This morning I opened an e-mail from my boy Doug in which he had forwarded a link for the lead-off single for the new Roots album, a track titled “Birthday Girl”. He briefly prefaced it by saying that, even though there had been some negative reviews, he thought the video would be a hit. He asked if I thought it could get regular play.
I really need you to just watch this, please, so you can understand how very silly that question is.
Of course it will get regular play!!! Dorky teen boys getting their “gifts” unwrapped by a mischievous-looking barely legal chick(en head?)* and the implication that as soon as a young lady hits that magic number, she’s smash-appropriate? Yes, Doug, I’m afraid this just may be a hit, if for no other reason than that the video features porn star Sasha Grey. This video is wank fodder for so many reasons. It will probably never matter that Black Thought is actually rhyming about THE TOTAL EFFING OPPOSITE idea.
I dunno, man. I’d say it was a “no-brainer”, but that term just feels oddly inappropriate in this context.
*Do we even use that word anymore? Is it fair to categorize her as such, just because she graduated from high school with dreams to break into the porn industry? Hmmm…
To the group of Trinidadian gentlemen with whom I danced briefly on Friday:
I know it’s not your fault. You couldn’t have possibly known what was going through my head that night. You were just out with your friends, trying to enjoy your youth, making the best of a rainy night and a hot club with too few women to wine up on, and even fewer who know how to wine back. I get that you figured a Guyanese girl with locks down her back must know enough about what’s supposed to happen when Dawn Penn’s “No,No,No” drops. You expected me, as one of your own, to understand. The problem is I understand all too well.
West Indian men, I fear, are roosters. Lemme ’splain. You know how roosters strut around the farm, knowing it’s their job in life to bang every hen in their territory? There is never any pretense of monogamy, and all foul-kind accept this to be the way things are. West Indian men are sort of like that.
Make no mistake. I’m not blaming the men. Women have been just as complicit in allowing men to cock about. It’s actually pretty complicated. When you have a culture which frowns upon divorce, and staying married is the only way to secure your children’s rights to their father’s wealth and standing as a member of his family, and when being cheated on makes you look like you’re not handling your business as a wife while he gets to blame his natural virility for his infidelity, it makes it hard to hold a man accountable for cheating. Combine that conundrum with the long-term psychological effects of colonialism, a system in which men were encouraged to impregnate women but not always allowed to be husbands and fathers, and I can understand where the lingering dependence on sexual conquest as a form of validation comes from.
So, somehow, all of this amounts to you pressing your cock into my back every time a slow song comes on?
I remember watching my uncle hit on very young girls whenever he was out, even though he had a wife at home. He did it in front of me and my sister, like it was something to be proud of. I also remember watching his friends ridicule him for not having any children, though he had been married almost 4 years. His wife had had 2 miscarriages, but, somehow, it was still his shame to bear. I can’t help but think these things are related. I’ve watched it go down my whole life. Men forced to prove at every turn that they really are men. If, as is often the case, they don’t have access to or knowledge of other methods of proof, they fuck.
Of course, I could be overthinking. Even without all of the historical, psychological, and socioeconomic complications, nature builds us all with a sex drive. There are plenty of physiological reasons to grind on a girl in a club. It might be perfectly natural to try to wink and grin your way into her bed the same night. Not so sure about the motivation to brag endlessly about it, though. Eh, like I’ve said before, I admit I don’t always understand men.
What I do understand, though, is that if you tell a Trinidadian man in front of his boys to please not touch you and that you’d rather dance alone, it hurts. I spent a large portion of my time that night weighing my right to avoid choreographed molestation against my genuine sympathy and love for men with beautiful white teeth, vaccine-dimpled arms, and the weight of the world on his broad black shoulders. If they had been from anywhere else, I might have just been rude.
I danced for a little while, then excused myself, letting them know firmly but gently that that was all. I’m not sure if I helped or just dragged out the roosterism a bit longer. I don’t know if they could ever interpret my modest hip-swaying as love, but that’s what it was.
Shocking allegations that Arizona Cardinals quarterback Matt Leinart was caught on film in some compromising positions with several women. I’m not sure who was shocked, but apparently someone was since it made the news. On the other hand, here I sit wondering what people thought young, single (or married for that matter) NFL quarterbacks did in their spare time. Several blondes of course!
