Fingers Crossed

9 03 2010

Uhm, Rush Limbaugh has said that he will leave the country if we get HCR happens.

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Oh, prettyprettypretty please with prescription drugs on top.  We are so close, Democrats… when you’re facing party in-fighting and Stupidak opposition just think, “Two birds.  One stone.”





Come for me, bitches.

25 02 2010

I am pleased (and flattered) to announce that this here post has been cross-posted over at Justine Larbalestier’s blog.

If you are not yet aware of Justine’s awesomeness, hop to it.  You are missing out.

It is Black History Month and boy am I feeling the love.

Just yesterday Rush Limbaugh (or as I like to think of him, the Phantom Menace)  derisively referred to the health care reform bill which is swimming its way upstream through Congress as a “civil rights bill” and “reparations.” To be clear, what he means by using “civil rights bill” and “reparations” as a pejorative is “this health care bill is another attempt by the lowly, lazy, complaining Black folk to take bread from the mouths of hard-working honest White Americans.  First they took February, what’s next?  March?.”

Last week the fine gentlemen of Pi Kappa Alpha decided to throw a party to “honor” Black History Month which included a very helpful how-to for the ladies so that they might properly comport themselves as “Ghetto chicks.”
 

“Ghetto chicks usually have gold teeth, start fights and drama, and wear cheap clothes – they consider Baby Phat to be high class and expensive couture. They also have short, nappy hair, and usually wear cheap weave, usually in bad colors, such as purple or bright red. They look and act similar to Shenaynay, and speak very loudly, while rolling their neck, and waving their finger in your face. Ghetto chicks have a very limited vocabulary, and attempt to make up for it, by forming new words, such as “constipulated”, or simply cursing persistently, or using other types of vulgarities, and making noises, such as “hmmg!”, or smacking their lips, and making other angry noises,grunts, and faces.”

But it was John Mayer (singer, songwriter, Poor Man’s Stevie Ray Vaughn) that got the month started off right with an interview that he did for Playboy where he proved that he doesn’t have the good sense (or graces) that God gave Kanye West.

MAYER: Star magazine at one point said I was writing a tell-all book for $10 million. On Star’s cover it said what a rat! My entire life I’ve tried to be a nice guy.

PLAYBOY: Do black women throw themselves at you?

MAYER: I don’t think I open myself to it. My dick is sort of like a white supremacist. I’ve got a Benetton heart and a fuckin’ David Duke cock. I’m going to start dating separately from my dick.

PLAYBOY: Let’s put some names out there. Let’s get specific.

MAYER: I always thought Holly Robinson Peete was gorgeous. Every white dude loved Hilary from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. And Kerry Washington. She’s superhot, and she’s also white-girl crazy. Kerry Washington would break your heart like a white girl. Just all of a sudden she’d be like, “Yeah, I sucked his dick. Whatever.” And you’d be like, “What? We weren’t talking about that.”

That’s an official Nice Guy FAIL.

These harbingers of Black History Month can get a girl a little down.
But not me. I am thankful that I have a partner who loves and cherishes me for the supreme delight that I am.

I am also thankful for the amazing strong black women that I have in my life as role-models.
Without my mother, Oprah Winfrey and Barbra Streisand, my confidence in my smokingness (both intellectual and physical)  might have been dimmed by that young-man whose mother must be really ashamed of him right now and who is actually making me sympathize with that Jennifer Aniston person.

But lately I realize that I’ve been leaving out one deserving woman in my SBW list of might:  RuPaul.

Nownownow, I know what you’re saying, “But BPD, RuPaul’s been around since forever how come it’s taken you so long?”   Really, I have no excuse.

From the revelatory, Super Model, with its clarion cry that got me through many a grueling show choir rehearsal (damn you mirrored gym) to the present RuPaul’s Drag Race – which is not about cars [but just… can we all agree that if RuPaul hosted a muscle car show with say Joan Rivers or Tina Turner {that pair would be a mother-fucking wig-off} that show would be ridiculously awesome] – RuPaul has given me the balls to get through the tough times.  RuPaul has made me the man I am today.  And by man, I mean small black lesbian gay-dandy. (2010 is the year of the bow-tie.  Look out people!)

When I’m about to do something that seems super important, I think, “You better work, bitch!”
I chant, “It’s time to lip-synch for your life!” when it’s time for me to move mountains.

