Kitty Power

Ms. Scarlet If You're Nasty

You're GI Joe with the Kung Fu Grip!! You're
strong, tough, and know how to kick some ass.
Don't forget though, no matter how manly you
think you are, you're still just a doll. God
Bless America.


What childhood toy from the 80s are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
[via Negro Please]

Clown School

Occasionally, I miss working in fashion because the sheer amusement I, recovering tomboy and lover of classic lines, get from people parading around like clowns as if they're looking like a million bucks. Just because it's sold, honey, doesn't mean you have to buy it. Here's some selections from Monday's CFDA Awards:

The Clowns

You've Got Too Much Money/Connections To Look That Bad

Looking Stylish

Nuggets

The "staving off the brain deterioration" edition.

Today's Gothamist interview: Joshua Ralph, the architect of one of my favorite frosh year albums. Am I the only person in the world who loved the "Baby" video? I ended up with the album on a Discorama trip and thinking that my love for that song was worth the $6.99 for the whole album. It's really excellent and I'm putting that on when I get home....

...after checking out Garden State at Rockefeller Center tonight. P. Fizzie and I are gonna hit that up. [info also courtesy of Gothamist]

A disturbing tidbit from a review of another must-see doc:

Take Tom Kline, a senior vice president of the pharmaceutical giant Pfizer. Outfitted like someone’s dorky uncle, he leads the filmmakers around a Pfizer-subsidized housing development in Brooklyn, pointing out the company’s good deeds. He repeats the word "Pfizer" about 800 times in three minutes.

"Hi! We’re from Pfiiiizer," he drawls to people exiting the Flushing Avenue subway station. "How are you doin’ today? We’re your neighbors!" He stops an African-American woman and her daughter on their way home. "Together, you know, working with you and Pfizer, we’ll make this a better place," he tells them.

He leads the cameraman into the subway station to show off the security system the company paid to install on the platform. You press a button to summon the Pfizer security guard a few blocks away, who then calls the transit police. Of course, when Mr. Kline tries it out, the thing doesn’t work.

"Crime is down in this station, and it’s much safer for our community partners," explains Mr. Kline awkwardly.

"The idea that a citizen should call this corporate-security representative, and the corporate-security officer should then call the police on their behalf, it just seems like a very strange hierarchy of authority," said Mr. Achbar. "Why shouldn’t that thing connect to 911 directly? It so beautifully illustrates the corporation’s idea of itself as the governing entity. I mean, who do they think they are? The logic is just so bizarre."

[via Abstract Dynamics]

A review/roundup/stream of consciousness of Sunday's Ghostface show from Jon Caramanica.

The most supersnarkalicious thing ever from MSNBC (putting even the Fametracker boards to shame):

Actually, traditionalists will be quick to inform you that even though they use the word “vows” in their nuptials, there’s always some wiggle room. For instance, Anthony himself recently split from his wife, Dayanara Torres, who was Miss Universe in 1993. They had been married for four years, and have two sons. She filed for divorce four months ago in Florida. Anthony and Lopez have been dating for about six months. If you look closely, you can see some overlap here. I understand artists in the music business often engage in what they call “sampling,” but Marc might have been pushing it here.

There is a fear that Jenny From the Block has been around the block a few too many times, and eventually it will catch up with her. All of these relationships, all of these marriages, all of these celebrity men, may have had a detrimental effect on her career. Personally, I don’t think so. I believe a good, strong, healthy marriage is what this young lady needs most. Just look what it did for Halle Berry.

The funniest thing I've read all day...only because I'm just that bored:

And now, since last year, you've got a job in development at back at the BBC.
They call it the head of development in the new comedy department, which sounds very impressive and grand but—trust me—really isn't. It's like being made head of stationary just because I've got my own pencil. There's no one beneath me.

Well, what does one do as head of comedy development?
I try to do as little as possible. I walk around with paper looking busy.

Courtesy of Defamer, a bizarro video clip and LIT snark. Good times.

