*CHEEKIE NOTE*: Since I have 90-lem things to do this week (I’m Toronto-bound this Thursday!), I decided to grab something from the old school files for you guys to read. I figured, hey, I have more readers now than I did then, so what better time to reminisce on some T.R.O.Y. steez. This one is one of my first posts and it is pretty lighthearted and fun. UNLIKE Mondays. Oxymoron swag. Leh-go.
You know those email forwards that folks send to everybody and their mama? Well, I recently got one that stopped me in my tracks. My reaction was similar to this: Fresh Prince Clip.
And the following picture is the culprit:
Elmo’s World is apparently full of crusty hos.
What in the H-E-doublehockeysticks is this hot steaming mess?? This just pissed on my entire childhood. My favorite show as a kid was Sesame Street and now? I can’t erase the image of Elmo simulating the mattress mambo with some geriatric female. Not cool.
Wasn’t Elmo initially there for the kids? I see the little girl (unfortunately) in the background all, “Um, you all up on my entertainment bish”. I mean, come on lady, this ain’t the way to re-discover the “kid” in you. Reclaiming your childhood is done by participating in innocent ish like rollerskating or cartwheels. It does not mean dry humping Elmo. And Elmo, you should be ashamed. Somewhere in the caves of Sesame Street, Aloysius Snuffleupagus* (Mr. Snuffleupagus if you’re nasty) is giving you a major side-eye. And it is super major because of his fierce eyelashes. Tsk. Tsk. REPENT!
*CHEEKIE NOTE*: This week brings another throwback from my collab blog. You may or may not have read it. Hope you enjoy! Oh, and eff a Monday.
Anyone who knows me can attest to my screenwriter aspiration. Due to said aspiration, I’m usually studying the industry with obsession. One particular hot word floating around amongst fellow screenwriters is: mainstream. And the desire to fit into its mold. Usually this desire is fueled due to one reason: mainstream = money.
Now, the long-accepted axiom is that the mainstream consists of White people. They are mainstream mainly because they make up the most movie ticket sales, thus they are worth more money as a whole. In order for the majority to spend money, the movies must have their stamp of approval. And therein lies the conundrum.
One major requirement in terms of receiving that stamp of approval is an actor. Usually when discussing commercially successful films, the actor (or actors) have the major burden of carrying the film. Selling the film heavily relies on the actors chosen. And for a while now, the widely-known argument has been that Blacks can’t be mainstream because Whites can’t identify with them.
To that, I offer this pictorial response:
Maybe he’s White with a hell of a tan?
Yeah, him. Now, I’ve heard he’s only where he is because he’s one of the “safe” Black actors. And that may be true. He is mostly loved and accepted by mainstream America and hasn’t really been controversially outspoken in terms of race relations and tension-filled topics of that like. But, still, that’s not the point. The argument is that Whites can’t identify with Black actors because they don’t look like them. No matter how “safe” Will Smith is, he’s still Black. Still at the opposite end of the color spectrum. And he has managed to portray roles written for mainstream White males, portray roles that don’t center around his race and has even surpassed Mr. Mainstream himself in terms of consecutive box office sales: Tom Cruise.
Why can’t Black actors be the star of mainstream films? Why does, as soon as you slap a Black actor into the headlining role, it is labeled a “Black film”?. Now, don’t get me wrong, there are certain films that pertain to our specific culture that is very different from that of White culture. They highlight experiences that are unique to Blacks; things that Whites don’t experience or necessarily understand. And I’m not saying those films are necessarily bad things. What’s bad is we are pigeonholed into the same types of films, featuring the same types of actors, doing the same types of things. It becomes bad when it’s our only option.
Do we always gather around mile-long tables filled with soul-food, do the Electric Slide in forest preserves, dress up in old lady drag, overcome racial injustice, lament about our no-good men, or save our downtrodden women from their abusive husband? None of these aspects of our lives are things to be ashamed of, but they’re not all of who we are. We aren’t just big mamas, we’re also lawyers. We’re not just gossiping in barber shops, we’re saving lives from alien abduction. We’re not just hanging around neck-rolling with our girlfriends, we’re finding love with that person we least expected to find love with. We’re not just finding redemption in an urban jail cell, we’re teaching urban classrooms (That’s right, other than what movies lead you to believe, there are actually Black knights saving the urban classrooms).
