Him Downstairs...

Too Much Beyonce?
Uploaded by apartment3b

I pulled this clip from Rell's blog. The title of this post comes from Bernie Mac's "Kings of Comedy" routine, where he talks about his feminine nephew going downstairs for some "milk and cookies."

All jokes aside though, most people would look at this clip and say that this kid is homosexual, or will be. If this kid does in fact grow up to be homosexual, the big question would be whether or not this was a natural occurrence, or is he simply a product of learned behavior? Was he born this way, or did his environment overly expose him to feminine experiences and tendancies?

There are good arguments on both sides, and science has done little to prove or disprove either theory.

Either way, this question is one that stirs a lot of controversy.

The Adventures of Andrew the AssHole: House Guests From Hell

Today's post comes from a guy I know that I affectionately call Andrew the Asshole. In this post, he sounds off on the recent stay of some out-of-town acquaintances at his home. He feels they were ungrateful. He wants your opinion. What do you think?

Yes... this man is an ass, but is he justified in being salty? ... or is he just... an asshole? Please sound off!

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When you are friends with someone you go out of your way to be a good host and open up your home to them. Staying in Miami, friends and family naturally invite themselves to my place on a regular basis. If I lived in another part of the country I would never see these people, but 80-degree weather in January seems to attract them year-round. A decent hotel will run you $150 a night--$400 if you want to see some water--and a car to get around in will be another $200. These House Guest from Hell are saving over $800, plus they get the sheer benefit of staying with me, and you really can't put a price on that. My guests this particular weekend were two women, older, multi-cultural, and in their early 30's, which are my favorite. These women had cabin fever. They could not wait to hang with a fine brother, like myself, on South Beach… but I disgress.

This weekend started like any Miami day… 80 degrees with a slight breeze, Mojito in hand (For the uncultured, it's a great Latin drink--keep up!), sand between the toes, and tan women from around the globe laying topless on South Beach. There I lay between two women and surrounded by 100's more. Dream life for most, but the typical Miami lifestyle for the locals.

Sounds great right??? BUT...before we could even get to the first Mojito, things begin to go wrong.

When picking their asses up from the airport my gas tank was getting low. I stopped by the gas station to fill up. Do they offer to pay?… No!!! They want to spend that $800 I'm saving them on shopping, I suppose. I wasn't upset, but it registered in the back of my mind.

Driving home we engage in friendly conversation. They begin to ask about my TV show that I have been working on. Little did I know that Krystal, the oldest one, worked for a local TV station back in Colorado; while the younger one, Kodi, had a major in TV at the University of Know-It-All (or Univ of KIA). She offered her professional opinion on why people would not watch it. Even when moving to a new subject she continued to bring it up. Just let it go!

Next we hit South Beach. We go over the bridge with Star Island to our left, where the sun shined off the glimmering ocean. Even though it was noon the streets buzzed with people. Driving down Collins Avenue, the conversation shifts to women. With a heighten excitement Kodi asks “Did you see that lady?” Not certain of which bikini-clad woman she was speaking of I responded, “No, which one?” In disbelief she went on about how great this other chick looked and how I had to have seen her. Low Self-Esteem is so unattractive. I didn't realize which one she was talking about because Miami is filled with exotic women from over 85 countries, so you learn not to turn your head because the next block over there will be another exotic chick that looks just as good. Then they proceed to talk down about their bodies, how they can't compare to these women and how all these people are shallow for looking so good in comparison to them. Yeah, they were right... their European-mix did not put them past a 6, by Miami standards, but don't be mad cause you weren't blessed with good genes; or might it have something to do with that milk shake you are holding in your hands? Maybe, maybe not.

We finally reach the parking garage where parking is $15, which is not unusual. They begin to complain about the cost. Keep in mind that I am saving them a ton of money! They paid, but only because I had no cash. Next, we stop by the Clevelander Hotel, where their outside bars attract tourist starting at 10 am. Mojito time!!! Everything cost a little more in Miami. Our two drinks ran us a little over $20. Kodi reluctantly paid for the drinks on our way to the sand. Before we could get settled on the beach to tan, they begin to complain about the topless women, not because they were offended, but because hers were small by comparison. All I could think was "spare me...just get implants." With all this complaining I look for an out… I call my Uncle who happens to be taking one of his 3-hour lunches from the Private Bank at Bank of America. I met him for lunch. At lunch we discussed the 3 W's that make Miami a paradise: Weather, Water and Women.

