So Not 'Towering Infernos'

Where were you the day the Earth Did the Stanky Leg?


   Unless you've been living under a rock ( or get all of your news from ESPN), you've no doubt heard that the NE was rocked to its very core today when an earthquake hit Mineral Virginia, sending ripples all the way up the Northeast coast that could be felt as far away as Martha's Vineyard.  I was in my apartment at the time, enjoying my day off with some sweet potato chili fries and my DVD copy of Season 6 of American Dad when terror struck the region. Hailing originally from the Left Coast, I knew what to do in an emergency so with little time to react, I paused Roger and the gang, grabbed my cat Lucy and headed for the doorway. As I stood there waiting for the apartment to either collapse or explode, it dawned on me that it was the end of the world. When we stopped shaking (roughly 15 seconds later) I turned on the local news stations and confirmed what I had suspected. Over the course of the next three hours I sat flipping back and forth between channels as newscasters tried desperately to stretch a 15 second story into a full afternoon/evening of an event. Buildings had been evacuated, books had been lifted from their safe and sturdy Ikea shelving units and bystanders lined the streets with tales of heroic rescues and courage under fire...

Rock, flag and EAGLE!!!!!

... but then it went on. And on... and on some mo'. Until yours truly started to wonder if half of the people they were interviewing had even actually felt the 5.8 category earthquake or if they were just angling for some face time with the cameras. The thing is, there's really only a couple of ways to describe the events of a minor earthquake and sadly no one seemed to have ever mentioned this little fact to the local reporters. Instead we were regaled with tired tale after tale of "I was standing there and the chairs started to shake and bla bla bla!" People were acting like it was the sequel to 9-11 (9-12 Back with a Vengeance!) Or the end of the world. My Facebook and Twitter feeds were filled with updates that ranged from the mundanely comical ( "whoa, what was that?") to the downright retarded ( "this is a sign we all need to get right with God. He's mad because we let the gays marry in NY. Repent... repent!!!") In an attempt to get in on all this end world crazayness, I took to the streets. Armed with my mini-recorder and my Walter Cronkite worthy trench coat, I was able to capture the following testimonials:

The League of Extraordinary Gentlechicks!

Because a woman's work is never done!

   So there's been much hullabaloo and consternation about the state of the black woman lately. Or more specifically, the sad state of the lonely, sorry, undateable, unmarriable, uncouth black woman that has sites like Madamenoire and the Wall Street Journal alike in such an uproar. It's all a bunch of new millennium hyperbole if you ask me. There to make us feel uneasy and Tami Hoodrat Romanish.  I even let it get me caught up in the bumrush, taking to my Facebook wall with constant updates about how we have to do better and all together going into def con 29 crisis mode. Truth is, black chicks are doing just fine, relatively speaking. So are brown chicks and white chicks for that matter. Yes, we still make 75 cents to every working man's dollar and yes women like Kim Kardashian still remain famous for reasons unbeknownst to me. But all in all, we are really kicking major butt when it comes to being awesome. In a conversation with a friend the other night, it was suggested that we assemble our own League of Extraordinary Gentlechicks. Much like the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen comic series, our purpose would be to fight crime, deliver justice and restore order to the empire. In addition to those lofty deeds, our league would be responsible for the following...

You Can't Stand Under My Umbrella Ella...

It works better when you actually open it.

   The NE region of the country was just pummeled with insane thunderstorms that started late Saturday night and ended approximately thirty-seven seconds ago. The storms woke me up from a sound sleep ( and I never got the chance to accept Pauly D's marriage proposal) to the realization that the world was about to end. I immediately sprung to the kitchen to begin gathering canned goods for my yet to be built fall-out shelter (damn you, procrastination!) Cooler heads prevailed the next morning when we all realized that the rain was just rain and not the beginning of the Apocalypse. While there had been some pretty severe flooding in the southern-most New Jersey counties I have to admit some of my friends and I discussed the rain with somewhat disappointment. With the great recession looming over everything we do and hear as well as the world getting ready to bid us adieu in 2012 (don't buy that 2013 Mayan calendar just yet, folks) it seems only fitting that our weather should take on such an identically morose tone. The conversation with my friends took a nostalgic turn. And I'm not talking about nostalgia for our childhood in the 80's, all Transformers and Rainbow Brite lunch boxes. Or even nostalgia for the combat boot and Cross-Colour wearing 90's with the recent string of programming Nickelodeon has been running during their late night block. We're talking nostalgia for the aughts... that's right... that decade that just happened like a year ago.

