This won’t be long. It won’t be like the others. It won’t be lengthy and drawn out. It’ll just be. At first, I didn’t know if I could muster it. Anything, really. But I had to write something. I had to write the things I didn’t think I was strong enough to write.
A man eats a hotdog at a cookout. “No homo,” he says.
“That’s a nice shirt, bro. No homo,” he compliments his friend as he gives him dap. The night goes on, they have one too many drinks, and one of the friends falls over something. He isn’t paying attention. “That’s a big ass stick. Damn. No homo, bruh,” he wipes the dirt off of his fit, disgruntled. They head home and part ways, it’s been a long night.
Everybody knows a Hotep, mainly because Hoteps never stop Hoteppin’. What is a ‘Hotep’, you ask? A Hotep is Black man or woman who is really down for Black people and the “cause…” or somethin’ like that. In my humble opinion, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that, but of course, Hoteps tend to take things WAY too far, WAY too often. Frankly, things are starting to get out of hand.
bell hooks wants Beyonce’s Lemonade to bring male domination and the exploitation of the Black woman to an end.
She wants Beyonce, (and her Lemonade) to unilaterally liberate Black women and ALL women, for that matter from a looming patriarchal society that just won’t seem to cut us loose. If anyone can do it, it’s Beyonce. Right?
When’s the first time you had lemonade? Not the artificial kind-but fresh squeezed, down home, hand-crafted, made with love lemonade? Wasn’t it refreshing? Wasn’t it like nothing you’ve ever tasted before? Didn’t you wonder how that person had managed to add just the right amount of sugar, the perfect amount of lemon juice? Didn’t it make you happy? And isn’t it strange how something so sweet and invigorating could be the product of something so pungent and bitter? Isn’t it crazy how things come together so beautifully when we let them?
It hurts me to have to write this. For a second there, I thought about just shutting off my computer, because I wasn’t sure if I wanted to write an article calling Erykah Badu out on her sh*t. Some of you may remember just last week, I wrote a piece praising Badu for dropping gems back in the day. But, oh, what a difference a tweet makes.
About twenty-four and a half Kanye Twitter rants later, and things just aren’t as funny anymore. We all had a good laugh at Kanye’s expense, but now, laughing doesn’t quite seem like the right thing to do. It’s become uncomfortable. It’s like when someone tells a salacious joke in a room full of people you don’t really know…you look around, taking cues from everybody else. It’s awkward, it makes you feel uneasy, the air is thick. Yea, that’s how this thing with Kanye is now. It’s become a really, really bad joke.
Since the Oscar nominations were announced back in January, the Oscars So White controversy has really taken off. Covered by the La Times, CNN, Fox News, The Hollywood Reporter, etc., the lack of diversity in Hollywood has been an ongoing point of contention. And now, Black actors, producers, singers and filmmakers are taking their talents elsewhere on Oscar night-Flint, Michigan.
Leading up to Black History Month, Black folk started to get a little restless. We knew our month was just there on the horizon, and our ancestors were starting to call on us to bring our Blackness to the forefront. It didn’t take us long to straighten up, and fly right, of course. At the Golden Globes just last month, Denzel Washington received the Cecille B. DeMille Award for his outstanding contributions to Hollywood, accepting his award in the Blackest, most down home way possible. Then there was Jamie Foxx, who chastised director Quentin Taratino for his use of the word “ghetto” in his acceptance speech.
Only a few days later, our dear President-Barack Hussein Obama, who delivered my favorite State of the Union address to date, kindly reminded everyone from sea to shining sea to, “Ask Osama bin Laden about me.”
Oh yea, we were just getting warmed up. It wasn’t even February 1st, yet.