Back to reality, I go back to the beach to catch a quick nap. After they finished lying out they were hungry, so we grab lunch at the Clevelander. Being a good host and friend I saved them a couple hundred dollars by making arrangements to get my friend's jeep so that they could use my car for the weekend. We had to go meet him to get the jeep. Because they wanted to lay out we had to go do this during 5-o'clock traffic. Their ungrateful asses complained about how long it took to get the jeep.

We have to hurry to make it back out to South Beach to actually go out. While getting dressed her Fashion Degree from Univ. of KIA accessed my fashionable attire for the night. We were delayed by her self-consciousness of her short hair cut. The long haired women of Miami made her spend an extra hour straightening her subpar hair-do. The hour was in vain since staring at it will not make it grow.

By the time we made it back onto South Beach parking was up to $20. They bitched about paying for this of course. We meet a couple of my guy friends at Clevelander, to start the night off. Ladies got in free but guys were $10, not once did they offer to pay for this out of their $800 savings! Krystal does not drink, even though she seems to be the wilder of the two. She paid for one shot for me and her, which ended up being around $30. She complained, of course! We finally got a call from a friend that was going to get us into this really nice hotel, Singapore. The whole first floor is in all white and equipped with pool table, fine art, sculptures, two bars, and a restaurant. The inside was buzzing, but outside was packed. The outside was filled with beautiful well dressed people, ice sculptures, flat screens, a DJ, two bars, and all white beds that surrounded the pool. Nobody paid to get in, and once again they didn't offer to pick up one drink for me. Not to mention they looked like they were miserable at such a nice place.

Its about 1:30 am and at this point we go back to the Clevelander--which pales in comparison to the Singapore--to party. These old women seemed more at home with these ghetto college students then they did at the hotel. We finally leave out at 4:30 to grab some pizza, which once again they didn't pay for mine.

After worked I called, Kodi to let her know I would be home soon. She was having a hard time sleeping, because she was hungry. I was headed to Wendy's but she wanted pizza and even offered to pick up the tab. Cool, but the pizza places were closed. IHOP was open so I offered to stop there. I got home and we ate together. Afterwards she looked at the bill and asked how much she owed me. I think you offered to pay and the bill is $32, so your ass owes me $32, right??! Wrong! She puts $15 on the table and goes to bed without saying good night or thank you.

The last day, they offered to buy me dinner for helping them save $800 and it was also my birthday. I spoke with them several times during the day and we still had not decided on what type of food. I came home to get ready, and as I get out the shower they informed me that they wanted to go bowling and that they would pick up tab there. Who wants hot dogs and hamburgers? "Not I" said the birthday boy. Then the truth comes out that we were meeting another guy that Krystal had met to bowl. After saving your ass $800, I want some real food at a real restaurant. Then they ask if I could still take them to the airport the next morning.

With a smile on my face I told them that they needed to pack their bags and get the guy we were meeting at the bowling ally to take them to the airport. They laughed and asked if I was serious? As Serious the $800 I saved you? Yes! They had an attitude all the way down to the curb.

In their haste to leave they left a black box. Upon further investigation I realize it's a jewelry box…It all comes full circle. A couple diamond tennis bracelets and diamond earings. They emailed me about them. I gave them my mailing address to where they could mail me $500 for their jewelry. They must think I'm playing so I am sending them the ebay link were they can purchase their own jewelry back.

Classic Misogyny...

The precursor to rap videos as we know them today.

Yesssssssssss!

The Time I Picked Up A Hitch Hiker...

Yes... I did. And it was easily one of the weirdest experiences of my life.

For anybody that doesn't know me, I did an internship in Pasadena, CA the summers of 1999 and 2000. There was a diverse group of us that lived together, and on the weekends we would hit the clubs in L.A.

Well this one particular weekend, the three of us decided that we were going to shoot down to San Diego to hit up a club. I forget the name, but it was supposed to be the hot spot. We hopped in my boy's 4-door pickup, made the 2-hour drive down there, had a good time, and decided to drive back at about 3AM.

I didn't have much to drink that night so I found myself driving back. After about 20 minutes on the highway, we approached a hitch-hiking guy with a big duffle bag. My boy goes "Let's pick 'em up."

I told him that he was out of his mind. I had never picked up a hitch hiker and didn't intend to start. My friend in the back (crazy white boy) goes, "Pick him up man. I do it all the time. He's probably just down on his luck, and if he tries to start some shit, we'll just whoop his ass."

Against my better judgement, and in attempts not to look like a punk, I pulled over. The guy walks up, throws his bag in the back and gets in the truck.

He didn't say anything when he got in. No "Hello," No "Thanks," No "Can you take me..." Nothing! I start driving again. And what really messed me up is that my boys didn't say anything either. It freaked me out but I didn't say anything. It was dead silent. All I could think was "Is this how this usually works?"

