Can somebody please tell Hillary Clinton she’s acting like the bloodied, puffy-faced boxer who throws his hands up in victory at the end of a fight even though everyone watching can see that he’s lost? Dude… quit it. You so aren’t winning. I’m sure you’re expecting some more analogies here… another sardonic observation to maybe back up that premise. Well, tough. I’m tired. I just felt bad because I haven’t posted in a while.

It’s been a long time, I shouldn’t have left you
Without a strong rhyme to step to
Think of how many weak shows you slept through
Time’s up, I’m sorry I kept you…

You’re Welcome.

I’ve had a bunch of random thoughts recently that I hope to turn into bits. One is about how I always wanted to try being a sportscaster… but I don’t have any of the prerequisites… Hilarious right? Yeah I know. I heart Bob Costas. Really. I know a lot of people are annoyed by him, but it’s just because he knows everything about everything and they’re intimidated. I, however, am not. Cause I recognize he’s supernatural. No one’s talking in his earpiece. He has every one of those facts filed away in his head. He’s like Rain Man for sports. Give dude a cape and some tights and he’d be… Fill in your own blank, I’m too tired for this ish… Huh?!?!?

Good nite

I didn’t know you could get this high…

So I came across this gem of an interview with DMX over at XXL magazine’s site… What are you smokin, X? This is sad, sad business.

Let’s hope this was some fake i’m-tryin’-to-keep-my-hip-hop-cred-i-need-publicity-ignorance, and not just the effects of years of crack smokin’. (Clearing throat)… And I quote:

Are you following the presidential race?
Not at all.

You’re not? You know there’s a Black guy running, Barack Obama and then there’s Hillary Clinton.
His name is Barack?!

Barack Obama, yeah.

What the f*** is a Barack?! Barack Obama. Where he from, Africa?

Yeah, his dad is from Kenya.
Barack Obama?

What the f*** ?! That ain’t no f***in’ name, yo. That ain’t that nigga’s name. You can’t be serious. Barack Obama. Get the f*** outta here.

You’re telling me you haven’t heard about him before.
I ain’t really paying much attention.

I mean, it’s pretty big if a Black…
Wow, Barack! The nigga’s name is Barack. Barack? Nigga named Barack Obama. What the f***, man?! Is he serious? That ain’t his f***in’ name. Ima tell this nigga when I see him, “Stop that bullshit. Stop that bullshit” [laughs] That ain’t your f***in’ name. Your momma ain’t name you no damn Barack.

So you’re not following the race. You can’t vote right?

Is that why you’re not following it?
No, because it’s just… it doesn’t matter. They’re gonna do what they’re gonna do. It doesn’t really make a difference. These are the last years.

Oh yeah… and in case you skipped right to the bottom, the article starts off with him talking about the gospel album (yes you read right) that he is working on.

Precious Lord, take my hand.


Who Says Women Aren’t Funny?



photo courtesy of Vanity Fair

…is the title of an article in the April issue of Vanity Fair. It’s a retort of sorts to Christopher Hitchens’ 2007 article entitled “Why Women Aren’t Funny”–which I blogged about last winter. Take some time out and read the entire article(s) for yourself… but in the meantime, I’ve posted some of the quotes I found most interesting below:

“Women either had to compete head-on, in the aggressive style of Paula Poundstone or Lisa Lampanelli or subvert the form and make themselves offbeat and likable, the way that Whoopi Goldberg and Ellen DeGeneres do. As Elaine May used to say regarding improv, “When in doubt, seduce.” By and large, however, stand-up comedy is tougher and meaner, and the women who do it play by men’s rules.”

“It used to be that women were not funny. Then they couldn’t be funny if they were pretty. Now a female comedian has to be pretty — even sexy — to get a laugh.”

It has become a supply-and-demand issue: the supply of good-looking female comedians is growing, and the industry demands that they keep growing prettier. Chelsea Handler, the host of Chelsea Lately, a talk show on E!, has long legs, short skirts, low-cut shirts, and puffy blond hair; her look is Beverly Hills bimbo, with a Borscht Belt mouth.”


While this new article is initially positioned as a rebuttal to Hitchens’ widely criticized claims–1) that women aren’t as funny as men because human nature and society don’t require us to be, and 2) that those who are funny are all overweight, gay, unattractive or Jewish (WHAT?)–it falls waaaay short. In fact, it does little to nothing to address the first point and then somehow morphs into an article about how attractive you now have to be in order to be a successful female comedian.


The author cites Tina Fey’s career as an actor, writer, director and producer as evidence that today’s female comedian can stand toe to toe with her male counterparts. But then by focusing on how attractive she is–or how unattractive she isn’t, I feel like the author is almost discounting her success. Did Tina Fey’s looks help her get the job of head writer of SNL? How the heck should I know? (Note: by her own admission, Fey doesn’t consider herself as ‘a looker’) But I do know that she couldn’t have kept the job, written a hit movie, and created 30 Rock if she didn’t have a brilliant comedic gift. That’s what we should be talking about.

I feel like I was duped by Vanity Fair. Am I missing the part of the article where I’m supposed to feel empowered–spoken up for? Or was that even the point? I may have disagreed with Hitchens but in my opinion, he wins this battle because in certain parts of the ‘rebuttal’ article it seems like the author is agreeing with him… or at least just not disagreeing enough. Pretty photos? Yes. But this is no rebuttal.


