Milloy’s Malarkey

There’s a lot you can say about my generation. In some respects we are indeed apathetic, clueless, and self-absorbed. Still, there are those who do carry the tradition of political activism: a longstanding tradition that many students at Howard University take great pride in. A tradition that Washington Post columnist Courtland Milloy obviously takes great pleasure in mocking.

If you read Mr. Milloy’s column, “How Bush Visit Became the Siege Of Howard U.,” you would be under the impression that the recent protest of President Bush’s arrival onto our campus was nothing more than a temper tantrum thrown by a number of students rooted in hunger. According to Mr. Milloy, here at Howard, all we do is sit around munching on fried chicken while reciting rap lyrics that pay homage to our homecoming – which apparently is the only thing we have left to offer.

How infuriating it is to read such an insulting and more importantly, incorrect account of events that took place on my campus. Had Mr. Milloy done any research before he submitted his column, he would know that students were not protesting over one less Soul Food Thursday to partake. The protest had nothing to do with fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, or cornbread and everything to do with President Bush’s deceit, lack of leadership, and the downward spiral this country has embarked upon since he took office.

Mr. Milloy writes, “What might have been a public relations coup for Bush — a visit to a historically black college to show concern for at-risk youths,” — insinuating some type of correlation. I had no idea that attending a school that boasts of being the “Mecca of Black Intelligentsia” made me an at-risk youth. Perhaps I was too busy dancing to Ludacris while holding a chicken leg in one hand and picking watermelon seeds out of my mouth with the other to notice I was taking the road less traveled.

Or maybe Mr. Milloy was too busy digging up old stereotypes to recycle in his work to know the truth about my university. I am very proud to be a student at Howard University and I find great displeasure in reading, “Howard is not some hotbed of political activism.” In 2005, neither are UC Berkeley, Amherst, and other institutions known as havens for future activists. Look around you, Mr. Milloy: political apathy runs amok on many college campuses. The same can arguably be said about editorial pages across the country when it came time to stand up against the Iraqi invasion.

But, I’m almost certain that even our fried chicken loving selves at Howard would not be appeased solely by President Bush sharing a wing and collard greens with us for supper as suggested by Mr. Milloy. It ain’t that easy to please the coloreds, boss.

It’s quite unfortunate that Mr. Milloy chose to take a disparaging approach to point out the incompetence of our President. Now we all look like fools. Mr. Milloy concluded his article with, “God help us in Iraq.” I’d like to ask God to help us here, as it’s clear that if we can’t acknowledge when free speech is exercised here without it being trivialized, then there is certainly no hope for those we’re fighting to afford that same opportunity to.

Is Bouncy Gonna Have To Slap A Bitch For Another Drank?

Looking just as toe up as she wanna be. I could’ve sworn this chick said she doesn’t drink, but hell, when does anyone from her camp ever tell the truth? LOL. As for Mabel in the background, I’ll see yo’ ass in church in an hour.

“Imma A Survivor, Y’All”

Indeed you are, Bee. Indeed you are.

When Life Kicks Your Ass

Poor them.

Whut It Dew?

http://img354.imageshack.us/img354/6796/paulwall38ra.jpg

Is Paul Wall chunking up the duece in one of his wedding shots?

Don’t Be Fooled By Her Films That Flopped, Jenny Still Has Those Acting Chops

“If you give me one, I promise to quit singing.”

Now that she’s bagged another husband, sold a shitload of perfume, and fully stocked your local Marshalls and TJ Maxx, it seems like Jenny Lo has set her sights on obtaining the ultimate prize bestowed to the actors. Yes, the Bronx bombshell wants to be respected for her craft (or favorite part-time job, take your pick) and is itching to get an Oscar. Such a shame her agent doesn’t have that same respect for the roles he gets her. Then again, why blame him when we all know the truth: Jennifer can’t act. As much as I love to oogle Jenny, I’m almost certain Oscar is the one man she’ll never have.

Have you all seen An Unfinished Life? Probably not. A more appropriate title would have been An Unfinished Plot. The film grossed $30, $10 of which were mine that I want back. I’ve never had to pay for a nap and I don’t want to make a habit of it now. If you can’t get a film featuring Robert Redford and Morgan Freeman to garner you a little buzz then there is no hope for you.

I actually feel a little bad for J.Lo. Her last album, Rebirth, arrived in stores DOA. Her last string of movies, sans Monster-In-Law have flipped flopped from cineplex to cineplex. On top of all of that, she’s married to Marc Anthony, who looks like the lovechild of death and Skeletor.

Get a new agent, get a new publicist, and get a new divorce. You can do better. Remember when you lipped,” Biiiiiidddy biddddy bum bum” and actually entertained us? C’mon, you can do it again.

One Loon Gone, Another Sure To Follow

“…I am concerned that the confirmation process presents a burden for the White House and our staff that is not in the best interest of the country.”

That’s Harriet Mier’s code for, “I’d like to save our necks, boss.” You can read the rest of her resignation letter to President Bush by clicking here.

Right-wing cheerleader, mascot, and [unfortunately] celebrated nutcase Ann Coulter spoke of Mier’s resignation as “an absolutely historic, stunning event” that “demonstrates that the movement conservatives, or the radical right wing as we’re being called, is the one with the power in this relationship, the power in the country.”

How’s that for a pick-me-up? I never agree with Coulter (shocker, I know) and this situation isn’t any different. Sure, conservatives loathed Mier’s, mostly for her mixed opinions about gay rights and abortion; but how exactly does this point to their power? If anything, it seems as if Mier’s has been paying attention to the news and remembered the adage, “When it rains, it pours.”

Enter Darth Sidious, Karl Rove. So, he won’t be indicted today, but hey, there’s always Monday. God willing. Scooter isn’t so lucky, though. May Scooter sing like Mariah Carey on Apollo 50-11 years ago.

O’Reilly believes Rove’s indictment would be bad for the country. Where is a dunce hat when you need one?

While we all wait for what happens next, let’s look over Dumbya’s next list of candidates.

I’m guessing he’s not big on the gays.

Doubtful he’s pro-choice, but I’m sure you’ll still wish you’ve never been born.

Oh wait. This guy already has a job on Pennsylvania.

For those wondering about me, no, I’m not the posterchild for cheerfulness right now, but I’m slowly getting back into the swing of things. I don’t want my blog to become, “The Depressing One.”

I’m On A Roll

So on top of blacking out for the third time in a year, being robbed at gun point, and possibly having heart problems, I wake up this morning to the sweet sounds of a Pepco worker ringing the doorbell to inform me that the owner of the house has not paid the bill, thus the electricity is being turned off. I should have played Powerball last week.

So How Was Homecoming?

Last December, I blacked out in the bathroom, bumped my head on something (to this day I can’t remember what I hit) and had to be rushed to the emergency room to get a CAT scan. I was trembling, my vision was impaired, and I was very much incoherent. A few weeks later, I blacked out again, though fortunately, I managed to pick myself up off the floor and return to bed.

On Thursday night, deja vu reared its ugly head. En route to the hotel bathroom, I clumsily grabbed a bottle of water after feeling dizzy and dehydrated. Everything else is a blur. All I remember is my friend finding me under the sink, screaming at me to get up.

I initially balked at the idea of calling my mom, because she overreacts about everything. But, since this is the third time I’ve blacked out in less than a year, I had no choice but to tell her. She told me my blood sugar levels were probably too low because I’m not eating enough. Six hours later, she called me back to say that come Thanksgiving break, perhaps I should see her cardiologists and let him run some test. She then informed me that I had a heart murmur as a child. The mom is a nurse, so I just let her fill me in on all the gory possibilities.

I didn’t tell her until about an hour ago that I had chest pains Friday morning. Don’t offer additional reasons to worry to a known worrier, y’know?

Call me crazy, but I don’t think blacking out three times in less than a year can be attributed to missing a daily dose of scrambled eggs, turkey bacon, and French toast.

Not to be outdone, my Friday night was even more interesting. After leaving Love (formerly Dream), that same friend and I were robbed at gunpoint. They took my wallet, which had my Texas driver’s license, all my cash and credit cards, my digital camera, everything on me minus my phone (Big mouth Mike needs his phone).

I’m not sure if this is a good or bad thing, but I wasn’t afraid of the gun at first sight. I’ve seen one in my own home before, and well, I can easily be robbed back in Houston. My initial reaction was more along the lines of, “F*&^!!!!” squared.

Not having any id or money makes life fun when you have to pay incidentals to a hotel and rent-a-car company. I was also humbled when I needed to ask my friends for money to eat.

I invite a friend to homecoming and I black out on them the first night they come. On top of that, I refuse to pay $40 for secure parking and instead opt to park on an obscure street, with the end result being our getting robbed at gun point. Aren’t I a spectacular host?

I actually did manage to still have some of the best fun of my life, though I wish things didn’t turn out the way they did. I don’t know how I would have reacted if all of this had taken place with someone else. Without going into specifics, I’m very fortunate to have such good people in my life, but that’s another blog entry.