Ah yes, the good old days back when Kanye was just a wannabe douchebag.

Attack of the Sassy Black Woman

    I used to work a lower tier level sales job for some wholesale company. The pay sucked. There were very few perks or incentives and the company was pretty much comprised of a. those drinking the kool-aid who intended to be there forever b. those who had reached the highest echelon of employment and therefore had no desire to go any where else and c. those working there just long enough for a new and challenging position to come along. I would have to say I belonged in that third column, probably ever since the first moment I stepped through the doors for my first interview with HR. I don't work there anymore (obviously) and this isn't some Grimm Brothers Fairy Tale so I won't say I left for greener, fertile pastures and rode off into the sunset or anything like that. I pretty much just said hasta la bye bye and went on my merry way in an attempt to find a little more sanity, peace and tranquility with a company that rewards hard work and respects people. O and to return to school and to find myself and do a little inner feng shui. Not too much to ask I think but then again I am a part of that ever-coddled Generation Y Penelope Trunk is always fawning over (or griping about) so maybe I should have been a little bit more weary of this ever gloomy Great Recession and stayed put. After all, I am working two jobs now to keep a roof over my head as opposed to one. I rarely get enough sleep and I sometimes feel like I made a big mistake leaving that place. But then common sense worms its way back in and I realize that my biggest gripe with my last job was not the low wages, or the (too) heavy work load or even the high school-like gossip that everybody seemed to partake in. It was the fact that when I had a legitimate gripe or issue I was treated as if I was a highly sensitive bomb they were trying their best not to detonate, all while never really taking the time to listen to what it was I had to say. If you are a woman of color (or any minority for that matter) you probably know what I am talking about: The Plight of the Sassy Black Woman.  

Because you asked accounting to run the reports for all of your accounts 30 days past due and all they heard was "mmm hmmm, brothas be trippin'" 

The Great Debate

The Great Debate.

  

   VH1's Basketball Wives had its season finale last night and most of my female friends were glued to their screen. I noticed most of them were live-tweeting and updating their facebook status along the way as well. Intrigued by some of the things I was seeing (Eric splashed a drink in his soon to be ex-wife's face!) I even turned to the program myself, hoping to catch a few minutes of ratchedness that I could thumb my nose to. Ok, true confession time: I would be a liar if I said I've never seen the show. I have watched full-blown episodes of Basketball Wives before, usually in the hopes of seeing a brawl between the ladies. They rarely disappoint. I am aware that I am as much a part of the problem as Shaunie O'Neal, former wife of basketball legend Shaq and creator of the program. To be fair, Shaunie has gone on record as having said she is embarrassed by the program and the way that it has disintegrated into little more than an episode of the Jerry Springer show with a basketball theme. You can read more about her stance on the show (and its Los Angeles spinoff) here. What's so troubling to me about her comments (other than the fact that she is divulging her dirty laundry to conservative right-wing blowhard network, Fox News!) is that she appears to have no creative control over the program. If this is her show, why did she select the women that she did (most if not all of which are not even married to NBA players) and why do the cameras zero in on them flaunting their lifestyles instead of focusing on the inner-workings of the life of a basketball wife? The program has had every opportunity to shed light on the balancing act that these women need to take as they live their lives as permanent second banana to their spouse. They have at best glossed over the tumultuous relationships that can arise when one person in the relationship is constantly bombarded with opportunity after opportunity to stray outside of the marriage because of groupies who have little respect for themselves, and even less respect for the sanctity of someone else's marriage vows. The cameras have opted to broadcast these women acting in ways that are more like the ways you would expect junior high school girls to conduct themselves. Most of their audience has been more outraged, however, with the fact that the women selected for the program aren't actually wives. Personally, I'd rather see a cast full of prostitutes that know how to carry themselves with respect and resolve conflicts with class than a cast of married, ghetto Devry University drop outs any day. So who's to blame here?