Malt Liquor: A Historical Examination

The other day I made a joke to one of my coworkers about 40's and she had no idea what I was talking about. I always think really hard when someone doesn't get my jokes, and it made me realize that 40-ounce beverages, and malt liquor in general, has somehow become a distinctly black phenomenon that is difficult for foreigners to fully grasp. But how did American black folks become the key market for consumption of this drink? Judging by the abundance of advertising that I've collected during an insomnia-fueled investigation into this topic, through good old-fashioned marketing, that's how!

Malt liquor can have up to twice the alcohol content of regular beer (between 6 and 10%) and is usually cheaper, too. It was originally marketed towards middle class whites by Goetz and called "Country Club Malt Liquor."


It was around this time that the "40 ounce" was born. Trying to liken malt liquor to champagne or wine, amazingly, didn't really work. So things simply had to go in a new direction.

1960's

The smartest marketing move was to highlight the kick that the extra alcohol content in malt liquor promised, so brands like Colt 45 presented themselves as potent virility enhancers, meaning it was only a matter of time before black folks got involved. Not only did we add legitimacy to the image of malt liquor as a rough n' tumble beverage, but the post-Civil Rights Movement purchasing power of black folks presented a great time to create a more complete image for the stuff (in case you're wondering, this is also around the time that menthol cigarettes got a little blacker in the minds of advertising executives). Check out the black gun-slingin' cowboy in this commercial - "it goes with the gun" is a harbinger of things to come that is so very hard to ignore.



Is it just me or does it seem like dude would rather be doing Shakespeare?

1970s

It was clearly time to marry the two worlds by featuring a personality popular with all of us. Well look what we have here...



I find this commercial particularly unthinkable. What is Redd Foxx doing driving in the snow to meet up with some white man to drink brews?

Malt liquor was still being targeted to everyone and anyone in many ads, but black folks and those who wished to be like them simply could not ignore the pop-lockin' in this Schlitz ad! I have to admit that the "Where's Waldo?" bodyshirts and criss-crossed suspenders make me wanna crack open a cold one and pour out a little for Fred "Re-Run" Berry.



Of course, with the success of plain old malt liquor came extensions of this tasty and potent beverage, such as Champale, which was one of the first malt liquors targeted directly at black folks. If you haven't tried it, it's got that Cool Ranch Dorito thing going on - you can't help but drink more because it leaves a nasty taste in your mouth. The effort at customizing the message for black America was rather impressive:


Remind me again why we're so impressed by the Williams sisters?

1980s

A former pro football player who starred in movies like Black Ceasar, Hell Up In Harlem, and The Legend of Nigger Charley? Wouldn't they be crazy not to wrap Fred Williamson's hand around a can of King Cobra Malt Liquor in a commercial? Brace yourself for homegirl singing the hook halfway through this ad.



But then came Billy Dee Williams. Mmmmmmm Billy Dee. If anyone ever said "I'm a wife-beatin' sex machine who uses more hair products than you do" with his very presence, it was him. And he let us know that it works everytime - not most of the time or some of the time, but everytime. Pretty accurate, actually, because if you can get a woman drunk off of malt liquor "do you want my arm to fall off?" is kind of a rhetorical question (that was for my oldhead movie buffs).



1990s

By the 90's, hip-hop was a legitimate art form (and advertising vehicle). As much as we all hated on MC Hammer for doing Pepsi ads, by the middle of the decade all of our favorite rappers were doing endorsements, and St Ides had it all on lock. It's flashback time - how many of these commercials do you remember as if they were actual hits?



I love O'Shea, but how did he go from this to Are We There Yet?



If the 40-ounce is good for anything, it's for pouring a little out, and now is the right moment.



I wasn't even old enough to drink and I knew that by heart. Full song here.

Today

In recent years malt liquor is mostly for teenagers, alcoholics needing a fix, and broke people, even though its success still depends on the black (and now Latino) community. Due to negative press from the hip-hop and scientific communities (a 40 actually contains as much alcohol as five shots of hard liquor), it just isn't very "cool" to guzzle such swill. The advertising for malt liquor proper has all but disappeared, and my guess is that's because the stuff pretty much sells itself (as anything with the nickname "liquid crack" ought to). The $1.00 - $3.00 price can't be beat, and with brand extensions like fruit-flavored "St Ides Special Brew," which I've heard called "faggot forties," because of how gently they go down, why bother advertising when the price and bright colors sell the product on it's own?

