Might As Well Face It ....

How the hell did James Franco manage to look like a buff version of a girl from a Robert Palmer video? I've had "Addicted to Love" running through my head since I saw this picture. I can't get it out!

Why God, oh why do we have reinvent ourselves? Act as if this is something to prove ourselves fearless?

Maybe I'm jealous that JF looks better in drag than I do as a real woman? Nah, in the looks department, as a woman, I'd run circles around him with a runny nose, in ratty joggers, and no make-up.

 Look hats off for going there JF, maybe now I can take you seriously as an actor. I mean you are following in the steps of Patrick Swayze (RIP),Wesley Snipes, and John Leguizamo. Actually maybe the latter two aren't such good examples of the Hollywood Drag Game. I mean the only thing I think of now with them is tax evasion and Ice Age 3.

The image is artsy ...sort of but it tries to be more provocative to me than anything. When you are actually trying for a controversial reaction, that's where you lose me. The best controversy is unexpected. Intentional controversy is the equivalent of that bad kid on Super Nanny acting out because his daddy is too busy at the job to spend time with them -- it's all about attention.

But we are a society that thrives on controversy and shock value. When someone takes it all the way there, then you can't "throw salt in a playa's game." You might not agree with it, but you have got to tip the proverbial hat.

I guess I don't have problem with what JF did at all maybe just all the possible secret reasons about why it could have been done.

This actually brings to mind a brilliant poem written by a once great troubadour of the previous century...

The lights are on
But you're not home
Your mind is not your own

Damn it! That's not the poem I had in mind. Curse you Robert Palmer!

A Rosebud by Any Other Name ...

So my friend is watching the movie "Social Network" this weekend and said one critic quoted this movie as being -- and I'm paraphrasing here -- "the Citizen Kane of our generation." Ummm, no. Citizen Kane was Citizen Kane. Social Network has the kid from Zombieland in it.

It might be a movie to define our generation, but don't people say that about every film that has even slight social implications?

When Boyz n the Hood or Menace to Society premiered, it was to be a "wake up call for the black community."

Did African Americans come together on some kind of shared consciousness? Did we attempt to infiltrate the very cancers eating away at our communities with the intent to heal them? Become self-reliant and not tear down those willing to make sacrifices?

No. We pretty much stayed the same. Nothing has changed and we will wail and weep at our plight, but have done nothing to add balm to long ago open wounds.

So will Social Network allow us to see a generation become totally dependent on the internet as a form of conscious expression and conduit for financial wealth and social power? Yes, but I don't think we'll really do anything about this.

We won't stop using Facebook, Twitter, or LinkedIn. We won't throw away our iPods, iPads, or iPhones. People cannot, we will not unplug.

I mean Citizen Kane forewarned, through looking at a man's life, how ideology can turn the most innocent into the most ruthless. Will Social Network detail the cyber perils of socializing and living our lives online? I hope so, but let's be honest: We don't look at movies for messages, to change our lives, we look at movies to be entertained -- nothing more and nothing less.

All the Single Ladies ....

I want to apologize for my absence on the blogosphere. I assure you it was beyond my control and had to do with a very important friend's wedding and this very lovely event actually inspired me to write this post. So to my friend Brunette, I thank you for removing the Great Wall of China that was my writer's block!

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Ladies we know there is a potent, ever present, mind numbing pressure from society, friends and families to tie ourselves to another person for the purpose of holy matrimony.


I understand the need to be with someone. To not be alone. We know our loved ones have our best interests at heart when they tell us about a newly available person "who's just perfect for you!"

The blind dates and forced conversation are painful and once more we don't need to go through this pretty humiliating experience while people watch in dark corners for any hint of what could be attraction (but it's really me trying to plan my escape by saying I have a really important phone call I have to make -- to China).

I have a humble respect and admiration for others not wanting us to be alone. What I do not respect or like is the societal spotlight placed on females during weddings.

I love the dress; the ceremony; the church. I definitely love wedding cake and the reception. I do NOT love that portion of the reception with 'Single Ladies' playing in the background while every unattached female comes to the front of the ballroom. The pulsing sound of Beyonce's "oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh" is no longer an anthem of female independence or the song to which I got ready while primping for a night out with my friends. It's now the brutal, bumping beat to which myself and others now reach their arms up to claw out the eyes of another female to catch a wedding bouquet.


Yeah, so for my friend's wedding last week I sat this one out. I've caught the bouquet already -- three times. So I'm not risking life or limb for an old tradition that has no real bearing on meeting the future Mr. Cathy any sooner.

OK, let me put down a disclaimer here: I'm not bitter. I believe in love, just not people throwing in your face the constant fact that you're alone.