Vodpod videos no longer available.            ……….Minute 37 is where the real magic happens.

RuPaul is about knowing who you are and owning your fabulousness.  RuPaul is about ripping people’s faces off with your fierceness and leaping in your stilettos over the shit.  Most importantly RuPaul is not about some trifling mess of a boy that even Ghandi would slap.

With Ru and the other SBW in my life, I know my worth.  I’m not even going to sweat it.  Because I know, that despite how hurtful and how hateful what John Mayer said is, it’s not about me.  It’s not about any other woman of color (or woman, frankly) in the world.  It’s about him and the dick-shrivel that he is.  I’m not waiting for the world to change.  I am the change that I seek in the world.  I am the light that I want to see.  I am fabulous.  I am fierce. I am magnificent.

Come for me bitches.

.





Super Beauxwl XLIV

6 02 2010

I could not be more excited about the Super Bowl tomorrow.

[Well, perhaps that’s not entirely true… I would be more excited if my Cowboys hadn’t pissed it away and were playing tomorrow.  I would be more excited if I had any confidence in that wanker Tony Romo.  No kind of heart.  And if you don’t have any kind of raw talent or natural intelligence on the field, heart is really want you need to carry you through.  Which is why I am happy, nay, honored even, to shift my Super Bowl XLIV  love to Dem Saints and the members of the mightymighty Who Dat Nation.]

I have selected a black and gold t-shirt to wear; I have my growler of Six Point Sweet Action cooling in the refrigerator and I have my beloved stoner food (White Castle Cheeseburgers, Tostino’s Pizza Rolls, Buffalo Chicken Wings [mmmm… food-like product] and Ben & Jerry’s Vanilla Caramel Fudge ice-cream) in the freezer.

It's like Black & Gold ice-cream.

I am psyched.

And I am not alone… Melissa Harris-Lacewell is jazzed (and Dr. Maddow is on a contact high).

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Mamie Van Doren is a fan.  And so is Joan Jett (she don’t give a damn about their bad reputation).

Black

+

Gold

= Winning combination.

Other than watching a good game (or, when my Cowboys were in the Super Bowl, a game in which my team humiliated their opposition [see: Super Bowl, XXVII, XXVIII, XXX] [We miss you Troy!]) I look forward to watching the commercials.

This year, CBS has done an outstanding job of ruining that for me by running a (deeply offensive) anti-choice commercial featuring Tim Tebow and funded by Focus on the Family.  Not only has CBS made the decision to run this advertisement for limiting choice, they’ve also quite pointedly decided not to run an ad for a gay dating site.

Perhaps CBS actually stands for Complete BullShit.

Anyhoods, choice and two-dudes kissing advocates are all up in arms and are suggesting that we boycott CBS and the Super Bowl.  I say, Dem Saints have come too far to let Tim Tebow and his mama steal their thunder.  Plus, Scott Fujita would be totally pissed.  What I’m going to do is simply change the channel whenever the commercials come on (and I’m going to change to LOGO).

The companies that have paid money to have their spots shown on CBS are hoping to recoup some of that money by converting viewers to consumers.  They are counting on me to watch their commercials on CBS during the Super Bowl and buy their product.  If I don’t watch their commercials they don’t get to me.  Their expensive ploy fails.  I mean, this would work better if millions of viewers boycotted the commercials – then those companies would be super-pissed (at CBS) for not getting the boost that they wanted.  Then they might think twice about paying CBS money to hawk their wares next year.  Then CBS loses.

And, if all goes well, Dem Saints win.





All of these presents and I don’t even have my tree yet.

8 12 2009

Kwannukahmas time is here.

Time for Christmas trees, Unity and awesome menorahs.

AWESOME!

The tree in Rockefeller Center is looking fantastic and my prune-dried soul is filling with Seasonal Feelings of goodwill.

I dedicate this tree to a certain Mr. Charles Brown

After-all, it is the time of giving.

And boy, has the Universe provided.

Yesterday, OOMFPAWWIHFOAMFOY, told me about Glenn Beck’s Christmas Sweater.  The “Glen Beck Experience” in which how he recounts how he was an ungrateful, hateful little asshat of a boy and crushed his poor mother’s heart (on Christmas no less) and then she died.  Now he’s telling his story to illustrate his redemption and his faith and to show us, the great man that he’s become.

This story…

Created this man…

Seems about right.

