Remember when biggie asked if he could lace his lyrical douches? This blog is kind of like that, except that I would never compare myself to the late great Christopher Wallace. And douching is actually really bad for you.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Jigga, My Slave-a
Some publishers recently replaced all 219 instances of the word "Nigger" with "Slave" in Huckleberry Finn. I really hated that book in high school, so feel no need to defend its preservation on literary terms, nor in any ACLU-ish, freedom of speech kind of way.
It does make me wonder, however, what would happen if we replaced all occurrences of the word Nigger (including, Nigga, Niggaz, and NIGGA$) with the word Slave in every area of popular culture - movies, music, television, etc.?
(Insert ascending chimes and fuzzy screen as we enter the dream sequence)
- Jay-Z would immediately create a new stage name: Jay-V (rhymes much better with slavey) AKA Young Toby
- An immediate stop to all Kanye record sales. Who would want to pay that dude to call people slaves?
- Funkmaster Flex would put out a mix tape called "Most Traumatic Slave Syndrome!" Straight fire.
- Samuel L. Jackson would still be a very well paid actor
- Cornell West would marry Nikki Minaj (ok, maybe a bit of a non sequitur, but wouldn't that be funny!?)
- The Boondocks wouldn't quite be so funny anymore
- The metaphor of neighborhood block to auction block no longer subtle, Dead Prez would be out of a job
- Tyler Perry would make peace with himself and stop dressing up as Big Mammy (a girl can dream, right?)
- White people would then be afraid to use the word Slave, effectively rendering the education of American History impossible
- There is no rap music in my iTune's top 20 most played songs.
- I am referring to it as "rap music."
- I did not read Decoded yet.
- I cannot name all of Niki Minaj's multiple personalities.
Truth is, rap has given me musical blue balls like you couldn't imagine. I'm tired of the chasing, the teasing, the disappointment. I haven't given up forever, but... I guess we are taking a break.
In the meantime, this is what I am listening to these days:
While I don't care for his bravado, I like Kanye's outbursts, his inappropriateness, the unflinching commitment to self (and secret self loathing). I am also thankful for the 808's album, which helped me through a messy time when an "It's Complicated" got even moreso (they say autotune is the whale song of a broken heart).
So although I wouldn't consider myself a Kanye hater, somewhere during the "Late Registration" years my interest began to wane. I'm actually certain I was in the middle of a ferocious air trumpet solo during "Touch the Sky" when it dawned on me that Kanye had no role in the greatness of that song. That is, no role beyond dusting off a Curtis Mayfield record and arranging it around a handsome bass beat.
We could debate the skill level needed to unearth and revive old records, for making old shit new and cool, the alchemy of modern sampling. We could, but we won't. Instead, take a listen to Kanye's new song "Runaway" (2010). Then (even at the risk of outing myself as an indie rock fan) take a listen to "Runaway" by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs (2009). Listen again, this time imagining a hip hop beat behind the latter track. Repeat. Post comment.
We are uncomfortably close - faces in armpits, gym bags in crotches - and the train is not moving. The doors just keep opening and shutting, trying to disembowel the woman whose purse is keeping the monstrous metal teeth from closing. But instead, another body manages to squeeze into the train, further jostling the mass of breasts and arms and fat feet. More limbs and bags keep the doors from closing. Chomp. Chomp. Chomp.
I can block out most every subway situation. That is, until I no longer have enough personal space to even lift my book in front of my own face. With no mental escape, I suddenly notice how close we are and how silent it is. Besides the chomping of the doors and the rustling of winter coats, there were no human voices in a subway car jammed full of human beings.
Until a young man, who must have had his reading material pinned against his torso also, began to sing. Mournful and clear, he filled the car:
"Making your way in the world today takes everything you've got..."
It took a moment for the group to pinpoint the reference.
"Wouldn't you like to get away? Sometimes you want to go Where everybody knows your name And they're always glad you came You wanna be where you can see Our troubles are all the same You wanna be where everybody knows Your name...."
