Fingers Crossed

9 03 2010

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

Vodpod videos no longer available.

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.”

Advertisements




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).

Vodpod videos no longer available.

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.





PAThological

15 01 2010

God doesn’t like ugly.  Pat Robertson continues his tradition of not getting that memo.

Vodpod videos no longer available.

There’s not much that I have to add to Ambassador Raymond Joseph’s complete schooling¹ of Pat Robertson on Dr. Rachel Maddow’s show.  It was glorious.

Vodpod videos no longer available.

But what really struck me – apart from the blunt force blow of his insensitivity – was the extension of Pat Robertson’s “logic”.  If we follow his statement to its natural conclusion we find that he is making the argument that we should not be moved to great sorrow over the tragedy in Haiti because they brought it on themselves (what with their slave ancestors rising up from brutal bondage to free themselves and defend their freedom against empires) – staying in bondage would have been the Christian thing to do.

This is a despicable thing to believe.
This is a despicable thing to say.
This is an especially despicable thing to say to and about the descendants of a people who were stolen from their home land, language and religion and were forced into conditions and status lower than that of chattal.  Who were, in fact, exhibited, and bought and sold like so much livestock.

The idea that Haitian slaves rejected Pat Robertson’s God and that their descendants are paying for it now wounds me in a place that I didn’t even know existed.

Pat Robertson’s God is almost as dirty a bastard as Pat Robertson is I reject him too.  Wouldn’t you?

.

.

.

¹Honestly, I don’t think that anyone has been schooled this hard since they stopped putting dunce caps on children and making them sit in the middle of the class room while everyone else in the class recited the lesson to the offending idiot.





Forward to the Future

12 01 2010

Happy New Year Friends!

We have made it to the future.
Sure we don’t have flying cars and 9 hour work weeks, but we’ve still got time for that.

RHS and I rang the New Year in with some close friends and their lamb and their cheese and their Wii and their general awesomeness.  It was delightful.

I didn’t make any resolutions this year and instead, RHS and I just dove right into wedding planning.

  • We found a venue.
  • We found out that our wedding budget had been decreased by one half.
  • We stared at each other in the kitchen as I moaned, “My vision!  My vision!”
  • And then we regrouped.
  • We thought of a clever catering idea [a potluck hors d’oeuvres competition – feel free to use that].
  • And on Saturday we went to our very first Bridal Fair.

We had high hopes, it was at “hip” bar in Brooklyn (and not even the assy part of Brooklyn where the bars that are considered “hip” are) and there was free Brooklyn Lager and Prosecco and there would be music and free food to try and talks to attend.

There was also a crowd of blurry-eyed, mirthless brides and their disheveled (possibly unwashed) blahblahblah fiances.  They picked at the vendors’ wares like overstuffed vultures and flocked in their frizzy dismay here there and everywhere.  I hated them.

But mostly, I hated that we were the only identifiable same-gendered couple.  And I hated the snide looks from the other brides.  I hated that when we sat through the DIY Ceremony with Officiant seminar, the officiant (and licensed clinical psychologist) did not even acknowledge that same-gendered couples existed.  In the words of RHS, “Just because it’s not legal, doesn’t mean that the gays aren’t doing it.”

But… but we did meet a lot of cool vendors (that we can’t afford).  We were charmed by the two lovely gentlemen that were from ThreePhotographers.  They offer a great package, were as cute as buttons and really captured genuine moments in their wedding photography.

As far as caterers go, I was really excited to discover that one could fry beets like potato chips and serve them with popcorn.  Thanks Tyler, from Naturally Delicious, Inc. (Also, RHS totally thanks you for the 15 or so pomegranate martinis you gave her.)

We fell in love with the photo-booth at THE BEST WEDDING EVER and we delighted to find that there was an option in Brooklyn.  The fellas at Shootbooth, have even built their own stand-inside Bellows camera.  I am most excited about The Sidecar which has a camera mounted in a ball-pit.  Can you say 35th Birthday?  I can!

And lastly, we fell in loveLoveLOVE with Tanesha Smith-Wattley and her Small World Terrariums.  I love it so much that I use my patented WhyAren’tYouGivingMeWhatIWant stare to try and finagle one into our wedding budget.