You mean to tell me that had equally talented Black actors portrayed Meg Ryan’s and Billy Crystal’s characters in “When Harry Met Sally” and everything else remained the same that the hugely received thesis, “Can men and women be friends?” wouldn’t have still resonated with the majority of audiences? This is what I’m talking about, my people. Don’t feed me the bull that it’s the actor that the audience mainly connects with, because I’m not hungry. It’s the story that leaves an impression dented into our heads…our souls. Not how the character looked, but the choices they made.
And there is absolutely no proof that we can’t tell these stories. I think it’s pretty telling that unless there is some overt display of slang in the dialogue or an explicit description of race written in a script that says otherwise, a reader automatically assumes the lead character is male. Which means, White is the default.
Set “White” as default? Naw, I’m un-checking that option.
Love ya like Will Smith loves 100 million dollar box offices,
*CHEEKIE NOTE*: Yeah, so it’s another one of those days. “Eff A Monday”, and all that jazz. Please enjoy a throwback from my old-school collab blog with the big sis. I wrote this some time ago, but I still feel the same way. See ya’ll Wednesday!!
I’m a debater by nature. I love to engage in intelligent discussion with people who share my views, but I think I get a bit more excited when I’m engaging with someone who doesn’t share my views. Not because I’m trying to pull them over to my side of thinking, though. Okay, maybe a little. It’s because I love learning about other people’s perspectives.
But, nothing irritates me more in a discussion than a comment that abruptly halts a discussion. A great example of that particular irritant? Five words:
“Not everything is about race.”
I swear, it’s like the go-to phrase for the average racially squeamish cat. It is fast becoming such an epidemic in our so-called progressive society that it has the potential to not only replace the race card, but far surpass it. And though President Obama’s win has created joy, hope, and many opportunities for Blacks to use “My President is Black” as a comeback to The Man, it has also revived this monster. “Post-racial America”, anyone?
Much too often I am engaged with a person (whether face-to-face or on the internet) in a conversation such as this one:
Cheekie: You know, I truly believe that even though Barack Obama won, the fact that he had to overcome the amount of obstacles he did in the first place lends validity to the claim that we aren’t as “post-racial” as everyone would like to believe.
Racially Squeamish Cat (RSC): Well, I think that since he was elected, that means his race didn’t matter.
Cheekie: But, you have to ask yourself, what did it take? People losing their jobs, people losing their lives in a prolonged war, people losing their homes, etc? I wonder if those circumstances were the primary factor in choosing him even if it meant setting aside their prejudices for a bit. Prejudices that are so ingrained, they can’t just disappear with one election.
RSC: You know, not everything is about race.
Cheekie: *DEAD*
Yeah, way to completely cut off what could have been a very enriching conversation with one of the safest cop-outs known to man today. That convo might as well have went like this:
Cheekie: You hear about those Klansmen that burned a cross in front of that Black family’s yard? Racist pricks.
RSC: I don’t know, not everything is about race.
Trust, I recognize those of us who completely abuse that race card. Case in point:
But, ya know, most of us ain’t her. First off, we don’t sport mullets. Second, a lot of us do have enough brain cells to write off certain situations and give people the benefit of the doubt, but please believe we can also identify valid racism and call them on it. Just because some abuse the race card doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be used at all. That’s like saying that there are people who abuse alcohol, so alcohol should be completely banned even from those who “drink responsibly”.
Anyhow. Point is, yes, not everything is about race. But, some things are. Hell, a lot of things are. There is no way we will be able to progress against racism without clearly identifying it as as a valid problem. Discussions on race are uncomfortable, no lie. But, there is nothing to be accomplished from ignoring it. You can’t fix a cracked glass and only bring the glue. You have to bring the glass. Holla.
*CHEEKIE NOTE*: Because it’s Monday and I’m a lazy bish, I’mma post yet another throwback post from my other eCrib, Sister Sound Off. Enjoy!
