Bouncy is anything but a "Dream" for Sheryl Lee Ralph

R.C: How do you feel about Beyonce portraying the role you
originally bought to life - Deena Jones?
SLR: It's interesting, when Tom Eyen who is the creator, had
this idea, he said that the Dreams, have to be three obviously
black girls. Why? Because America will always go for that light, bright,
long haired black girl because they will feel comfortable building her
up, since they see themselves in her. But for the obviously black girl,
if she makes it, she deserves to be right there. Because they aren't
trying to push her, that's why the Dreams had to be three obviously
black girls. So when they cast Beyonce in the role of Deena Jones.
I said, "Wow, this is exactly what Tom Eyen said would happen." They
going to take to that light, bright blackish blonde girl because
they feel comfortable with her. That's the reality.
R.C: Who would you have cast as Deena Jones?
SLR: That's hard because the industry isn't pushing her, so you
don't have an obvious one to pick from. The closest one I can think
of, that's an obvious black girl with that glamour thing to her is
Lauryn Hill. Heather Headley is kind of close but she's not Deena.
You know Deena is Diana Ross, she's a drama girl, an out right glamour girl.

Source


She does have a point. The tendency for the media to latch onto a non-threateningly "ethnic" type isn't anything new and it isn't something unique to (Afro)Americans, either (Ex: the stunning, but clearly unrepresentative of
Indians as a whole, Aishwarya Rai). Still, I think Sheryl is coming down a little hard on Bouncy and
those who cast her in the role of Deena. As Sheryl pointed out, Deena is Diana Ross and Diana Ross was the original not-too-black, but black enough
for people to fancy themselves open-minded, diva. Why shouldn't she be
portrayed by her modern-day counterpart?

Meet Cannoli.

Cannoli is my very first dog. In the past, I've had fish (Ariel I, II, III and IV), hermit crabs (Chico and Tyrone) and dwarf west African aquatic frogs (Cuff, Link, Tommy and Gina), but never anything furry.

I love her already.

Here she is sleeping by my bed last night (much as I love her, she isn't getting in with me).

I saw her on the ASPCA website and fell in love. She's meant for me. First of all, she came with the name Cannoli (actually, they spelled it "canoli," but I'll forgive the medicani for not knowing any better). And secondly, she has the cutest face ever.


This is the picture of her that was up on the website. How could you not fall in love? Those ears! Those eyes! She's a Papillon/Daschund (thank you, LISETTE) mix and she's eight years old. I realize most would think that's a little old to adopt, but everybody wants a puppy and consequently, a lot of older dogs are left to languish. All I care about is that she's already housebroken and she's old enough to know that my black, pointy-toe BCBG stilettos are not chew toys. Who needs a puppy?

I had a little bit of an ordeal getting her into a carrier yesterday, but we've moved past that now. And no, Bomani, I didn't get her the doggie stroller - although it should be noted that she'd look fantastic in one.

She woke me up for a walk at 6:45am. On a Sunday. That's going to take some getting used to, but at least I got some exercise in early, right? She's already a little spoiled since I was feeding her table food, so I have to figure out how to get her back on regular dog chow. The ASPCA people told me that she's in great shape and shouldn't gain weight, but I think she's terribly thin. I'm going to have to do something about it.

At the moment, she's out like a light and keeps on wagging her tail.

All together now - Awwwwwww.

I promise I won't become a crazy dog lady anytime soon, don't worry.

Addendum: Happy Father's Day! No, I didn't forget about it. Should you care to read a little something I wrote about my daddy a while back, click here.

One year since.

As Sam G says:

today is a special day for the MJ FREAKS...
because he was acquitted of molestation on all fuckin' counts exactly one year ago, and it was glorious!
woohoo!

And, indeed, it was. *raises glitter gloved fist in the air*

If you saunter over to Zinkmag.com, go to "Inside Zink," then "Combustion" and finally, "Spin Control" you can read a small portion of my feature on DJ Mike Relm for the magazine's summer issue. If you pick up the issue, you'll find another feature I did on multi-culti hip hop featuring Apollo, Jin and Iron Sheik ("Hop Hop Nation"). I'm really pleased with how both pieces turned out.

I've started ordering pre-made meals from Fresh Direct in an attempt to eat more "real" food, as opposed to the tofu-hot sauce-spinach creations I'm known to pass off as actual sustenance. Tonight's meal is Moroccan chicken, I'll let you know how it goes.

That's all for now, but in the spirit of Emjay's acquittal a year ago today, feel free to re-read two pieces I wrote on the man:
In Defense of Michael - PopMatters 2/9/05 (when the trial had just begun)
What Happens When Peter Pan Grows Up? - EURWeb 8/29/05 (on his first post-verdict b-day).

I feel bad for Britney.

Maybe I shouldn't. I try not to get too all-absorbed in the lives of celebrities, but in my line of work, it's hard to avoid. I'm not a fan of hers (although I do love her Vanity 6 impression on Slave 4 U), but everybody beating up on her is getting to me.

