to go with one named something like "Three Ways to Find a No-Good Man on the Down Low in the Lord's House.").  


Mute it.


Watch it.


Then, after you get over your shock/surprising happiness at seeing Leon working again, you'll notice exactly what I'm talking about.  It's like cinematography is an unheard of value...the sets are always totally unrealistic...I don't why black filmmakers love the soft-screen effects so much...and let's be honest: you can SEE overacting long before you hear it.  


And, despite Queen's experience in the world of quality film-making,  she falls victim to the same things.


3.  I'm also pissed off at Common.  


You have the chance to be a straight up, legit, mainstream star that hasn't abandoned black folk and black projects.  Scratch that.  WELL-MADE black projects.  (See:  Just Wright--not the perfect movie, but a HUGE step up from Single Ladies.) My beautiful Chi-Town boo, what the hell happened?  I am not pleased, no matter how much your freckles make me coo.


4. No matter how we try, black television may never return to its Cosby-Different World-Fresh Prince heyday.  In reality, those shows were bookended by Family Matters and In the House (poor, poor Maia Campbell...), so it's not as if everything was perfect.


But even with Shonda "Midas Touch" Rhimes on our side these days, it seems that we are stuck in the Meet The Browns-Single Ladies-The Game rut for a while to come.  


Hopefully Kerry Washington will save us.  I'm all for that.  (Note: I also want to be her.)

Billy Dee!

Happy Memorial Day, everyone.  And by everyone, I mean the General and I, since we've let this blog go dry (not by desire, but by necessity) and no one ever has, or currently, reads us.


Hopefully, that will change :)


Anywho, on this Memorial Day, I've decided to write about someone who, according to Hollywood, might as well be dead:  the sexy, incomparable, Billy Dee Williams.


Question:  Tell me what you think about me.  I buy my own diamonds and I buy my own rings.  How the HELL did he go from this...

As Louis McKay in the Oscar Nominated "Lady Sings the Blues"

to this coonerific bull?

As some homeless ninja in some chitlin' circuit mess.

Now, For all of my (white) brethren who don't know what the "Chtilin Circuit" is, it was once the only medium by which black playwrights could get most of their work in front of audiences.  Now?  Oh now, Tyler Perry's plays are actually the BEST of what the circuit has to offer.  (The only time you'll ever hear "Tyler Perry" and "best" in the same sentence, excepting those times I say "Tyler Perry does the BEST job of making our people look like effin' coons.")

Back to Billy Dee.  You may not remember now that his star has fallen so, but Billy Dee was THE man.  Dynasty,  every Motown Movie ever made, The Jacksons TV movie, that mean old man on A Different World...he was friggin Lando Calrissian, for goodness' sakes!  Yeah, Star Wars, b*tches.

That means desperate middle aged white women loved him, all black women taught their daughters to marry men just like him, gave Michael Jackson a beat, and firmly secured the top spot as the favorite black man of every conference-crazed costumed nerd that ever lived.

But now he's playing homeless men in plays about silly people.  And he doesn't even star.  WTF?

Billy Dee has of course fallen victim to the fate of most black actors:  they get love few and far between while they're hot, and even if their star rises, there is typically an expiration date on their career that hits a good 20 years before their white counterparts.  Sir Michael Caine gets knighted and still plays great, Oscar-worthy parts and he's 198.  Helen Mirren is 77+89 years old and she still gets to play "sexy bad-ass with gun."  And Sean Connery?  Sean Connery could get it win pretty much get any role he wants.  I'm watching him right now in Just Cause (on Netflix, negroes...of course) in which he stars with the great Laurence Fishburne (ignore his daughter.)  Something tells me Sean Connery will continue to work long past his equally talented counterpart.  

But just because black actors get no love doesn't mean they have no talent, as I'm sure believers in the meritocracy would argue (like those dangerously silly idiots who actually believe anti-white bias is now greater than anti-black bias).  Sure, we have a few bankable stars around whom they'll build a movie:  Will Smith...Beyonce on certain days...Denzel...then Will Smith again.  Then we have some recognizable stars with whole heaps of talent but who usually get the "And" roles.  Think about it:  Jennifer Aniston, That kind of funny guy from SNL, and Jamie Foxx; a whole bunch of white people, and Queen Latifah.  Viola Davis plays everybody's favorite prostitute's BEST friend, and she STILL gets near bottom billing in 'Eat, Pray, Love.'  She damn near steals the show (and the Oscar) in 'Doubt'--away from Meryl Streep, which is no small feat, and yet she only gets best friend, 4th billing status?  Something is very wrong with this picture.

Black Hollywood is teeming with talented Black woodchucks, but the spend the prime of their careers playing the sassy best friend, funny sidekick, wise waitress or cameo criminal.  Then, as they age, they get "wise granny in Tyler Perry movie" and "wise granny in Tyler Perry movie."  Put Angela Basset in another "What's Love..." scale movie, do it EVERY DAY, and then I'll stop complaining.

So Hollywood,  and all you Hollywoodchucks, take note: put a little Billy Dee in something.  Throw him a bone.  He's still got it!  He may have put on a few pounds, but the hair still slicks and the smile still sparkles.  And he still has that growwwwwwwwwwwwl that'll make ya mama salivate. 

You are missed, Billy Dee.

Rise, Black Actors!  Rise!

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. 

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.