See most ladies, we're alone only for the moment and we're REALLY enjoying that moment and learning about ourselves and the world so when we do meet a guy, we're not looking for him to complete us, but to add to an already pretty picture.

So all the single ladies, all the single ladies, let's enjoy singledom right now because it won't be forever and soon it will be our turn to play Beyonce and throw those flowers. Come to think of it, I think I'll play a different song when the time comes for me.

What would people think of Taps?

This Land Is Your Land … but Not Really

What irks me about the illegal immigration debate is the historical hypocrisy of it all. Whether these tea partying, flag waving patriots want to recognize it or not THEY are not by any means legal immigrants and neither were their ancestors. None of us are in a sense "legal."

I mean Africans were stolen from their homeland and brought to America then had to fight and die (and in most cases still fight and die) for equal civil and legal liberties.

We all learned in second grade -- and through various viewings of A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving -- the American land and wealth was stolen from the Native American people. If anyone should complain or pass ridiculous ordinances and laws regarding illegal immigration it should be them! We should have to speak nothing but their languages and adhere to their customs.

The crazy thing about American culture is that we can justify anything. I mean Manifest Destiny is here for anyone who wants a self-righteous excuse to steal from others.

As a matter of fact, I'm going to do one better than Manifest Destiny! I'm going to pull a 'Christopher Columbus' and 'discover 'someone's 52" flat screen television set and on top of that give them a blanket with germs from a cold I have hoping they die since their immune system might not be used to my more advanced germs. Now that is living the American Dream!

I guess what bugs me about this issue is the fact the entitled American electorate try so hard to keep to themselves what they take for granted anyway.

Give people the opportunity to become 'legal' or at the very least make it easier and more affordable for them so as not to drive someone to so desperate and act as to break a law that shouldn't be here in the first place.

Social Networking and Boredom

As a young spry teenager whenever I was bored, I picked up a book and read. Now, I update my facebook status.

I would improve my writing skills when I felt I didn't have a lot to do. Now I will tweet that I have nothing to do while trolling for followers --my writing dried up like the molty, gray skin of an elephant.

I wasn't very inspired to write on my blog, but do you know what I was going to do? Instead of reading a newspaper or book for a topic, my first thought was to update my facebook profile saying I didn't have anything about which to write.

I think I have a serious addiction.

I'm a Little Bit Country ...

Hello, my name is Catherine. I am black and I like country music.

Whew! that was a hard confession! Why do you ask? Well because I don't believe I'm exactly the consumer country music might have in mind. And I'll admit that even though I have nothing to be ashamed of, I still don't let too many people know that I'm a Rascal Flatts or Carrie Underwood fan.

I mean when I decided to write this blog the only black country singer I even knew about was that guy from Hootie and the Blowfish. If you broke down the amount of African Americans who watch the country music channel or the CMT awards, then you might come up with a miniscule amount -- me and the guy from Hootie and the Blowfish so that's probably two.

Ok, I know I'm exaggerating. This shouldn't be an issue for me, but it is -- especially when I was in college.

If it wasn't my black friends asking me, "Why the hell are you listening to this?!" It was white people asking me, "Did I know who I was listening to?"

It got to be a bit much for me so I just stopped listening to it publicly. I got tired of defending tastes and in some cases my "blackness" as some associates called it into question.

I mean I could quote lyrics from Brooks and Dunn to Biggie so who the hell cares what I listened to and why?!

I guess in the end it was about deflection. Not being comfortable with yourself makes you want to hone in on someone who is and make them feel the way you do.

I feel sorry for people who aren't comfortable enough to lay bare the quirks and idiosyncrasies that make them unique. Do what you want to do. Be who you want to be. Listen to whatever music you want to listen to.

There's no need to blend. We're not V8 fruit juice, we're humans!

Almost Famous ... But not Really

I have facebooked, tweeted, myspaced and match.com'd myself into the selective Internet consciousness. I think mainly because I have a massive ego I hide behind my dazzlingly beautiful smile and utterly charming demeanor.

I also think it's because no one wants to be forgotten and from the beginning of time most humans wanted to be famous.

We harbor secret inner desires of fame through American Idol, The Apprentice or The Bachelor/The Bachelorette. Hell, I think someone people will take America's Funniest Home Videos at this point!

Why is being known such a burning desire of people and being forgotten an utterly terrifying thought?

We are selfish. There I said it. People will do anything for attention. Jersey Shore anyone?!

Even, dense gel-haired, leopard print wearing, fist pumping wannabes can get a show!

I sound bitter don't I?

I'm no better than they are. I look for an opening where I can take it. What? Did someone think I started blogging because I was so deep? Nope.

We type our names in Google to see what comes up -- our personal website URLs warring for better positions on search engines like New York City sewer rats over rotten scraps.

