Fa la la la Fail

I've been nursing a lemon pound cake jones by going to Starbucks a bit more often than I'd like.  I know it is not a business that I should patronize with my graduate student funds, but a craving is a craving.  Anyway, I'm standing at the counter listening to the Starbucks employee recite my order for clarity because 1. N's order is always complicated and leaves me tongue-tied, and 2. I refuse to employ Starbucks' asinine ordering language.  I say "small," "medium," and "large."  As much as I pay for tea at Starbucks, I pay for that right--or perhaps Starbucks justifies their prices because they have fancy names for sizes on their board.  But I digress.  As I was standing at the counter waiting for the employee to hand me my luscious and fresh slice of pound cake, I look down and notice that the first mate has its holiday gift cards on display.  And, what do you know, but Starbucks has Kwanzaa gift cards.

At that moment precisely, I heard Maulana Karenga say, "Brooklyn, we did it!" all the way from Floss Angeles, California. 

Forgiving Michael Vick

Last week in my hodgepodge, I mentioned that I needed Michael Vick to score at least 33 points to win my fantasy match-up (because I know you care).  Otherwise, I would look like an idiot for benching Tom Brady, who had already had an impressive day against the Pittsburgh Steelers.  Well, Vick came through for me, scoring 54 points in what will probably always be known as "The Michael Vick Game."  Vick threw four touchdowns and ran for 2 more, finishing the day with 333 yards passing and another 80 yards rushing.   The performance drew comparisons to Steve Young, engendered some MVP talk for Vick, and even warranted a patronizing-ass "I'm prouder of his work off the field," comment from NFL commissioner, Roger Goodell:

The Monday Morning Hodgepodge

Hopped up out the bed, turned my swag on...  And realized that I had a list of things I've been meaning to mention here on the blog. Here goes:

Now that I've conjured Soulja Boy, I must admit that "Speakers Going Hammer" makes me rock out a little bit.  I might love that song.

Not as much as I love athletes doing The Dougie, though.  It's as if they don't realize how "girlie" the dance is and the homosociality it engenders.  Or maybe they do.  Either way, carry on, lads, carry on.

Roy G. Whiz Redux

One of the greatest phrases I've learned in graduate school is "not being bound by the text."  Essentially, the term serves as a euphemism --and excuse--for not reading the assignment while simultaneously validating whatever jargon-soaked comment(s)  one might offer during class discussion, because the folks who read have had their thinking narrowed by the words one was supposed to read.  I am not bound by Tyler Perry's cinematic rendering of For Colored Girls.

Early projections indicate that For Colored Girls will finish third in the box office race for the weekend of Nov. 5.  I am not one of the people who helped the film earn an estimated $22 million.  As a postscript to last week's blog, I stated without a hint of equivocation that I had no intention of paying for a ticket to see Perry's latest movie.   Since the only color that counts is green, I understood purchasing a ticket as an act that would be interpreted as one of support for Tyler Perry and his work.  How else can we adequately explain Perry's role as director of such a project when nothing in his oeuvre even remotely suggests that he has the capacity to execute Ntozake Shange's phenomenal work with a modicum of respect?  Moreover, movie revenues are not reported with asterisks indicating which dollars came from folks who saw the film in question to (negatively) critique it.  No scathing blog or movie review can counteract the $9.75 + snacks one spent to see Tyler Perry's latest cinematic disaster effort.  I'll put my recession dollars in someone else's pocket.

The Ballot is no Silver Bullet

Dear Diddy, I suppose I am choosing death.

In 2008, I voted for the last time.  I will not be voting tomorrow. Two years ago, while many were swept up in the whirlwind of hope and change, I cast what will probably be my last ballot.  I didn't vote for Obama; I didn't vote for McCain.  I voted in an effort to get another party some permanent recognition.  It didn't work.  So I'm going to use my voter registration card for something else.  Like scraping eraser shavings from my desk, because that kind of thing really bothers me.