The End.

Thembi’s New “Lady Laws” for Young Black Women

After posting his "Man Laws," AverageBro made a request for someone to answer with some "Girl Laws." "Girls" play with dolls and whatnot, and even calling them "Blackgirl Laws", as much as I tend to use that word for all black women, just won’t do. While in training, young black women should aspire to be ladies. So "Lady Laws" it is. This post is cross-posted at AverageBro.


Living right at the imaginary line where Philadelphia goes from a college city to being straight up hood, I can say that I’ve seen my share of young ladies acting a fool, and if they were behaving themselves I couldn’t tell which were little girls playing with toy babies and which were actually pushing their own teen pregnancy products in strollers down the block. What’s crazy is that unlike AB, who is neatly settled in a nuclear family and has accepted that he is (gasp!) an adult, I have regressed into my teenage years by getting airbrushed nails, dancing at parties like nobody is watching, and shimmying into outfits straight from Bare Feet and other stores in which I have no business. I am proof that whatever ladyghettononsense you may engage in, you can be ok. But guess what – I had to act right FIRST before I earned that right, and I did so by following these rules, all of which were implicit in my upbringing. So I have a few words of advice . . .

1. Stay Off Of The Pole. And For That Matter, Out Of Videos. I haven’t decided whether or not I have a real problem with strippers or strip clubs in general - who am I to say that men shouldn’t be allowed to gather in a public place and expose their inability to be fully intimate with their spouses by fondling and ogling some stray woman? What I do know is that YOU shouldn’t be one of said strays. Letting your body be drool-worthy for a room full of men cheapens and degrades you, and in the long run is not at all worth the money (no matter how pressed you are for cash). You never know who will be in that club, and when the "I saw Keisha on the pole!" story is told, your future boss or uncle who was "just in there with his boys" won’t be the shamed one, you will! If you like showing off your sexy side, which all of us should, save it for the right man, who will love enjoying all of the freaknasty you have inside of you without having to pay for it on a dollar-by-dollar basis. Someone will always do it, just don't let that someone be you. The same goes for being in videos. That is NOT a profession and will not lead to any sort of meaningful career, modeling or otherwise. A ho is a ho, root word whore, meaning sex for sale, and your stuff is priceless. Got it?

2. Go Where No Blackgirl Has Gone Before. The obvious interpretation of the title of my blog is that I think that I’m some Jesus figure. Not so. Actually, the very weekend before I started blogging, loyal commenter Aaliyah was at an almost all-white party filled with beefy frat boys and was asked to do a kegstand. At her side were two other friends of mine, one of which said to her "What would Thembi do?" The obvious answer – go where no black girl has gone before and do the freaking keg stand! It really IS ok to be you, whether it’s as trivial as going snowboarding or as major as pursing a PhD in Greek Mythology. Do the most random or ridiculous things you feel like doing even if you’re not technically supposed to do them, and do them at all times. The same goes for rock concerts, tattoo conventions, playing the accordion, or whatever! Being a blackgirl comes with a unique set of baggage - on the one hand, we’re accustomed to being a minority in almost any situation a million times over. On the other hand, we feel like there are certain places and activities that aren't "ok" for us. Forget all of that, risk ostracization, and trailblaze for us all. We can’t keep saying "But blackgirls don’t _______" or else we’ll never do anything at all. Be YOU, regardless of whatever skin tone, sorority, thickness, neighborhood, or whatever you may be a part of. None of it is as fresh as plain old blackgirl you.

3. DON’T Get Pregnant, DO Have A Baby. When people say "Life Is Short," they really mean that life is short – when you’re unencumbered. Life is really, really long when you’re tied down to some dude who seemed great when you were sixteen years old but hasn’t even made it through his baby boy years when it’s time to send junior off to middle school. In fact, it can even seem too long when you start to calculate the potential unpaid child support, the number of times you tried to "make it work for the baby", and the time you’ll spend child rearin’ instead of actually growing up, getting degrees, and making a name for yourself. Not to say you can't have a baby early and have it all turn out rosy in the end, but howsabout having children with someone who can actually agree to be with you in a family unit for the long haul whether or not you just happen to get pregnant? Sidenote: It should go without saying, but why even risk diseases by not protecting yourself? A baby is not the only gift that keeps on giving, you know.

