privilege like us

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yesterday’s discussion about privilege (or lack thereof) sparked an idea in my head, perfectly articulated by vsb.com regular v.e.g.

“I wonder what privileges VSBers would say they get…i.e. tall man privilege, skinny girl privilege. etc.??? Would be an interesting exercise to have folks list what they perceive to be their privileges. OR if they feel like they DON’T benefit from them at all.”

one of the main themes i tried to convey yesterday was the fact that pretty much everybody benefits from some sort of privilege, whether you admit to it or not. whether its something as simple as dimples and perfect pearly whites that allow you to immediately charm people or the fact that you’re the only black in the hr department at work, basically insuring that you’ll never, ever, ever get fired from your job, the majority of us have at least one subtle or obvious advantage over most other people that we use to our benefit, including the champ himself.

to prove my point, here’s a short list of the champs perceived privileges.

1. the dark-brown skinned black guy privilege…which means that my skin is dark enough to never have my “blackness” or masculinity questioned, but not so dark that it’s been the object of ridicule. in recent years, i’ve also found that i’m tall and dark enough to scare unsuspecting 2520′s away with a stanley-esque glare if i want to keep the seat next to me open on the bus, but, with my glasses and attache, still non-threatening enough to be the black guy lost white women ask for orgasms directions

did i stutter???

did i stutter???

2. the black male former english teacher privilege…which insures that, regardless of how hard things are economically, unless i’m caught on rude.com akon-ing keke palmer, i’ll always be able to get a job somewhere teaching english. sh*t, at this point, i might as well put “quota filler” on my resume instead of my name

3. the educated and not under-employed male (**knocking on wood**) in the burgh privilege…lets just say that theres a reason why i haven’t moved out of the cave to the beltway or atlanta. like marlo says, “noone f*cks with me now“.

4. the ball-player with a brain privilege…an advantage i especially enjoyed in college, when being able to dribble a basketball and put more than three sentences together without slobbering kept the nights of dry nuts to a minimum, a dynamic which eventually led to the…

...5. the black male blogging privilege, which i choose not to expound upon because i actually want people to continue to frequent the site, lol. i plead the fif and sh*t

these are just a few of mine. what are yours?

–the champ

the preference privilege

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for the last month or so, an article titled “the black male privilege checklist” has made its way around the blogosphere, sparking discussion, inciting debates, and wetting more womanist mesh panties than free patchouli night at trader joes.

in it, the author lists 100 different ways that black males are at the beneficial end of intraracial gender privilege. this was a good concept (in theory), but the execution fails when he continues to add inconsequential sh*t to stretch the list to a more buzz-worthy “100″.

***example: #86 on his list “as men, we’re able to make exciting splashes when we urinate, as opposed to women who are stuck with boring peeing while sitting“. okay, i’m totally making this up. but you get my point***

also, what the author fails to admit is that we ALL benefit from some sort of privilege. whether its “pretty girl privilege”, “dark-skinned guy privilege“, “big d*ck privilege”, “big booty/little waist privilege“, “smart person privilege”, “inheritance privilege”, “token black privilege“, “no-kids privilege”, “squirter privilege”, or “i know my dad and i celebrate father’s day privilege“, the majority of us can name an advantage we have over many of our peers…and this isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

when the topic of privilege and double-standards is brought up though, males are inevitably painted as the bad guy, or at least the only beneficiaries…a statement which couldn’t be further from the truth.

for instance: a couple months ago, professional sambo rapper yung berg was (justifiably) railed across the coals for making that inane “pool test” statement dissing dark-skinned black women, yet many black women openly state their preference for darker-skinned males without rebuke, hurting the feelings of many of our lighter-skinned brethren, including our own p the arsonist. if i wrote an entry titled “top 5 reasons you can’t let a fat chick meet momma…even if momma’s fat too”, i’d probably hafta hire an intern just to deal with the hate mail i’d receive, but it is perfectly okay for a woman to state that she wouldn’t date a man under six feet tall, a statement which eliminates roughly 60-65 percent of the black male population since the average male height is 5’9”.

from hair texture and height to skin-tone and wang size, women are allowed to freely state physical preferences that openly eliminate many members of the opposite sex, characteristics that the guy has completely no control over. yet, a black male can’t even openly admit to being more attracted to women whose skin is a half shade lighter than theirs without getting verbally sodomized by feminist adebesis.

i guess you can say that this dynamic is a symptom of the fact that since at least 92 percent of what they say is bullsh*t women are generally given more latitude with their words than we are. maybe being able to openly eliminate prospects without rebuke is a by-product of them being socialized to openly express their feelings more freely and us being socialized to listen to and accept them regardless of how jejune they might be.

who knows. all i know is that someone needs to stand up for the short smart brothas out there too since they can’t stand up for themselves. well, they could, but does it really count as “standing up” if you can’t see over anyone’s shoulders? nevermind. don’t answer that. and, since i am the champion and sh*t, i nominate myself for the job.

