self loathing

Oreo Outrage Over Ointment

A friend sent me this video this weekend and I was horrified. The ad is for skin whitener and it features a fair skinned man telling his friend that in order to get the girl/job/general symbol of success, he needs to lighten his skin.

What an upsetting piece of advertising!

The whitening should come from within.

Bleaching your skin is just cheating. It’s a final step only if and when one achieves true Oreodom through actions, thought repression and penance. When the rest of the world accepts you fully as one of their own despite your overabundance of melanin, then and only then can you complete your transformation. Until then, the efforts of your blood sweat and tears you cry to yourself with when no one else is looking will shine through and make you seem white without the crutch of a cream.

The Right Keeps On Keeping Us on the Right Track

A thanks to Conservative personalities for helping Van Jones make the right decision. 

While Jones took steps toward Oreodom by being the President’s environmental advisor (and notvan-jones-washington advising on something more immediate to any minority community like say urban planning or economics), he still had huge hurdles to overcome before fully distancing himself from the burden of his birth. 

Jones was a former community activist in Oakland. Couple that with being in such proximity to a high profile person of color (read: President Obama) and his stay in Washington was pretty much Oreo disaster waiting to happen. 

Jones also took pains to criticize the government after 9-11 — a move that is terribly of color in its concern and healthy skepticism. 

Further thanks goes to the White House itself for not defending Jones’s post-tragedy exercise of free speech. Other top-ranking officials have been fairly silent on the issue and on Sunday, senior advisor David Alexrod praised Jones for leaving his position.

And all of this because our fair skinned friends on the right had the courage to exhibit some tough love and push Jones toward the realization he simply wasn’t coming to. It’s just this kind of support that will help off of us Oreos get to where we need to be. 

Thanks, again ruling class. We’d be lost without ya.

xoxo

Go Cougs!

imagesIt’s Labor Day Weekend and that means it’s time to pack away the vestiges of summer and get ready for fall. The tapered capris are going back in the cedar trunk and out come the argyle cardigans. No more endive and mango appetizers, now it’s baked apples and currants. And the soon to come chilly winds will make it too cold to take out the schooner, so I must find another activity. For that activity, I decided on college football.

While NCAA football may seem like a potentially disastrous choice and very un-Oreo, choosing the right team can catapult your status and lead to even greater acceptance.

Most teams, it goes without saying, are not organizations with which I could associate. Far too many players and fans of color attend sporting events for such events to be safe places for  an Oreo to attend as well.

2647_thumbUnless, of course, you pick the right team. And that is why I am proud to congratulate the Brigham Young University Cougars! The boys in blue pulled out the stops and showed what they were made of when they defeated #3 ranked Oklahoma today AND their team seems to contain almost exclusively players who are as blanched as the whites on their uniforms.

Also, since BYU is a religious school, these kids know a thing or two about wildly disciplined living, the potential for self-loathing and hiding what you need to to fit in.

2648Many players on the BYU team are even married, which means they have taken self-imposed constraints to a whole new level.

So fight on Cougars…for all of us! We’ll see you in Bowl Season.

Crack and AIDS Didn’t Work

…so now they’re trying to kill us off with Type 2 diabetes.

bg_adsYes, food giant McDonald’s has taken on the plight of the person of color and is proving their commitment to the race with a huge web campaign. With rotating banner ads touting basketball, gospel music, Essence Magazine and food that has been “southern fried,” Ray Kroc’s legacy is apparently, keeping it real.

But since nothing will make a person of color hate themselves more than having this website dedicated to them, Oreo numbers should be up in no time. I will ready the coronation boots and see you in Vermont!

And don’t think they missed the chance to show us the truth and remind us what we are all striving for. Check out this list of work opportunities with the company. Notice that only the person sans color is capable of going “beyond management.” It’s moments like this that keep the goal in mind keep our hope alive.

And they love Asians, too! I’ll let you find where they teach users to say “Let’s go do some karaoke.”

Self Loathing for Humans and Non Humans Alike

district_nineIf you haven’t seen District 9, please run to the theater and see it immediately! Not only is the acting phenominal, the script amazing, the effects work outstanding, the phone promo done by yours truly (call 1-866-666-6001 to hear OreoWriter keep humans safe!) but the movie presents a wonderful example of why being an Oreo is so important.

