"You sure you don't want some Kool-Aid? I'll even get you some ice. And a pickle."

We’ve all been there before.

Girl invites boy over for movies, lukewarm purple Kool-Aid, and the unspoken assertion that, unless Boy shows up smelling like pickles or dressed like Chris Brown, Boy and Girl are going to have sex that night. Boy manages not to mess things up, and, lo and behold, the night ends with Boy and Girl making the beast with two backs. Boy and Girl have had sex with each other before, so this is no big deal. But, for whatever reason, sex seems to be a bit more intense tonight. The “mac and cheese” sound¹ is in full effect as moans are a little louder, growls are a little deeper, and the concept of time is a complete non-motherf*cking factor. Boy has a laser beam-like focus on Girl’s various spots, making Girl speak languages that have been dead for five centuries. When Girl eventually climaxes, the earth will shake, the moon will blush, and the ghosts of Ikea will place a phantom order to replace Girl’s soon to be broken bed. Girl enthusiastically lets Boy know that she’s 32 to 47 seconds away from orgasm, a statement that excites Boy and forces him hit spots with even more precision. Unfortunately, Boy becomes a bit too excited, and Boy climaxes right when Girl has hit the 5 to 8 second mark. Boy, realizing Girl’s thisclose to a cop calling orgasm, tries to finish the job, but isn’t erect enough to hit Girl’s spots anymore. Seconds later, Boy is completely flaccid. Boy rolls over, says “I’m sorry” and offers to get Girl some lukewarm Kool-Aid while Girl lays in bed and wonders if a female judge would acquit her if she happens to kill Boy but tells the judge her reasoning for the murder.

Regardless of age, color, creed, and feelings about Linsanity, every sexually active man reading this has “stopped short” before. We can’t help it. Even though we know that if we can hold off for just 10 more seconds your body will turn hot day fire hydrant, sometimes we’re just unable to stop.

Sure, there are certain ways to prolong things when this happens (i.e.: think about Kurt Cobain, switch positions, scream “Don’t move a gotdamn inch!!!!”, etc), but sometimes things reach a point of no return, and the woman’s near climax will be forever lost to the deep, dark, surprisingly damp, and surprisingly angry space in space where “close, but not quite orgasms” eventually settle.

Anyway, “stopping short” is just one of the many legitimately f*cked up things all men do to women, and here’s four more. 

2. Eat all of your food, and drink each of your beverages

Out of all the things on this list, this one isn’t really our fault. You can’t say things like “Make yourself at home.” and then get pissed when we take you to your word and eat all of your leftover pizza, half of your Cheetos, each of your lettuce wraps, and a full slab of your turkey bacon. 

3. Pretend like we did absolutely nothing to encourage women to continue flirting with us

It’s usually nothing too disrespectful or too egregious. But, despite how much we feign ignorance, we know when women are flirting with us, and we also know that all it takes to dead the flirting is to act indifferent, apathetic, or even occasionally annoyed. Despite this knowledge, we’ll still return the smile or the hug or the lunch invitation or even ever so slightly laugh at her attempt at “Ok, I’m going to say something that’s supposed to be funny. It’s clearly not, though. Let’s see if he takes the bait and laughs” humor.

4. Intentionally give awful dating advice

My favorite is when men suggest that, since it’s the 21st century, chicks need to “woman up” and start approaching guys.

Nevermind the fact that no man in the history of mandom has ever been in a happy and healthy relationship with a woman who approached, bagged, and pursued him. We’re generally lazy motherf*ckers who just enjoy when women put in some of the work…even though these “working” women probably aint ever gonna make it past the 2am Wendy’s drive-thru.

5. Pretend like we’re completely unable to remember birthdays, anniversaries, plans, shopping instructions, and any other information more important to you than it is to us

Admittedly, I probably do this more than anything else on the list. I can tell you exactly what Michael Jordan’s average PPG was in the 86-87 NBA season without googling it (37.1), but if a woman I happen to be seeing asks me to remember to pick up some eggs and celery from the store before I come home, my brain all of a sudden turns Tyga as I’ll faux-try to remember those difficult-ass details so hard that I’ll start drooling; a elaborate subterfuge with a clear and precise goal in mind: She never asks me to do that again

Anyway people of VSB, I’m sure I’m forgetting a few. Can you think of any other legitimately f*cked up things all men regularly do to women? Also, fellas, can you think of legitimately sh*tty sh*t that all women do to us?

¹When sex is very good, it sounds like a pot of mac and cheese being mixed with a wooden spoon.