David Banner -- the pimp to emulate:

In December of 2003, Banner revealed that with the release of his widely revered MTA2: Baptized in Dirty Water album, he would be randomly placing five game pieces within the first 300,000 copies to be sold. Each of those game pieces are worth $10,000 in scholarship capital to be
used toward any post-high school education including undergraduate college, graduate school, community college, and trade or vocational schools. In the event that any of the winners are unable or choose not to indulge in furthering his or her education for whatever reasons, Banner has stipulated that the monies be transferred to someone of the winner’s choosing who will.

As a college-educated artist who attended Southern University in Louisiana, New Orleans, Banner has always had a passion for mixing the arts and education. Banner explains why he chose to launch such a commendable contest, "I struggled to get my undergrad and then my Masters Degree and now that I've made it I am blessed with the ability to give back," Throughout the rise of his music career which officially took off in the spring of 2003 with the release of his major label debut Mississippi: The Album, Banner has consistently promoted the importance of education while providing ear pleasing gifts to popular culture. The gold-selling CD spawned the hits “Like A Pimp,” featuring fellow southern MC Lil’ Flip, and the socially conscious “Cadillac on 22’s.” That album was soon
followed by Mississippi: The Chopped & Screwed Album and subsequently MTA2: Baptized in Dirty Water.

Behind Curtain #1

Did I ever tell you that I want to start a band called Nona Zora? Well I do. And I want to sing songs in the style of Kate Bush, Jeff Buckley, and Maynard James Keenan. You should hear my Wuthering Heights. It's the shit.

Just saying.

Metavision

A bad thing about working is that if you find yourself becoming a lot more boring quickly. After Thursday night and crawling through Friday, I was in for the night with hardly any regrets. In fact, I was in bed by midnight. I don't even go to sleep that early during the work week -- which really is the root of all my sleep deprivation problems. The ennui carried over to Saturday afternoon when the extra special plan was cleaning my room and making it to the mall. Yeah...neither. Lounging in the fuzzy pants until it was dark enough to motivate me.

I was off to meet P. Fizzie in Brooklyn for a party. Being slow and unlucky individuals, we missed the open bar portion of the evening and were feeling restless. Still, we danced and chatted, marvelling at the small world and giving a shout to Nick. As has become our MO, we bounced back and forth at will. First was traipsing through Park Slope and doing our best wino impressions. Getting back, the place was more live, but I felt the discontent bubbling up.

I hate a significant portion of New York DJs. Why? Because they fucking suck. Why do they suck? Because having records does not a DJ make. You need to some of degree of mixing skills and the ability to read a crowd in order to keep a party going. For example, "Seven Nation Army" and "Get Low" are good songs, right? On their own. Perhaps even a mashup, though I significantly doubt that -- and enough with those because they're becoming so uncreative as time passes. But those two songs right next to each other DO NOT MIX. I repeat, DO NOT MIX. So, if you as a DJ are putting those two songs together that DO NOT MIX, you are fucking up whatever party vibe you just had going. Notice how people just stopped dancing when you did that? That means you fucked up. Of course, those songs are the extreme cases, but really, enough is enough. It's bad enough that they only play about 40 songs all together to begin with and I can rattle them off in my sleep. Shitty DJs piss me off but crowds are stupid sheep also. Wow, Poison and Crazy In Love too. Ooh...and Yeah! Oh my God, I never hear those songs anywhere! Add onto that some non-dancing ass bitch (there's always one) who kept bumping into me because she had like zero concept of rhythm. Smoke started rising from my ears, so we decided to take another break.

Off to the curb for a smoke break. We made a friend because I am a random magnet after all. Is it me or is it sad that the only ones who would ever compliment me on my looks are old and/or gay? Such is life in the big city I suppose. We decided to give up and stroll off back down Fifth Avenue to see what we could find. We ducked into a restaurant/bar and were seduced into staying by the wings. We bounced back into the now winding party and just shut off the brains and danced before it was all over.

We walked down to the Atlantic Avenue stop and P made the mistake of taking the local N as I jumped on the Q express. 34th Street in 10 mins...how sweet that was! I went to the F and jumped on that, comatose kicking in a few minutes later. I woke up as the train pulled into Parsons super disoriented, but I got my shit together enough to get off. I was really wondering how I'd gotten to the F though as I walked up the stairs. The cobwebs lifted and I made my home to do my time honed burrowing just enough space to sleep on a clothes filled bed. Good times.