She's giving an interview to Dateline this Thursday.




Don't you think she's looking a little Debbie Rowe-ish towards the end when she's crying? Creepy.

Why does the world feign outrage everytime she does something stupid, or trashy or both? She was always just a dumb hick. I spent entirely too much time around them growing up, only the ones who surrounded me usually couldn't even be fixed up with an army of makeup artists, hair stylists and personal trainers. She's tame in comparison to some. Did people really expect more from her than what they're getting now? It's not like she was ever a great mind or talent. She ascended into superstardom on the strength of a preteen fanbase and perverted old men and now she's descending into ruin with the help of snarky, bitter editors and people who were always secretly jealous of her, but helped make her.

I don't understand the need to build someone up, only to tear them down. Let her live her life barefoot with Cletus and Tater-tot in peace.

Today's lesson

Word of the Day: WENTGASM

Definition: a common reaction as a result of gazing upon Wentworth Miller.

Have more of them @
Just Jared

Wedding/Funeral attire

Weird topic, bear with me.

I went to my friend Kevin's wedding on Sunday (he and his wife are totally adorable, by the way) and during the week leading up to it I think I selected and then rejected twelve different outfits to wear to the event.

Initially, I thought I'd wear the dress I wore to my grandmother's funeral. A little morbid, I know, but it was a really lovely, simple dress - black, with some turquoise and dark green detailing. It was conservative, but when it came to my grandmother's funeral, I was afraid that any sort of splashes of color would be inappropriate.

Apparently I was the one of the few concerned with propriety.

Sitting in the third pew of the church were my Aunt's friend and her daughter. My Aunt's friend was very sloppily attired (Birkenstocks...she was wearing Birkenstocks...my grandmother would have literally picked her up and tossed her out of the church), but her daughter was even worse. HOT PINK LEOPARD PRINT. This heffa wore HOT PINK LEOPARD PRINT to my grandmother's FUNERAL! On what planet is that acceptable? She looked like she was about my age, so she should have known better. Furthermore, her dumbass mother shouldn't have let her out of the house in that. I take solace in the hope that my grandmother was spewing invectives at them from the beyond.

But I digress, back to the wedding. The festivities were at night, so I didn't think wearing black was a problem since it had some color to it, but my mother said it was in bad taste. I eventually decided upon the pink paisley dress I wore to my 21st birthday party, only with a white blazer over it (thanks to Rie for running around Manhattan in the rain with me to find it).

Again, I needn't have been so worried. Yes, girls turned up in black, but they looked fine. The girl who turned up in the sweat pants? And the one in the mesh, tummy baring number? Not so much.

Since everybody thinks that anything goes these days, I'll help you all out and dictate a dress code for my "big days."

Nothing too difficult, just try to avoid the following things:

Wham! tshirts
Stripper/tranny shoes
Cone bras
Hammer pants
Shorts with knee socks
anything from Urban Outfitters
Silver lamé (gold lamé pants, however, are acceptable as they amuse me greatly).

And don't think you can get away with not following it at my funeral just because I've kicked the bucket. If you come looking like the aforementioned pieces of trash at my grandmother's funeral, I will find out. And I will haunt you in the afterlife.

NP: "Superstition" - Stevie Wonder

So today is the day of the apocalypse or the antichrist or possibly both. Thus far, the only indication I've had that today is very, very, very devilish is that I tripped over a pile of shoes in the middle of my still-not-unpacked apartment and careened face first into a bunch of cardboard boxes. But, hey, at least it woke me up.

I'm surprised that I'm not freaked out because, in general, I'm a pretty superstitious person. I blame my parents. My mother insists that I wear something red at all times - wards off the evil eye. My dad was distraught when my eyes turned from blue to green in my childhood because it meant I was no longer immune from the evil eye. I have a ton of turquoise jewelry because it's handy for keeping away the evil eye. Oh, and this khamsa I'm wearing? Um, it's decorative...or, um, well....so maybe it also protects me from the evil eye. Feeling a little sick? My nena would recite some prayer or verse from the Qu'ran over my head, start yawning and then announce that I'd been struck by the evil eye. My (maternal) great-grandmother's diabetes? Was it caused by years of carb-heavy overeating and being 5x5 (although I've seen pictures and she was a very cute little ball)? No, it was caused by the evil eye of the ugly Neapolitan woman across the street (jealous that the priest favored my great-grandmother over her). My father forbade me from telling anybody my SAT scores in high school because of the evil eye, too (for the record, I did tell people and no anvils fell out of the sky and hit me on the head or anything). Evil eye, evil eye, evil eye. With all the evil eye that's supposedly been hurled in my direction, it's a miracle I haven't grown a third leg or anything.

I'm not afraid of the mark of the beast, but I'm afraid of you giving me a shifty look. Somehow the latter of the two seems a little less perilous in print.

Hey, what are you doing? Quit staring at me like that. It's not funny. You're creeping me out. Stop it!

*hides under a pile of red blankets, khamsas, crucifixes, garlic and four leaf clovers*

See you tomorrow.