Unmoved

There is only one word to describe my reaction to the Millions More Movement: uninspiring. I really wanted to enjoy myself today, but the entire event just left a bad taste in my mouth.

The second I walked into the vendor section and heard G-Unit’s “Wanna Get To Know You” blasting, something told me that I was going to leave disappointed.

I applaud the efforts of Minister Farrakhan and all those who worked to organize this event. I’m sure each had the best intentions at heart. Having said that, I can’t help but note how the event lacked a clear central theme to coincide with the festivities. If someone were to ask me what core issue brought us all together, I would not have the slightest idea of what to tell them. Were we all here to take a stand against the racism that still pervades our society or was the point of the march to call for the troops serving in Iraq to return home? Is this truly an interfaith effort or did we all really just allocate a representative of each sect equal time to compete for perspective members? Is fighting obesity the focus of the event or should we pay more attention to the wage gap? The event, more or less seemed like a melting pot of various issues for several speakers to discuss or in some cases rant incoherently about.

Yes, our community suffers greatly from a number of issues; but, can people really make sense of that many issues in a short period of time? Should there not be some core theme that ties it all together, while still allowing people to touch on other areas plaguing our community? It seems as though everyone had their own agenda, which is one of our main problems now: The notion people hold as to how I can prosper versus developing ways we can grow.

What’s more, I was really annoyed that at every single turn someone was trying to sell something to me. No, I’m not knocking another person’s hustle, but in some instances, it was out of line. I don’t need a mixtape, sir. No, ma’am, I’ll get that cream at CVS, but thanks anyway. For a minute, I could have sworn I was walking through Canal on the weekend and Fulton on any given weekday.

As a young adult, I also felt a bit disconnected with much of the ideology being presented. Black Nationalist views of the 1970s are trite and simply do not work in the new century. If one honestly believes that shouting, “Black Power” is the ticket to our people’s salvation, perhaps they ought to go back and read the history book they’re calling on me to open. It only went so far then and it certainly won’t take us far now.

By that same token, while I’m sure this is an unpopular opinion, those of the Civil Rights Generation who believe they only way to reach young people is through hip hop artists really ought to sit down, take a breather, and come up with something better.

Jim Jones on stage spitting about opium does not motivate me to do anything. It’s almost insulting. Are expectations of us that low?

As much as I love hip hop, in an industry where even so-called “conscious rap” is now a commodity, how much can it really do to encourage political involvement among the youth in this country? At this point hip hop is strong in terms of buying power, but even richer in apathy.
As for my fellow Howard students, I regret not making it in time to march with them to the mall. Then again, after hearing that many shouted various football chants a long the way, I would have been sure to hop on the metro and ditch them. Please “Do it…do it…do it” some other time, people.

I’m worried if anything was truly accomplished today. Concerned over where my race will be in the next ten years. Fearful of who will take charge once many of the current “leaders” pass on.

I think my friend said it best, “We’re fucked.”

Beyonce’s Ideal Wedding Gift: A Book

If you know me, you know I love Beyonce. She’s from Houston. She’s fly. She’s from Houston. She’s fine. She’s from Houston. The chick is bad — tacky and showing her net wigs when her mama trashes/styles her — but bad all the same. It pains me (not really) to say this, but after reading this excerpt from the latest Vanity Fair in which she appears on the cover of their hip hop issue [insert comment here]

Having Jay in her life has changed a few of her attitudes about how men and women relate to one another too, she said, which helped her transition from writing songs like “Independent Women” and “Survivor” to man-tending anthems such as “Cater 2 U,” in which she sings about bringing him slippers and drawing his bath.

“I grew up,” Beyoncé says. “I feel it’s still very strong, because in order to be a strong woman, you have to have a strong man. There’s nothing wrong with women doing that for their man if their man deserves it and he does the same for you.”

….I have to call a spade a spade. She’s a beautiful woman. Extremely talented and hardworking. But y’know, sometimes the chick just shouldn’t be allowed to speak. I always brushed off suggestions that she need not talk; that she just sit there and look pretty. However, after stating in order for a woman to be strong, she has to have a man, I can’t help but suggest that her publicist, Yvette, scoop this item up for her this Christmas:

What a wonderful lesson to teach young women: Be self-sufficient only when you’re single. Moron. This pains me far more than it ever could Beyonce. She better thank the God she p-pops for night after night made her that pretty. Let any other high-profile celebrity make a comment like that and their career will look like an Acela train wreck. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go and stare at her doing the “Uh Oh” dance and think of better times.