Until You Use Me Up

I love Sundays. It's the recovery day after a weekend of hijinks and/or the last day of peace before going out into the grind. I usually try to arrange my Sundays into waking up whenever and doing not a damned thing but putting on slouchy pants and lounging. I'm listening to a collection of old school R&B and have been singing along to this little gem.

In checking my email, I realize I forgot to call a newish Friendster who became one who he called me out for unbookmarking him, sending me a message to ask if I didn't think he was good enough for me anymore (in a funny way, natch). We graduated to emailing and were supposed to do the real talk and subsequent meeting thing, but I just...didn't. In my defense, I was unsure of the right time yadda yadda because he's coming off a birthday and I'm sure had his own weekend plans. Regardless, I'm starting to wonder about me.

I'm on some eyes on the prize shit because I'm really trying to do the straight and narrow thing, living escapade and drama-free until the stuff with the new place is settled. Oh, did you guys know that being only marginally employed for almost a year is pretty much like a wrecking ball to your finances? Well now you do. I'm trying out this adult thing for a switch. The costume might need a little alteration but I like the way it looks on me. I'm trying to be focused, focused, focused. I don't have time for bullshit.

Then again, I'm also feeling a little burned. The return of the prodigal Farmer episodes are still pissing me off. It would've been one thing if I had been holding out hopes of some sort of romantic reunion, but the fact that he came back and showed his ass as if we were barely even friends annoys me. I feel like I was played for a dick basically. "You keep up with me too much, so now I have nothing to talk about." Oh, that's a problem? I can fix that. Yet now that he's off wherever, we're supposed to be the best of IMing friends again. Hmm...I'm busy. I can't really talk right now. Maybe if I feel like typing even that. Bitchass.

Instead, I've been hanging with the friends. P. Fizzle in particular and I have been rolling deep, being stone cold alkies and spending up each other's money. Jay-V and I have plans to see an advance screening, courtesy of my lucky contest winning skills. I'd rather be with my people and chill out instead of having the aggravation. I can't be the only person who feels that way, right? I totally admit that I might be hiding out a little bit, but I feel getting out of the rat race can be good for your soul sometimes.

Meanwhile on Friday, I found myself with a phantom message. I had that tell tale grin ear to ear once I realized that it was the volunteer party guy. I replayed it like a girl once...okay, twice...and waited until I got home before I felt I could comfortably craft a message without sounding like an idiot. We're currently playing the dreaded phone tag, but his movie is just about wrapped up and he's reentering the world again soon. Hope springs eternal I suppose.

Nuggets

What I would want my gadget bag to look like if I was a real cool geek and not just a poseur [via Anil]. Also found on Gizmodo, breakdancing transformers. [nitpick]Is it just me or are they not on beat though? [/nitpick]

Is anybody else who uses site updater alerts just not getting them? I mean, that's the whole point. Can someone recommend something else besides Kinja?

A nice elegy to Frasier at Knot Mag.

Black women can write about being young, shallow, love-obsessed and semi-alcoholic in the city too. No kidding. *Off to dust off my story ideas* But, first I'm reading this pretty interesting book review about the hard relationship of women and following ambitions. [both via Ms. Musings]

Welcome Cosby contrarianism 'neath the Gateway Arch [via P6]

Drinking masterclass syllabus over at Tomato Nation:

WEEK TWO -- Common Pitfalls
Fruity drinks that disguise the taste of alcohol. Drinks with fruit in them that send the alcohol directly into your bloodstream. Champagne on an empty stomach. Gulping martinis to "get them over with" because they taste disgusting, thereby killing the brain cell that holds your name and address. The skunked pint which, because you don't want to "bother" the bartender, you drink anyway instead of asking for a repour, even though it smells faintly of fish. Giving in to round-of-shots peer pressure. Correct timing of bong hits. Benefits of just going home already when the keg is tapped instead of stupidly switching to bourbon at one in the morning.

For The Record

C	Creative
A	Awkward
N	New
D	Dainty
I	Inspirational
C	Controversial
I	Ideal
S	Simple
S	Saintly
I	Intense
M	Mushy
A	Awesome

Name / Username:

Name Acronym Generator
From Go-Quiz.com

I Can't Get No

Hani and I have been planning to do a 5-week bartending class in tandem for a bit now. Ever since I helped a friend at Sapph count tips one night, the money lover in me has always been like "I need to do that shit." So, when he discovered a cheapish class, I jumped for it. Wednesday was supposed to be our first day. I left work at 7pm and stopped at the ATM before strolling off to the train. I put in my card, punched in my PIN, and almost had a heart attack. Stop the presses: how the fuck did I spend close to $900 in a week and a half? I mean, I knew I was going to waste the first check but Jesus Christ. Especially since we're planning the move for Julyish and I've got next to nothing banked so far. I went on money panic mode and called Hani to back out. He understood and had a good time. Maybe I'll take it tonight (cause today is payday after all) and think of it as investing in my future.

Now, if you'd think that my money panic would lead me to you know, stop spending recklessly, you'd be wrong wrong wrong. Yesterday as the work day was winding down, I started thinking that what I wanted for dinner was some Atomic Wings. That led to deciding that the perfect afterwork thing would be calling up kids all "wings and booze, yo! You know you want some of that shit!" I got P. Fizzle on lock and we met up in a Village bar in which I normally wouldn't be caught dead. We killed that double order and got some amusement in the form of this way past drunk guy just making a nuisance of himself trying to join everybody's table. P had arrived just in time because I was trying to get him to backoff and disappear since he thought sitting alone = fresh target.

We stopped off at the smoke shop down the street. I longingly looked at rolling papers and tobacco, reminded of my boys Tino and Alex and their homemade cigs (and yeah, I mean cigs). I was tempted to buy some and attempt to see if I could even do it for myself -- which I doubt -- but for a switch, I didn't let myself be ruled by the impulse shopping. At the register, the cashier glanced at P's wallet with the pic of his girlfriend and then looked at me and back to him. He said to him, "you should be ashamed of yourself. What's with that picture?" P was like, "um...that's my girlfriend." I shrugged and was like, "we're just friends hanging out." And the guy replied, "oh okay...I didn't understand why the picture didn't look like you." Good for a chuckle.

From there to my not so favorite bar from last week's bullshit and then to Sapph. Despite living in the neighborhood, he'd never been there so I got to introduce him around. The night started off slow, so the bartenders were using us as guinea pigs. Everything got superhype and P and I were having a blast. After a while, we realized that as fun as it would be to hang all night, work in the morning was calling. Still, I love Thursdays.

I ended up sleeping until the end of the line on the F. Always good times (not). On the bus ride home, I sat close to the driver, blasting the oldies station. One of the songs was "Satisfaction" and it was funny to watch him sing along and drum on the steering wheel. Riding the bus late at night is always funny. It's a strange mix of characters. The driver was just chillin, not really giving a shit. I suppose that's what you gotta do when it's you on the road in the middle of the night.

Nuggets

The drugs don't work, but I've gotta edition.

Imagine this: a posat-funeral conversation with your dead son who's like not so dead. The first thing his mom does is let him know that someone's in trouble. Just like a mommy. [via The Morning News]. Also on Harpers (a site I'm gonna have to keep up on from now on), the oh-so-grown up email correspondence between two Hollywood writer/producers. Gentlemen, grow up and go count your money or something.

I've been reading the Nelson George blog since I spied the link over on Abe's linkflow. I'm really dying to know if there is any music/culture writer in existence right now without a blog. I doubt it and if there is, y'all need to start doing some peer pressure-like tactics on get everyone on this blog train. I'd kill to read a Robin D.G. Kelley or Bell Hooks or Patricia Hill Collins blog -- or do they already exist and I don't know it?

Misguided advice attempt of the week:

As you know, when you tease and act a little cocky with women, you will inevitably fuel our attraction for you. But you also have to recognize when we are still playing the game with you or if we're starting to lash back because we're insecure.

