Obama will be sworn in for his second term in a few weeks and Black people are finally more than butlers and maids in movies and TV shows, but it doesn't mean we aren't still exploited.
Andy Cohen's Bravo channel has done a lot for the careers of Black people as well as gays. But what I find fascinating is the need for the Real Houswives franchise to be segregated. Now that Kim Zolciak is gone from Real Houswives of Atlanta, that show is "the black one" and the 5 million other housewives shows are white, or "NORMAL" I say normal because ever since I can remember, I'd go to the toy stores and what did I see? White Barbies and White action figures on FULL DISPLAY in the front;
But behind them or somewhere on the bottom shelf, hidden from view was the dusty black versions. Toys are often segregated by race and kids are indoctrinated into the notion that the white doll is the normal doll but more than that, THE PRETTY DOLL. This hasn't ended. Nicki Minaj is touring the world promoting her WHITE IS RIGHT agenda. Calling her fans "Barbz" and making herself look as white as possible. Oh come on Barbz, stop being delusional, have you ever seen a BLACK Barbie at the store with blonde hair, blue eyes and hanging out with Ken?
Yes her "Ken dolls" are supposedly her male fans. The real white barbies of Beverly Hills and the real white barbies of New Jersey are the normal ones and the ghetto dusty black barbies reside in Atlanta and mostly black people watch them. In order for these real black barbies to get famous and get notoriety, what do they have to do? They have to subscribe to the Nicki Minaj strategy. They have to WHITE WASH THEMSELVES.
Nene Leakes said in one of her confessionals last season when referring to her white boyfriend, a friend of Donald Trumps, "White is right!" I'm not making this up, this is a real quote from her. Of course you noticed how Nene looks awfully different than what she looked like when she first came on the scene. Oh yes her nose has been slimmed down, her hair has become blonde and she hangs out with every rich white man she can find. Not to mention starring in White sitcoms as the token black bitch that everyone laughs at. Like a sideshow, like a circus. Yes, we are still segregated but we are doing it to ourselves. We are allowing for this, "White is RIGHT" mentality to fester in our communities and to explode on screen. What is also true is that for black people to get uber-successful (the term successful is subjective) they have to white wash or be clowns. For instance, black women tend to have to be ghetto but white looking like Tamar Braxton and black men have to be clowns like Eddie Murphy or Tyler Perry. (Dave Chappele discussed this in depth in interviews with Oprah & James Lipton) I don't understand why there can't be more diversity, why blacks and whites can't star in shows together without it being blatently obvious that the ONE black person was picked to meet a quota, or in the Real Housewives of ATL case, the ONE white bitch was picked to meet a quota. This is a society obsessed with segmentation. Look at all the tv channels for each group. Do Black people really only listen to Lil Wayne and Mary Mary? Or has this been force fed to them? I'm black and I don't care much for Jesus or gospel music yet Black entertainment television thinks that I do. I really don't care for booty shaking hoes, not because I'm gay, but because the music is a bit trite. Now you might say, Isayaah, what about The Cosby show? What about The Fresh Prince of Bel Air? Yes, there has been some positive images of blacks on tv where they didn't have to white wash or be clowns. But those examples are minimal compared to the onslaught of coonery going on. It's hard to be black and proud when all I see is black celebrities with caked on foundation that's five shades lighter than their ass. You may say that I am part of the problem, I do watch some of these shows and I do make video reviews of the Real Housewives, it's entertainment, I am not saying to boycott it. What I will do is address the issues and write the networks. Black people have so much to offer with all of their diversity, but Toys R Us only advertises Alicia Keys, and throws India Airie in the clearance aisle.
Being a black agnostic never makes you popular, especially a preachers kid like me. But I stand tall in my beliefs of simply, "not knowing" and I ignore the critics. That being said, I don't believe in a red tailed, egotistical devil who lives underground and torments people for doing his dirty work in life. It seems to me that such a devil would reward his followers. Christianity just doesn't make a lot of sense to me, but you can find more of my thoughts on that in my earlier posts.
I've been trying to be famous for quite some time now. I guess it's the fact that I've always been invisible. Let's travel back to when I was in grade school; sitting in the back of the bus wondering why no one wants to sit next to me. I remember being a class clown but all anyone would do is laugh at me instead of really getting to know me. I've always wanted more attention, I've always wanted to be seen. Even in adult relationships I've been wondering why men see right through me. It's like I'm not even there, they treat me like a movie ticket, using me to get into a show, and disposing of me after. I've always wanted to inspire people, to tell stories, to perform, but getting famous like I want has proven to be a little more difficult than I thought. Yes I can audition for American Idol like I did in 2004 and get 15 minutes of fame, but its fleeting. During that time, I was exposed to a lot of celebrities and a lot of bullshit. I had men in suits following me and telling me who I could become. I had people trying to influence me, I saw shady people and shady things. I had a sense that I could join the club if I subscribed to certain things. The fact is, they will control you and the ones who can't be controlled, they want nothing to do with. Think about how easy it is for fame and fortune to be taken away from you. Toni Braxton for instance. This doesn't take away from my hustle, I still believe in myself and I WILL achieve my dreams whether in this lifetime or the next. The video above is a parody of what it seems like people have to do in life to be successful. Whether it's being a Broadway performer or a successful business person like Donald Trump, you're going to have to lose a large part of yourself if you want to play with the big boys. What the conspiracy theorists call it is
"selling your soul" to Lucifer to join the Illuminati but I don't think it's quite that Biblical. In all facets of life, we have to compromise and do things we don't want to get what we want. But the question is, what are you willing to compromise? Are you willing to compromise your morals?