You might worry that a movie that is clearly in part a segregation and apartheid allegory would miss its opportunity to show us how important it is to despise that which we cannot help, but the powers that be did not let us down.

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD. IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE MOVIE, DO NOT READ ON UNTIL DOING SO.

REALLY, NORMALLY, I’D SAY GO AHEAD AND SPOIL IT, BUT THIS MOVIE IS ALL KINDS OF AMAZING, SO COME BACK WHEN YOU’VE SEEN IT. WE’LL STILL BE HERE.

 

district-9-trailer

 

 

All right, here we go.

So. Do you know who the scariest people in the movie were? Not the aliens, they were clearly misunderstood. Not Multinational United, the cruel company who tortures innocents. Not Tanya’s father, the frighteningly cold businessman. And not the nameless mercinary who shot to kill on sight.

The scariest people were the blacks who lived in the District 9 ghetto with the aliens. These dark skinned folks lived in garbage, weilded machetes–much scarier than cool alien guns and more primitive than sleek human weapons, were dim enough to believe in specific sorts of witchcraft and were morally bankrupt enough to enforce further enslavement on their fellow subjugated.

Now, before you say that OreoWriter is reading too much into this set of facts, consider this:

When all the melanin-heavy were killed at once…the theater exploded into applause and laughter. What a relief!

I can only hope that they were not simply celebrating the fact that an enemy was squashed.That in their response was at least a hint of inherent discomfort with the victims. And I’ve got a good chance of being right, because when bombs went off at MNU, there was no laughter. When the nameless mercinary got ripped limb from limb, there was no applause. But when the black folks were destroyed en masse, there was so much hubbub that the audience almost missed reacting to the leader getting his head exploded.

I’m not saying that I need validation where ever I can get it. I am saying that it feels good to be reminded by a sold out theater that one’s hard work and shared fears are not in vain. For when this momentous scene happened, I cheered myself (Internally, of course. Making audible comments during a movie would ruin years of Oreo work) because there on screen was a perfect physical representation of what I am working so very hard to do. 

So go see the movie. The acting is phenominal, the script is amazing, the effects work is outstanding, the phone promo’s done by yours truly (call 1-866-666-6001 to hear OreoWriter keep humans safe!) and there’s this hilarious and moving scene in Act III. You’re going to love it.

Diary of a Mad White Black Woman – Cops Like Donuts, Not Oreos

Dear Diary,

I thought I was making more progress. But a slap on the wrist in front of the majority showed me how much work I still need to do and how I can never let my guard down for a second.

I had stopped off in West Hollywood to pick up some work from a client. I only left my car on the curb for a second and when I came back, a man with a badge and fancy flashing lights on his car was about to write me a ticket.

Thinking this could surely be cleared up sans city fine, I dusted off my pencil skirt, clicked my boot heels together and approached the nice man.

But as I pleaded my case, there was no sympathy in his eyes, no understanding, no pause to his pen and he kept writing. Then suddenly, a flash of recognition. He looked past me, nodded and put the ticket away.

What was behind me? My white client.

“Can we let this go,” Client said to the officer. “She didn’t know.”knight_m

Though I was relieved for my alabaster shield, my blanched bastion, my white knight, I was embarrassed and disappointed that I still needed one and that I’m still making newbie mistakes like this.

The ticket was for not angling my wheels at the curb. That’s what I didn’t know to do. Inexcusable.

I should have been ready for that. Parking on steep windy hills is part of privileged culture. I must remember these details if I am going to pass. It’s right up there with sending hand-written thank you cards and smiling through gritted teeth.

So it’s back to the books and away from the hills until I can conduct myself accordingly.

Is This Your Race Card?

BP-FrogAceI made good use of my AMA card (that’s Academy of Magical Arts in case you were wondering) and spent the evening being dazzled at Los Angeles’s Magic Castle–the Hollywood hub for all things great in the world of illusion. I learned two things on this outing.