A lack of respect can be distinguished simply by watching a girl's attitude. Listen carefully to her tone of voice and pay attention to her stance. If she's acting sassy and bitchy, and her body language is closed (arms crossed, turned away), she's probably feeling a loss of control.

Is loss of control what they're calling wanting to beat your stupid smug face in nowadays?

Over at O-Dub, there's a bit of a rumblings about putting no homo and the like 6 feet under where it belongs. That reminds me of the lovely HS reunion listserv I got forwarded to me from Trendvickster. A selection:

Yo,
Whattup fam??
i just wanted to let everyone know that this weekend is 'alum weekend" @ Hunter. there is some information below.
Just to clarify, there will be a DIFFERENT REUNION for the CLASS of
99 later in the month..
okay fam??
Don't be skerrred to holler with any suggestions or opinions, and once more please encourage anyone (h_h_1999, duh) you know to join the e-group.. 46 million strong and growing..on some flintstones kids shit..

I don't even know where to start, but I'm so sick of that posing bullshit. With the exception of Nick because he's at least funny, everyone sounds so stupid with that shit. You're not Lil Jon or Nelly or a 504 boy. You're generally just posing suburbans (or at least in the soul) just jumping on the bandwagon. Fuck off and do try to remember how to speak in real sentences because you are not down. Just realize it. Love, Candice. (no hetero)

Whistle While You Work

Elle Driver (California Mountain Snake)




You're Elle Driver! Sly and evil, you can manipulate people in order to get whatever you want. You're usually alone, but that's the way you like it. You hate having others nearby to order you around (unless it's Bill, of course... but even then you're still hesitant).

Kill Bill: Which Deadly Viper Assassin Are You? (Vol. II spoilers... results with pics)

Historical Movements

This weekend, I had a massive cell phone purge. It was jammed packed with the numbers of shitheads I really don't ever plan to call again. Shady? Poof. Farmer? Poof. My old temp agency? Poof. There's something downright liberating about all that. I decided that it would be the best thing to do to stop brooding because I am good for that crap. Out of plain sight, out of mind is my motto which explains so much really.

Meanwhile, I think that I'm regressing. It's fitting because I'm fully settled at home, going to work, and living life not in my living room in a way that I haven't been since the summer before Wes....as sad as that sounds. All that's missing is a trip down South. (Oh wait, check.) I was bored at work last week and I Googled my focus boy. He has a blog-type deal (doesn't everyone?) which hasn't been updated in a while yet it is semi-interesting to read. He has a secret non-work life just like I could sense he did, making electronic stuff for fun. (We'll ignore the girlfriend I discovered on my Friendster search. It's not like I want more than to be all fashionable and dark together at work anyways.) I wish I could talk to him about it in a way that wasn't stalker sounding, but I'm at a loss. I need to step up my chatting at the copier game, pronto! Anyhoo, I realized that he reminds me of someone else I know who I've been becoming friends with recently, down to the cowboyish boots. After I hung out with that one for real the first time, all I could think was it was like being 17 again and so enthralled by this boy B in my class.

I'm a sucker for the dark-haired musicians a little too smart and mouthy for their own good. A little broody and complicated. B was the type of guy only a high school girl could love. We sat next to each other in calc and he complemented me on my The Colour and The Shape tape and always tried to cheat off me in tests. He had this stupid looking leather jacket and slightly too long hair, just a little curly. Just when I thought we were getting somewhere, he started going out with this superbland ultraWASP blonde girl. In my school, they always chose the blondes -- and if none were available, as close as you could get, with girls that looked like me (like the 10 of us) being the farthest from that and hence, invisible. At the time, I was devestated and began to hate him as I realized he was really just a prick who thought he was the only guy in the universe to like the Sex Pistols and Nirvana. He went off to Williams and proved himself to be even lamer. I heard a rumor later on that he broke up with Blandy over IM frosh year of college. Last fall, I was strolling down E 10th Street on my way to meet a friend when I noticed myself about to pass him. He gave me a quizzical "I know you" look waiting for me to say something, looking as if not a hair had changed since '99 and still wearing that stupid jacket. I feigned playing with my phone and walked right past him. Good riddance.