If no one shows up to my one man show then that is fine, at least I am trying, at least I am performing. I'm starting to realize that it's not about the fame and glory, but more about the expression. More about doing something that I love to do for no reward. In life, we are constantly bombarded with notions that we need validation in everything that we do. In grade school, we don't learn just to learn, we try and do a good job so that the teacher can REWARD us with a gold star sticker. I used to be so happy when I got that sticker and so angry when I didn't.
I guess what I'm saying is, it's not about the gold star in life, it's about learning. It's about the profound things that happen when no one is looking. You ever feel like you are at your best when you are alone? Say when you are in the bathroom in the morning, ever feel really confident while singing and dancing in the shower? That's because there is no one there to judge you. You are completely YOU with no compromise or apologies. That's how we should all be out in the public arena. You don't sing in the shower to get a Grammy, you sing because it's silly and fun.
So before you sell yourself to a non-existent Lucifer, ask yourself, "Do I need validation?"
Being gay for me as always been depressing. To grow up never imagining a real relationship as one is surrounded by constant reminders that your very attractions are wrong. The dating scene seems to only be established online, and they refuse to see you as more than a sexual object; the protocols of top or bottom and "what do you get into?" The high standards and the low expectations. The feelings of loneliness as all of your heterosexual friends find love and develop families. You enter adulthood in a brave new world of legalized gay marriage but you can't help but be cynical about the entire thing. Afterall, where would you ever meet this dream lover? Most will never approach you and you'd never approach them. The good ones seem to already be in relationships but then again, you had a threesome with that couple last week. What hope is there left if even the couples seem to be at the clubs? Does anyone in the land of promiscuity want an actual committed relationship? Being gay is like being invisible, or at least that's my story. He could be as charming as he wants to be, but the Prince never seems to show up. Love is a word I've often only used in reference to my parents, I've never thought it could take on another meaning. I never envisioned holding hands and worrying over wedding plans. It's not that I don't want it, it's just that it doesn't seem possible. I've been told that guys like me aren't relationship material. You're too quirky, you have nothing going for yourself, who could take you seriously? I've tried to wear masks. Tried to simmer myself down but my water always boils. I'm colorful and I embrace myself. Maybe what we need to do is marry ourselves first. Waiting for a galloping horse has only brought me to wasted months with guys who say sweet things in the bedroom but can barely look me in the eye in public. The rammifications of being me. I dream of a honeymoon in Hawaii complete with a guy who likes every quirky aspect of the craziness that is my mind. But it's just a dream. Romance doesn't happen on this side of the tracks. For now, I cynically attend other people's weddings, take a shot of vodka and write my poetry.
No one has ever emerged into a doorway quite like him. With a box in his hands he arrived in your dorm room, calling himself your roomate. As time went on, through restless nights, lying awake, listening to him toss and turn, you grew fond of the trivial things. The way he would chew on one side of his mouth; the comical way his eyebrows would lift as he told a funny story and the relentless charm that effortlessly shined through his smile. Heterosexual was the protocol that had been established. Frat house parties and tales of women littered your wishful thinking. And there were those moments, when all seemed possible. Candy for your delusions. He arrived in the room damp, wrapped in a towel as he prepared for bed. You, at your desk, pretending to read a biology textbook as you scanned his anatomy with your peripheral vision. He was a vision. A case of diamonds on a mountain top you couldn't climb to reach. You'd notice how he'd stroke his hair back in Sociology, you even knew the scent of his after shave. It wasn't until graduation, that a right foot met a left one. A knee caressed another knee. As tassel emancipated itself into the air, you were caught up in his stare. The high voltage appeared to be in vain, Soon ushered away by a life which would arrest you. You were obsessed with his ghost which haunted your fantasies, But he was a geographical impossibility. As you lay with nameless bodies who'd be gone by morning, an ocean of regrets inundated your mind. The void could never fill, no matter how many gay clubs you'd frequent, or how many photos you'd masturbate to. Missed opportunities seem more obvious now. A quick search on Facebook even slaps you in the face as you become stunned at your own idiocy. Yet now, staring at the friend request button, you don't know what to say to him if you were to send him a message. You hit the button and five minutes later, accepted. Ten minutes later, a message appears. "I've always thought of you. Glad we have reconnected," He writes. The simplicity is surprisingly overwhelming. With each day, the messages grow more profound and numbers are exchanged. The day arrives when you've agreed to reunite. He flies to Philadelphia, where you now work as a realtor. It's a warm, early October day. You stand by the Liberty Bell observing every human that comes your way. You wonder if he'll look the same. Every gust of wind sends tingles down your spine. Every new face that arrives makes your fingers shake even more. But as those familiar hazel eyes appear before you, as he smiles right into you, sending shockwaves of charm with each dimple that forms, your body relaxes. You feel like a lost puppy that is finally home. As a strand of his hair blows in the wind, he reaches up and strokes it back like he used to do in Sociology. He walks up to you, bold and beautiful as his image blurs the surrounding scenery. He reaches for your hand. His olive skin against your carmel hand, interlocked. No words need to be said. He's got the eyebrows that will make you both crack up laughing. One facial expression, an inside joke about how you looked when you tasted a concoction at a party. Finally, you both laugh again. Dimples again. In front of that bell, you boldly hold hands in a way fraternity life wouldn't allow you to. There's that scent of aftershave again. No more mask. Liberty at last.
there's an eighty foot fence