A burst of laughter from all sides. Which led to eye contact, nods, smiles, and more laughing. Incredibly, the door finally clanged shut and we began to move, as if the gods of public transportation were waiting for us to be worthy of heart before allowing us the gift of motion.
That little ditty reminded us that making our way in the world IS fucking hard, especially in the soulless wasteland of the American rat race. Even though we are constantly surrounded by other people, what we likely want more than anything is to be somewhere with people who actually know us. Who we really are, that is, and not just the contours of our ass after we ride perfectly butt to butt from Herald Square all the way to the Harlem.
Although to be fair, isn't a little nameless butt smushing why our ancestors came to this country in the first place? I am pretty sure that is in the Federalist Papers somewhere.
Woman seeking cable provider for long walks on the beach
Me: Hello! I'd like to buy some of your cable tellyvision.
Time Warner Sales Rep: Great. Are you interested in the Triple Play?
Me: Yes! I would like TNT, ESPN, and NBA TV please.
Rep: Um... I'm sorry but you have to choose one of our packages.
Me: Ok. I would like the basketball-only package.
Rep: Well the NBA league pass is $200 in addition to a monthly fee of...
Me: WHOA! How about I give you 20 bucks a month, and you can keep my tv fuzzy all day except during Celtics games?
Rep: Ma'am that is not one of our options.
Me: 30 if you let me tune in anytime Labyrinth is on.
Rep: I'm sorry but it doesn't work that way. We can offer you over 200 channels for a low rate of...
Me: How about you pay ME to let any of that housewives of kardashianville fist pumping crap into my home?!!
The Sales Rep politely hangs up.
I turn my face to the heavens and laugh in victory! That will show you, hegemonic corporate fat cats!! Take that, with your Boardwalk and your Park Place and your Luxury Tax!
But maybe I can call her back and ask what the score is?
Their words were unfamiliar, their faces bright with warrior paint. But the high pitched warbles and toothy smiles were welcoming, so I allowed myself to be seated amongst the swarm of natives. Hundreds of tiny jars and bottles were unearthed and the dazzling pigments applied to my face. The ritual, at first pleasing, induced panic as the markings were drawn over my mouth, my eyes, and my nose. I couldn’t breathe. I tried to break free but their grips tightened and the cooing became angry and impatient. The tribeswomen pinned me down, suffocating me with their smears of battle paint.
I woke up suddenly on the uptown A train. So glad to be awake and on familiar ground, several stops rushed by before I noticed I was carrying an unfamiliar satchel around my wrist. Full of many brightly colored packages and a receipt for $150, the pouch was a glossy black and had neat white letters on its front. I whispered the word to myself, trying unsuccessfully to make sense of that faraway land. What was that place....that Sephora? And who were those inexplicable women?!?
this break-up has been really good for me. i've started running, eating better, seeing other digital platforms. i'm happy without you. really.
it's just that there is so much inane commentary on lady gaga's crotch grabbing videos. and boys have been saying really stupid things to me on the street. you would think it was funny. you would think I was funny.
Isn't it funny how quickly the president of an entire country can go from head of state to looking like he sells oranges on the side of the street? I'm saying, no one could have given my man a button down shirt before his press conference? Or at least ironed his v-neck? I mean really.
Since school ended a little over a month ago, I haven't had any desire to blog. Once liberated slash graduated, it seems there was no need to be subversively sardonic on the internet. I had accepted the realization that Ovarian Mind Tricks was merely a reaction to all the time I spent trying to appropriately use phrases like "economies of scale" and "leverage your risk" while avoiding "fuck off you mindless pricks" and any mention of Chomsky or Fanon.
I was willing to let this blog fade peacefully into interweb history until Michael died and I discovered I have a lot of words inside of me still... Yes, everyone loved him - but to me Michael was like family. He was probably the weird uncle that you never quite felt comfortable being alone with in a room. But still, he was family and we loved him.
I've seen plenty of footage of Japanese people passing out at his concerts. The BBC interviewed distraught fans in Nairobi and Mumbai. A bloke in London babbled idiotically in shock over the news. But it really doesn't matter how many white kids moonwalked across the kitchen floor in their socks. He was OURS.