4. Know Your Own Hair. Black women have more hair options than almost anyone else, and we exercise them to the fullest. But even those of use who switch from weave to ponytail and from blonde to red would never dare to wear our natural hair in public. I can spend the whole day running errands and not see one blackgirl without a perm, and the same goes for watching television or opening a magazine. What is up with that? Granted, I went natural the easy way with the Philly soul thing being at my heart and a head of naps that never really took a perm quite right, but what pains me is when another blackgirl says to me "I love your hair! How long did it take to grow? I could never get my hair to be that texture. How did you do it?" The reality of it is, most of us don’t even know what is growing out of our own heads, and its very sad. Not one other group of people on this planet can say the same. It’s fine if you settle on a perm or some braids or even a Jheri curl after exploring your options, just get to the point where you can say that you know what your natural hair even looks and feels like before you aspire to be Beyonce by default.

5. Get Out Of Town. I’ve met young women who have never left their cities, seen the ocean, or even set foot in another zip code. It’s not always cheap, and it’s not always fun, but the sooner you start traveling the better. In fact, this Lady Law applies to almost everyone of every race and gender. Make a list of dream locations and get started as soon as possible. The more time you spend in the same surroundings the less you understand about the world, and for that matter, what the world thinks of you – you’ll learn that you’re not trapped after all. Besides, you can’t conquer the world if you don’t know what’s out there, and it should be your goal to conquer it! Let the trailer trash of West Virginia confuse Mexicans with Spaniards and believe that Africa is a country and not a continent. Learn your world because it is yours to learn, even if you have to do so only an inch at a time.

6. Don’t Get Called Out of Your Name. I’m not on this whole "we were queens" tip, but I know that none of us should be called or let ourselves be called any of the following: bitch, ho, trick, and on and on and on. Don’t sing along with songs about "makin' it rain" unless it's for the sake of irony. Don’t even participate in anything misogynistic unless you know it’s only a joke to you, and even then don’t ever pay for it. Recognize that just like when he talks about selling crack you're not selling crack, that when some rapper talks about his hoes he doesn’t mean you, download that song from Limewire, and keep it moving. And lastly, never, EVER call yourself anyone’s "baby’s momma." My first encounter with an ex’s grown BM involved her introducing herself to someone as such, and as much evidence as I may have already had that she was feeble-minded, giving herself that label sealed the deal. Don't be that broad.

7. Act White. I won’t bother justifying this term because you all know just what I mean. Talk white by speaking the King’s English, using full sentences, and the most intricate vocabulary you can muster. Act white by doing well in school, participating in any activity that suits you, and playing musical instruments. Don’t worry, you will never, ever actually BE white. If it were possible, don’t you think that all of those people who were lynched and beaten back in the day would have white-acted their way out of it?

8. Get What You Deserve Without Worrying About What He Deserves. This is a weird one. All too often women say "I’m not giving it up to him, he doesn’t deserve it!" But what do YOU want? While it’s not smart to just go giving it up to any old body, getting caught up in the idea that your sexual desires should be based on what men deserve is the exact opposite of feminism. If we only had sex when men deserved it we would be a bunch of bitter, mean, deprived wenches. Learning and maintaining the balance between withstanding pressure from dudes and getting yours is part of becoming a real woman.

9. Don’t Eat That Mess. Our country is facing an obesity epidemic, yadda yadda blah blah. But it’s all so very real, ladies, and I’m as guilty as the next chick. The thing is, you can get fat and out of shape eating regular food and that’s damning enough. It’s the Chinese Store chicken wings and fries (saltpepperketchup or no), grape soda, chips, quarter water, or other mess. If you can believe for one second that AIDS or crack was planted in the black community to kill us, what do you think Crown Fried Chicken is here for? And your body may be able to metabolize it before you hit 25, but after that it's just a quick ride to Lane Bryant once you get addicted, so don't do it.

