Thursday, October 25, 2007


Yanked from King Magazine online, a link to "Cleary Gottlieb Has a Bad Hair Day." Vivia Chen breaks down what happened when a visiting Glamour editor (you'll note how the person responsible gets busted down from "editor" to "junior staffer" once Glamour realises how fucked up her comments were) declares that afros and dreadlocks (and other "political" black hairstyles) are inappropriate for work. For what it's worth, I disagree with the Cleary Gottlieb's managing partner: he thinks that the woman who made the comments was simply "oblivious," but not actually racist. I tend to think it's both, actually; the woman said something racist (and in this instance I think it's important to keep the link between holding racist views and actually being a racist forged in our minds) because she's oblivious to anything outside of a western European beauty aesthetic. And who can blame her? By far the majority of black women this woman sees -- in print, on television, in films -- will conform, to a greater or lesser extent, with white standards of beauty we've all been conditioned to accept: including straight[ened] hair. The fact that most Americans -- including many black people, sadly enough -- equate black hair in its natural state with bad hygiene, sloppiness, dirtiness and wildness OR overweening political posturing means that of course afros and dreadlocks and bantu knots and twists and cornrows are going to be seen as inappropriate for a corporate environment.

More here from So Wise Sista: "Locs Down." It's an older post, but still interesting.

Anyway, this post was provoked by my finding that picture above, which is the 'fro of my dreams*.

*yeah, I know I say that every time I get online and go looking for pictures. But this time I mean it, babe

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

This is Messing With My Afternoon

Shamelessly stolen from Shades of Caruso*! So if you have been tricked into visiting The Get Down by my gracious inclusion in Canyon and the Admiral's blogroll, I apologize. Actually, I don't apologize. Watch this shit again! It's that funny and you know it. This post is going out to Orlando, who won't be able to appreciate its minty goodness because he still flucks with dial up. Seriously.

Already, I'm a Different Person

Things I've knocked out in L.A. so far:

  • a couple of visits to some art galleries
  • a fair amount of writing
  • some running
  • some stand up comedy shows
  • a karaoke championship
Many thanks to Jen, Special Agent Chen, Spencer, and Achilles for making the transition neat, sweet, and reet petite.

Special special thanks to Jen for reminding me of Austin Stories/ Howard Kremer (aka Dragon Boy Suede). Fergus and I used to love this show. It was on MTV in the late 90s, and I'm killing you fools by taking you back there.

Watch this episode for Howard. Skip everything else:

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Keeping You Hoes Supplied

In honor of his 55th birthday, which I missed yesterday.

Elon Gold doing an amazing Goldblum impression

"...and we'll have barbecue jumbo shrimp, motherfuckerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!"

Trust me. You have to watch this through to the end.

For clarification: by "peaches" he means "Ebony," while peach pie means "Ebony, ass up in my huge bed in my tastefully-appointed home in the Hollywood Hills."

And finally,

Jeff Goldblum is watching you poop.

Sunday, October 21, 2007

Speaking of Orlando...and Clint

...he loves this movie.

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The Beguiled

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Sister Rosetta* and I have just written our first murder ballad! It's called "Child Bride," and it concerns the gruesome murder of a Union soldier by his teenaged wife. The song and its content are actually terrible, but I'm actually quite proud of it.

*Sister Rosetta is my beautiful Ibanez guitar, which was given to me by the always solicitious, always generous Orlando

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Everytthing is Everything

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Speaking of Pi Bar in Minneapolis (which is where the video detailed in the previous post was filmed), I want to introduce you to Chamindika Wanduragala, who is my favorite artist in the whole wide world. Her murals are all up in Pi.

Her art makes my brain vibrate and hum.
I wants.

Let the Record Show

Damn, fam! I forgot all about this!

One of my very, very, very good friends, BLC called me up early one morning (and I mean errrrrrrrly) to come down and watch one of his friends shoot a music video. This turned out to be great, because I was going to be talking about queer hip hop ( shout out to all the heads in the homorevolution) in class not long after, and because I would up being in the video. Hello. Check it: it was way too early in the morning; I was still wearing my glasses and my headwrap; I was dancing like I came from that town in Footloose and this was my very first motherflucking time moving my bodyu. Sorry about that. Anyway, this video is notable for the presence of a) Ramon, who is funny/salty as hell and also used to work at Macalester; and b) those Playgirl twins (I'm not bothering to google their names. Suffice it to say that it was a trip having them there, not least because one of them brought his "girlfriend" -- yeah, right, bro -- and was seemingly not feeling the whole queers-of-color vibe. His twin, on the other hand, was jocking the [professional] dancer you see in the video fiercely. He was cool). Anyway, you can barely see me in this, but do your best anyway.