Not too long ago, I was sitting back watching Maury because I’m a masochist. To the surprise of absolutely no one, the topic was paternity tests. However, this particular segment wasn’t some neck-rolling Zaquisha* screaming about how she was a gazillion percent sure that Tyreko* was the father. This time Tyreko was the protagonist. He was sitting there crying about how he wanted to be the father of Zaquisha’s child oh-so-bad. And Maury patted him on the back and exclaimed, “I truly commend you for stepping up to be a father. You are a real man!” or something like that. The specifics were lost amongst all the eye rolling going on inside my head.
Over the years, we’ve been inundated with countless TV specials, talk show segments, and films praising the responsible father. And to this, I have to ask: WHY? As for the basic theory, I get it. One is prone to praise things that rarely happen. But, giving special attention to fathers taking care of their children presupposes that the opposite is the accepted norm. And it shouldn’t be.
Though a child physically enters the world through his mother, the mother didn’t lay on her back and get herself pregnant. In our society, there is this notion that a mother has a special relationship with her child — which, I do believe is true — but, that does not erase the much-needed relationship that a father could provide as well. Each parent is equally responsible for creating said child, thus they are equally responsible for nurturing and providing for said child.
I mean, really, where are all the TV specials for the single mothers grinding out there? Where are their medals and pats on the back? Oh, they don’t get any of that? Because they’re just doing what they’re supposed to do? Hmm, yeah, then the same principle goes for the fathers.
At its core, I think this praise is to inspire more fathers to step up and take responsibility for their sperm count actions. However, the praise is redundant at best, and regressive at worse. It’s excessive, unnecessary, and simply unwarranted.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not promoting the elimination of praising parents (both mothers and fathers) for performing exceptional duties in regards to their children. That’s a separate aspect. But, dishing out medals to fathers performing basic fatherly duties is like giving a dog a treat for lifting his hind leg to pee. Bottom line: Our community needs to focus less on congratulating responsible fathers and focus more on making sure that fathers taking responsibility is a default action, not an extra credit assignment.
We’ll surely benefit from it. Right?
Love ya like Maury guests love infinite percentages,
Cheekie
*These names may or may not be accurate. More like may not. Actually, more like definitely not. Okay, but the names ain’t important. The story is. Holler.
*CHEEKIE NOTE*: Because it’s Monday and I’m a lazy hussy (#EffAMonday), I feel like doing something a bit different today, I decided to post a little throwback. I figured I’d be cutesy and name my throwbacks, “Monday Memories.” This one comes from the collabo blog of my big sister, Chyna and I, Sister Sound Off. I got an interesting reaction to this post, so check out the comments over there. No, seriously, some crazy bish gave me a tongue-lashing via keystrokes and my sister swooped in and defended me on some Mighty Mouse ish. She so sweet. And please comment here! I realized that I’ve gained a bigger audience over here so I would love to hear your thoughts if you haven’t read it yet! And even if you have, pretend you haven’t and leave a brand new shiny comment here. I’ll thank you sooner than later.
Disclaimer (aka a Calm-The-Hell-Down-Addendum): Below is a seemingly unpopular opinion of Ms. Beyonce Knowles. While it is not pure hatred (I don’t hate the lady, she just gives me a “meh” vibe in terms of vocal ability), the term “hater” might be thrown out by a few Beyonce stans. So, for all you “Hi, Hater” responders, please take a moment and actually consider that the critique just might be valid. People are far too comfy handing out this term and they never consider that the critique may have a point because they can’t possibly fathom anything being wrong with a public figure they admire. Also, don’t let the negative critique completely blind you to the fact that I’ll have some good things to say about her below as well. But, uh, if you still want to toss out the “hater” label at me, by all means, go right ahead…but please believe you are also a hater for hating on my hating.
So. I’m just gonna come right out and say it:
Beyonce. Can’t. Sing.
Ok, maybe I should change that up a bit. Maybe it’s more like:
Beyonce. Can’t. Sang.
That’s right, folks, I have not completely caught The Beyonce Bug. She does not really impress me as much as she does a lot of other people.Now, when I say I haven’t “completely” caught The Beyonce Bug, it doesn’t mean I hate each and every thing she has released to the public. Her songs are very catchy and a few of them are even shelved in my iPod Playlist as I type.