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”) 

Today, Wednesday, February 22, 2012, Panama Jackson from Very Smart Brothas and Rahiel Tesfamariam from Urban Cusp will be moderating a panel discussion on Black Identity & Culture in Mass Media from 6-8PM at the Washington Post Community Room, located at the Washington Post buildling (1150 15th Street, NW).

From the flyer, here’s the intro and purpose of the event:

Panama Jackson of Very Smart Brothas and Rahiel Tesfamariam of Urban Cusp will moderate a Black History Month dialogue led by a panel of dynamic artists, bloggers, journalists, and filmmakers on representations of Black American identity and culture in the media and entertainment industries. The discussion will seek to inspire guests to have greater individual and collective impact on the shaping of Black American “popular culture.”

If you’re available and in Washington, DC, tonight, come on through and join in on the discussion and if we’re lucky, it will be like a real live VSB post in action. Complete with comments and the whole 9.

See you tonight!

-VSB P

Ever since his infamous assault of then-girlfriend Rihanna, I’ve been captivated with Chris Brown, Rihanna, the myriad different stances people have adopted in regards to them, and the “Whys” behind these stances. Case in point: Along with my recent piece at Ebony, I’ve written about them — well, him in particular — at least four times in the three years since.

First there was “naked: chris brown and the sad plight of the scorned man” — an entry where I used their situation as a convenient segue to talk about how men dealing with effed up relationship situations usually don’t have any proverbial “shoulders to cry on.”

I followed that a few months later in something written about Tiger Woods and his wife, where I made mention of the fact that it seems like some of the people excusing Chris Brown for his role in the incident may not realize exactly how much bigger he is than Rihanna. Not that it should matter. A 5’6” man can inflict just as much damage as a 6’6” man can. But, I thought (and still do think) that some people hear the name “Chris Brown” and immediately think skinny, dancing-ass, teenage pop star, not 6’2” man with muscles formed from years of dancing and working out. Basically, in their minds, him vs Rihanna was a fair fight, but in actuality he dwarfs her in size.

Next, I made mention of them making a “movie” together in “A Sneak-Peek Into “Tyler Perry’s Love Jones.”

And, by the time “Seven Reasons Why I’m Totally Not Upset About Steve Harvey’s “Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man” Movie” was written a few months ago, you could begin to sense my exasperation with this discussion. In a matter of a couple years, I went from “this is some serious sh*t” to “I know it’s serious, but I don’t really give a damn anymore”

“Back to Blonde Breezy. Although I’ve been very critical of Chris Brown’s “redemption” in the past, I think I’ve officially reached the “not a single f*ck was given” point regarding whatever the hell happened that infamous night on the way to the Grammys. Apparently, time heals all wounds and all self-righteous indignations.

But, what remains completely fascinating is how both him and Rihanna have gotten progressively weirder and progressively more famous since that night. Maybe instead of a fight that night, they actually went through the Illuminati’s application and pledging process. Who knows?

I do know, though, that somewhere out there (probably on Mars), Andre 3000 and Erykah Badu are kicking themselves. They already had the weird part down pact. Who knew that all they had to do to keep people actually buying their albums was jab each other a couple times while riding in one of their spaceships?”

I guess today’s entry is me coming full-circle. As you may have guessed, I am fascinated again. Now, though, the best word to describe my feelings about Chris Brown is ambivalent.

From the perspective of a person who follows, studies, appreciates, and, sh*t, depends on pop culture, I’m elated that Breezy and Ri-Ri are making music (and, possibly, love) together again. I don’t give a damn about the “Birthday Cake” song itself (I haven’t even listened to it yet), but I will be tuned in to read, watch, listen to, and attempt to deconstruct people’s reactions to it. For a person who writes about pop culture for a living, you couldn’t ask for a better, more layered story.

But, from the perspective of a man who used to be an educator and knows exactly how damaging the latent message of “It’s ok to beat up your girl as long as you’re handsome and popular because everyone, including her, will forgive you shortly anyway” can (and will) have on their millions of young fans, their very public reconciliation rubs me the wrong way.

Right now, Chris Brown is having his birthday cake and eating it too. And, along with the Gotdamn Idiot factor, I think much of the push back is due to the fact that it just doesn’t seem fair for him to be able to do that. People upset at the situation are interested in and deeply invested in concepts like justice, and karma, and comeuppance, and seeing a person do dirt and still succeed in spite of it is a severe rebuke of the way they see the world.