Michael Jackson was entirely and unequivocally a product of black amerika.
His skin bleaching (or skin disorder, however you'd prefer to look at it) and the hair straightening and the nose slimming are freakish but familiar to black folk. That perverted shit is something else altogether, but watching a beautiful and talented black person hate how they look and do everything in their power to change it? Yea, that's real life.
But these are not the conversations that people would like to have, as they nostalgically shamone! We miss you for your dancing and music and style and personal tragedy, and refuse to acknowledge the context from which you came. I guess you were right Michael, you really can't win...
This is a video of my favorite meathead at the Latin Billboard awards like ten minutes ago. Poor Vin's accent isn't as bad as Mike's, but its so much more awkward... Don Omar should have coached him better beforehand, I guess.
This is precisely why I don't speak Spanish well. When I talk, I hear Mike Bloomberg's painfully anglo voice. Hola. Comb-oh Essstaaaas? Damn you Mike and all your gringo friends unapologetically butchering the language of Cervantes! Damn these lazy tongues that square dance instead of salsa!
A few weeks ago, a pal of mine was nonchalantly showing off her iphone (as iphoners are app-t to do). But instead of making the device perform useless tricks like some circus sideshow, she pointed the phone towards Mariah Carey's twitter page. It was full of updates from my arch nemesis herself that ranged from inane (I don't care if your new puppy ran on the lawn for the first time) to absolutely infuriating (why does that crazy bitch get to meet Desmond Tutu?!?!). I waved my hand in disgust, announcing that anything Mariah Carey was involved in, besides the "two or more races" box we regrettably share on the census, I certainly would not be.
So of course I went home and immediately signed up for twitter (can't let her win!).
For those of you technological laggards, twitter is a new social networking service that lets users send and read other people's updates. Tweets are short posts, basically like facebook profile updates except that you do not need to be digital friends to see other people's posts.
This is only mildly interesting if you are following your little sister (I don't really care how much she loves shaggy indie rock guys). It is amusing when you follow Vin Diesel (e-v-e-r-y post has a spelling mistake. and they're only 140 characters long, poor baby). It is laugh-out-loud funny when you follow Soulja Boy, who tweets almost constantly about cougars after his loving, xbox, cell phones, hotel rooms, and just how generally awesome he is. Just when this becomes maddening though, he says he's trying to learn The Stock Market (in caps, how endearing).
But the magic of twitter is not the celebrity stalking, however enjoyable. Twitter at its best is a race against the the 140 characters: Can you shave all of your wit and snarkyness down to one sentence? Can you be original and hilarious in two lines?? What if Tina Fey just happens to check out your twitter page and the most recent post is "Off to the gym" or "Doing laundry"? You'll certainly never get hired to write for 30 Rock with that drivel!
Unfortunately, I don't have the twitter touch - yet (Tina, please give me another chance!). But the ones who do make you wonder why humor should ever be longer than a sentence. For example, the New Yorker magazine just printed the unedited tweets of Roland Headly, a Fox news correspondent, in their latest issue. He's a republican asshole...and also a very funny man and skilled twitterer.
So say whatever you want luddites, but if the New Yorker and Fox News are embracing twitter, I'm afraid this innovation is here to stay. Best to put down the quill pens and complain about the demise of modern society in witty one liners on the internet.
I don't know if that analogy is really true, or who this dude even is. But its an interesting--and unreported--angle to the story. All I know is that I told ya'll not to sleep on the Somalian coast guard aka pirates!
What he said (literal translation): Nice headlights.
What he meant: Nice eyes.
What I thought he meant: Nice tits (as in, I can see your nipples).
What I said (literal translation): Fuck off guy.
When he looked genuinely injured, I thought it was because of my impressively quick and effective Spanish cursing abilities. It wasn't until a few days later that another local explained that this young man had been complimenting me and not in fact insulting me.....Ooops.
After what should have been a 10 hour trip turned into more like 30, I was exhausted, smelly, and cold. It was in this condition that I showed up at the doors of the Pigüé Textile Cooperative, trying my best to be pleasant. The Pee Wee Herman-like adventure I had getting there deserves a completely separate blog entry, but I am not far enough away from the frustration to laugh about it yet. So that will have to wait... But you can imagine that I was not in top form, already deciding that Argentina sucked and that the rumors about stuck up porteños were true.
