african american

International Need for Oreos

I dug up some journal entries from my trip abroad. Here is one of them.

Dateline: Amsterdam. Even among the pastoral tulip fields and gently twirling windmills, it was impossible to escape the sting of my ethnicity.

I spent some time traveling with a friend to a few cities and here was the conversation I overheard while

I ate my feelings that day. And they were delicious!

waiting on line for dutch pancakes.

Friend: Pardon. Zit hier iemand?

Local: No, the seat’s free.

Friend: Oh, you speak English.

Local: Yeah. Where are you from?

Friend: The states. Los Angeles.

Local: Oh, I hear it’s dangerous there.

Friend: Can be.

Local: Because of the blacks?*

A moment later, I sat down in front of my friend and my new Dutch buddy with a plate of piping hot pannenkoeken. Now, had I not been a practiced Oreo, I would have wanted to pour those piping hot pannenkoeken down the front of my new buddy’s shirt. But, being the Oreo that I am, I supported his point.

Me: Well, you just have to pay attention to where you are. If you come visit, you’ll see. That’s why I moved to Hancock Park.

I could have made him feel suuuper uncomfortable. But instead, I fostered international relations with the right conversation and my appreciation of perfectly pressed pancakes.

*It’s been suggested that I’m making up some of these stories. But no. Really. I’m not.

For other uncomfortable moments I didn’t make up. Check out these posts on phone etiquette, getting out of a parking ticket and talking to kids.

Get the Loathing Started Young

Gather the kids around the computer, this one’s for them!

Hey kids of color. Wanna worry about you ability to achieve as much as your teachers do? Then check out the ad at this FootAction store!

I’m not sure which is more horrible. The thug with the grill or the girl much too young for boobs wearing a dress that shows off where her boobs will be while some nowhere near-man boy touches where her underboob will develop in about 10 years. Either way, none of those words should be associated with children. My apologies.

Anyone wanna join me in a cleansing round of cricket?

Left, Right and Children – Everyone helps to make more Oreos!

You know how worried I am that in post-racial America, I don’t have to spend nearly $200 a pop to get my hair straight or to not let anyone see me watching Waiting to Exhale on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

But thanks to Bill, Bill and dreamy dreamy Anderson, I know that I am on the right track and that distancing myself from RBP.

Here’s Bill O’Reilly telling a guest he looks like a drug dealer. And Oreo points to the dealer professor for a) going on The O’Reilly factor in the first place b) not being upset and c) adding a terrific punchline

Here’s Bill Maher explaining how the President should handle the oil spill.

And here’s some young Oreos in the making.

(in the spirit of fair and balanced coverage…I did start my career as a reporter, after all…if you click around the CNN page there, there are a handful of varied results…but they’re not all that varied)

Friday Film Series

So, I was wondering how I was going to cap off my Memorial Day Weekend. I mean, there’s the Oreo usual–a night of contemporary theater, getting my hair straightened, an improv show rehearsal, relaxing by the pool in my 1950s era bathing costume.

But come Tuesday, how am I going to keep the celebration going. Thank you Cinefamily for giving me an answer! They advertised this event (a night showcasing the 100 most important animated Looney Tunes cartoons) with this video. Out of the ostensibly, 100 videos they could have put on their website, they chose one that reminds me why I will work so hard to keep my freshly straightened hair out of the pool this weekend.

Please enjoy the classic (and important) animated short: Coal Black and de Sebben Dwarfs.

A special prize will seriously go to anyone who can get me a bottle of Cotton Gin!!

Oreo Confessions: I Laughed at This….Maybe Too Much

One of the risks you always run as an Oreo is someone giving you an overly ethnic gift that is hard to justify turning down. Such was the case with the CD with which I was gifted before my flight: W. Kamau Bell’s Face Full of Flour.

At first, I was excited, thinking that maybe this was related to The Bell Curve–a book that is essential reading for an Oreo thanks to its assertions about race and intelligence. **

But ’twas not my fortune. Turns out it was a comedy CD by a black guy. Obviously, I proceeded with caution. The last thing I needed anyone in the airport to hear bleeding from my earbuds was a Chris Rock-esque rant. The airport security scanner may not have gone off when my bag went by on the belt, but my Oreo scanner sure did!

Oreo Approved!

 

I would have kept it in its place in the bag, except that the inflight movies were all things I had seen a million times. Neverwas, Sound of Music, Match Point. I wanted something new to keep me company.

And so I listened. 

And laughed. A lot.

Yikes.

Scary moment, my friends.  And one that I highly recommend. I mean, how could I stop listening when I heard what he had to say about Tyler Perry, what his wife looks like and his justification for looser gun control??

You can find Face Full of Flour on itunes and Amazon. Get it and listen. Not only because it’s super hilarious funny, but also because if enough non-colors check it out, it definitely won’t be seen as an of color collectable and I can continue to enjoy it unafraid. 

**W. gets points actually for having created a show called “The W. Kamau Bell Curve” that you should also check out if you can!

Check out Bell below. Clip is not totally SFW for language. 

Yay! Women Win! So Do Of Colors…in the most wonderful of ways!

No, Sandy. Thank YOU! 🙂

I, along with millions of others, waited with bated breath as envelopes were opened and my work as an Oreo was thankfuly confirmed!