Country clubbers don’t get ‘poor’ jokes and the basketball players didn’t have dads

Pt. I

Yeah, so I was in Jackson, Michigan over the weekend–not to be confused with Jackson, Mississippi. At all. Ever. Jackson, Michigan is the birthplace of the Republican Party… and the birthplace of Tony Dungy. Right… Anyway, I was performing at a country club, which turned out to be a pretty sweet gig. The audience was cool — nice mix of young rich people and old rich people. But they were all rich. Or rich as far as I’m concerned. Haha… I was doing a bit where I talk about looking at my checking account balance online and seeing parentheses around the number and initially thinking, “Oh how cute, they put a smiley face by my account balance!” and then realizing that it meant I was in the negative… And when I hit the punch I got nothing. Not so much as a chuckle. Until I explained the joke. “See parentheses mean you’re poor. You’ve heard of poor, right?”

Comedy Rule #1: Know your audience.

Continue reading →

Good Game?

butt pat

OK… so my friend Keisha and I went out to this bar/lounge last nite for the launch of this new Wednesday nite hot spot (hopefully) in downtown D.C. My friend Ra helped to promote it and I hadn’t been out in D.C. for a while, so I told him sure I’ll come.

While we were there I ran into a girl I’m friendly with and know socially–she seems like a very cool girl, but we’ve never actually hung out. Keisha and I were at the bar batting our eyelashes in hopes that men would buy us drinks–like any self-respecting women would do–and we were talking with this young lady. Anyway… to make a long story short, it was a Wednesday nite so I didn’t feel like staying out too late and the three of us all decided to leave at the same time. But as we were walking out of the door and saying our good nites, she slapped me on the butt.


I was so shocked I just kept walking and didn’t tell Keish til we got down the block what had happened. Is that what’s poppin’ in the streets, now? Ladies, are we just going around slapping each other on the butts like we just won the pennant?

I know she and I have had conversations about guys in the past, so I know she’s not gay. Maybe she thought I’d be cool with that. Maybe that’s how she and her friends say “Peace.” Or maybe… maybe… maybe?

Whatever the reason I was uncomfortable all the way home wondering if I should have addressed it, so that it wouldn’t be awkward the next time we see each other, or wondering whether other people saw the little exchange and my non-response led her and/or them to believe I was OK with it… I dunno. Weird-o nite indeed.

Damn, Disney…


OK, I know I’m gonna get some comments from you parents out there about how this isn’t new… yada, yada, yada… but I don’t have kids, so I’m allowed to be a bit behind the curve. 

Handy Manny? Really? My very pregnant friend Angi is cramming and learning about all things baby in preparation for her new bundle and she brought this cartoon to my attention. I realize my tardiness in learning about this show means I’ve probably missed whatever backlash–if any–surrounded this cartoon when it first began. And I’m sure it’s educational and the kids love it because it’s from Disney, but I gotta assume that there were at least a few Latinos who weren’t too happy about a Latino handyman cartoon.

Talk about perpetuating a stereotype. Why aren’t there marches going on right now? I know damn well if Disney or whoever else came up with a young black girl cartoon and named her something like… I dunno Preg Nancy, we’d be marching, well… until.

NY’s New Guv!


Hooray for New York’s first Black governor — even if he IS a Hillary supporter ;)

David A. Paterson is the legally blind Black lieutenant governor who will now become governor of the Empire State, thanks to Gov. Spitzer’s (ahem…) indiscretions and subsequent resignation.

In 2002, Paterson became the New York State Senate minority leader, the first non-white legislative leader in New York’s history. In 2004, he became the first legally blind person to address the Democratic National Convention. His father was the first non-white secretary of state of New York and the first African-American vice-chair of the national Democratic Party.

He will be just the fourth Black governor in U.S. History.

And hey, we forgive him for backing Hill. Me thinks his support was rooted in the desire to take over her Senate seat if she were to win. Now he collects the $200 without passing GO! He is SO gonna endorse Barack tomorrow!

Hooray for this!

Photo source

Mood Gusic


Wevie Stunder.

That’s what I call Stevie Wonder… because you can make up silly names for people when you’re best friends like I am with Stevie.

Anyway, last weekend when I was in NY, I had some time to kill and I dropped by this bar in the financial district — I think the name of the bar was “Bar & Food”. At least that’s what the sign said on the outside… :) When I got in there, there was a nice little crowd at the bar and the music on the jukebox was great. As each new song came on, the older bartender guy took a lotta pride in letting everyone know that he’s the one who selected the songs… in a particular order for a particular reason. I remember hearing “Always and Forever” by Heatwave and “Johnny Was” by Bob Marley. Not sure what the narrative was supposed to be as the former is a love song and the latter is a song about a woman whose son was just shot dead in the street… But I digress… The last song that came on while I was still in the bar was one of my favorite Wevie songs ever ever. Joy Inside My Tears… Man I hadn’t heard that song in literally over a decade.

So I sang.

In full voice.

And people stared — no doubt in disbelief at my non-embarrassment . But I didn’t care. Jack wouldn’t let me care… Cause it’s a great song! Six and a half minutes of ear yummies… I loaded it on to my iPod last nite and I’ve been listening to it on repeat for the past 33 minutes. Songs in the Key of Life. If you don’t have it. Get it. Today. Cause when music hits you “there” there’s nothing better.

When I was a kid, in the house we lived in in Jersey, my Dad built these wooden bins along the walls and floorboards in the downstairs of the house. And they were filled with records separated by alphabet tabs and by genre. You could sit in the family room and literally be surrounded by music. I remember my dad putting on a record and asking, “Who’s that, Boont?” And I’d be like Count Basie or Coltrane… And sometimes he’d let me pick one and he’d play it. No matter what it was. My love for music–GOOD music–goes back as long as I can remember. And I thank my parents for it.

My Grandma used to call me the “Disco Baby” and Saturday mornings growing up meant Mom and Dad dancing to 45’s and Felix Hernandez on the Rhythm Revue on WBGO Jazz 88 in NYC. I miss those days. Not that there isn’t any good music around anymore. But it sure is getting harder and harder to find.