So what Ashley Dupri was a hooker? There are a lot of women who are hookers. Many of them don’t even have the decency to be upfront about it. Anyone who’s been to an NBA All-Star weekend can co-sign on that.
As a life-long hip-hop fan, what truly condemns her to me is her terrible taste in music. Aspiring musician my ass. Take a listen to this video that she starred in. (more…)
If you’ve turned on a television, radio, or computer today then you probably know New York Governor Eliot Spitzer got caught in a prostitution sting. I’d like to tell you why I don’t care about that.
Eliot Spitzer did a lot of good for a lot of people as New York Attorney General. He took on all kinds of big corporate nasties and we’re all better off for his efforts. Despite that record, he’s proven an utter failure as governor of New York. I don’t care and I’m not offended that he occasionally sleeps with very well-paid prostitutes. I absolutely care and am offended by his incredible ineptness during his first year in office. Simply put, he’s been an awful governor.
Puzzle me this… why is prostitution illegal, but porn can be picked up at any corner gas station? Both involve people paying for sex. If Gov. Spitzer had filmed himself sleeping with the prostitute and distributed the tape under the Vivid or Girls Gone Wild brand, he would have been in the legal clear and made another million dollars. As it stands, he’s expected to resign in disgrace.
Moral of the story: Governor, you’re rich and famous, next time call up Kim Kardashian. I hear she’s always available.
A few weeks back, Julian broke it down for me. I’m in my early 30s. That means that most of the women my age are married. In a couple years, most of them will be getting divorced. He calls that my next window for happy coupledom. So don’t take this the wrong way, but I can’t wait for your relationship to flop.
Don’t hate me. This isn’t an awful thing to say. Most of the dope women got snapped up within a few years of high-school or college. It’s like any other commodity. When the new supply comes online, it goes fast. Hell, I still can’t catch a Nintendo Wii at the store. This is the same principle. A few years from now, I’ll be able to grab that Wii for $7.99 at the swap meet. Who knows, maybe I’ll pick up wifey on the same trip.
This week I went and saw a show at one of our fine local music venues. As I typically do, I showed up late and did what I normally do, head straight to the bar. As the venue was rather intimate and there was not a place to stand at the bar and get a drink without blocking people, or just being an ass, I skulked to the back of the room in defeat and sans drink.
Unbeknown to me, this set of events was witnessed by a gentleman who took pity on my sad fruitless venture. A few minutes later, a resigned to no drinks me, was told by a waitress that “the gentleman” wanted to buy me a drink. It was just like an episode of the Golden Girls. (more…)
I’m conflicted by a film that stopped through Atlanta. It’s called Tearoom and it’s part of the 2008 Whitney Biennial. Essentially the movie is surveillance tape compiled by police during a 1962 sting operation in a Mansfield, Ohio public restroom.
In just under an hour, I witnessed more gay sex than I have in my entire life. Now I’m sitting at home thinking about whether what I saw was art (as it has been called by many critics) or voyeuristic porn. (more…)
So, apparently, I’m a dude. My two good friends Marcel and Ced came to this conclusion a couple of weeks ago, and I can’t really argue with them any longer.
See, what had happened was, I’ve been hanging out with a girl from work. She happens to be a gorgeous, busty lesbian with great hair. I happen to wear little make-up, and punctuate my sentences with rap slang. Now, according to everyone we know, she is my girlfriend. Word up, son.
Don’t get me wrong. I dig this girl. She’s a beautiful person, and I really do enjoy her company. She’s got great taste in music, a giving, passionate nature, and she smells like summertime. If things were different, sure, she could totally have my sperm-donated babies. Problem is, I’m not gay. (more…)
I’m not angry, just disappointed. I tell this to my son all the time. When he does something that he knows better than. When he doesn’t display the intelligence that we both know is there. When he thumbs his nose at family rules he can recite on demand.
Her New York Magazine photo shoot shows just how much Lindsay Lohan misses disappointment. (more…)
This video is wank fodder for so many reasons. It will probably never matter that Black Thought is actually rhyming about THE TOTAL EFFING OPPOSITE idea.