The problem with regressing to 17-year old likes is I'm back to my 17-year old initiative -- that is, none. At 17, I was all dreams and no action because I didn't have the first clue of how to be a girl chatting up a boy. That was the tailend of my tomboy phase when I was still extracting myself from the oversized clothes. I couldn't relate to guys except in playing sports or talking about music. Even at 23, I've really got no skills. I'm always amazed when I fall into something. I've gotten over the inner spazziness (for the most part), but first moves are not my bag. Life would be so much easier if you could just tackle them into falling for you. Or babble nervously and inanely to you but smartly cynical and funny to them until they jump you. (Oh wait...I do that second one already. Works like a charm.)

The real solution I suppose is embrace getting older and get some balls. Natch. If only it was that easy. Meanwhile, I'm off to write in my journal -- or actually IM Jay-V -- about how Focus Boy and I shared a moment passing in the kitchen -- and how he almost caught me looking at his site by appearing over my shoulder at the copier. Eek. A little silliness never killed anybody.

So I Lied

Everyone say thank you to my job for being boring as shit.

Anyhoo, I'd like to say a "bah humbug" to the first day back at work. I had the hardest time getting motivated to leave the house this morning and on top of that, was pissed off listening to the FM side this morning. I usually stick with 880 for just the weather and top news stories, but I decided to check out first K-Rock (because driving Sunday, the playlist was excellent. It was like major 7/8th grade flashback. But, I'm hearing that it's not normally that good on the reg. Figures) hearing Stern and turning so fast I almost broke the tuner button and then Power. Where I was greeted by "Paternity Test Tuesday." All I can say is: WTF?

It's bad enough that if you come across that bullshit if you happen to be sitting in the house watching regular tv on an afternoon. But on the radio too? I call bullshit on that. Fuck Clear Channel for running that shit. The guests this morning were an ex-couple with a 2 year old in question as ignorant as they wanted to be. The guy hestitated mad long to say how many kids he has -- besides the boy he was brought on about. Not sure, son? You've got a problem. Let's address that they waited two years before figuring this stuff out, the time during which she's been taking care of the child with no support from him or the other guy who might be the daddy (who she couldn't get in touch with to bring on the show. Hmm.). The reason she had any question at all was because she and this guy had been planning to start a family (so they were not using protection) before she cheated on him with some other guy (who was supposedly using protection but his friends say that he tampered with the condoms. I won't even ask why the fuck he'd possibly do that because people are insane and I'll just chalk it up to that and leave it alone). What amused/horrified me was how defensive they were about it. Oh I'm sorry, here you are on the radio -- a public forum in case you haven't noticed -- airing all your bullshit for the tri-state area, but nobody better ask you shit, right? Fuck off. The girl was like, "I waited so long because there's mad red tape and forms to fill out to get a DNA test for the state." Well damn, they really need to do something about that. Making it hard for people to figure out from a lineup who the daddy is. My mom and I were talking about the infamous woman on Maury (I believe) who has had 9 guys on the show who all tested negative and still doesn't know who her baby's father is. That's beyond fucked up. And on a further down the line level, how do you think a kid would feel to know that their mom had to go on TV/the radio to find out who their daddy was? Not very good. It turns out that the guy on the show was the father and he was still mad salty about it as if he intends to keep on punishing his child for the mother's mistakes. People are fucked up.

Or am I just pulling a Cosby? You tell me. Because you know what, I'm not even talking about the fact that the parents have broken up. My folks have been mostly bitterly divorced since I was 6. Unmarried parents are not even especially surprising in this day and age -- or in the past, let's be real. I won't even say that the pair on the radio are too fucked up to even have kids -- though I thought it when those jackasses were braying on the radio. I think there's a problem with the culture that a "Paternity Test Tuesday" theme exists. That everyone wants their 15-seconds of fame so much that they don't mind putting out their personal business for everyone to gawk at. Everyone is free to be a famewhore. It's a beautiful thing for someone I suppose.

And New York radio sucks...but that's stating the obvious.