Oh, Hollywood

Let's all take a moment to just stop. Breathe. Remember that we have to live together on Earth for the next few/hundred/thousand/million/gazillion years. Hopefully you've actually done what I asked, because the next words are going to describe my frustration with Hollywood and race.

I like movies. I like Hollywood. I spend appropriate amounts of time watching both. But can I get just a little more consideration on the "non-white people do exist" front? Not only do I get tired of seeing Mr. Everyman depicted as a white guy/gal, but I really get tired of having vaguely historical and fantastical films do the same thing! I get tired of black people only being allowed to shine in the films of other black people. I get tired of Asians only being good enough to play villains. I get tired of non-white directors never breaking through the ceiling of film festivals and independent films. I get tired of movies like Exodus: Gods and Kings.

The movie Exodus is about Moses y'all. The biblical character who freed the Israelites from slavery in Egypt. Parted the Red Sea, scribed the Ten Commandments? That guy. There's one problem with this movie though; the cast is white-washed. White people get to play characters whose ancestors have basically lived on the friggin' equator for thousands of years, and so are probably kind of a little bit BROWN! But okay. You want to make Pharaoh's entire family white. Fine. Whatever. You then go a step further to make the villains and servants brown. Dandy. Whatever. Seriously, far be it from me to expect true accuracy from a Hollywood film, because that would kind of be like expecting a fish to bark like a dog. But the least the director could have done was cast Moses as a brown-skinned man! Moses was born to slaves (you know, the ones who are conspicuously brown in your movie?) and then adopted as a child by the Royal family, aka the sovereign White-Washed. Wouldn't it just be a purely logical step to make Moses brown? You know; LIKE HIS BIOLOGICAL PARENTS?! So because he's lived with the royal family since childhood, his genetics suddenly go, "And on your 4th birthday, you shall become...WHITE!"

I don't think so.

To cast Caucasian people to play parts that were historically brown is to partake in blackface, without the black face; minstrelsy 2000. But those directors will say things like, "we can't worry about that", or they'll cast a person whose aunt eight generations back was 12.98% black, and call it good enough. People who simply do not understand why race was made to matter will say, "can't you just get over this? Does a person of non-white descent now have to be in EVERY movie?!"

All of these points help to make my point. Yes, these directors should worry about who gets to portray film characters, because to continually subjugate minorities in favor of the white man only perpetuates racism. No, having an actor/actress who's got 3.17% African in them is not enough, because chances are, they've been accepted as white, and then we really need only to refer back to point one. And lastly, no, I can't just get over this, because minorities have a right to take up space too. It would be great if at least one minority was in every film, because guess what? Statistically, that's how the world works, genius!

Please white Hollywood. Minorities are valuable too.

Please. Just Don't Do It.

My brother is getting married next year. Yay! Huzzah! Ring the bell! Glad tidings, yada, yada, yada, you know the rest! I really am excited though, because I love weddings. My Pinterest board? Enough to send a commitment-phobe into a panic induced coma, if that's possible. Anyway.

My older brother is getting married, and while I'm super happy and very excited for the big event, there's just one small problem.

He wants his firstborn son to wear name brand basketball shoes. Ugh.

You may know the type of shoe I mean: the Michael Jordans, the LeBron James', the Kobes, and those of that ilk. I personally don't much care for them, because-- dare I say it-- they're usually kind of ugly. But also because they're unnecessarily expensive! And they're [often times] ugly! And did I mention they're ugly? When it comes to name brand basketball shoes, I have a big, fat, question mark over them, asking why are these even a thing? And here now, my brother is willing, eager even, to put both him and his son in formalwear paired with name brand basketball shoes for the wedding [shudder].

I mean, I get it on a bunch of different levels. Growing up, my family had never been rich or even middle class. Other kids who were better off would often make fun of us because we couldn't afford name brand unless it came from the thrift store. So now, fast forward ten to fifteen years, when my brother is finally able to buy whatever kind of shoe wants! This now includes hideous, ultra expensive "Jordans". And since his son, who is all of two months, is "Junior", you'd better believe the little guy will be sporting the newest Jordan's as well. So I get it; you're compensating for a less than glamorous childhood.

But seriously? Putting a kid who still sleeps for more than half his day, in expensive soft-soled name brands not only seems financially foolish, but fashion foolish too. The kid's only gonna be able to fit the things for the next three weeks, if that, and personally I'm not a fan of the suit and sneaker combo! It's-- wait for it-- ugly! Why can't pro- suit/sneaker people realize that, unless you're en route somewhere else, ruining the lines and look of a business suit with your basketball shoes is just wrong, never mind wedding day formalwear! Come on! Are you serious?! Now those quirky souls who pair up more casual wedding attire with classic converse? More power to you. But don't torture my eyeballs by wearing a bleeding full-out tux with clunky b-ball shoes! Gross! And unfortunately, it will only propagate the notion that young, black men, have nothing better to do with the money they do have, except to buy these ugly b-ball shoes.