But a couple of minutes into the tour and all of that faded away. You know what they say, nothing like the smell of industrial chemicals and the whir of spinning machines to make a girl feel good. Anyway, my guide and I stopped in the machinist's shop, filled with rusty, oily tools used to fix other rusty, oily things that break in the factory. I don't know why I like these kind of places, but I always have. And I usually dig whoever works in there too. So we stop to chat for a bit and the guys invite me to share a mate, which I did happily.
We passed around a well-worn mate cup and talked about New York, the Ramones, socialism, capitalism, Peronism, marijuana, cooperativism, Bob Dylan, and Argentinean food - pretty much in that order. It was an unforgettable moment, and worth all of the hassle (Well, maybe not all of it - I was really smelly). But definitely a highlight.
Ver mapa más grande And she seems pretty cool. I woke up early with plans to do some adventuring, and stumbled onto a huge march stretching innumerable city blocks to the steps of Congress where Christina was talking. I didn´t really expect the porteñnos to be out marching in full effect, but surprisingly they were.
Other observations about Buenos Aires thus far:
*The city is very pretty, clean, and at moments sleek. The architecture is gorgeous and mostly everything downtown is really well-maintained.
*I am getting harrassed by more guys here than anywhere else I´ve ever travelled (even Nicaragua!). I have started saying that I am German and don´t speak Spanish. I have yet to find a common street harrasser who speaks German, so this plan is working well.
*One of the Cooperative Associations around the corner from my hotel has a bookstore and cafe with which I am in love
*People talk real funny. Everything has lots of shhhhh´s. Por ejemplo, el bus shhhheyga a las 8. Or, cual es tu appeshhhhido? Maybe I am just defensive of Central American spanish, but I´m not a big fan.
*I got hustled by a taxi driver! I am still not entirely sure how he did it, but I ended up with less money than I should have. It was the first time EVER - either travelling or in the states - that I´ve been hustled out of money like that (not including Bank of America, of course). How embarrassed to get hustled in Argentina and not in Ciudad Sandino or Bed Stuy!!! Oh well... a couple days ago in New York this middle aged man dropped a twenty dollar bill. By the time I realized it was his, he was about a block and a half away. I could have caught him, but instead I called out "hey!" (faintly) and when he didn´t answer I put the money in my pocket. This twenty dollars was part of the money I exchanged for Argentinian pesos at the airport. So I´m fairly certain that I was hoodwinked by a lame porteño taxi driver because of the bad karma I created with that Andrew Jackson. Moral of the story kids, what goes around comes around!!!!!
I know I've told you this a million times, but I'm gonna say it again. I had M.I.A.'s first CD years and years ago. Back then, everyone would get in my car and say her music made their ears hurt (ehhh hemmm ex-boyfriend). I would reply, just wait - this is some NEXT shit!, despite the nay-sayers arguments otherwise. The fact that I worshiped her then as well as now relieves me from any condemnations of hipsterdem, so don't even try it.
Anyway, M.I.A. is dope. Who else wears a polka-dot maternity bikini dress while performing ON HER DUE DATE? I love you, I love you, I love you.
And while we're on the subject of my favorite grrrl singers who have inspired recent jay-z songs, I would also like to point your attention to Santogold. Yes, her songs have been featured in car commercials, 90210, and Gossip Girl. In fact, I have a half-written blog post on this topic from months ago. But no matter. She is also dope and no amount of commercialization can erase this. And again, since I liked her before all of those selloutish moves, I am exempt from your accusations.
Now, if we can only get an M.I.A. + Santogold + Frenchie collabo, we will really be making music history! Yeehaaaw.
It was, by all accounts, a typical New York City night. I opted out of the freezing subway trip alone, flagged down a car on Broadway, and began the slow trip uptown.