Tori Fixx | More Videos

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

The Rage of the Creative Underclass

I'm intrigued and irritated in equal measure by those "What I'm reading/listening to/diddling myself with" mini-meme themes that can be found on many personal blogs these days. In my typically self-satisfied and self-absorbed fashion, I suspect it's because I couldn't care less what anyone else is doing. Of course, I still really want to tell you, dear reader, exactly what I am up to and why I am up to it; but I'm too lazy to actually compose the summation -- so I simply provide a shorthand Baedeker in the form of

Reading: The Bible
Eating: Cheetos
Listening to: Klezmer dance mixes

...and that's supposed to tell you something about me. And it does, I suppose. But whenever I read someone else's bulletpointed lifestyle recaps, I think: "who gives a crap that you're reading The Kite Runner? And also, no, you're not. You're not reading The Kite Runner, and you're not listening to Al Green and you're not doing any of the things you are say you are doing. You've constructed that list to sound cooler than you are. You're sitting on your ass watching 30 Rock with the rest of us." The sole exception to this is Athena, who was reading China Mieville that one time -- and I think making butternut squash soup and painting a seascape with her feet and listening to The Dead Kennedys -- and I just thought, "this bish is making me look bad" and it was not the first time I have been jealous of that ringletted temptress and I am sure it won't be the last.

Anyway, you should not care, but if you can't stop yourself: this is what I am reading at the moment -- Gawker and the Rage of the Creative Underclass. It's quite interesting, particularly as I've just taken up residence in Los Angeles and am desperately trying to realize my own dreams of creative success. I recognize that the surest way of getting there for many -- at least for writers, which I consider myself to be -- is to nurture what the author of that article considers to be a rather self-defeating and hysterical (and more than slightly disingenous) rage. It's the prose of the perpetually irritated. It's the smugness of the disenchanted obsessive. It's the raison d'etre of sites like this one. Anyway, it's hard not to fixate on the catalyst for this dressing down of Gawker, which seems to be Grigoriadis' injured pride at the bashing she and her new husband took over entirely ludicrous interwebby kind of reasons; nevertheless, her point is more than reasonable and really: if I read one more rationalization of misogyny or casual racism as "snark," I'm going to go Naomi Campbell in this piece and start throwing cell phones.

Watching: old clips of Sanford and Son. duh duh duh duh DUH!

Wednesday, October 03, 2007

Someone For Me

When I Was 15

I fell totally in 15-year old style love with one of the program coordinators at the Wyoming High School Institute. Oh my goodness. I was in serious, serious love for 3 whole weeks! I will not use this dude's name here, but anyone who knows me -- or who also attended HS Institute *ahemZachandCaroline* -- will know who this person is.

I don't know what made me remember that this morning, so let's just file that reminiscence under "Wack Wednesday" and keep it moving, shall we?

Tuesday, October 02, 2007

All Those Moments Will Be Lost

Update: On the freakydeaky dial, I've probably dialed things down to a fairly manageable 3, down from yesterday's high of 9. Thanks to the concern of some members of the "Keep Hope Alive" Peoples Party, I've once again convinced myself that this move can work.

And it's all because Broc said the magic words: "coffeeshop job." Say them softly and it's like praying. Honestly, family. When have I ever gone somewhere and not had to shake a little tailfeather behind a bar of some sort? I should have known. I mean, don't get me wrong: I'm still looking for job more fitting for a woman of my stature, but gigs as Lane Bryant models usually go to chicks much younger and hungrier. Plus, I may have priced myself out of the market; I'm commanding the big bucks for wearing those big girl panties.

Anyway, more to come as the situation develops. Stay dialed in.

Today's "Tell Me 'Bout It Tuesday" question: what's the scariest thing you've done this year?

Monday, October 01, 2007

You've Got to Shoot Straight

Lake Streeters...this be madness. I am leaving for L.A. in little more than a week; and I am so completely, utterly, criminally underprepared. How much longer can I go on fooling myself? How many more times will I pull this kind of crackhead maneuver, the life choice equivalent of licking a finger, testing the wind, and then jumping off a cliff?

I'm moving to L.A. in little more than a week, and I am not ready.

I mean, I'm ready. But I'm not ready? Yah say?

Don't be surprised if posts in the foreseeable future come courtesy of The Let Down, family.

Anyway, applying for tenure track gigs in the LACCD...fingers crossed, please.

*images will continue to spring from Blade Runner as long as I feel like it*