If my older brother really feels strongly about wearing these b-ball shoes with his tux, I'll grin and bear it because, hey, they're your hideous wedding photos, not mine. But please, for the love of all that is good and just in the world, don't put my poor baby nephew in a fashion faux pas before he's old enough to resemble something other than a potato! That's just... that's just mean.

Spider, Spider, Go Away. Come Again on the 12th of Never.

I am a city girl. And I am not ashamed. The countryside is a great vacation spot, sometimes, but I would never, ever live there. Unless of course Columbus Short lived out there with me, with our highly intelligent Boxer pups, and a mini fridge in most of the rooms because there is no telling when we'd need whipped cream right that second, but I digress.

I'm a city girl and I would never live in the country for one major reason: The critters. Spiders, centipedes, grasshoppers, mostly anything that either has more legs than I do, or doesn't come in human-like colors? We. Are. Not. Friends. And never will be. If I was the protagonist of "James & the Giant Peach" and I had to put my survival in the hands of a spider, a grasshopper, a centipede, and a lady bug, I'd probably die. I'd be thinking about how I could possibly make peach juice poisonous to kill them all. Charlotte's Web? I'd murder Charlotte, and there would be no famous webs. Any other critter friendly stories would morph into an obituary ad.

Just the other day, a spider tried to kill me by dropping from my kitchen ceiling to the stove, right as I was about to put food on the burner... Are you kidding me?! I didn't know which was worse, having the spider almost land on my head, or in my food. Naturally, as with any spur of the moment near-death experience, I let out a mini scream (which sounded very mature and brave, thank you very much), and then proceeded to watch it land on the stove burner I hadn't turned on yet. I wouldn't let it out of my sight as I calmly called for help from one of my roommates, all of which happened to be out and about at the time. What could I do then, but wait for the right moment to light him on fire? I waited until the body was right over the flame outlet before I turned the stove on and watched his body burn. At this point, I fancied myself some sort of house spider assassin, and I put out a little mental memo to the underworld of spiders:

"To the Seedy Spider Underworld: If any other from your lot comes up with the bright idea to run up on me by descending from the ceiling to almost land on my head and/or the food I was JUST about to put on the stove, I Will Murder You. Today, poor cousin Timmy Long Legs learned the hard way. This is not the countryside, and I do not believe in "Catch & Release". I will burn you with the blazing fires of the gas company I pay. I will roast you with the burning flames of the stove. I will watch your body disintegrate into teensy weensy particles of ash.  In short, I will End. Your. Life. And then? Then I will laugh the laugh of the contented heart. Be afraid. For I will not issue this warning a second time."

I didn't overreact at all. And I'll continue to leave country living to the pros: Those who enjoy smogless air, the great outdoors, and all that other sentimental "blue sky, green grass" crap beauty.

Magical Ho-Ho Cupcakes

I work in a pretty chill accounting office (no, that is not a paradox) on my college campus. Days ago there was a celebration for graduating Seniors from the college program, and the coordinator ordered some super fancy cupcakes and cookies. These sweets were nationally renowned, and do you know how I know that? Because that's all the coordinator talked about for weeks. Weeks. We could not walk past her without being mauled to death by her praise of these cupcakes and their maker. Mind you, us lowly office people would most likely not be receiving one of these grand treats, since we were not of that illustrious graduating class of Seniors. So yes, we were harassed, and with no return for our pain and suffering.

A few days before the big event, Helen (the coordinator), bounds up to our office to show off the new cupcake stand that she purchased specifically for the celebration. She also sent a departmental email with a picture of it twenty minutes prior. Can you tell that she was really feeling this famous cupcake thing? To be funny, my co-worker re-posted the picture on my Facebook wall with the caption, "In case you didn't notice..." Helen stopped my supervisor for literally ten whole minutes to once again rehash where these cupcakes where coming from, the life and times of the baker, and all the fancy tricks her new cupcake stand could do (which was nothing, except to be a stationary piece of white wood: who knew?).

The big event finally arrives, and another co-worker of mine tells me that he had to stand there and control the masses [of really polite and kinda shy engineer graduates] so that everyone could get a magic cupcake. But apparently, one Professor in attendance said his cupcake tasted like a Ho-Ho...

What?!

A Ho-Ho? A Ho-Ho?! You mean the cream-filled chocolate covered cakes that you can buy from your local gas station at 10 for $3.50?! Poor Helen wasted perfectly good praise and effort for an instructor to tell her that his cupcake "tasted kind of like a Ho-Ho". I'll tell ya; the gall of that Professor [insert heavy sarcasm here]; wouldn't know real cupcake art if it took a bite out of him.
Moral of the Story: If you're going to reward students for four years of blood, sweat, and research papers, with a cupcake at 10am in the morning that taste like a Ho-Ho? Get the cupcakes from Target or Lunds & Byerlys like normal people! You'll save money, and everyone in the office will still want to talk to you after the big party's over.