On the other hand, that — Life just aint f*cking fair. Get used to it. — could be a teachable lesson in itself. Perhaps it’s not a bad thing to teach kids at an early age that popular guys and pretty girls will have advantages that normal folks just don’t. I mean, I’m sure they see it play out in front of them every day, and they’re probably tired of hearing “all people have the same chance” from their teachers and parents anyway. Why not be real with them now instead of setting them up for a lifetime’s worth of disappointment?

I don’t know. I don’t have any answers to any of these questions. I don’t know which side of me — the writer or the human — will win out. Sh*t, I don’t even know if the writer and the human are separate entities. I do know, though, that this will not be the last time I devote space to Chris Brown, and I’m concerned with how easily I’m beginning to be able to write something and feel nothing.

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

1. There’s absolutely no rhyme or reason to the way I react when hearing about a person dying. None whatsoever. It’s completely unpredictable, completely arbitrary, and completely dependent on… whatever the hell it’s dependent on. I have absolutely no clue, and I’ve stopped trying to figure it out. There have been times when a one paragraph long news story about some random area murder induced tears and haunted me for weeks, and other times when family members have passed and the only time I got worked up was when I forced myself to get worked up because I felt bad that I hadn’t.

This “reaction unpredictability” extends to celebrities as well. I felt nothing when Michael Jackson — a person who I was a huge fan of — died, but the deaths of Amy Winehouse — a person I was “eh” about — and Patrice O’Neal still resonate with me. I still can’t listen to “Rehab” or watch “Elephant in The Room” without getting chills.

Knowing how unpredictable I can be about this should make me immune to surprise. I mean, If I’m capable of any reaction, there shouldn’t be a reaction that surprises me. Despite this, I was (and still am) surprised at how affected I was by the news of Whitney Houston’s death (When first clicking the TMZ link to the news of her death, I literally stared at my monitor with my mouth agape for two minutes and could see my heart beating through my shirt) and how interested I was in the goings-on (and the public’s feelings about the goings-on) of her funeral.

Although I wasn’t able to catch the first hour and a half or so (I started watching when Stevie Wonder was singing), I sat there captivated like I was watching the 4th quarter of game seven of the NBA finals. And, as if this captivation wasn’t enough, I logged on to Twitter and Facebook to basically give myself a sensory overload.

I don’t know what any of this means, or why I even felt the need to share it. I don’t know. I do know that it’s been (over) a week and I’m still surprised that I still don’t feel any different.

2. There have been myriad different accounts of the events that led to Bobby Brown leaving (or getting kicked out of) Whitney’s funeral, so I won’t go into any of them. I will say, though, that I feel worse for him than for anyone else who was in Whitney’s life. Losing your ex-wife (a woman I’m sure he still loved and may have still been in love with) is bad enough, but being the popular scapegoat for the decades-long spiral leading to her early death has to be a bitch of a burden to carry. History will not look kindly on him. Regardless of what he does for the rest of his life, his primary legacy will be that he, to put it bluntly, killed Whitney Houston.

Now, whether this legacy is actually fair is another question. We assume that Bobby was the bad influence, but while Whitney was America’s Sweetheart, she wasn’t exactly an angel herself. Also, as influential as Clive Davis was reported to be in her life, who’s to say that he didn’t have a hand in her downfall?

Obviously, this is all speculation. None of us know exactly what led to Whitney’s substance abuse problems. And, since none of us know, perhaps we should place a collective moratorium on “Blame Bobby.”

3. I happened to be at my parent’s house when the funeral was being aired. When R.Kelly came to the podium, all three of us said “Wait. Is that R.Kelly???” at the exact same time. No bullsh*t.

And (in my best Forrest Gump voice), “That’s all I’m going to say about that.”

4. I know many people had an issue with some of the “So, America, make sure you’re recording so you can see how these exotic-ass Negros celebrate the dead” -ey comments from some of the non-black members of the news media covering the event. In particular, Piers Morgan sounded like he was covering at an event at Jurassic Park.

I didn’t have a problem with this, though. I mean, aside from random Nike commercials and Tyler Perry movies (which white people don’t watch anyway), this probably was the first time many of them had seen a homegoing at a black baptist church, and I think most of the non-white reporters found the proper mix of reverence, respect, and curiosity.

Also, aside from the celebrities involved, Whitney’s ceremony wasn’t all that atypical. Seriously, if you substituted “random white co-worker who seems out of place but makes up for it with a poignant speech” for “Kevin Costner,” “aunt who does her thing on the organ even though she tends to forget words to certain songs” for “Stevie Wonder,” and “neighborhood family who no one wants to fight because there’s like 25737848 of those motherf*ckers and you know if you fight one, you’ll have to fight them all” for “The Winans,” this funeral was probably exactly like any other baptist funeral any one reading this has ever been to.

5. I’m not sure if the fact that I simultaneously ”experienced” the funeral with over a thousand others on Twitter — all with their own running commentary about the event — was a good or a bad thing. Actually, I’m pretty certain it’s neither. It’s not disrespectful or distant or progressive or indicative of anything, either. It just is. That’s just the way we deal with things today. While other generations had their own forms of collective consumption, we just do it in real time.

6. So, ever since a certain post I wrote a few weeks ago, I’ve been more willing to let certain people take a look at articles I write before I submit them, just in case they pick up on something that I may have missed. Don’t fret. You’re not going to get a neutered Champ or anything. This is something I’ve always done. Just do it a little more often now.

Anyway, last Friday, I let one of these friends see an article I wrote for Ebony about Chris Brown. That article contained a somewhat off-color joke about Tyler Perry. Her response:

“I dont usually discourage Tyler Perry jabs, but this m**therf**er just flew Whitney Houston’s body to her family in his private jet. HE ALWAYS DOES THIS SH*T. Like, whenever I want to take a shot at him, he adopts some orphan or saves a kitten or some sh*t and makes me feel bad afterwards. Anyway, you should probably leave that out.”

I (reluctantly) listened.

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”) 

***Oh, check out the Chris Brown piece I just referenced — “The (Biggest) Problem with Chris Brown isn’t Chris Brown” — if you get a chance. (#teambreezy, beware)***

To PETA, dogs and slaves? Same sh*t.

There are few organizations that I detest more than PETA. For the short bus crowd visiting with us today, PETA stands for People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. Now, I’m an animal lover through and through. I like cats and dogs. One of my dogs is actually on my credit card. Yes, you read that properly. My dog is on my credit card.

My mother has geese, the most annoying denizens of the bird world. No Amber Rose. Well, yes Amber Rose, but in this context, no Amber Rose. Real birds. Taylor Gang.

Moving on. Despite my love for animals I recognize one very real truth: animals are not people and do not trump the rights of people. That isn’t to say that I think people should be able to treat animals any type of way. Animals are much like children, especially domesticated ones: defenseless and ultimately looking to humans for food and protection. To that end, I make it a point to always treat animals with the highest of respect. Dipset, b*tch…nahmean? But PETA? Them bastards take stuff too far.

Especially when it comes to the ways in which they choose to get their point across. PETA has this stupid f*cking uncanny ability to equate the plight of animals with the plight of slaves. Yes. PETA thinks that animals and slaves are basically the same sh*t. I remember seven years ago (I wrote an article about it back then…egads I’ve been writing for a long time) when PETA created a display where they hung up pictures of cows and animals who were about to be made into bacon and steak next to pictures of lynched Black people as a way of equating the treatment of animals to a system of Jim Crow and intense racism.

Needless to say, Black folks were upset. Everybody except Cam’ron who I’m fairly sure is and/or was PETA’s public enemy number one after his line about his closet looking like a pet cemetery on the song “Down & Out”. Great song by the way. Oh and why wouldn’t Cam’ron care? Because his computers were to busy ‘putin’ for him to notice.

Hmm…not to be all extra tangentially Black here but is that the first time that a word was abbreviated in such a way that it warranted an apostrophe at the beginning AND end of it? Without it being a kids name? From the hood? Seriously, would you be surprised if you met a kid named ‘Putin’…and those weren’t quotes? After meeting a chick named N”D’Biane at my cousin’s graduation a few years back, I realized anything is possible. Zone 4 stand up.

I’ve lost my point.

Ah yes, the latest in the line of PETA f*ckery and nincompoopery was the motherf*cking LAWSUIT that they filed on behalf of FIVE orca whales who they felt were being held as slaves by Sea World.

Please. Read that again. I’ll wait.

*humming “Down and Out” by Cam’ron*

Luckily the lawsuit was tossed out by a judge who obviously has common sense but was forced to ACTUALLY decide on this case. But the fact that PETA was going to try to run a motherf*cking Thirteenth Amendment okeydoke on the American people on behalf of five whales who didn’t ASK for the lawsuit is beyond me. But there goes PETA again, lumping animal rights into the civil rights debate. The Thirteenth Amendment outlawed slavery OF MOTHERF*CKING PEOPLE and these fools are trying to use it to basically free Willy??????