Almost immediately, the driver asks me, "You Dominican?" Nah. "Puerto Rican?" Nah... And so began the very familiar Guess My Race Trivia. After so many years of repeating this exact exercise, you, Dear Reader, can imagine that my enthusiasm for this call and response has waned. On the other hand, I have found some twisted pleasure in timing how long my unknowing contestants will take to arrive at the correct ethnic combination. I offer no suggestions and so the driver continues with all the predictable gusto. All guesses are wrong, a few are amusing.
"Oh, oh, wait. I know! You're from the Middle East, right?" I realized at this point that he might never guess correctly, despite the many blocks ahead. So I explained, per the usual, that I was in fact half white and half black.
"Oh mixed like Mariah Carey." Unfortunately, this response is not new either.
"Yes, like Mariah Carey - but better." I say, no longer amused.
"Ohhh...Mixed like our President!" I know he is beaming, even though I can barely make out his face in the dark. His voice is so proud. To this very new and much more preferable comparison, I am also beaming.
"YES! MIXED JUST LIKE OUR PRESIDENT!"
The driver switched topics pretty abruptly, talking in solemn tones about the impending Armageddon. But I didn't care. All the sudden, I realized people's compasses for understanding my racial roulette suddenly pointed due south, to the oval office. Forget the financial crisis, war with Iran, and climate change. I am glad the guy got elected if for no other reason than he's trumped Mariah in the list of well known mixed people. Hallelujah.
Overall: San Salvador is hot, gritty, and full of action. Guatemala`s countryside was exceptionally beautiful but I guess I prefer the energy of El Salvador´s capital. Provided I stay off the streets after dark, that is.
Interviews: Going well. My spanish failed me today for some unknown reason, which was a real bummer. I fell asleep watching american TV, so maybe that´s why...? I couldn´t resist -- its was 30 Rock, my favorite show ever.
Weather: My eyebrows are curling out of control. There is nothing to be done to help them. Same goes for the hair. Even so, the sun on my face feels soooooo nice.
Highlight: Walking around downtown San Salvador today, someone was bumping (and I mean, really loud, bass rattling the street cart vendors) tbe song Doodoo Brown! Nothing like a little Luke to set the tone in a new city.
(I'm seriously not exaggerating any of what follows)
2 white people from Kansas: How do you say your name again?
Me: TYLEA
2 white people from Kansas: Tailedah?
Me: No. TYLEA. TY-LEE-UH. TYLEA.
2 white people from Kansas: Ohh Tulekah.
Me: TIE as in your shoes. LEE as in the jeans. AH as in...ah.
2 white people from Kansas: Ohhh Tylea! Hm.....what is your ethnicity, Tulelah?
Me: Half black, half white. Nothing too interesting.
2 white people from Kansas: Really?!?! I would have thought one quarter black, probably even one eighth. I never would have guessed you were half!!!
2 white people from Kansas talk amongst themselves: Isn't Lauren one eighth black. No, no, she's half too but doesn't look black at all either. Well, at least she has a little darker tone. Yea but you really can't tell...
Me: Why, that is funny! White people can never tell I'm black, so I'm not surprised but for future reference---
2 white people from Kansas: Well would you look at the time! We've haven't eaten dinner yet. We're gonna take off. See you around!
1. Standing behind six Indigenous women in line at the bank. They were all about chest-high, decked out in traditional dress, a couple without shoes. They didn't understand how to navigate the line--you know the ones that cris-cross back and forth and are marked off by fuzzy rope things? When they finally made it to the front, they all crowded around one teller window. Anyway, it took some time to sort out but I didn't mind t'all.
2. Right now, sitting in an internet cafe in a small town with lots of hills and some AMAZING women's weaving groups. Every other computer is occupied by at least two (some have four) little boys crowding around playing video games. Naturally, they are shoving and shouting to get the controller. There are 7 little boys (I counted) at the computer next to me playing pacman. I've been elbowed a few times. I feel at home.
3. My hotel room for $3.50 a night.
4. Riding in the boat across Lake Atitlan. Dad -- I sent you some good vibes, as promised, so you should be getting that wish soon (Will wish magical volcanic wishes for money).