1. When a grand illusion is augmented by a little card producing, the result is…excuse the pun, magical.

And as a bonus to the cause:

2. People of color do not go to magic shows.

Maybe it’s because historically, POC do not appreciate being tricked by white people.

But a little playful trickery in life is necessary. Without it, we wouldn’t have a political system or effective advertising.

Besides that, the whole Oreo lifestyle relies on sleight of hand, clever distraction and a well-placed trompe-l’œil. How else can we convince the world we are something that we are not?

So pull up a chair in your personal parlor of prestidigitation and get ready to say the magic words as you watch your perceived identity and their lowered expectations…disappear!

Diary of a Mad White Black Woman – I Guess I Really Should Have an IPod Anyway

Dear Diary,

Sad news.

After bringing it into the theater to provide a selection of ambient classical music while I prepared for my Neil LaBute showcase, my CD case went missing.

Gone are my collections of the American musical. No more are my ATB German electronica CDs. Au revior to my Mozart arias, my Bach sonatas, my Shostakovichian overtures in all their festivity.

But the truth is, those collections are basically replaceable.

Less replaceable, a CD that got me through some of my darkest days. A CD, given to me by a friend with whom I am no longer in contact, that always picked me up when I was low, put a spring in my step where there was none and gave me the strength to journey on.

The Georgetown Chimes.georgetown-logo

Ahh, the Chimes. The premier all-male a capella group from the school that graduated President Bill Clinton, America’s Next Top Model contestant Sara Albert and a host of other notables,  Georgetown University.

These 10 – 14 masculine voices blend in perfect harmony to bring classic songs to renewed and brilliant life. Nevermind what they do with timeless folk songs like Danny Boy and Loch Lomond, it’s what they do with traditionally ethnic music that makes my heart skip a beat. Motown and Do Wop just don’t truly resonate until they’re sung by a baker’s dozen of boarding school bred boys.

As the CD came from a friend whose contact info I no longer posses and not from amazon.com, the dulcet sounds of The Chimes will have to ring on in my head and never again through my car stereo. I will have to Hoya Hoya Saxa it alone.

Goodbye, boys. I shall miss you dearly.

Lie down forever, lie down, my friends

Lie down. Forever lie down.

Pleasure Reading

imagesIn honor of Juneteenth (the holiday developed to remember the day that President Lincoln released slaves from a life of forced assimilation into a world where they now had the choice to conform to expectations…or die) I went to my local Borders Books to do some research on “my people.” I thought for a moment that I may have been too zealous in my journey toward Oreodom and that learning about myself would guide me toward a more moderate path.

But a quick trip in the “ethnic” section of the book store told me I was right on track.

In the 20000 square foot big box Borders, about 10 square feet were dedicated to the ethnic section. Out of the tens of thousands of books available elsewhere in the store, maybe 50 titles were in this section. I was relieved to see that CEOs smarter than I dedicate the same amount of space to ethnic identity.

Part of me hoped that I would find on these two shelves, a tome or two that spoke to me. That I would learn something about “my people’s” history that would make me feel like I was indeed a part of this population.

Granted, that kind of self-discovery is challenging, so thankfully here’s what I found instead.

Specific Self Help

funny-pictures-cat-scared-sink-water1Most of the books were fiction and the non fiction discussed either slavery or self help. But the self help was limited to telling one how to seize the day or how to say “aw hell naw” at all the right times.

In terms of self improvement, I am more interested in calorie intake, balancing work and pleasure and laying down the rest of this Stepford-filled baggage.

But since those books don’t seem to belong in this section, I suppose, neither do I.

pi_271African American History X…if X > Pump up the Jam

There was nothing in the ethnic section that was published before about 1990. No classic novels or writers here. All post parachute pants prints.

And since I existed before 1990, it seems this is not the section for me.

I Put My Trash in the Bin, Not in the Bedroom559206-i281.photobucket.com-albums-kk213-jgoethe_photos-torsochocolate

The romance novels here were all trashy and Harlequin-esque. No sweeping tales of love. No sexy, taught dramas. No achingly coquettish stories that made you tense with wonderful anticpation to read them. Just books with pictures of big curves on the cover, giant print inside and the overuse of the words “chocolate,” and “member” in the same sentence.