However, is she the best singer of her (and my) generation? I’m gonna take “No” for 200, Alex. Folks sure act like she is, though.
Thing is, her voice is perfect for pop songs at best. I do admit that she has a good “pop” voice and her voice is probably perfect for the upbeat, not-really-complex hit singles she usually disperses. She has a “pleasant” sounding voice, but a true diva-fied sanger, she is not. So, why is she now the go-to woman for power ballads as if she can even hold a tea candle to the original singer? To name one example: the choice to cast her as Etta James in the film, Cadillac Records. Now we know damn well she wasn’t primarily chosen because of her stellar acting ability. It was more about her being a “sellable” actor. She’s Beyonce, she of “She’s So Famous She Doesn’t Need A Last Name” status. Now, the second reason could be due to her voice. Now, in terms of acting, I’d say, yeah, she’s a better singer in comparison. But, that ain’t saying much if you factor in her alleged acting ability. Which is “zero”, by the way, for those of you playing at home.
Recently, she — for some reason unbeknownst to me — was chosen to do an alleged MJ tribute at the BET awards by singing “Ave Maria” (along with a cover of “Angel” by Sarah McLachlan…another song I don’t think she can efficiently touch). To this choice, I say, “WHAAAA?!”. Do the producers at BET know the same “Ave Maria” ballad I know? That song is probably one of the most complex songs ever in terms of vocal range and they give Beyonce a stamp of approval to sing that song? That song requires an octave range that Beyonce couldn’t even reach in a pair of her 6-inch stiletto heels.
Here is the audio from the performance (I don’t think BET is allowing video to be posted on YouTube):
Even with her very own song, “Sweet Dreams”, I notice she tries to go beyond her range. See link below:
At around 2:57, she attempts to reach a higher octave with the line, “Not even death can make us part”. I cringed when I first heard it because I could hear the strain in her voice. I mean, are you serious? Is it really supposed to sound like that?
Look, it’s not like I’m an older woman who wants to relive “the good old days” when music was better. I’m actually Beyonce’s target audience to a T. I’m a 20-something single lady. However, I’m a 20-something single lady who does know what a real singer is and who is not easily impressed by what is being distributed to my peers today. And yeah, the bulk of the “real singers” happen to be during the “good old days”. Ya know, when the instrumentals were natural and they complimented an already terrific voice instead of being digitized and studio-coated in order to support an “okay” voice.
I mean, what are the requirements for diva status these days? A pretty face, a bangin’ body and a great studio voice? And don’t get me wrong, it’s not like we don’t have terrific singers nowadays, it’s just that they’re not at the forefront…not like Beyonce. I know for one that songstresses such as Jill Scott or Jazmine Sullivan can single circles and spheres around Beyonce, yet you don’t see their faces (or better yet, bodies) plastered over every single network/cable channel pretty much covering every song known to man.
And before folks start smacking me with Beyonce’s lace front wig, I’m gonna say: Beyonce is pretty. She is. Even during her no-makeup days she is a cute lady. So, trust, I’m not one of those that automatically jump to saying, “Why are men fallin’ all over her? She ain’t even all that” regarding Beyonce. Contrary to popular belief, a critique of a fellow woman doesn’t always have to be compared to her looks. But, I have to ask:
Are Beyonce’s looks blinding us to the fact that her voice ain’t really all that? To put it into perspective, let me point out a few of Beyonce’s singing traits that cause people to faint as if the Holy Ghost has befallen them.
Things That Don’t Necessarily Mean You Can Really Sing:
1. Hollering.
2. Grunting on certain words of the song to give it that “soul” or “diva” edge.
3. Vocal acrobatics that don’t really makes sense beyond adding some type of “flair”.
So, I have to ask, if Beyonce wasn’t the Creole, long-haired long-weaved, light-skinned, coveted waist-to-hip ratio, glamorized lady she is today and was instead, an average wholesome girl, would her voice be as praised as it is now?
This time, I’ll take “Helllllll Naw” for 500, Alex.
Love ya like Beyonce loves dropping 371 singles a year,
See ya’ll Wednesday!! 