U.S. District Judge Jeffrey Miller stopped the case from proceeding two days after he became the first judge in U.S. history to listen to arguments in court over the possibility of granting constitutional rights for members of an animal species.

“As `slavery’ and `involuntary servitude’ are uniquely human activities, as those terms have been historically and contemporaneously applied, there is simply no basis to construe the Thirteenth Amendment as applying to non-humans,” Miller wrote in his ruling.

 

People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals filed the lawsuit in October and named five whales as plaintiffs. PETA says the wild-captured orcas are enslaved by SeaWorld because they are held in concrete tanks against their will and forced to perform in shows at its parks in San Diego and Orlando, Fla.

Make her colored and we're in business.

I saw The Vow. It was a lot like seeing the signs, except Ace of Base left me and all I got was Swedish meatballs.

*rimshot*

How and why I ended up sawing The Vow is unimportant, just know that I did and I may never forgive myself. Any movie being billed as the 2012 version of The Notebook is already starting in the lower rungs of hell so it was no easy convincing to get me to go. But I went, I saw, I conquered. We are Sparta and all that jazz. And it turns out that it wasn’t a bad movie. Overyly sappy? (America) F*ck yeah. But that’s to be expected. But it had some very real moments too; moments that I could totally relate to. And ironically the very thing I HATED about another romantic comedy (The Vow is not a comedy) is the very thing I appreciated about this one. Eh, go figure.

But that’s neither here nor there. While I was sitting in the movie theater waiting for the movie to start I noticed a cadre of men being dragged by various women and all of them looked uncomfortable…as did I. See, no man wants to see this movie. Well, most men don’t want to see it anyway. But see it they did because somebody of the boob either forced them, won a date via a bet, or lied and said they were going to see Safe House and pulled the ole switcheroo.

Look, any man will tell you and we all know that watching chick flicks is just the price of doing business. You start dating a woman and at some point you will be required to sit and watch some sh*t you’d always hoped you’d never watch. Like the entire lineup of Bravo. Or WEtv. Or anything on Lifetime. And I do mean anything on that network.

Moving on.

Here’s the funny sh*t about men and chick flicks: we don’t hate them as much as we claim. We just hate the ones that try to manipulate our feelings and draw out emotions and sh*t in crowded, public places. That? Is not cool. That’s how ninjas get robbed. And that is not gangsta. We have to protect our women after watching some movie that drew tears that other people may have seen? Maaaaan, listen. That’s not gully son. Men cry in prison and in the dark. That’s the real spit.

So I’ve compiled a quick primer for men out there on how to watch a chick flick and maintain your gangsta.

1. If you feel emotions rising up in you, kick the chair in front of you…or go to the bathroom

The only thing really ungangsta about chick flicks is that they make us feel chicky. Or what we presume is chicky. So the best way to undo that drama is to start beef with somebody in the theater…by kicking their seat. This works especially well at a Black theater because you know ninjas are ALWAYS down to squab. Excusing yourself is the more sane and educated route, but nobody loses there. And for ninjadom to prosper, somebody has to stay losing.

2. Laugh at inappropriate times

I remember a looooong time ago in college, me and a group of friends went to see Why Do Fools Fall In Love?, ya know, the movie about the life of Frankie Lymon. Well there’s a scene where Frankie ODs and two chicks I was with BUSTED out laughing. It was then I realized what wusses they were. They were laughing to attempt to mask the fact that they were truly saddened. So as a real G, that’s the way to go.

3. Pretend that you really aren’t getting caught up in the movie

Face it, these movies are meant to get you caught up. At first your not really tuned in until you look down and realize that an hour has passed and you’re totally engrossed in the life of this skinny white chick on screen who just wants some love. That’s all she wants. And your girl just wants you to love it to…which brings us to the ironic next point…

4…pretend you love it

Huh? Explain that Panama.

Will do.

Peace at home my friend. See, if you mock the chick flick, your girl will claim you have no heart, which is probably true…and she dated you anyway. However, acting like you LOVE the movie gets you all types of sensitive man points and since many women believe that if they like a movie it must be a good movie, then your girl will think that you have good taste in movies so when you attempt to throw on that pr0n entitled, “Staying Down Under” she’ll look forward to your movie selection. Or not. Or at least not after that.

Those are 4 ways to enjoy chick flicks if you’re a guy. Fellas, do you have any other tips for watching chick flicks? And ladies here are two questions for you: 1) why do you all want us to like these movies KNOWING that they’re not meant for us know they even exist? and 2) Do the men in your lives seem to like these movies way more than they let on? My mind is telling meeeeeeee…yes.

Talk to me.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. VOW DOWN aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

FOR ALL THE DC PEEPS: Come out for a Black History Month panel discussion entitled “Black Identity & Color in Mass Media” hosted by Very Smart Brothas and Urban Cusp on Wednesday, February 22nd, from 6-8pm at The Washington Post (1150 15th Street, NW). The panel will be moderated by Panama Jackson and Rahiel Tesfamariam (Urban Cusp). It should be a great discussion featuring an interesting mix of panelists. It’s FREE and light refreshments will be served for your culinary pleasure. Peep the flyer below.

I know this may come as a surprise to you, but ignorance is my favorite sport. I’m not sure how, when, or why it became so, but there’s a distinct possibility that this doesn’t make my mother proud. So when videos like this one from comedian Dave Ackerman entitled, “What do you know about Black History?” come across my inbox, I’m enthralled.

For those who can’t see the video, Ackerman dresses up in Blackface and dons Utah Jazz apparel and heads to Brigham Young University to ask white people what they know about Black History Month and Black people in general. Shenanigans ensue. Obviously the answer is not much. Even the Black people at BYU didn’t seem to know when Black History Month even was.

And the capper? He asked people if they know a Black person when they saw one, hoping that somebody would point out that he was indeed a white guy with makeup on. According to him, only 3 people made the revelation. Even the Black people he showed on camera didn’t notice. Or care. I can’t determine which one it is.

Obviously a perusal through the YouTube comments indicates that some people were offended all around by Ackerman’s audacity AND the fact that these white people in Utah had very little clue about Black History. The most telling part of the video to me was when he asked people to give their impressions of Black people and without fail, they all did…happily. And with reckless aplomb.

And you know what? They looked like my idea of what white people in Utah giving their impressions of Black people would look like. By the way the fact that a white chick actually said that Black History Month is the month that Black history started is beyond hilarious to me. Again, I enjoy and appreciate ignorance.

Ackerman’s point seemed to have been to expose how little white people at BYU know about Black people. Which might not be fair. I mean, its motherf*cking Utah. Except it is fair because we’re in motherf*cking America. But then again, it is entirely possible to live your entire life in places of this country without EVER coming into contact with a Black person without the Internet or television.

Now, these people are ignorant. Not ignant. And they are on a college campus, which speaks volumes, except it doesn’t because formal education has sh*t to do with social interaction education and exposure. Granted, if I was white, I probably wouldn’t spend much time thinking about race or Black people, especially if I lived in Utah. I’m sure there’s no reason to celebrate Black History Month there (I have no idea if they do or not). Everybody knows Martin Luther King, Jr because we all get a day off now.

But just when you think white people are a total disappointment in race relations, they do surprise you by getting some things. When the girls were asked if they’d rather date a Black guy who acted white or a white guy who acted Black, they all unanimously thought a white guy acting Black was ridiculous and stupid.

Yet, because white people do like to make sure our fistpump moments dont last too long, one of the girls stated that a Black guy acting white is classy. Wompington Whathafuckness, III. Oh, well.

The thing I took from the video, aside from the laughs I got, was the amazement at just HOW little white people know about Black people. I mean, not knowing when Black History Month is? That sh*t cray. I suppose its good that they all got in the right half of the year but still, that’s befuddling.

By the way, the fact that this comedian was in Black face doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I get it. If the ultimate goal is to truly test how ignorant some white people are, being a white guy made up as a white guy and going completely unnoticed despite the fact that he looks like a white guy made up as a Black guy, is the best way to prove that point.

So here’s my question: are videos like this necessary? Do they achieve any goal? Is there any greater good derived from something like this? If we all assume that most white people couldn’t give a flying f*ck about Blackness, and all this does is verify that, then was any progress made?

Further, was anybody surprised by how little these white (and few Black people) were unaware about anything pertaining to Blackness? What say you?

Because while I was amused, I wasn’t surprised. Nor did I care that much. La di da.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. WHITEFACE BLACK GUY aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

****For those in the DC area, Very Smart Brothas and Urban Cusp are teaming up to bring you a conversation entitled “Black Images and Culture in Mainstream Media” on February 22, 2012, from 6-8PM at the Washington Post building. There will feature a live panel discussion featuring very accomplished local artists, personalites, and media figures and light refreshments will be served. Be on the lookout for more information very shortly.****

But kids add all types of fun dimensions to your life. For instance, I could go see

This picture made me want Skittles. What? Happy Valentine's Day muda skunts.

Beauty & The Beast with daughter in tow and NOBODY would think there was anything odd or wrong with that. Nevermind the fact that I wanted to go see it. Kids are the best out ever.

Alllllllllllllways. No Atlantic Starr.

Well, another great facet is that you have a built in Valentine. See, I’m aware that Valentine’s Day sucks for a lot of people. And by people, I mean women. Very few men could give a flying f*ck about Valentine’s Day. In fact, as a man, the main reason the majority of us do anything for our women on Valentine’s Day is because she’s so looking forward to…us doing something for her. If men didn’t have to go out and buy random odds and ends just because some random ass person came up with this random day eons ago then we wouldn’t.

Interestingly enough, Valentine’s Day is the only day per year where even the most thugged out of individual can walk down the street with a balloon that says “Sweety Pie” and a wrapped up dozen roses without anybody judging or questioning if he’ll murder them. It’s also the one day where you’ve got t put the thug back on the shelf because its really hard to look intimidating in the checkout line at Giant with a box of chocolates and a lily. And homeboy, buy more than one next year.

Back to my daughter. Having a daughter is about as sweet as it gets come days like Valentine’s Day. See, having a little girl brings out a certain sensitivity in most men. Your daughter is the woman in your life that you want to be happy at all times. So even if you don’t get into Valentine’s Day, somehow, someway, you still want to do something nice for your daughter JUST so she’ll always know that her father remembered days likes Valentine’s Day so that when the man she ultimately chooses to deal with in the future DOES forget, she realizes that she can do better like Drake singing an Adele song written by Babyface and Marques Houston.

The fact that I have a built in Valentine every year is one of those things that genuinely puts a smile on my face. Will she remember the random balloon two years from now? Nope. Will I remember the smile she had because she’s still young enough to get insane amounts of joy out of a balloon? Absolutely. And it’s worth it every time. Being a parent is obviously no walk in the park, though it’s one of the most rewarding jobs on the planet. But making days like Valentine’s Day matter because there’s a little princess in the picture? Well, that’s what makes life worth living.

Besides, my daughter will actually be completely content with a balloon, one flower, and a stuffed animal. How many women would be okay with that? More than I think, probably. But I’ll be willing to be all of your lunch money that most men think that they do a better job at Valentine’s Day than we really do. It’s just another reason why women are in the “Who Sucks The Least” race in Black America because I saw all of your/their boyfriends in line tonight while I was getting some Crisco. Your gifts are about to suck ladies.

I promise.

But not to my daughter. Not to my favorite person on the planet. And not to my numero uno Valentine for life.

Was this a sappy post? Perhaps. Was it honest. Absolutely. And you can’t whip my a** anyway.

Happy Valentine’s Day to those who don’t hate the day. Happy 14th to those who do. Every day is the 14th.

What’s your Valentine’s Day looking like? Do you like Valentine’s Day? Hate it? Do you refuse to celebrate it? Why or why not?

And fellas…if you have to go see The Vow, it’s okay. You’ve got a friend in me.

Love 40.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. SHUGGIE VALENTINO aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

August 9, 1963 - February 11, 2012. Gone too soon.

Whitney Houston is gone.

I don’t even know how else to start this off. The news that Whitney Houston died at the young age of 48 (!!!!!!) caught me so off guard that when the first person called to tell me, I responded so non-chalantly that I caught myself by surprise. I was just like, “that’s sad.”

It wasn’t because it didn’t matter. It’s because it just didn’t seem real at all. Not Whitney. Micheal? Yeah. We were all saddened and moved but it wasn’t a total surprise to anybody. Whitney was also on some sort of that stuff – and quite famously – and yet it just didn’t seem like she’d pass…so soon (again…48!!!!). We still don’t know what happened but no illegal drugs were found in the room and there were no signs of foul play. It was just…her time.

(Early reports suggest that she may have drowned. That is tragic beyond belief if its true. EDIT: 10AM – Turns out she didn’t drown, but a lethal mix of prescription drugs and alcohol might have killed her long before she had time to drown. There wasn’t enough water in her lungs to suggest she drowned.)

And that’s hard to deal with. I’ve come to grips with the fact that I have no power of when my time on this planet will end. It’s bigger than I am. But the death of larger than life people like Whitney Houston still seems surreal and doesn’t make sense to me. I always felt like she had another comeback in her. Her voice, while not what it used to be, was still leagues better than 98 percent of the population.

That voice. My God. There have been a few people who I’ve felt were given a truly God given gift and Whitney was one of them. Her voice was so strong, so pure, and so beautiful that her heyday was nearly 25 years ago and we are STILL attached to those very songs. Just like Michael. While nobody will ever touch what Michael Jackson did, Whitney was as pretty high up on the short of list of individuals who held that type of superstardom purely for their talents.

I’m a grown ass man and I still sing along to “I’m Every Woman”. And who HASN’T screwed up “Greatest Love of All” at karaoke or in their car. And think, that song is immortal ANYWAY because of Coming To America. And yes, “How Will I Know” if he really loves me. I don’t know…So many songs. So many great moments. And no, my name is not Susan, which could be why people never watch what they say. I really think I could write an entire post based on her songs.

I think, much like Michael, the true test of what Whitney Houston meant to America, and particularly Black America is how much of our experiences she’s tied to. If you grew up in the 80s then Whitney was absolutely apart of your life. I remember the long ass road trips with my Black man from Alabama ass father blasting the I’m Your Baby Tonight album. My father used to ask my mother to put Whitney Houston (and later Mariah Carey) under the Christmas tree for him every year. Every. Year. My daddy wasn’t sh*t.

And don’t even get me started on the Waiting To Exhale soundtrack. I still bump that (real talk). There’s an odd connection we all feel in the Black community (and maybe white artists do too) to our artists, especially the larger than life ones. Maybe it’s because music is the one escape most of us have in a life filled with so much struggle. Artists like Whitney blew the lid off what we could achieve and what was expected and even though she sang pop music, she sang it in a way that wasn’t selling out. You can’t fake a voice like that and there’s no way to sell out with an instrument like that.

Whitney Houston was family. Hell, she still is family. She’s so much family that many of us are ACTUALLY really concerned about Bobbi Kristina…and Bobby Brown. And I’m not even sure Whitney liked him anymore. But this is what happens when family passes. And there’s a certain sadness that will persist for a while. She was an icon. She was a legend. And its hard to believe that she’s gone. But she’s one of those that will live forever. She has no choice. She made too much of an impact while she was here. There are very few artists today who aren’t influenced by her.

Plus, she has one of the most iconic “big leagues” of all time in her remake of “I Will Always Love You”. It’s a perfect rendition. With a perfect voice.

And yes, the Whitney tribute was short. And yes, we all wanted more. Did Whitney get shortchanged? Possibly.

But that’s second to the fact that the voice is gone.

I’m all over the place here, so I’ll just end this here:

Whitney, I wish to you joy, and happiness…but above all this, I wish you love.

We love you. And miss you. RIP.

-VSB P

I can honestly say that “The Terminal” is undoubtedly one of my favorite movies. For those unfamiliar with the plot, Tom Hanks plays Viktor Navorski, an Eastern European man forced to live in JFK for six months when he’s denied entry onto US soil, but also can’t fly back to his native country because they’re in a middle of revolution. In those six months, he learns English, befriends many of the people working at the airport, begins a somewhat unrequited romance with a flight attendant played by a surprisingly fetching Catherine Zeta-Jones, and hilariously irritates the head immigration officer more and more by the day — a guy who tries to do everything legally possible to rid himself of the “Navorski problem,” but fails repeatedly. (Stanley Tucci was great in this role, btw)

Yet, despite Hanks’ comedic affectations, Zeta-Jones’ world-weary milfy sexiness, Spielberg’s direction, and great performances by myraid actors, the movie solidified itself on my “top” list because of a single relatively insignificant character — a person who probably spoke less than 500 words the entire flick…

…Zoe Saldana’s Officer Torres…

…my favorite fictional love-interest of all-time. (Honorable mentions: Nia Long’s Brandy from “Boyz n the Hood” and Elastagirl from “The Incredibles” )

In her mere 15 to 20 minutes of screen-time, Saldana’s character somehow managed to exhibit pretty much every quality on my “ideal mate checklist” — compassion, intelligence, humility, romantic optimism, a tight blue uniform, quirkiness; it’s like they intentionally grafted a character straight out of my subconscious.

Aiight. That’s enough from me today. People of VSB, if you could bag (and “bag” in this instance could mean anything from “date” or “court” to “sleep with” or “imprison them in a texas ranch for 15 years“) any fictional character from any book, movie, or TV show, or web series, who would it be? Remember, I’m not referring to real live actors or actresses, but fictional characters who had you completely enthralled.

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)