And since I never compare any part of my partners to food, I guess this isn’t the section for me.

250785631_96c039e1d9Black People Don’t Like…Things, Apparently.

The area also left out other key sections that sell quite well in the greater Borders book store. There was no “humor” section. No “food” section. No “travel” section. No “science fiction” section.

And since I like to laugh, eat, go places and because I intend on existing in the future, I realized once again: this is clearly not the section for me.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I affirmed once again that I was doing things right by pursuing the Oreo way of life. I smiled as I thought this…just as a sales clerk approached.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked.

“Yes. I did.” I said, with probably too grand a pause between words.

“Good. We just got in some new books for Juneteenth.”

“June-what?” I asked and laughed as I brushed past her, before adding. “Can you tell me where to find the latest issue of The Baltimore Review. I’m going to start it just after The Thought Gang and just before Gun With Occasional Music.”

Diary of a Mad White Black Woman – Dancing Lessons with WhitePal

Dear Diary,

The party invitation was terribly misleading.

When I saw the evite for “an engagement party at a castle in the Hills,” I thought:”Perfect! I’ll be in good company.” Why was I so confident? Three key words.

  1. Engagement Party – A social setting where guests are forced to stare at two 72317672people make awkwardly public announcements about their love while pretending that the divorce rate isn’t soaring well above 50%. That  screams Stepford.
  2. Castle – Who lives in castles? English lords, insane Bavarian royalty and the Pope, kind of. ie: White people.
  3. The Hills – Lauren Conrad. Spencer Pratt. Heidi Montag. Enough said.

Imagine my surprise then, when WhitePal and I were greeted with not only an engaged couple of color, but their 45 guests of color as well. From shades of light ethnic, to Southern Baptist, to extras on The Wire, we were surrounded.

I tried to take refuge behind WP, but then…the music started.

A note about WP: He is a great dancer. Amazing. “Ill” as I’m told the kids say. He took to the floor and was immediately the center of attention.

The concentration of so many ethnics made me want to run to the nearest Land Rover dealership and knit a cardigan while doing some hot yoga. But there was something to the scene that looked almost…fun?

Maybe it was the beautiful setting overlooking the Hollywood Hills. Maybe it was the free and happy expressions on the dancers’ faces. Maybe it was dram of gewurtrameiner I had been offered and found necessary to consume. Whatever it was, I wanted to try what I saw on the dance floor. I figured I had earned enough O-points to indulge this one infraction.

As indicated by WP, I have transcribed our conversations accurately to this point. Below is a record of our conversation, and its subtext.

INT. HOLLYWOOD HILLS CASTLE – DANCE FLOOR – NIGHT

OreoWriter hugs the wall while WhitePal finishes a dance battle. Under the sound of applause, OW begins to move timidly toward the dance floor.

OW: I kinda want to come out there (TRANSLATION: I am probably very drunk)

WP: Then do it! (You are probably very drunk.)

WP makes room on the floor and motions for OW to join.

OW: No, no. Don’t call attention to it. (I’m not THAT drunk)

WP: C’mon. Just move. (Because what you’re doing is certainly not “dancing.”)

OW: I don’t know what to do! (There really should have been a disclaimer on the invitation)

WP: Don’t worry about it, just have fun. (What is wrong with you?)

OW: How did you learn this? (Huh…maybe I don’t look totally dumb after all)

WP: You don’t “learn” it, you just…do it. (You definitely look totally dumb)

Another song started and suddenly, the room erupted into a unison chant of all the lonely_goatherdlyrics. How they all knew the words, I don’t know. Even at the best Sound of Music sing-a-longs, we still need the captioning for “The Lonely Goatherd,” and these songs had significantly more complicated verbiage than “laydee-o di laydee-o di lay hee hoo.”

As the guests all turned toward each other in the communion of JayZ, I decided to make my way off of the dance floor and out from under the shadow of shame.

I took a turn on the balcony to collect myself and checked my Blackberry. I saw a new email: an evite to a Pampered Chef Cotillion Ball at a beach house in Laguna. Hopefully that will go better.