10. Be A Lady. I have never been the most ladylike of blackgirls and most women like me can trace that to our upbringings, but it’s really very simple. It’s very natural for us to speak loudly, but it’s more powerful when used in small doses, just like hot sauce. Making that lip smack before you start speaking is not cute either, especially if it’s followed by a "weeeeeeeeaaaaal," twist of your neck, and then whatever it is that you have to say. By doing that, not only have you butchered the word "well," but whatever you have to say is eclipsed by that attempt to get attention and gear up like you need prep time just to speak your mind. Swearing every other word may be cute to around-the-way boys but if you ever want to get off of the block (see Lady Law #5), it won’t do you any good. Although every once in a while another female may make your blood boil, fighting is not cute – just think, aren't you way too pretty to get into a fight and get some gash across your face? I don’t think I need to caution young blackgirls on good grooming because we’re good at that, but do you really need to let all of that unravel just because some girl is talking about you? What does that even really mean? Like Katt Williams says, if you’ve got fourteen haters, you need to find a way to get sixteen!

It Always Comes Down to Chicken Wings.

Remember Latarian Milton, that little Milk Dud who stole his grandmother's car? He is now officially the poster-child for the failure of the black family.

Woman Says Joyriding Grandson, 7, Beat Her Up

[excerpt]

Milton's grandmother, Vikkita Stratford, told WPBF that the 7-year-old took his mischievous activities to a new level Monday when she said he beat her up inside a Lake Park Wal-Mart.

According to Stratford, the problem began when Milton asked his grandmother for some chicken wings. When she refused, Milton walked over over to the counter and ordered them anyway.

Stratford said that when she confronted him about it, Milton just snapped.

"He just started hitting me -- just started hitting me in front of the whole Wal-Mart. Every one in there was upset," Stratford said.

Stratford told WPBF that Milton hit her stomach, legs and "wherever he could reach me."

Riviera Beach police picked up Milton from his home and took him to an area hospital for a mental health evaluation Monday afternoon, WPBF reported. The 7-year-old can be held for up to 72 hours while he is evaluated by mental health officials.

Stratford said that she believes Milton's problems are due to a bad atmosphere with his parents.

"I know what causes the behavior, cause all he's ever seen was his parents do physical and abusive and verbal things, and I don't want him to continue in this direction so I'm doing the best I can to get him the help," she told WPBF.

Stratford said that she is worried about what will happen once the 7-year-old is released from his evaluation. She also told WPBF that she is making sure that Milton won't have access to her rental car while her SUV is being repaired.

"When I first got the rental he said, 'Oh, you know, let me take this for a spin," Stratford said. "So now I just sleep with the keys. I lock them up."

Thembi Says: Wal-mart...Florida...chicken wings? I really hate when underneath something ridiculous is something so sad and pathetic. Here I am cracking up laughing at this little chubbster while feeling badly enough for his grandmother and he's putting his hands on her to the point where he needs to be hospitalized? Over some chicken wings? CHICKEN?!?! He doesn't need a mental health evaluation, he needs a bag of pre-cut carrots and a father. I feel for the grandmother raising semi-abandoned children, but the fact remains that SHE is the one who raised the violent parent that birthed this little punk, so who is really at fault? Crack? Refined sugars? Bad genes? The saddest thing is, in spite of the need to end the cycle of violence, I still wanna beat the black offa him.

I'm Behind Enemy Lines, Dog!

I was going to come back to the U.S. with this fabulous post about my trip and only then reveal where I've been. But after only 24 hours in the Persian Gulf, I have to share something with you all. It's very calm, warm, and safe here - no problems with customs or any funny looks in the streets. The randomness? Between last night and right now, multiple UPN sitcoms and the movies Juice and I'm Gonna Git You Sucka have come on, all subtitled in Arabic. I can't even get this much black entertainment at home! We pretty much knew that the whole world probably knows Michael Jackson and Oprah, but can the word "nigga" and its accompanying black buffoonery even be translated? Just further proof that we are the most underappreciated yet beloved culture in the world. And this is what they see:

I Love You, My Weng Weng!

I wasn't a blogger back in April of 2007 when this video, "Weng Weng Rap" was released as a YouTube meme, but it's actually pretty hot in a "What The Eff?" sort of way. First of all, I absolutely adore dwarf performers because it seems that they never really get their fair share (although technically, since they're smaller than most, wouldn't their fair share be smaller too...?), and watching them be sassy tickles me like nothing else. Just search "Weng Weng" on YouTube for real clips from his '80's film career if you'd like to watch more of his lil' self gettin' that work in. Secondly, the hot sample on this track is from the score of one of his films - is it just me or does it sound like something RZA would come up with to lay some Ghostface over? The hook has been stuck in my head all day and I'm not complaining. Hat tip to Undercover Black Man for supplementing my blogging vacation by digging this up.

Guest Post: AB's New "Man-Laws" For Young Black Males

AverageBro speaketh the truth. Since I tend to hang on his every word and I'm travelling, I'm thrilled to feature this guest post from him. It has a little in common with my classic The 7 Worst Things to Happen To Black Folks, which makes me quite glad. Enjoy!


As ya'll know, AB Loves Da' Kids. This site's ulterior motive is to convince you guys to Take The AverageBro Challenge and spend an occasional Saturday morning with an impressionable Black youth. As greasy as I talked about TI for trying to knock off his community service by speaking to Atlanta-area teens last month, reality is, if more black folks who've "made it" took a moment to help others out, there would be no such need. Basically, if you're not doing anything to prevent the next Latarian Milton, Genarlow Wilson, or Bryant Purvis, you shouldn't say jack when the inevitable happens.

Stepping off my high horse, I witnessed something truly odd today when I went to the mall to grab some Mother's Day gifts. As I was getting out of my car, a gold sedan packed four-deep with young black teens pulled up in the spot adjacent to me. The dudes were typical suburban wannabe thugs. CZ earrings. Pinwheel New Era caps. Those stupid lookin' skater hoodies. This in and of itself is nothing notable, but what really hit me was the music they had blaring at 120 decibels from their stereo.

Deez bamas were riding four deep in the burbs, blastin' Moments In Love by Art of Noise.

If you don't know this song, just listen and you'll get my point.

All together now... "Ewwwww!!!".

Anyways, as I walked away shaking my head, it suddenly occurred to me just why male mentors are so important. Young dudes of Generation X are more likely than any other to have not grown up with a father, uncle, grandpa, or some man in their lives to tell them it is emphatically not gangsta to roll four deep, or even two deep, blasting quiet storm-type slow jams with your boys. Call me old, homophobic, sexist, or whatever ist/ic you'd like, but that was just so wrong.

Since I can't personally be a mentor to all youngins, I figured I'd throw together a list of avuncular advice for this latest generation of young bucks who don't know no better. If you know a black male 21 and under, feel free to cut and paste this post and send it to them. Since they probably won't bother reading it, title the email "Melyssa Ford Topless Photos" or some such nonsense to trick them. While I thought that Budweiser campaign was jive silly, I have to liberally jack the concept to help steer our young black men from the path to prison and general mediocrity.

So in that spirit, here's a few more of AB's New "Man-Laws" For Young Black Males.

1) MySpace Rapper Is Not a Legitimate Career Option - The problem with rap music nowadays is too many damn rappers and not enough fans. Watch 106th and Park, cruise the comments section at XXL, or just drive around your nearest hood and peep the scrum stapled to every telephone post, and you'll see plenty evidence that MySpace Rapper is the new ghetto dream/hood come-up. The problem is, none of these dudes trying to rap have apparently noticed that music period, not just rap music, isn't even selling anymore. You'd be better off goin' to trade school, getting that GED, or hell, goin' back to hustlin' than you would trying to "get your label off the ground". There's only one Jay-Z for a reason. And guess what? You ain't him. Stay in school, fool.[1]

2) Bright Colors Are Not Your Friend - This trend is thankfully jumping the shark as I type this, but what the hell ever happened to wearing earth tones, or just black? Bamas will rock pastel polos, Crayola-inspired sneakers, and those stupid lookin' multicolored pinwheel baseball caps like they're 3rd graders. Enough already.

3) Be Nice To Johnny Law - My Pops taught me a very basic rule for dealing with the cops: Don't. 99% of the time, if you're not doing anything wrong, you have nothing to worry about. So when a cop pulls you over, comply. Don't act a damn fool and end up in a pine box. Yes, there are some egregious examples of cops who blatantly abuse their power, but far more often, the catalyst for an ass whoppin' is some Negro who didn't know when to shut up. Do what they ask you to do, take down badge numbers and names, and live to tell your lawyer about it the next day.

4) 'Shawty' Is Not A Term of Endearment - Learn how to treat and talk to women. Part of youth is having the room to experiment and figure out what you like about the opposite sex without tangible committments (ie: a ring and kids). So, by all means enjoy yourselves. But no woman likes to be catcalled and shouted at. "Ay Ma!", "S'up Shaaawwtaaay!", and "C'mere Girl!" are not proper ways of attracting young ladies. Learn how to simply smile, say hello, and introduce yourself. And if the girl isn't interested, no need to insult her by hurling an "Eff' You Beeyotch!" as she walks away. Just pick up your dignity and keep on' fishin'.

5) Learn How To Talk - My Pops also taught me the importance of how to speak to grown-ups in a way that commands respect. Speak loudly, clearly, enunciate, and use direct eye contact if you want to be taken seriously. Don't show up for your job interview wearing aviator shades and mumbling to the floor like one enterprising young brother I observed at an H&M store in Philly last Summer. Discover the joys of code-switching, and learn the appropriate places and times for using words like "jawn", "young", and "tight". Eliminate the word "conversate" from your vocab altogether. If you're vexed, peep my epic The AverageBro Broken English Hall of Shame post, and its accompanying comments for further guidance.

6) Learn How To Dress - We already talked about the whole bright colors thing. But hues aside, make sure you're putting your best foot forward when the occasion deems to necessary. All pencil jeans should be burned immediately. Ditto for those skater hoodies. Pull up your damn pants. Liberace wore themed belt buckles. If you don't know who he is, Google him, then trash yours. And while I'm all for accessorizing, there is no rational explanation for wearing Air Jordans, a black and white pinwheel cap, aviator sunglasses, and carrying a walking cane when you're wearing a black suit...at a funeral. Exercise some common sense and dress according to your environment. And oh yeah, no more pencil jeans.

7) Leave An Open Seat - This is closely related to the No Slow Jams rule. If you're at the movies and there's enough space, for the love of all things precious, leave an empty seat between you and your boys! You are not on a date, you are watching a movie with friends, so space it out. You can communicate with each other just fine when separated by an empty seat, and who knows, if you're lucky, a nice young lady might want that seat. And you won't even have to call her "shawty" either.

8) Blunts Are Not A Dietary Supplement - Your body is your temple, not an ashtray for roaches. Two Strawberry Swishers (or Phillies, whatever floats your proverbial boat) do not equal a serving of fruits and veggies. Recreational drug habits make it difficult to hold down a real job, rob you of pocket change, and permanently char your lips. If you've really gotta do this though, at least have the decency to partake in the sanctity of your Mama's basement, not while driving your Mama's car down Marlboro Pike in mid-day.[2]

9) Enough With The Feminine Grooming Habits - I'm a Kappa Man, so I understand the importance of looking good. That said, some of these young dudes nowadays are taking the whole Omarion/Ne-Yo I'm-So-Hood' metrosexual thing a bit too far. Baby hair is for babies. You shouldn't be using your little sister's makeup pencil to draw imaginary hair anywhere on your person. And if you've actually arched your eyebrows, or even remotely considered arching your eyebrows, just go ahead and stick your head in an oven right now.[3] Life isn't getting any easier.

10) Read More - This isn't strictly a young black male phenomenon by any means, but let's break this habit while we're still young. Every time I go to the barbershop, I hear all sorts of misinformation floating around. "Obama's a Muslim." "Ciara's a hermaphrodite." "The reparations checks are in the mail."[4] "Tupac is secretly living in Brazil." "John McCain is bringing SlaveryBack... yep." All untrue, and all easily refutable if you'd read something other than King Magazine and the Post sports section. Man Up! and get yourself a library card. Smart is the new cool, fool.[5]

Again, feel free to disagree and flame me in the comments, or if you're on board, add your additions below. But whatever you do, don't ignore the message because you dislike the messenger. I can only write from an male PoV of course, but if you'd like to help me with a New "Girl-Laws" post, email me. Either way, Take The AverageBro Challenge to help save our young black boys and girls from a future of Flavor of Love casting calls, HPV, and commissary deposits. And if you can't do that, at least forward this post to your nephews. P.S.: don't forget the "Melyssa Ford Topless Photos" subject line.

Because we go to do better than those damn pencil legged jeans.

[1] No need to fake for you guys. I'm a huge fan of Lowest Common Denominator rap music. Of course I don't spend hard earned money on this crap, but between mixshows, podcasts, etc. I find plenty of ways to fill up my iPod with the latest snap and trap music. It's great filler noise for working out, or knocking out the "Honey-Do" List.

[2] Or whatever road is appropriate for your hood/burb.

[3] Word to DP.

[4] No seriously, some dude thought those $400 economic stimulus checks Bush and Co. sent out years ago were slavery reparations. I bet he is really hyped about the $600 checks that just went out. Barbershop K-Nowledge is not power! It's just ignant.

[5] There I go with the rappin' again. Seriously though, I do make beats if you've got money for em'. Holla at your boy!

This Beach Thing Is Not A Game...

Really, it never has been a joke for me. I think my dad took that photo of little Thembi in like 1981 and I still loves me some beach. No, I was not a sad child, those are just my huge cheeks weighing my face down. That's actually my "elated" expression.

I'm going out of town for a few weeks, a trip that will be blog-worthy on many levels (I'll reveal my destination once I get there so the FBI won't start running checks on me just yet). Anyway, because of this I will be posting at a reduced rate until early June.

Besides, no one has gotten the full "Who Am I?" yet...nice job on Chip-Fu, Nicco, but it's all or nothing!

Who Am I?

This photo comes from another blog, and I'll give the photographer credit as soon as someone can tell me who the two rappers on the left are. Each of them were a member of different 90's hip-hop groups.

Who Am I?

When I lived in France I learned that the French love R&B. My white roommate had a Montell Jordan CD and played it often, and my lil' Cameroonian boyfriend Francois had every single CD that R. Kelly has ever made (including remix singles). Seriously, like a whole binder-full of them. Anyway, after one of his characteristic cheap dinner-dates, he broke out this guy's album, and as I belted out every word he sincerely asked if I had considered trying out for Nouvelle Star (France's version of American Idol). Oh, those good old days.

But for said R&B singer, the good old days seem to be over.



UPDATE: This wasn't even supposed to be hard, I was just being mean and mocking poor Tevin. Oh poor Tevin . . . We miss you. "Always In My Heart" was truly one of the last great R&B songs, from that period when Babyface was behind the scenes writing every hit. When I jammed out on this Francois didn't know what was hittin' him.

I Hate To Say I Told You So...

This has been a crazy week for me, so posting has been slow, but a few things have happened that have made me consider a new career as a psychic.

On March 20, I posted a video of Pauly Shore's contrived racist rant and asked, "Is this the new battle cry of the white "has-been/never-really-was?" On May 1, Jon Lovitz used the Reverend Wright controversy to tell some dry and inappropriate jokes about AIDS and black people...at an AIDS benefit. If you want to see, check here.

On October 10, my "What The Eff?" Wednesday post on those unsightly truck ornaments known as bumper balls caused all of the girls to say "Ew! Nobody wants to see some ol' dangling scrotum!" Well, it looks like the Florida Senate agrees. From now on, any display of genitalia from a vehicle can get you a $60 fine. One has to wonder how widespread they must be in that area for the government to get involved, but I'll leave that to you guys to figure out.

Who is even thinking about people with backwards feet? Thembi, that's who! On December 5, I wrote about Wang Fang (no, seriously...that's her name), a Chinese woman born with her feet facing backwards. It turns out that this week, Jingle Luis (again...that is her real name), a Filipino girl born with backwards feet, is coming to the United States for a revolutionary surgery to flip them feets around, and I wish her the best of luck! If you're having a hard time imagining this condition and aren't easily freaked out, see the photo below.


Did you know that if you put "Gary Dourdan" into Google Image search my November 30 "Good Hair Gone Bad Quickie" post about his "brother" being arrested for aggravated assault comes up on the first page? A refresher:


Hm. From left to right, Gary in soberer days, his mugshot from his arrest this week for ridin' dirty, and his criminal-minded body double Demetris Hirsch. Gary got busted with what can only be explained as the "Party Like It's 1999 Kit," holding heroin, ecstasy, and cocaine. There's something so Christmas-y about his green and bloodshot eyes, isn't there? At least we know where all that good hair is headed if he doesn't straighten out soon.