Ten minutes down the road, the guy is asleep. With me being shook and paranoid I just kept thinking about a bad outcome. All I could really think about was what was in this guys duffle bag? We were pretty close to the Mexican border, so it could have been anything. I leaned over and whispered my concerns to my boy. He was like "That's a good question...ask 'em what's in the bag."

I built up the courage, reached back and tapped him on his leg as asked "Hey man... Whatcha got in that bag?"

In this German-sounding accent he goes, "None of your fucking business."

(silence).............***blink blink***.....................(silence)

This caught me off guard and freaked me out even more. Mind you... it's about 100-degrees outside and pitch black so I was shocked at this dude's audacity to say something that cold when we were doing him a favor. Something wasn't right about that.

So my boy jumps in and goes "Hey man... we don't want any trouble or anything, we're just curious about what you're carrying."

Once again, but a little more annoyed, the guy says "None of your fucking business!"

At this point we're all scared and pissed. My boy, being the hot-head that he is, goes "Man tell us what's in the bag or you can walk!" Once again the guy says "IT'S NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS!"

"Pull over Brandon. Let him out!" I pulled over and dude got out. I sped off.

An hour and a half later, we arrived back in Pasadena at our apartment. We got out the truck and realized that this dude forgot to get his bag.

Fear of the Powerless

...He rounds the corner with great stride and wreckless abandon. In his eye there is a sense of menacing purpose. He seeks a prey to stalk. He sees it!

His stare is intent. The muscles in his ghastly, shadowy face begin to tighten. He is ready to pounce and claim what is rightfully his. There is no room for failure, for failure is not an option. This dark, towering savage must succeed. It is a matter of life and death. There is no time to think. No room for improvisation, as anything less than surgical-like precision and skill will allow the prey to escape. The prey is oblivious to his presence.

Everything is now in slow motion... every step pronounced with a resounding echo as he swiftly moves toward his unassuming victim... Internally, he chuckles demonically and delights in his forthcoming victory over his helpless prey.

...But then as he is a mere three steps away from his victim, the prey realizes that she is in danger! She is fearful... She experiences a heightened sense of things...

...In a matter of 0.5 seconds, a picture of this looming figure is burned into her pupils and retna. Her pupils dilate. This information travels from her eyes to her brain. Her neurons frantcially react to this danger and rush towards her cerebral cortex. This in turn triggers a chain reaction throughout her spinal cord which demands her nervous system to enact her natural defense mechanism...

...Her left arm muscles, which is where her brain tells her that the danger lies, are ready to deflect her stalker's charge and fend off his ill intent. Her muscles tighten...

She... clutches...

Her purse.

She walks past me swiftly, exits Sears and heads towards her car. I continue on towards Lens Crafters for my 5:50 appointment to wrap up a contact lense fitting. She narrowly escaped my...wrath?

This has to be what goes through white women's minds when they encounter black males. This is the only logical thought process that I can think of that causes them to clutch their purses 90% of the time when they encounter us in stores, on sidewalks, elevators and pretty much anywhere.

I must admit that I have chalked it up to ignorance and fear of the unknown, but it is a constant reminder of how unresolved race issues are and that stereotypes are still very much alive. We are still mistrusted and looked down upon as the dregs of society.

It's easy to ignore it, but most of these purse clutchers probably are not conscious to the fact that they are doing it or that we recognize it. It's a second nature defense mechanism, even though most of them have probably never been the victim of these infamous purse snatchings. I'm sure they think it is because of their keen street smarts and the inpenetrable "purse tuck."

To put it simply their reasoning is... "He's Black so he probably wants to steal from me."

It is also not out of the question to assume that when I go in front of that mortgage loan officer or when I interview for that coveted position, she is going to be there; and before we talk business, I have to spend the first few minutes convincing her subconscious that I am not the purse snatcher that she was afraid of yesterday.

For those of you that know about W.E.B. Dubois' Double Consciousness Theory, it is very real. We do live double lives as Blacks and as Americans--especially Black males. We're conscious to the fact that we live in the land of opportunity, and with the right maneuvering, we can go on to make our wildest dreams come true. On the other side, we also know that just the mere sight of our skin color makes even the lowest majority members initially look at us as, and treat us like, second class citizens before they know what we're all about. We go through life walking that tight rope of trying to make it to the other side without falling to the netless ground of circumstance below.