(First, I must pause to say, let’s hear it for the interpretive dance number…am I right!!!)

So many good things in this year’s 82nd Annual Academy Awards Ceremony. Director Kathryn Bigelow was awarded as the first female to win Oscar for Best Director for her work on The Hurt Locker. And in precious news to all those who are trying to escape their ethnicity, Sandra Bullock won for Best Actress for her work in the Oreo-tastic film, The Blind Side.

Bonus points for screenwriter Geoffrey Fletcher and actress Mo’Nique for their work on Precious. Extra bonus points goes to ‘Nique for leading us into the final Barbara Walters interview with some weird talk about how she and her husband are allowed to have sex with other people and an up close and personal look at how she doesn’t shave her legs. Why limit the conversation to tasteful, reasonable topics? We have an image to uphold and thus work against, here!

Bonus, bonus, bonus points for her ending the segment, not with the poised Mo’Nique we saw at the Academy Awards, but for sassing it up, just to remind us that we really only want the Academy to be just so progressive. Otherwise, of colors look just like regular people and all of our work is in vain. 

It’s great for women that the seal has been broken by Bigelow and that the nation can see that a woman is capable of directing a powerful, tense and gripping film with complex characters and a moving story.

Thank goodness then, that we are keeping of colors in the box that we as Oreos and Oreo adjacents need them to be in. 

By awarding a screenwriter for writing about the worst of of colorness and an actress for playing the worst of colorness while also awarding another actress for taking care of of colors when (per the other film featuring black people that was nominated for an Academy Award) no one else can, the Academy has reminded all of us of just how great it will be to shun our skin and ascend into true Oreodom. 

Nevermind that TBS leaves out a few key points of the story as  writer Prairie Miller puts it:

“… The Blind Side excels at expressing the profound maternal affection and protective instincts Tuohy develops for this lost young soul, other troubling matters that come to light are skimmed over, and never quite resolved with dramatic assurance. In particular, the formal charges that were eventually leveled against Tuohy and Oher’s high school football coach Hugh Freeze, by the National Collegiate Athletic Association. And essentially, that the boy was being financially exploited by this family seeking legal guardianship over him. Along with Freeze, who eventually got a paid position at the college, where both pressured for his matriculation as a student participant in football.

Eventually Freeze was found in ethical violation, though the movie avoids a deeper exploration of rampant exploitation of ghetto youth in sports. A far better film this year that tackles those issues head on, is the Anna Boden/Ryan Fleck candid Dominican baseball drama indie, Sugar.”

Peccadilloes like legal quandaries are a small price to pay for keeping the social order in check. 

Bonus points to me for DVRing this shindig so that I can watch both those fantastic pas de deux and see Sandy bring it home for me again and again and again. 

Oreo Origins: The Oreo Experience’s First Black History Month, Part I

 

Thanks to http://www.betiku.com for making self repression so graphic-tastic

 

That special time of year has come. That time when the nation stands up and reminds us all why being an Oreo is so very important: Black History Month.

I remember my first Black History Month. It wasn’t until about fourth grade that this became a mainstay of my schooling. Prior to that year, I lived, relatively unscathed and actually considered that I might just be an RBP. 

But then, my classmates and my history books showed me how dreadful that was and I switched camps.

First, there was Vincent. 

I attended a magnet school that focused on academics. Each student in that school had to be tested into the program and was regularly tested throughout to make sure that they were in the right place.

I got into the program after skipping a grade and making a perfect score on the entrance exam. 

I arrived at my new campus, the only African American student in my grade. Out of about 120 kids, I was the only one of me. 

Golly did I feel special.

Until Vincent arrived. 

I spent two years in my coveted position. Doing fun, enriched things like designing robots, singing cowboy folks songs and joining the school choir where we sang Dixie as one of our showcase songs. 

I wish I was in the land of cotton
Old times there are not forgotten..
Look away, look away, look away
Dixieland
 

By fourth grade, I had developed a rather healthy crush on redheaded, freckled Spencer. He was my buddy and I was just mad about him. I spent the better part of fourth grade trying to win his affection and just when I thought I had him, one of my friends ran up to me on the blacktop at recess and said:

“OW! Do you like Vincent??”

Who?

“Vincent?? Do you like him? Are you going to go around with him?”

A group joined my friend and suddenly three or four friends were shouting with equal voracity that yes, I should indeed go around (our term for dating at the time) with Vincent.

I had no idea who Vincent was. The only boy I paid any attention to was Spencer. And I was hurt and surprised that they clearly had not noticed my very obvious attempts to curry his favor.

Then, I saw Vincent.

He was…of color. 

The only other one of me in my class and I finally understood.

Sure we were young, but they got to crush on whoever they wanted while relegating me to this new kid. I knew I had not made it clear who I was. Maybe it was that one Boys II Men tape I sometimes listened to.

The good news was that I could continue to crush unnoticed. And that I knew what I had to do…set myself apart from RBP so that I the right boys would be pushed upon me. Sure, I had simple goals at the time, but I was too young to need a job or investment plan. All I had was schoolyard crushes.

And hey, we are supposed to die a little bit for love, right?  

The end of the story is that Vincent and I never became friends, Spencer and I were close for a bit, then drifted apart. But one thing lasted: my commitment to the lifestyle and my triumphant march toward Oreodom.