5. An impromptu conversation with the president of a group turned into a full out neighborhood meeting when one woman shuffled out of the room to collect some of the other women in the association. Before I knew it there were more than a dozen of us sitting in a tiny cement room. Jesus and votive candles on a table to one side, some babies rolling around on the floor, me sitting in a tiny stool made for a tiny tiny child, and a weaving demonstration afoot. Do I even need to explain how amazing this was??
Lowlights:
1. I started off my day surrounded by white women working for US-based non-profits. Some do good work, some don't. Some are here for the right reasons, some aren't. But my patience for this particular crowd is slim... In typical pessimistic fashion, I saw my whole trip getting sucked into some gringo foundation's public relations nightmare. But I broke out (one of my personal strengths, I'd say), and took a boat across the river to meet with some actual Guatemalan women. This promptly turned into a highlight (see number 3-5 above).
2. Travelling alone is wierd. I enjoy the time alone to reflect and I've been meeting quite a few people who actually live here. But I feel bad when other travellers give me the "do you want to be friends?" look as we pass in the hotel or wherever. I smile back of course. But my smile says, "I'm sorry, what? I don't speak whatever language you do." I know there are some nice people to meet, but if I wouldn't be friends with the greasy dredded german guys with black socks and burkenstocks under any other circumstances -- why bother trying now because we're in Guatemala? Am I wrong...?
Other Lights:
If you've read this far, I guess you've probably gathered that I am not dead. But for those of you worried about the landslide, I should repeat again that I am not dead. Very much alive if you consider blogging really living, that is.
I've never been more happy to spend an entire day inside a van full of greasy french girls and their beaus who kept shouting parfait! and magnifique! when I was trying to sleep. I couldn't really blame them--every bend of the road revealed another amazing mountain pass practically begging for a photo. What they didn't realize is that they almost got a lapful of the vomit I was trying hard to supress by attempting sleep. You were right Nigel, those stupid bracelets don't help. But in the end, I made it to my destination and will thankfully get a good night's rest far away from the frenchies!
If you think houston hip hop makes you feel out of touch, imagine two hours of watching Weezy talk. Yikes. Actually, movie critics at the Sundance film festival will be forced to do just that... Thats right, the official "Carter Documentary" will be featured at Sundance in January. In the film, Lil Wayne admits that he's been rapping about the same stuff (fucking, smoking, and guns) since he was 8. I don't know whether to be impressed with his precocious lyricism or be horrified at the undeniable proof that hip hop's vocabulary has been stunted around second grade.
I get into my rental car in San Antonio and the first thing I do, naturally, is scan the radio for the local rap station. I find it, wincing at the same Neyo song that's been playing non-stop in NY since 2003. I launch into a familiar rant about media consolidation, the commercialization of music, blah blah. But then, THIS song comes on. And I can say with confidence that regional hip-hop is actually alive and quite well in Texas. For better or for worse.
Because these are factory workers not office workers, and people who don't sit at desks don't belong in the middle class.
The House will vote tonight on whether to pass an auto industry bailout plan. Everyone is complaining about how the CEOs of Ford, General Motors, and Chrysler are begging for taxpayer money as a result of bad business decisions. I agree that they shouldn't be riding around in corporate jets (the hybrid car road trip was a nice gesture), but I think the outrage is based on some fuzzy math and even worse memory.
The biggest three auto companies want = $14 billion Bear Stearns merger with JP Morgan chase = $29 billion American Insurance Group (AIG) = $150 billion Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac = $200 billion Citigroup = $300 billion Troubled Asset Relief Plan = $350 billion!
You're right, the government must draw the line somewhere. Companies can't just go around begging for money because they made bad choices. And it's clear the line is drawn somewhere between financial services and manufacturing. So if your company invented exotic financial instruments that have never existed before, so complex and convoluted that their failure has dragged an entire world economy down into the gutter, rest easy. You surely aren't at fault. We'll just humiliate the manufacturers. People who never went to college shouldn't be allowed to own their homes and send their kids to college anyway. Bailout solved.
200 workers are occupying a Chicago factory after bosses closed doors, giving just three days notice. Apparently, Bank of America won't let the company pay the workers promised severance and vacation pay.
"We're just shocked that Bank of America, after receiving $25 billion in bailout money, not only do they refuse to extend credit to companies but, to add insult to injury, they don't allow these companies to fulfill their legal obligations to their workers," union spokeswoman Leah Fried said.
The Contenders Mike is a billionaire and Hugo is a socialist. Mike whet his teeth at Harvard Business School and later Wall Street, while Hugo was crushing insurgents as a decorated military commander. Mike is the President of New York City and Hugo is President of a country which would otherwise escape the attention of the US State Department were it not for its oil reserves. Bloomy is a respected political figure but Chavy's considered a dictator.
The Matchup Although worlds apart, both Mike and Hugo were democratically elected. And both believe they should continue to be leaders of their respective fiefdoms longer than legislation allows.
Mike says, "We need continuity of leadership in these difficult financial times!
Hugo says, "We need continuity of leadership in these difficult social realities!"
Heavyweight Champ of the World Ok, it's true we are talking about extending a mayor's term limits to 12 years and a president's (possibly) indefinitely. But Hugo has plans to bring the referendum up for another public vote. Mike strong-armed the city council into passing the new law without the public's voice.
This is sticky territory as far as democracy goes (those pesky Federalist papers!). But based on history, isn't a really rich white guy far more likely to become a monarch and stay there than a latino socialist from an oil-rich southern country? In the ring, there is no doubt that Hugo would punish Gotham's chief executive. But in terms of political might and staying power, I'm not so sure...
Apparently Barack hasn't read this blog. If he had, I'm certain the American public would be hearing about some very different incoming cabinet secretaries.
I can see now that maybe Suge Knight is just too abrasive for the Department of Defense job. But why not M.O.P., Barry? Maybe you find these young men too rowdy and too cavalier to be pillars of diplomacy? Perhaps you fear they would revert too easily to the use of force as a tool for spreading democracy?
Well, maybe you haven't read Robert Gates' resume recently. Bobby was "very involved" in the Iran-Contra Affair in the 80's. Some of you kids may have heard of it? This tiny blip in US history occurred when our government overthrew the government of Nicaragua (killing many people in the process) and financed it all by selling guns to Iran, via Israel, in exchange for Hezbollah hostages. Frankly, I prefer the traditional timberland boot and baseball bat beatdown. No secret Pentagon meetings or backdoor deals with frenemies in the Middle East, just good old fashion whoop ass when and where you need it.
Two wonderful videos featuring Young Hov when he was just that. Rest assured kids, you too can grow out of those tight shorts and nerdy t-shirts into silk-lined blazers and purple label neckties.
Jaz & Jay-Z, The Originators - 1990
Did you know that Jay was on that BK pro-black righteous tip, even just for a minute?!
Another joint with Jaz, Hawaiian Sophie - 1989 Please peep the shorts.
Not so many years ago grown people called me 'milano,' confusing the offensive name for a mule and a pepperidge farm cookie. It's exciting how much more sophisticated the dialog around race has become now that someone brown will be living in the white house. Although I was blogging about these nuances ages (ok, days) ago, this article is super interesting and from a legitimate news source (thanks Nora!).
"One well-known African American writer, Debra Dickerson, famously objected to calling Obama black on the grounds that because he is not descended from slaves, he is not of the people properly defined as "black." Ergo, he is not black - at all."
The implications of this are fascinating...and I can't help but relish in the thought of being blacker than Barack. Booyakah! Look who's coming to dinner on Turtle Island!!!!
However, the author - of mixed origin - concludes: "Many of us forged a black identity, one that was not at odds with being mixed-race, but arose out of our experiences as mixed people: from an awareness that the racial dilemma we were born into has its deepest roots in anti-black prejudice. For us, being black and mixed-race are not mutually exclusive. We have learned to live with the contradictions. Perhaps it's time for everyone else to learn to live with them too."
For those of you who missed this news story, here is brief summary:
Evo Morales(President of Bolivia): Congrats to Barack Obama! He is the first Black president of his country, and I am the first Indigenous one of mine. We have a lot in common and I look forward to improving diplomatic ties.