We came away from the Fair with mixed feelings.  We met some wonderful vendors and got some good ideas for things that we might want to try and incorporate on our own.  On the other hand, most of the other brides that we ran into were just stank.  And we also left feeling a bit sad about our financial options.  But, a couple of days have passed and we have committed ourselves to moving forward.  We have a venue that we love.  We have awesome friends who have gotten excited about competing in our hors d’oeuvres competition.  And most importantly, we have each other.  We are going to throw a kick-ass party and we are going to confirm our commitment to Team Mackwell in front of our friends and family.

We will face the future together.  (And the future is now!)





TV does it.

6 12 2009

I have always been a self-soother.  I hum to myself.  I stroke my collarbone and I rock.  Sometimes I do all three things at once.

And lately, with all of the crazy we’ve been experiencing here, I’ve been watching a lot of TV (and eating a lot of macaroni and cheese) to soothe myself.

One of my favourite TV related soothing mechanisms is watching Christmas commercials and making snide comments about them.
To date, this Audit commercial is my favourite.

Do you see what I see?

Ringing through this ad customer?
The smug the smug, in the yuletide night:
When you’ve a car you don’t need those low class lights.
Why be a neighbor when you can shine your high-beams bright?

On Friday night I spent a perplexingly relaxing 22 minutes watching Iman hawk her wares on HSN during the IMAN Global Chic ‘Time To Shine’ power hour(s).  I watched with rapt attention as Iman and Connie, the HSN host, goaded us into buying Iman’s “Patent Logo Bag with Chain Strap” by telling us that it was Iman’s last time on HSN until March (and that we could just put it on our credit card to bring it home for under $30 using Flex-Pay).

Iman was impatient, and beautiful, and “needed to explain” things to us, and COULD NOT BELIEVE (Can you believe it!) that everything she was selling was so cheap.  She was wearing leggings and a sparkle top.  She was selling these terrible bags through the sheer force of her glamour and her “Now, how chic is that?”  And really, who’s going to argue with Iman?
I watched as she sold nearly a thousand bags in 20 minutes.  It was glorious.

It was the best 22 commercial free minutes of television that I’d seen in the past 3 weeks – just the tidings of comfort and joy that I’ve been needing.





It’s hard to hold a candle in the cold November rain.

29 11 2009

Yeah, you know something is wrong when Axel Rose is your emotional voice.

November has been a hard month.

It started off well; I was all hot to trot about NaNoWriMo and started off with a bang on November 1st by nearly reaching my daily goal.  And then I sat and dithered for a week about what to write next and then my offline life decided to shit the bed.

RHS and I are fine but other things aren’t.
And it feels like every time we try and catch our breath we keep getting a punch to the gut by the Universe.  So I’ve been distracted and, for the most part disconnected in my on and offline life.  I didn’t try and process the Fort Hood shooting, I didn’t have the bandwidth for Stupak; I was too tired to make even easy jokes about Going Rogue.  It was all that I could do not to scream or cry every single day (including today), really.

And there was Thanksgiving.  Given all the what the what… I thought that I’d be as dry as an overcooked turkey when it came to reflecting on what I am thankful for.  But sometimes I surprise even myself.

So here’s a list that I’ve made for myself as a reward for making it through the month, and as a reminder, a touchstone, for those upcoming months that might be equally as hard.

I am thankful for:

The New York City skyline.  Regardless of what is going on in my life or how I am feeling, the view from the Q (or B) train over the bridge takes my breath away and fills me with joy.


Voicemail and video-mail messages from my sister of my nephew Malcolm.  He’s two years old, can barely talk and couldn’t quite make his mind up about the whether or not we wanted to walk for a while, and he cracks me up every time he tries to say my name (or, really, anything).

Not so terrible 2

My mother and my sister – the family that chose me.

Peet’s Coffee Holiday Blend.  Peet’s always starts my mornings right, regardless of how the day ends up.

Our therapist.  Her professional insight (“That’s fucked up, you guys.”) and useful tools have helped keep our Team strong and steady in this shit storm swirling about us.

Football.  Watching Eli Manning lose and the Saints and my Cowboys wins all while yelling at the television is a great way to relieve stress.

Friends – the family you choose.

RHS.  My gratitude grows leaps and bounds each day.

Vodpod videos no longer available.