I try not to let race issues deter me from moving forward with my life...to become a mental slave to the circumstance of being Black in America. I firmly believe that it is important to acknowledge that racism exists and move on. It is a problem that will not be eliminated in our lifetime, but letting it consume us will only heighten our mistrust and continue the stalemate.

It's hard and frustrating at times when you know that the chips are stacked against you and that you have to play the game a little harder, but this is the hand that we're dealt. There's no immediate cure. The only real cure is time...

Maybe next lifetime, but time.

Ignorance: A big fuck you goes out to the guy that beats up 101 year-old ladies at elderly homes and snatches their purses. Thanks for setting us back and perpetuating the stereotype. Good Job Buddy!

And I'm Telling You...

...that Jennifer Hudson is Bad.

For anyone that hasn't seen Dream Girls, this is the reason that she won the Oscar for Best Supporting Actress. It wasn't because she's a great actress or that her performance stood out in the movie over anyone else's. She won because of THIS song. Bottom line.

Never in my life have I ever thought I would see big burly, grown ass men stand up and clap during a movie as if the actor/actress would hear and appreciate the applause. I mean I'm a man and all, but uhhh... nah... there was just a hair in my eye. It just so happened that that damned eyelash decided to creep onto my pupil at the part where she went acappella. I'm a man!

Regardless... Good Job Ms. Hudson.

Call me...

Ignorance: Damn that's a good bootleg!

Beating Duke....

So easy a caveman could do it.

Why I Hate Black People

Just when I thought I had run out of ridiculous, racist material to write about, Kenneth Eng, self-professed Asian Supremacist, of the San-Francisco weekly AsianWeek did me a huge favor by forking over a gem of an article affectionately titled Why I Hate Black People. This article has gotten a lot of press over the last few days and, of course, has gotten the attention of The National Urban League and the NAACP.

This article is way too easy to refute because it is utter shit and because I am Black. So instead, I am going to dissect the article and attempt to defend it.

Here's the article...

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Why I Hate Blacks
Kenneth Eng, Feb 23, 2007

Here is a list of reasons why we should discriminate against blacks, starting from the most obvious down to the least obvious:

• Blacks hate us. Every Asian who has ever come across them knows that they take almost every opportunity to hurl racist remarks at us.

In my experience, I would say about 90 percent of blacks I have met, regardless of age or environment, poke fun at the very sight of an Asian. Furthermore, their activity in the media proves their hatred: Rush Hour, Exit Wounds, Hot 97, etc.

• Contrary to media depictions, I would argue that blacks are weak-willed. They are the only race that has been enslaved for 300 years. It’s unbelievable that it took them that long to fight back.

On the other hand, we slaughtered the Russians in the Japanese-Russo War.

• Blacks are easy to coerce. This is proven by the fact that so many of them, including Reverend Al Sharpton, tend to be Christians.

Yet, at the same time, they spend much of their time whining about how much they hate “the whites that oppressed them.”

Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t Christianity the religion that the whites forced upon them?

• Blacks don’t get it. I know it’s a blunt and crass comment, but it’s true. When I was in high school, I recall a class debate in which one half of the class was chosen to defend black slavery and the other half was chosen to defend liberation.

Disturbingly, blacks on the prior side viciously defended slavery as well as Christianity. They say if you don’t study history, you’re condemned to repeat it.

In high school, I only remember one black student ever attending any of my honors and AP courses. And that student was caught cheating.

It is rather troubling that they are treated as heroes, but then again, whites will do anything to defend them.

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The Dissection

• Blacks hate us. Every Asian who has ever come across them knows that they take almost every opportunity to hurl racist remarks at us.

In my experience, I would say about 90 percent of blacks I have met, regardless of age or environment, poke fun at the very sight of an Asian. Furthermore, their activity in the media proves their hatred: Rush Hour, Exit Wounds, Hot 97, etc.

How many times have we turned on Black comedy shows or stand-up routines and heard jokes about Mei Ling who will "...cook fie' rice for yoo" with only the finest neighborhood felines? And why do all Asian/Black co-starred films involve martial arts? I personally don't know any Asians that practice Karate.

• Contrary to media depictions, I would argue that blacks are weak-willed. They are the only race that has been enslaved for 300 years. It’s unbelievable that it took them that long to fight back.

Right on Ken!... So what that Africans were brought over from different African nations, separated from their families, tortured for trying to learn, and forced to give up their identities and languages in a foreign place where they had no access to effective weaponry and were outnumbered 12 to 1...

I tried... I can't defend this shit. The spirit of Strom Thurmon that I channeled before writing this has just left my body...

Ignorance: Please send all hate mail here: asianweek@asianweek.com or call AsianWeek here: (415) 397-0220