—the champ

Friday Fun: My Mic Sounds Nice Check 1.

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It’s time for us to have to have some real Friday Fun.

Courtesy of Shay-d-lady:

2 impromptu rap battles in the middle of dinner with beatboxing and table drum accompaniment
Yo momma is a ho cause I said so.. ha ha ha ha ha……yo turn….

Word??

A long long time ago on my old blog I had a brilliant idea.

So, it seems that quite a few of you are big rap fans.  Hell, the fact that people are on here quoting Gucci Mane is both shocking and impressive to me.  For one, I couldn’t tell you a Gucci Mane lyric if my life depended on it.  Then this got me to thinking about two things:

1)  Who hasn’t wanted to be a rapper at some point in their life.  Money, hoes, clothes?  It’s the life.

2)  Will Spike Lee’s movie be any good?

Well, since I have no control over number 2, I figure the least we could do on this Fun Friday is…

*drum roll*

HAVE A RAP BATTLE!

Yes. I know some of you all are closet rappers.  Most of you probably have always wanted to take a crack at spitting that hot fiyah.  As long as you realize that nobody’s ever going to be better than Dylan, Dylan, Dylan, Dylan, and Dylan.

I used to do these over on my old site and Monk was there ethering folks.  And since Shay-d-lady,is talking about starting random rap battles to scare folks off, let’s see what would really happen.

Now I can’t create the random beat accompaniment, but who needs that when you can just use the same A/B format that Shawty Lo got famous with.  What up, what’s happenin?

So I’ll set the scenario.  Assume you’re on a wack date and you’re using Shay-d-lady’s method to get rid of him or her…I’ll kick it off….

****

I’m VSB P from legendary VSB

representin’ DC, everybody just breathe

if you got eccentric teeth, you better never say cheese

cuz if a picture’s worth a thousand words, your sh*t needs be free

b*tch please, i aint set the rules i just follow tradition

and you kind of look like rick james with two midgets

with 4 perms smoking a little sherm and snortin’ coke

after hittin’ two rocks and straddling a velvet rope

with more tats than wayne, a worse voice than pain

and so little common sense you’d probably vote for john mccain

with conversation that makes me want to stab a milk crate

now this is what the f*ck i’d call a very bad date

so just in case you think i’m like babyface or some sh*t

it aint true, i don’t ever want to see you again

believe me when i say that your a** just got nexted

you look as bad as Cassie sings, so I need the next selection…OOOOH!

*****

That was just for starters…gimme what you got.  Come on my rappin’ a** friends.  Miss t-lee, Shay-d-lady, Monk.  I know Dorian G. got something for the people.  Give it a whirl.  That means you too Champ.  It’s Friday Fun!

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST

P.S. If you happen to be in the Miami, Florida, area, tomorrow night The Champ, Liz, and possibly myself will be guests on Keeping It Real with Te-Ericka, a radio show on WBRY 1640 AM, a radio show that airs every Friday from 10pm to midnight.   We’ll be on there discussing internet dating and relationships.  If you’re not in the area but want to hear us kicking that dopeness, you can also stream the show here:  http://www.barry.edu/radiostation/ .  CULO!

Link of The Week: Next.

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You know how normal people go out on a gazillion first and second dates and stuff to get to know people?  Well, that was never really me.  I was never dating a gazillion people.  I usually find one I like and stick to ‘em.

But I have been on my fair share of dates.  Hell, now that I think about it, I’ve been on dates where I didn’t even REALIZE I was on a date.  I remember this one particular philly.  She was a friend of a friend who was moving to DC so I offered to show her around.  Apparently you can’t offer to show people around a city without being interested.

Anywho, we go to get something to eat one day and out of nowhere she hits me with: “so where is this going?”

Me:  Um, well that bus right there goes right down by the monuments.

Her:  No, us.  What are we doing?

Me:  Us?  We’re eating dinner.  For the first time ever.  So what could you possibly be asking me?

Her:  I’m saying, are we dating or what?

Me:  I just met you.  2 hours ago.

Let’s just say her arse got nexted real quick.  Being the nice fella that I am though, I took her home that night instead of making her catch the bus like I wanted to do.  Fact is, my situation isn’t special.  There are lot of people out there who end up going out on dates with people that end up being as interesting as a Beyonce interview.  And for those that haven’t seen a Beyonce interview, that isn’t a good thing.  In fact, its quite drole and boring.

I do love her though.

So let’s say you are on a first date and realize you don’t want a second one.

Well, CNN.com has …

STOP.

I’m watching MTVJams right now and Plies video for “I Am Da Club” or something is on.  This is a terrible, terrible song.  And video.  Plies needs Jesus. This video is the a*s of videos.  I do not like John Legend either.