Last night though, my girlfriend, Rachel Maddow, Ph.D. (Doctor Maddow to you), gave me the best gift of the season.  [Wow, that sounds kind of dirty when you re-read it.  Go ahead, re-read it.  I will wait.]

Anyhoods, there was dancing with shades and a disco ball.  There was insightful news making and there was the sheer and utter delight that is Rachel Maddow.  The whole episode is genius.  But what really brought it home for me was the “I guess I’m racist” ad.

Vodpod videos no longer available.

Thank you anti-health reform wingnuts for building this beautiful new toy in your workshops of terror.

You should watch Doctor Maddow’s clip for some very incisive commentary from (my other girlfriend who’s not Ana Marie Cox) Professor Melissa Harris-Lacewell.  [Another gift.]

The whole add for your chortling pleasure.

Here’s the thing.  If I was watching the television, as I am want to do, and I looked up and saw a majority of white faces¹ telling me that they were racist, I’d say, “Of course you are.  Now how do I get back to that other channel, I need to see if the Cowboys are going to win this game?”  “Or.  Okay, I hope you’re not interrupting my Fringe with this mess.  Because if you’re interfering in my deep and meaningful relationship with Olivia Dunham we are going to have words.”

What I mean is that I wouldn’t be surprised.  I’d be annoyed that you were using your white-privilege to disturb my sacred TV time to tell me, but… you’re a racist, you obviously don’t care about the wants and desires of little ol’ X-Files missing me.

In words of my very astute friends: If someone tells you about themselves, believe them.
I believe  you racists.

.

.

.

.

¹And seriously, two black dudes and dude of Asian Pacific Islander decent.  I know it’s hard finding work as an actor and all, but… did you know what you were signing up for?  I mean, we’ve done our share of bad shows/movies/plays what have you.  But seriously?  We have all done things that are going to get us kicked out of our respective clubs.

I’m just saying… Black Dudes… be on the look out for operatives from SCAN.





Let’s do the Time Warp again.

10 11 2009

Last week it seemed like it was 2001 (and we all know what a banner year that was for America) now it seems like it might be 1998.

Why?

Because Lilith Fair is back. I know that I’m the last to know (I am not on the email list), but it’s breaking news to me.  And secretly the young, I’m not quite sure if I’m a lesbian but I like it here because all of these ladies are super friendly to me and I do enjoy a compliment, BPD is pleased as punch because well, all of the ladies at Lilith Fair were super friendly to me and I do enjoy a compliment.

But still, one of my favourite people at work who I haven’t figured out a moniker for yet (and frankly doesn’t OOMFPAWWIHFOAMFOY seems a bit long? Awesome, but long.) and I were talking about how we just can’t get all of the way behind it.

Because I mean, the late nineties were all about ladies doing their best Joni Mitchell impressions what with their guitars and their scarves and their sing-songwriter with a little dash of now let’s all sleep with each other thrown in. Oh those Halcyon days, when all a girl needed was a sweet pair of overalls and a beaded necklace.

But we’re in the two-thousandsies (Dr. Rachel Maddow says it and so can I!) now and things have changed. I mean, sure, ladies are still super friendly to me and I do enjoy a compliment but the music landscape is totally different. I haven’t seen my overalls in a while now and I always give RHS the stink-eye when she ties on a scarf. Also, who’s going to play?

Miley Cyrus
Beyonce
Katy Perry
Lady Gaga

I mean, they’re nice girls and all, but I just don’t get the Lilith vibe from them, you know, and the former headliners are, well, former.

I mean, Sarah McLachlan hasn’t had a job in ages. Those ASPCA promos just don’t pay the bills.

The Indigo Girls have faded to just plain old blue. Emily went and got her heart broke and Amy Ray went and got… uhm, younger women?

Tori Amos has made it clear that she’s not into the Lilith Fair (Isn’t she just our favourite little megalomaniac outside of Barbra?) so we can count her out – again.

Who’s left?

Joan Osborn – haven’t heard from her in ages so I’m thinking that she got mugged by one of those strangers on the bus.

Shawn Colvin?
I’ve got no jokes about Shawn Colvin. Sunny plays with fire.

So you can see the dilemma.

Who’s currently happening in the industry that fits within the Lilith milieu? And does anybody still want to pay to sit on a lawn among the scarfed and questionably washed (friendly though they may be) to see them?

