Here are a few stray thoughts that defied 140-characters.
1. Since people are hard up for a racial angle in this Tiger debacle, here’s one: I think a lot of people of color aren’t actively defending Elin Nordgeren’s G status because she’s a white girl. People were obviously tickled by the prospect of her busting Tiger’s ass, but it seems that there’s a dearth of people taking up arms for her. This could be a result of the 2009′s inundation of faux-victimized white women (see: Swift, Taylor; Prejean, Carrie) that we’ve been forced to stomach. So let me be a colored who says this: Take his ass to the cleaners, Elin. You didn’t deserve that.
2. Since his wife is going to divorce him anyway, Tiger might as well curb that indefinite leave and get back to work. I imagine the PGA Tour feels the same way.
3. I’m not advocating hostile isolationism, but I do find myself wondering if a nation can be global and still mind it’s own damn p’s and q’s. I appreciate that the US has to set examples and all but…we could stand to get our own house in order.
4. When I hear about cats my age dying, especially if they have kids or are about to get married or something of that nature, I take it a lot more personally than I used to. Peace to Chris Henry.
5. There was something about the Up In The Air ads I wasn’t feeling. This seems about right.
Lists are so much more useful than groups of sentence wrapped around some central idea, right?
- Funny how “tragic mulattoes” end up catching better breaks than “tragic negroes”.
- If I’m polite to you without heckling of some sort, I probably don’t like you.
- Black women in the 35-45 age group are something special.
- Why people go to night clubs to stand on the dance floor not dancing is still beyond me.
- Certain kinds of self-segregation are acceptable for all groups, particularly in night clubs, especially if you’re a member of a group that does not like to dance or dances badly.
- I sometimes wish The Feath was around for the sole purpose of punching girl’s in the face.
- The Root’s Twitter avatar isn’t still Iran-conscience, I just don’t know how to change it.
- I don’t have ugly friends. And if I do, I’m honestly not aware of that fact.
- When people ask me to use my phone’s web browser for something, I hold it up and feel quietly judged.
- Whenever life seems to be coming up aces, dandruff shows up.
- Open mics are pretty good except for most of the poetry.
“True love waits.”
Or so claimed the slogan pasted across the deliciously ample booty of a shorty in front of me while waiting to order lunch yesterday.
While I would have been looking at this girl’s donkey butt anyway, I found myself captivated not by its considerable heft, but the slogan plastered over it. Does something that smacks of chastity and sensibility belong there? Is its placement supposed to elicit a feeling of shame for the voyeur or was it supposed to entice the voyeur, juxtaposing the chaste and the erotic?
I felt confused.
This girl’s booty–and the altruism-laden sweatpants trying to corral it–were creating an uncomfortable clash of emotion and thought. Indeed, standing in line reading this booty blurb was akin to being in cut and realizing a gospel song accidentally wound up on your slow jams playlist.
Perhaps the thinking is “I know you’re looking, so I might as well dispense some wisdom.” Whatever your opinion, it can’t be denied that the young lady in question wanted me–and whoever else had eyes and good sense–to take in the sight. Is she complicit in her objectification or am I just a dude who enjoys donkey butts? Is she objectifying herself at all or am I merely projecting?
The black female anatomy is not a new topic of discussion. Black women often have wonderful posteriors, know how to manipulate them rhythmically and everybody in the world is into that fact. But the deliberate and unabashed display of that asset is something new it seems. I’m not talking tight dresses and pants–that’s old; I’m talking ass magazines and the likes of the Twerk Team.
The latter aren’t about mere flaunting; they’re about literally making the best impression they can by putting their best ass forward. Check out the video. The girls don’t even bother start the routine facing forward. They start, booties-first, and I’m hooked. I’m literally mesmerized to the point that my face frowns only in disapproval at the one chick who doesn’t seem worthy of the Twerk Team title.
Being a lover of smut but also someone who is growing up with each passing day, I can’t help but vacillate between entertained and kind of ashamed, the latter perhaps being more peculiar than the former. Do I have the right to feel ashamed for these young women?
If all the world’s a stage and we are but players, are the pants that shed some light on love wrong? Are women who present themselves to the world buttocks-first less worthy of my respect than others if that is the thing they do well?
As I watched, I really wasn’t sure.
I mean, obviously my carnal interest was piqued. But the point of sensual interest passed fairly quickly and legitimate critique set in. The young lady in the white pants is deft; her moves legitimately skilled. The ability to isolate the body to move in such a way on purpose is impressive. I couldn’t help but frown when the skinny girl took center carpet, not because she wasn’t sexually appealing but, rather, because she was not particularly good. If this was The Dream Team, she was most certainly Christian Laettner.
Confused I remain.
Are these young women wrong for exploiting their asset? Perhaps the answer lay in sweatpants.
Peace to Venus Hottentot.