However, "The DEA will not return [to Bolivia] whilst I am still president." Sucka.
I didn't appoint a Drug Czar in my previous post...but this interview makes me think that Immortal Technique might be the only man to head the DEA.
Thoughts from Cuba, Bolivia, Argentina, and Nicaragua
Very brief remarks from some of Latin American's "leftist" leaders about Obama. I'm certainly no expert on the subject, but I have found it super interesting to note who in the general spanish news is using the word "negro" and who is saying "afro americano" to describe him...
He brushed off his shoulders during a major campaign speech. He told us he has Jigga on the Ipod. "Barry" even fits perfectly with a surprisingly long line of corny rapper birth names (Curtis, Earl, Clifford, Lonnie, Dennis, Marshall, Gary, Lawrence, etc**). So make good on your promises, B and put a little hip hip on the payroll!
Without further ado, you're now tuned in to the motherf--g greatest [white house cabinet ever]
Department of Agriculture: Fat Joe cuz my man can eat. and this might encourage him to at least pick up a side of green beans next time... runner up: Dead Prez (although i would not be happy with a mandatory lentil soup diet)
Department of Commerce: Jay-Z the wall street journal called him the new alan greenspan. he threw euros around in his music video. he's a business, not a man. (how awkward is this photo, though?) runner up: foxy brown, but only if she promises to use math from affirmative action
Department of Health & Human Services: KRS-one i think he's been lobbying for this position his entire career. now he can keep his self righteous lyrics to himself and focus on setting policy or something. runner up: i would have said chuck d, but his credibility has been seriously undermined by his former side kick and minstrel performer flavor flav, so i will nominate immortal technique instead
Department of Labor: Big Tymers they said, 'i got that work.' with unemployment at 6.5% and rising, we could use that kind of confidence in the job sector.
Department of Defense: Suge Knight except for that minor incident outside of some nightclub, no one is going to mess with suge knight. not mahmoud. not yong-il. not even osama is that dumb. runners up: M.O.P.
Department of Housing & Urban Development: Juvenile in all seriousness, can you think of anyone else - rapper or otherwise - who grew up in the projects and then owned/managed them? for better or for worse, magnolia projects were razed after katrina but juve would certainly be up for the job. and he could probably use the work. runner up: master p
Department of the Interior: Nas does anyone know what the department of the interior does? it's a good post for nasir because he isn't really good at anything in particular, but we want to keep him around. runner up: nature to run the national parks, papoose to liaise with american indians
Department of Transportation: Xzibit clearly he is committed to cutting emissions by any means necessary.
Department of Education: Soulja Boy hey, i know what you're thinking. but he knows how to talk to the yout. i'm sure if we give him a little time and guidance, he can figure out how to teach the periodic table with dances. (watch me hydrogen that chromium, oh!) runner up: kanye (he dropped out, but he went back! perfect guy to fight truancy.)
Department of Justice: Remy Ma it's important to have someone with an intimate knowledge of the criminal justice system runner up: ice-t (he plays a good cop on tv)
Department of the Treasury: 50 Cent he doesn't use words with more than two syllables, but 50's got ridiculous wealth (real wealth too, stocks and shit, not just oversized jewelry - though obviously he's got that too). as long as he doesn't spend the coffers at Fort Knox on steroids, I think we're okay. runner up: slick rick
Department of Veteran Affairs: Capone-n-Noreaga straight from iraq/lefrak, these guys know what it's like to survive a war. and they know how it feels to be a veteran (ie, you used to contribute to society, but now you just mutter to yourself on the seven train) runner up: Prodigy (shook ones need health insurance [part] too) or Boot Camp Clik
**If you can identify all the rappers on this list please leave a comment below. I will give you a special prize. And ask for your hand in marriage.
In all major life decisions, I only have to ask myself one question: WWSNPD - What Would Salt N Pepa Do? Whatever the situation, this song guides me above the conflict to a place of moral clarity.
Thanks, Salt. Thanks, Pep. Thanks, Spin. You will never know all the ways you have touched my life.