These are the tough questions facing the Lilith Fair promoters. And I know that there are lists all over the interwebs with dream line-ups and they’re alright and all, but I have one that beats them all.

Lilith Fucking Fair Bitches!

Patti Labelle
Not only did LaBelle release a new album a year ago but Pattie Labelle is prepared to sing herself into a diabetic coma. That is some showmanship. Ain’t no acoustic guitar toting girl (even you, Ani) can beat that.

Heart
How do we get them alone?

Karen Oh
Oh yes!

Meshell Ndegeocello
Who is she and what is she to me? One badass sexy lady. Who plays bass. And is badass and sexy. Why are there even questions about this?

Tina Turner
Her Buddhism will add the den mother factor. Also, she owns a white and a silver leather jumpsuit. That totally beats the scarves any day.

Barbra Streisand
Barbra Steisand is a colossus astride the earth (and with her don’t rain on my parade policy you are guaranteed great weather).

Liza Minnelli
You are guaranteed Quaaludes, mascara and an amazing wig-off with Tina Turner.

Crazy with a Z

Whitney Houston
Whitney needs a gig ya’ll. And frankly, you’re going to need someone who knows exactly how to revive you when you’ve had taken too many of Liza’s happy pills and had too many crack (oh, I’m sorry cocaine) laced pot-brownies.

Elton John
Bitch loves a party. And costumes. Win.

You know you’d rather see this line up than anything Sarah McMopelan can throw together.

Don’t front.





He ain’t Dick Cheney. He’s my brother.

23 10 2009

I never thought that I’d say this but, you guys, I’m worried about Dick Cheney.

And not worried in your run of the mill, Holy Mantights Batman, that VeePee Vermin has Struck Again! sort of way.

I’m talking worried like, Sweet Rollerskating Jeebus it’s Friday Night and my Budget Will Only Allow for Beer or Pizza- Not Both.  You know, seriously worried.

At first, I thought that he had a case of the George “It’s not a lie if you believe it” Constanza-s.  But after seeing the footage on Dr. Maddow’s show last night I’m becoming a bit alarmed.


My brother is unwell.  He presents with symptoms concurrent with schizophrenia.  His illness manifests itself in paranoid delusions, anti-social behavior and disordered thoughts.  He has accused me of working in collusion with Them while being part of a vast gay conspiracy to imprison him.  He once told me that he had to stop using the internet because the computer was talking to him and watching him.

He refuses to seek treatment because he believes he is the only okay one in the world.

Listening to the voracity with which Dick Cheney defends and praises the use of torture is like listening to my brother defend and praise his “camouflaging” and admonish me and the rest of my family for suggesting that he might not need to camouflage if he would seek professional help.
When Dick Cheney talks about giving comfort to the enemy, I imagine one of my conversations with my brother when he accuses me and my sister and my cousins of being snitches who are out to get him.
Thinking about the fact that Dick Cheney spent most of the 8 years of the Bush Administration in an undisclosed bunker that could not be imaged on Google satellites reminds me of the fact that not once in the past 6 years has my brother told his address or kept the same phone number for more than six months.
The unwavering sureness of Dick Cheney’s convictions, despite fact, history and public opinion to the contrary is indicative to me of deep and chronic delusion, paranoid in nature.
I think he’s crazy.  And not just racist and mean-spirited crazy like Pat Buchanan, Bill O’Reilly and Glenn Beck.
Really crazy.

You know, when he was in charge I was scared for us.  Now, despite my best intentions, I’m scared for him, as I am scared for my brother.





Do you see what I see?

29 09 2009

Dear Mike Huckabee,
Thank you so much for recommending that part of my fair City be jack-hammed off to float out into oblivion.  Your desire to annex part of the Union really speaks to your patriotism.  Your eloquent display of tact proves to me just how important diplomacy is.

Also, it’s nice to know that you think that New York City has recovered enough after 9/11 for you to suggest digging a big crater in it.  I know that I’m still probably dealing with some PTSD, but it’s good that you’re totally able to move on.  It makes fills me with indescribable emotion to know that when I see this…

Ground Zero 2009

Ground Zero 2009

…you see this.

Ground Zero Unicorn, 2009

Ground Zero Unicorn, 2009

You must be taking classy lessons from the Phelps klan and I’ve got to say, with citizens like you, America sure doesn’t need to worry about enemies.