But I take solace in the fact we are all stars on the Internet. We just have to share the famous pie (I think it tastes like cherry) and cut it up into mini, bite size pieces and feed those to our starving egos.

I'm talking to myself just as much as I'm talking to you all.

Why are we all driven to become known?

30 years ago ...

I have fun at work. I always have. The pressure, the coworkers, the inappropriate comments from coworkers can be quite experience. Mostly, I like the fact because of these same coworkers, I have some pretty colorful conversations; many of which I use in my writings. Pretty much like I'm going to do now.

My coworker and I were joking around the other day about my home. He said he and his wife would move in, but not pay any rent and would need me to leave for a few days as they were throwing a party to which he said I wasn't invited and when I asked why, he replied, "Because it's 'Whites only.'"

I thought this joke was hilarious and so did he and after we finished laughing. He commented 30 years ago that would have been true and I was quick to agree until I thought about it and said, "Hey wait! I was born 30 years ago! We didn't have Jim Crow back then!"

We did have racism 30 years ago believe it and it's still here. The fact we have a black president doesn't really prove anything to me about the diminishing of racism. Just that some people are a lot better at hiding it now. I'm a skeptic.

I think when he said 30 years ago we both thought it that was a sufficient amount of time to span the time of liberal enlightenment to a more sinister, hateful time when my coworker and I couldn't even think about being coworkers let alone friends. We underestimated the amount of time.

I think I’m grateful he and I can joke about race. I think I'm a little ashamed for not noticing right off that 30 years wasn't long enough to make the point he was trying to make and with which I so readily agreed. I think that I'm thinking way too hard about this and am going to get a latte.

Action vs. Reaction

I was walking home from work yesterday and when I got to the corner, I heard a woman talking and didn't hear a voice answering back. I didn't pay attention too much at first because, well we're in the 21st century. We have cell phones the size of grapes and earpieces that are installed in your head for a nominal $49.99 fee.

However, when I looked, really looked, I saw there was no Bluetooth, BlackBerry, or trendy tech device attached to her ear or hip. There was nothing. This woman was talking to herself.

You've got to love good old fashioned "crazy."

Being my normal compassionate and caring self, I tried to stay as far away from this chick as I could.

She saw me though and she said, "What the hell are you lookin' at you stupid nigger?!"

The woman was black, but it's not like I cared about her race at this point. I just couldn't believe the words that came out of her mouth.

Now I had one of two ways I could react to the situation:

A. beat the hell out of a crazy lady and then write a blog about life in a Cook County prison; or

B. breathe deeply, realize this person wasn't in their right mind and move on

After about a minute of debating in my head, I chose the second of both reactions for one reason: There were people watching me -- a group of tourists.

How do I know they were tourists? Well the lady with the headset talking about the Sears Tower and the people wearing fanny packs were pretty much a dead giveaway.

I just imagined what could happen giving in to the temptation and putting that woman in a headlock with my right arm while pummeling her with my left fist (I say I'd use my left fist because that's my strongest).

The impression these people walk away with about Chicago is concerning for me, but most of all I didn't want witnesses to what could be a very physical, LOUD and profane answer back to this loon. I didn't want to seem like a stereotype, I guess -- the neck-rolling, finger-waving black woman.

I'm not ashamed of who I am and I'm not Uncle Tom'ing it up for a group of white tourists. It's just that I didn't want to represent myself in a way I thought someone was expecting. Is that wrong?

Myintrotoletuknow About Ghetto Yuppies

So hip-hop heads (my brother definitely included) have probably figured out the title of my blog's first entry is a nod to Outkast's 1994 debut album Southernplayalisticadillacmuzik.

This is my debut, however.

We shouldn't be afraid of words ghetto or yuppies nor take offense when these terms are uttered. They are labels and these two labels together best describe me -- black and loud and proud, but dammit if I don't like a spicy tuna roll and or a venti white chocolate mocha from Starbucks too. I'm a mystery, wrapped in an enigma wrapped in this cute pair of chuck taylors I saw worn by Pete Wentz from Fall Out Boy.

This first entry is also a disclaimer so before Al Sharpton wags his finely manicured finger in judgement at the word ghetto or the ACLU comes to my defense using the first amendment -- be warned. I will write things you may not like or understand, but I need to get my "crazy" out somewhere and better here than you all see me talking to an imaginary friend on the Red Line train going to 95th St.

This is a fluid commenting on the fine line I walk as a black woman in a not-so-black world; that structured, boxed-in dance many African-Americans have to master like the electric slide at our yearly family reunions. This blog will be my sanity and my salvation in small parts.

So here I go. Are you there? I hope you are because if you're not, then I am no better off mentally than I thought and should start figuring out a good name for my imaginary friend. I like the name Leopold.