Anyway, CNN has come up with their own list for how not to get a second date.  It’s pretty good.  Hell, some of them remind me of things I wish I could do.  To wit:

• Inappropriate disclosure of the personal kind. You know how you’ve always really admired the curve of your brother’s bum in his too-tight pair of Wranglers? Share that little tidbit and see what happens.

• Inappropriate disclosure of the medical kind. You’ve been wondering whether that festering bump on your bikini line is a herpes sore or just an ingrown hair. Make tonight the night you get a second opinion.

• Perplexing Puppetry. All you need is a pen to draw the eyes and mouth and you’ve got yourself a Señor Wences-style hand puppet. Once your date starts getting on your nerves (and on any first date, the chances are 70/30 in favor of that happening), insist that he address his comments to the hand. Bonus points if you can up the annoyance ante with a fake foreign accent. He will think you’re a nutter, and not in a good way.

Pretty good, especially the puppetry thing.  The worst thing about that one is that your date is essentially cornered.  It ain’t like they can really go anywhere.

I have my own short list of ways to guarantee one date only:

Make everythign rhyme – I’d want to shoot you for doing this.  In fact, I think I’d be pissed.  Dammit, that wasn’t supposed to rhyme.  I just can’t stop myself, it should be a crime.  F*CK.

Sneeze a lot - Follow me with this one.  One of my boys broke up with a chick because she blew her nose too much.  Just imagine being on a date with somebody who sneezed every 2 seconds.  I’d never call them again.  I’d think they were allergic to me.

Jab them in the neck – Pretty much guarantees that they’ll never ever want to see you again.

That’s just my short list.  What say you ?  Any of you all gotten out of dealing with somebody for a second date by doing something outlandish?  What are some other ways to secure a one-date-only diet?

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST

Panda.

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Love Actually is one of my favorite movies of all time. Yeah yeah, I know. You’d assume that a gangsta like me would only be into ubergangsta movies like Shrek, The Lion King, or Beethoven’s Second. I probably watch it once a month at least.

And that got me to thinking.

If hip-hop is ruining the Black community, then movies like this are exactly what’s wrong with relationships. It’s funny if you think about it. We put our fantasies into movies and music knowing full well that we’ll probably never achieve them.

See, these movies make us believers in love and pandas and all that is wonderful and right in the world. Love, Actually is just…inspirational!

*ding*

I start believing in the possibilities. When it ends, it makes me want to do something nice for some woman in my life. Shoot, I called my momma after watching it once just to tell her I loved her. Don’t worry though, I went out and robbed two old ladies and kicked a squirrel into oncoming traffic to maintain my gangsta, shortly thereafter.

But let’s be real. It’s a movie for a reason. The people who wrote it created it because they wanted to see love and happiness on screen since they have to go home to their wives and the loved ones who have caused them to consider murder at least once or twice.

Music is just like that. There are so many great love songs out there that make you believe. And that’s great except its only part of the story. We just all happen to forget that we are d-bags or untrustworthy or flakes. We all believe in the hour and 30 minute version of love or the 3 and a half-minute version of love and want that. We forget about our insecurities that won’t let us love the way they do in the movies or the way crooners sang on tape.

Or that K-Ci was an ACTUAL crackhead.

Confusion. We hope for the beautiful love and happy endings that we see or hear, but all the while do everything in our power to protect ourselves from being hurt. We see the beauty and are afraid of it, all at the same time. We relate to the warm feelings that our favorite actors and actresses put out then go home and are pissed because our significant others don’t make us feel that anymore. Because you know what? They used to.

There was time when you had the butterflies and seeing the person that gave you butterflies made your heart skip a beat. It was because of the possibilities and newness of it all…and it went away and you can’t understand why because the people in the movies seem to have it. We now get into arguments because we don’t understand how our loved ones don’t see how much we love them and how we’d never hurt them. Or we wonder why they don’t do those little things. In the movies they do the little things.

We forget that they are actors and actresses who have screwed up lives of their own. But that doesn’t matter because they made us happy. Hell, whenever I feel bad, I just throw in that movie and I feel better.

Well, that and a shot of Patron.

Which gets back to the other point, living on hope. When we watch these movies they make us feel all warm and fuzzy inside and they reignite that flame of hope that makes you believe that you can have what they have onscreen.

And that’s how the media screws up relationships. It gives us hope and belief in love without telling us how to get over our own insecurities about love and romance. We get so caught up in the quick images and emotions that we fail to realize that everybody isn’t perfect. Even the worst case scenario, as occurs in Love Actually, made me believe that sometimes love can trump all and make somebody work through the rough times. The only problem with that is the assumption that love actually is there in the first place.

So the next time you go to the movies to see a romantic comedy or just story about love or hear the best love song on the radio, remember, reality can suck and that the people on screen or on the radio in real life have three divorces and run over people in expensive cars at supermarkets.

And if all else fails, don’t watch romantic comedies…

…just watch porn.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST