Friday, June 25, 2004
Fahrenheit 9/11: The Hot Ticket
Fuck Bush. Motherfuck Bush. That's how I felt after coming home from watching Fahrenheit 9/11, the new documentary by Michael Moore. I had been looking forward to seeing the film for quite some time and fortunately got a ticket opening night. Knowing the controversy behind the film, its director, and because this is the first documentary to ever win the coveted Palme d'Or award at the prestigious Cannes Film Festival in France, I was anxious to see the movie. Looking around at the roughly 350 people in the sold out theater, I was among a bunch of baby boomers and activists of yesteryear. It was a great feeling. Before the film I overheard folks reminiscing about seeing Jimi Hendrix perform, their frustrations with the current government, and the importance of voting. One silver fox recalled taking her college graduation pictures donning an afro and with no underwear -- much to the chagrin of her parents, of course -- in solidarity with the women's rights movement. For this woman, and I imagine for many others coming to watch this film, being active in the government's political process is what they know. For them, supporting Fahrenheit 9/11 was a continuation of their efforts to promote peace and protest the vained war in Iraq. Unfortunately, people in my age range (18-34) were present to a much lesser degree, which seems to also reflect the voting trends. The youth, generally speaking, are apathetic and apolitical. Meanwhile the elders recall Vietnam, rally for peace, and root for a better tomorrow. Unfortunately that might not be enough to get Bush's ass out of the Oval office.
The crowd was full of golf shirt-khaki pants-Rockport wearing activists. I was hoping there would be some right-wingers there, too, but between the hisses and heckles whenever Bush's face appeared on screen, I didn't get the sense many Bushites were present. I was just hoping the film wouldn't be solely preaching to the converted. Be that as it may, in some small way I felt like a part of a movement exercising its democratic rights by refusing to stand around and watch this country impose its imperialist agenda on another. And perhaps I am too paranoid, but for a split second I thought, "what if some psycho decided to bomb this building in protest of those coming to see the movie." You see, one never can tell what Bush and his cronies are up to. You might think I am being a bit extreme, but watch Fahrenheit 9/11 - nothing is too far fetched.
The film logically and succinctly demonstrates the Bush administration's incestuous relationship with the Bin Ladin family and Saudi Arabia. Fahrenheit 9/11 is a scathing report of the Bush administration and their nefarious business practices. While there have been numerous critiques of the film and its methodology, primarily from right-wing politicians, the film's facts seem to come from public records. The breakdown of the Bush election hoax is particularly disturbing. And thank god for Michael Moore's inflections of humor throughout the movie. Like a friend told me, without it people would be jumping off cliffs like lemmings!
The most riveting, and I think powerful, is Moore's use of a common theme: his hometown of Flint, MI. Flint is the coronary artery for all his films, beginning with his sobering, "Roger and Me," which is about the impact of General Motors on a small industry town; he returns to this locale in "Bowling for Columbine." In Fahrenheit 9/11, Moore effectively shows the direct connection with an impoverished town in Middle America and military recruiting. One is able to see who the real victims are: the dispossessed and disenfranchised. The average man and woman are taking hits for the elite. The Axis of Evil (Bush, Cheney, Rice and Rumi) have clogged America's arteries. And the heartbeat of America is in need of a quadruple bypass. Images of bombed out homes and dilapidated buildings, children receiving sub-par education, and families with their hands out waiting for food like refugees scavenging for grains was gut wrenching. These were not images of Baghdad, quite the contrary, they were scenes from the good ole U.S. of A. The terrorist is not some bearded man chilling in a cave all pimped out with his harem of Taliban roaming the streets ready to put in work for Big Daddy. No, the biggest pimp is G.W. Bush, and we're being tricked.
I was among a handful of Blacks in the theater. That didn't surprise me, necessarily, but I was somewhat disappointed. Where were we? Were we too busy praising God over at the Georgia Dome for T.D. Jakes' Mega Fest? Or were we protesting the real issue that KFC ran out of four-piece chicken dinners? (YES, the first night of Mega Fest KFC ran out of chicken wings, apparently they were not prepared for the increased demand brought on by the onslaught of the Christian flock). Whatever the case, we need to concentrate our collective efforts on understanding that the U.S. presence in Iraq is severely misplaced.
I was very disappointed though at the glaring absence of a black woman's oppositional voice in the film. Black women have a long standing tradition of activism: Harriet Tubman, Ida B. Wells, Fannie Lou Hammer, Angela Davis - these are just a few of the notables. But there was little presence of Black women in the film at all. With a few comic relief appearances that included Condi Rice, and a few shots early in the movie of women in the Congressional Black Caucus, Black women were generally overlooked. This is troubling considering how Shoshanana Johnson, the first Black woman POW, was held two weeks longer than famed Jessica Lynch and received a fraction of the hoopla in the media.
I am even surprised Moore didn't mention or use the Lynch 'Wag the Dog' travesty as canon fodder for his lambaste against Bush. Although there was some commentary, I wanted to hear more from the Iraqi people, particularly the youth who I imagine are far more politically astute than our lot, or more of its citizens. Maybe even specific statistics on the screen exacting the number of fatalities, on all sides, would have been a poignant reminder of the severity of this nebulous 'war on terror.' Or how this country has a long-standing history of conjuring up wars and choosing who it wants to help. And some of the pro-America comments seemed a bit excessive, but I understand the logic. Moore was trying to squelch the staid argument that being anti-war is anti-American. With this film Moore exercised one of the greatest attributes of American democracy: freedom of speech. And understanding the film couldn't do it all, what was done was well worth the price of the ticket. Fahrenheit 9/11 is one hot rage against the machine.
Holla @ your gurhl,
rheality.com
Fuck Bush. Motherfuck Bush. That's how I felt after coming home from watching Fahrenheit 9/11, the new documentary by Michael Moore. I had been looking forward to seeing the film for quite some time and fortunately got a ticket opening night. Knowing the controversy behind the film, its director, and because this is the first documentary to ever win the coveted Palme d'Or award at the prestigious Cannes Film Festival in France, I was anxious to see the movie. Looking around at the roughly 350 people in the sold out theater, I was among a bunch of baby boomers and activists of yesteryear. It was a great feeling. Before the film I overheard folks reminiscing about seeing Jimi Hendrix perform, their frustrations with the current government, and the importance of voting. One silver fox recalled taking her college graduation pictures donning an afro and with no underwear -- much to the chagrin of her parents, of course -- in solidarity with the women's rights movement. For this woman, and I imagine for many others coming to watch this film, being active in the government's political process is what they know. For them, supporting Fahrenheit 9/11 was a continuation of their efforts to promote peace and protest the vained war in Iraq. Unfortunately, people in my age range (18-34) were present to a much lesser degree, which seems to also reflect the voting trends. The youth, generally speaking, are apathetic and apolitical. Meanwhile the elders recall Vietnam, rally for peace, and root for a better tomorrow. Unfortunately that might not be enough to get Bush's ass out of the Oval office.
The crowd was full of golf shirt-khaki pants-Rockport wearing activists. I was hoping there would be some right-wingers there, too, but between the hisses and heckles whenever Bush's face appeared on screen, I didn't get the sense many Bushites were present. I was just hoping the film wouldn't be solely preaching to the converted. Be that as it may, in some small way I felt like a part of a movement exercising its democratic rights by refusing to stand around and watch this country impose its imperialist agenda on another. And perhaps I am too paranoid, but for a split second I thought, "what if some psycho decided to bomb this building in protest of those coming to see the movie." You see, one never can tell what Bush and his cronies are up to. You might think I am being a bit extreme, but watch Fahrenheit 9/11 - nothing is too far fetched.
The film logically and succinctly demonstrates the Bush administration's incestuous relationship with the Bin Ladin family and Saudi Arabia. Fahrenheit 9/11 is a scathing report of the Bush administration and their nefarious business practices. While there have been numerous critiques of the film and its methodology, primarily from right-wing politicians, the film's facts seem to come from public records. The breakdown of the Bush election hoax is particularly disturbing. And thank god for Michael Moore's inflections of humor throughout the movie. Like a friend told me, without it people would be jumping off cliffs like lemmings!
The most riveting, and I think powerful, is Moore's use of a common theme: his hometown of Flint, MI. Flint is the coronary artery for all his films, beginning with his sobering, "Roger and Me," which is about the impact of General Motors on a small industry town; he returns to this locale in "Bowling for Columbine." In Fahrenheit 9/11, Moore effectively shows the direct connection with an impoverished town in Middle America and military recruiting. One is able to see who the real victims are: the dispossessed and disenfranchised. The average man and woman are taking hits for the elite. The Axis of Evil (Bush, Cheney, Rice and Rumi) have clogged America's arteries. And the heartbeat of America is in need of a quadruple bypass. Images of bombed out homes and dilapidated buildings, children receiving sub-par education, and families with their hands out waiting for food like refugees scavenging for grains was gut wrenching. These were not images of Baghdad, quite the contrary, they were scenes from the good ole U.S. of A. The terrorist is not some bearded man chilling in a cave all pimped out with his harem of Taliban roaming the streets ready to put in work for Big Daddy. No, the biggest pimp is G.W. Bush, and we're being tricked.
I was among a handful of Blacks in the theater. That didn't surprise me, necessarily, but I was somewhat disappointed. Where were we? Were we too busy praising God over at the Georgia Dome for T.D. Jakes' Mega Fest? Or were we protesting the real issue that KFC ran out of four-piece chicken dinners? (YES, the first night of Mega Fest KFC ran out of chicken wings, apparently they were not prepared for the increased demand brought on by the onslaught of the Christian flock). Whatever the case, we need to concentrate our collective efforts on understanding that the U.S. presence in Iraq is severely misplaced.
I was very disappointed though at the glaring absence of a black woman's oppositional voice in the film. Black women have a long standing tradition of activism: Harriet Tubman, Ida B. Wells, Fannie Lou Hammer, Angela Davis - these are just a few of the notables. But there was little presence of Black women in the film at all. With a few comic relief appearances that included Condi Rice, and a few shots early in the movie of women in the Congressional Black Caucus, Black women were generally overlooked. This is troubling considering how Shoshanana Johnson, the first Black woman POW, was held two weeks longer than famed Jessica Lynch and received a fraction of the hoopla in the media.
I am even surprised Moore didn't mention or use the Lynch 'Wag the Dog' travesty as canon fodder for his lambaste against Bush. Although there was some commentary, I wanted to hear more from the Iraqi people, particularly the youth who I imagine are far more politically astute than our lot, or more of its citizens. Maybe even specific statistics on the screen exacting the number of fatalities, on all sides, would have been a poignant reminder of the severity of this nebulous 'war on terror.' Or how this country has a long-standing history of conjuring up wars and choosing who it wants to help. And some of the pro-America comments seemed a bit excessive, but I understand the logic. Moore was trying to squelch the staid argument that being anti-war is anti-American. With this film Moore exercised one of the greatest attributes of American democracy: freedom of speech. And understanding the film couldn't do it all, what was done was well worth the price of the ticket. Fahrenheit 9/11 is one hot rage against the machine.
Holla @ your gurhl,
rheality.com
Friday, June 18, 2004
Dirty Jokes and Home Cooked Meals: A Recipe for Living
Rhea L. Combs
it's been far too long since i last posted something on my blog. but tonight, after having an extremely inspirational time hanging out with a good girlfriend, eating a marvelously healthy dinner, flirting with the cutest little dreadlocked waiter and having to experience him tell me TWO of my credit cards were denied, (how embarrassing, and a guaranteed love connection repellent between me and said waiter) i figured i had nothing else to lose. i mean, really, my ego had already been quite bruised. so i seized the time and instead of making excuses about how many moons had passed since i had written, i decided to just go for it. i figured i certainly wouldn't feel better letting another moment pass without clearing up something that has been nagging me.
you know, part of my problem is that i tend to figure i need to have the answer to the world's deficit in order to post an entry. (well, we know that - get Bush's ass out of office). but you know what i am getting at. i feel like i need to fulfill some tremendous void or give some enlightening commentary on the world in order to post a blog (yeah, i am a perfectionist who is extremely hard on myself). however, i realize half the time it's the simple things in life (see my 'swinging' article for more...) that end up making the greatest impact. in other words, it's usually when we are not trying to accomplish something big that we make the greatest difference. like when you share a dirty joke with someone, and just for a minute they take their mind off their sadness. or when you cook someone a meal only to later find out they hadn't eaten all day because they had no loot and were feeling worthless, all alone and uncreative; your home cooked meal reminded them that they're loved and special. or just like now. sitting down and writing is helping me enact my power to overcome the chattering monkey in my mind that constantly says "this is wrong" or "that needs improvement." instead, writing helps me realize i am not alone, even though its practice is solitary. in other words, the concern and vulnerability i express about myself or life is not necessarily unique to me. my feelings are my feelings, true, but emotion is human.
what am i rambling on about? not quite sure, but hopefully i will figure it out by the time i complete this blog. i think it has something to do with the universality of life. in other words, we all go through stuff at some point, and as my friend told me tonight, we are all dying. you may think that is a bit morbid, but she was saying that given death is inevitable, don't worry about it. what is more important is to expend energy LIVING. what does living look like? living is realizing that all things are minor in the grand scheme, being open and experiencing new things, continuously challenging yourself. living is about trusting in ourselves and not settling for nothing less than the best! we are worthy of all our heart's desires. so, with that in mind, it becomes less important to concern myself with what i feel i am not doing, or what my writing isn't, or how that i am in financial straits. let nothing stop you. like nike says, just do it. the universality of being human and LIVING reminds me, and all of us, that we are not alone and that by surrendering ourselves to the moment we free ourselves. we LIVE. so, on that note, i can say - with certainty - more rheality to come. sooner rather than later.
in the meantime, enjoy yourself! :)
Holla @ your ghurl.
Rhea L. Combs
it's been far too long since i last posted something on my blog. but tonight, after having an extremely inspirational time hanging out with a good girlfriend, eating a marvelously healthy dinner, flirting with the cutest little dreadlocked waiter and having to experience him tell me TWO of my credit cards were denied, (how embarrassing, and a guaranteed love connection repellent between me and said waiter) i figured i had nothing else to lose. i mean, really, my ego had already been quite bruised. so i seized the time and instead of making excuses about how many moons had passed since i had written, i decided to just go for it. i figured i certainly wouldn't feel better letting another moment pass without clearing up something that has been nagging me.
you know, part of my problem is that i tend to figure i need to have the answer to the world's deficit in order to post an entry. (well, we know that - get Bush's ass out of office). but you know what i am getting at. i feel like i need to fulfill some tremendous void or give some enlightening commentary on the world in order to post a blog (yeah, i am a perfectionist who is extremely hard on myself). however, i realize half the time it's the simple things in life (see my 'swinging' article for more...) that end up making the greatest impact. in other words, it's usually when we are not trying to accomplish something big that we make the greatest difference. like when you share a dirty joke with someone, and just for a minute they take their mind off their sadness. or when you cook someone a meal only to later find out they hadn't eaten all day because they had no loot and were feeling worthless, all alone and uncreative; your home cooked meal reminded them that they're loved and special. or just like now. sitting down and writing is helping me enact my power to overcome the chattering monkey in my mind that constantly says "this is wrong" or "that needs improvement." instead, writing helps me realize i am not alone, even though its practice is solitary. in other words, the concern and vulnerability i express about myself or life is not necessarily unique to me. my feelings are my feelings, true, but emotion is human.
what am i rambling on about? not quite sure, but hopefully i will figure it out by the time i complete this blog. i think it has something to do with the universality of life. in other words, we all go through stuff at some point, and as my friend told me tonight, we are all dying. you may think that is a bit morbid, but she was saying that given death is inevitable, don't worry about it. what is more important is to expend energy LIVING. what does living look like? living is realizing that all things are minor in the grand scheme, being open and experiencing new things, continuously challenging yourself. living is about trusting in ourselves and not settling for nothing less than the best! we are worthy of all our heart's desires. so, with that in mind, it becomes less important to concern myself with what i feel i am not doing, or what my writing isn't, or how that i am in financial straits. let nothing stop you. like nike says, just do it. the universality of being human and LIVING reminds me, and all of us, that we are not alone and that by surrendering ourselves to the moment we free ourselves. we LIVE. so, on that note, i can say - with certainty - more rheality to come. sooner rather than later.
in the meantime, enjoy yourself! :)
Holla @ your ghurl.
Friday, October 10, 2003
Ghettopoly, (a board game based on Monopoly, but with a ‘ghetto’ theme). Have you heard about this?
(The hyperlink to the article is below.)
I am surprised, but not too shocked. And actually I am of mixed opinion. Basically, popular/media culture has learned it pays to be ‘black,’ and has gone to great lengths to market monolithic representations of blackness and hip hop culture (which are being billed as synonymous, but are NOT!). Hip hop, or what is currently being sold as ‘hip hop,’ is - in many instances - the bastard child (or should I say the Baby Mama/Daddy) of the original art form. And the term ‘ghetto’ has become word du jour for the current hip hop generation. Just watch MTV for a little while or hang out with some 20-something middle class suburban white youth, you will be amazed how liberally the word ghetto is used in conversations. (In fact, I recently saw a young man on an MTV reality-based program with a muscle-tee shirt that said “ghetto training,” which based on the image next to the words supposedly represented a Crew team. This was obviously a fabricated name. NO school would have Ghetto anything as their team’s legitimate name – especially not “Crew!”). Ghetto is now a part of mainstream vernacular, the euphemism and ‘p.c.’ way of getting around using ‘the N word’ (which depending on the situation, will still “slip out”). With so many young white entertainers gaining popularity by affiliating with or acting ‘black,’ it seems like Ghettopoly is a natural outgrowth of this phenomenon. It is a bit ironic to hear people are outraged when this can be added to a laundry list of disturbing things currently happening. The public reaction is very interesting, and I wonder why this same amount of outrage isn’t being targeted at the extreme vulgarity (of both the crass representations of men and debasing depictions of women) in many ‘hip hop/r & b’ music videos? You may say this question is apples and oranges, but the problem is the same: denigrating and limiting images of blacks are being filtered to the masses for a buck. Clearly, there is no rational justification for Ghettopoly, but even in the most vile stereotypes, there is a bit of truth. The problem, however, lies in our inability to counterbalance these one-sided depictions.
Opponents of the game say Ghettopoly is racist, and the article points out the creator is named Mr. Chang, who I presume is not black. With the outrage against Ghettopoly but silence about most music videos, which can be considered equally disturbing, should one infer that had the Ghettopoly creator been black this product would be less problematic? Would it then just become funny? Maybe an innovative, but crass, way to ‘stack them papers?’ A sort of twisted homeboy homage to the original game that entertained so many of us in our youth (and adulthood)? In other words, what makes denigrating women (and men) on television and in mass media, and basically belittling black culture, justifiable on one hand and problematic on the other? Does being black, if you will, absolve someone of being called to task about creating demeaning cultural products? At some point we must be honest with ourselves and realize our complicity in creating some of these disturbing images. As long artists continue creating one-sided versions of women, blacks, men, ghetto culture, whatever, then others will continue creating products to capitalize off of it. So in the final analysis, what are we going to do?
http://www.cnn.com/2003/US/10/09/ghettopoly.ap/index.html
Holla @ your gurhl,
Rhea
info@rheality.com
(The hyperlink to the article is below.)
I am surprised, but not too shocked. And actually I am of mixed opinion. Basically, popular/media culture has learned it pays to be ‘black,’ and has gone to great lengths to market monolithic representations of blackness and hip hop culture (which are being billed as synonymous, but are NOT!). Hip hop, or what is currently being sold as ‘hip hop,’ is - in many instances - the bastard child (or should I say the Baby Mama/Daddy) of the original art form. And the term ‘ghetto’ has become word du jour for the current hip hop generation. Just watch MTV for a little while or hang out with some 20-something middle class suburban white youth, you will be amazed how liberally the word ghetto is used in conversations. (In fact, I recently saw a young man on an MTV reality-based program with a muscle-tee shirt that said “ghetto training,” which based on the image next to the words supposedly represented a Crew team. This was obviously a fabricated name. NO school would have Ghetto anything as their team’s legitimate name – especially not “Crew!”). Ghetto is now a part of mainstream vernacular, the euphemism and ‘p.c.’ way of getting around using ‘the N word’ (which depending on the situation, will still “slip out”). With so many young white entertainers gaining popularity by affiliating with or acting ‘black,’ it seems like Ghettopoly is a natural outgrowth of this phenomenon. It is a bit ironic to hear people are outraged when this can be added to a laundry list of disturbing things currently happening. The public reaction is very interesting, and I wonder why this same amount of outrage isn’t being targeted at the extreme vulgarity (of both the crass representations of men and debasing depictions of women) in many ‘hip hop/r & b’ music videos? You may say this question is apples and oranges, but the problem is the same: denigrating and limiting images of blacks are being filtered to the masses for a buck. Clearly, there is no rational justification for Ghettopoly, but even in the most vile stereotypes, there is a bit of truth. The problem, however, lies in our inability to counterbalance these one-sided depictions.
Opponents of the game say Ghettopoly is racist, and the article points out the creator is named Mr. Chang, who I presume is not black. With the outrage against Ghettopoly but silence about most music videos, which can be considered equally disturbing, should one infer that had the Ghettopoly creator been black this product would be less problematic? Would it then just become funny? Maybe an innovative, but crass, way to ‘stack them papers?’ A sort of twisted homeboy homage to the original game that entertained so many of us in our youth (and adulthood)? In other words, what makes denigrating women (and men) on television and in mass media, and basically belittling black culture, justifiable on one hand and problematic on the other? Does being black, if you will, absolve someone of being called to task about creating demeaning cultural products? At some point we must be honest with ourselves and realize our complicity in creating some of these disturbing images. As long artists continue creating one-sided versions of women, blacks, men, ghetto culture, whatever, then others will continue creating products to capitalize off of it. So in the final analysis, what are we going to do?
http://www.cnn.com/2003/US/10/09/ghettopoly.ap/index.html
Holla @ your gurhl,
Rhea
info@rheality.com
Saturday, September 27, 2003
Greetings....
This blog was originally an email I sent to a few friends, but after receiving so much feedback from it, I figured I would post it on "Rheality.Check"
I LUV Outkast; more specifically, I LUV Dré aka André Benjamin aka Benjamin Andre aka André "Ice Cold" 3000 aka Possum Alduwishus Jenkins aka Dookie aka - you get the point. And knowing how I feel about said musician many might argue that LUV is an understatement, and they’d be correct (hee hee). But please, what is life without a little fantasy? Well, fantasy is even better when it comes true, right.....and this is where the story begins.
The Day in the Life of Rhea "Rhe.Ality" Combs
I had been talking for months with a good friend of mine about going to the Outkast Listening Party. He promised, once the CD dropped, we'd be there. He was going to make sure that I got on ‘The List.' Well, my friend came through Tuesday evening. (Yeah!!) You can imagine my elation. I was about to 'have my moment.' Just picture it: me, Dre, and the "Love Below!" ump, ump, ump.
Now for those who don't understand my obsession (oops, I mean luv) for André, let me just say that my name was placed on the list by a separate source as well, a dear friend who works at the venue hosting the Release Party. You sense a pattern, right? In other words, most know my feelings for this cat and people are looking out for me. Good friends are the BEST! So with two different options: one from The Industry, the other from the club, I am a shoe in; it is meant. I am going to meet Andre 3000. Life is nice.
The Beat Goes On....
After much deliberation (see, I am fighting a serious head cold and my friend, for various reasons, couldn't make it), and an evening of talking on the phone with several buddies about life, love, heartaches, anger, disappointments and fears, self-determination, art, employment, and Andre, I figured I would quit waffling and carry myself to the party. I knew I probably had a better chance of climbing Mt. Everest than meeting him this evening, but that opportunity would definitely be zilch if I stayed at home.
So, I got all dolled up in my freshest digs: D & G, BCBG, H&M....I did up my face a la Beyoncé. You know, the I-have-on-makeup-but-it-looks-like-a-natural-beauty-and-glow-vibe (BTW, what kind of name IS Beyonce!? Is it french for Bouncy-Bouncy because that's about all she's doing lately.); jazzed up the hair and went on my merry way. I thought: "This is good, Rhea. Create your destiny. Make your fun, chile!" And figuring that before I met my man, in all likelihood I would have to deal with someone manning The List who had an inflated sense of power and a lot of attitude, I made sure I was armed with all the vitals. I knew where to enter, and the on The List protocol. It was on and popping, baby!!
ATL Party Scene: Shawty-Pimp Style....
By this time, it's about 1 a.m. I speculate Outkast (read: Dré) should be arriving soon. (Word had it that they would not arrive until "fashionably late party time, circa 1.30/2ish). The party was being held at one of the hottest clubs in ATL, Visions. Visions is known for being extremely nice on the inside, hosting all the industry parties, etc., but none of that impresses me; it’s STILL just a club. Anyway, I get about four-to-five blocks from the place and I definitely notice a lot of cars in the area. I didn't think too much of it, though. I turn right at the corner and Visions is still about two or two-and-a-half blocks up the street, but I wasn’t expecting what I saw when I turned the corner. There were Negroes "uerywhere." I literally gasped. It was like brothers and sisters were coming out of every crevice and corner imaginable. You would have thought I was on the set of the Thriller video (many looked about that crazy, too!!!). Instead of a Record Release Party, it looked more like a Prison Release Party!!! The exclusivity I was expecting (and so appreciate, at times) was so not there! I can tell you what was there, though: Escalades, Lexus', Spinnas, Dubs, Mercedes SUVs, H2's, you name it , it was there – in all its ostentatious glory. And for all you fashionistas: puu-leez, you would have been handing out citations left and right. And to think, I was worried I wasn’t haute couture enough for the evening. HA!! I swear, can a brother wear anything else BESIDES an oversized throw back jersey, matching sweat bands and baseball cap? But in all fairness, I was forewarned about the gear, I just had no idea it would be SO bad! Well, maybe I shouldn't say bad....yeah, I should say bad. And the sistahs: let's just say we have a lot of work to do. In essence: too much, too short, and leaving too little for the imagination. Needless to say, I observed the scene with tremendous fascination and quite a bit of dismay. I also noticed to my left a line reserved for people on The List that snaked three times around a metal barricade. All this drama for people on The List?! Next to those waiting in line were folks on their cell phones feverishly yelling into their earpieces, mouthpieces, anyone who would listen: "I am in the back, come get me, I am on The List." (Yeah, I should point out I am describing the rear of the club, which was regulated to those who were on The List. One can only imagine the mayhem in front of Visions). Incorporated into this scene were brothas who had just parked their cars up on the sidewalk, they were leaning back on top of the hood, knee on the bumper, cap to the side and watching folk. Actually, they were 'tryin' to holla at da shawty's by yelling, “aww, skeet/skeet.” It was all so ‘extra,’ so colorful, so....what do you think COULD have happened next?....
Well.....
I followed the blue flashing police lights to the end of street, turned right, made another right, then a left and carried my black ass home!! Sorry y’all, I am just getting too old. I am not ready for the Y2K+ "Bling/Bling" Club Scene. And I have been to an Outkast concert before – in ATL, too. They tend to generate an – can we say – eclectic mix, but this was different, way different.
So, I say all this to say: one of ya'll know Dre, damnit!!! Or you know someone who knows him, or you know someone who knows someone who knows him well. Quit BSin...hurry up and introduce a sister. I am not even disillusioned into thinking that he will be a nice fellow and we'll live happily ever after - although that'd be nice; in other words, I am not someone who has mystified him more than necessary. I jusy really think that we'd hit it off - as people.
That said, I just can't keep taxing my senses this way. I mean, I need to be so fresh and so clean for when we do finally meet, and I tell you, these kind of interactions just wear me out! But beyond that, they have me terribly concerned about the state of affairs and future of our people; I see troubled days ahead, y’all. The materialism and the lack of self-respect seems to have reached its meridian. I am wondering how bad things have to get before there is collective change; is there any hope for the future?
Holla@yourgurhl,
Rhea
www.rheality.com
Finally, I highly recommend you cop the new Outkast double CD, “Speakerboxxx/The Love Below". It's a marvelously produced and well crafted piece of musicianship. One side is all Big Boi and the other side is just Andre 3000. Both sides are quite good, and Dre's side is simply marvelous!!! Overall, it's very refreshing, definitely unique, mind expanding, witty and honest: it's hip hop.
This blog was originally an email I sent to a few friends, but after receiving so much feedback from it, I figured I would post it on "Rheality.Check"
I LUV Outkast; more specifically, I LUV Dré aka André Benjamin aka Benjamin Andre aka André "Ice Cold" 3000 aka Possum Alduwishus Jenkins aka Dookie aka - you get the point. And knowing how I feel about said musician many might argue that LUV is an understatement, and they’d be correct (hee hee). But please, what is life without a little fantasy? Well, fantasy is even better when it comes true, right.....and this is where the story begins.
The Day in the Life of Rhea "Rhe.Ality" Combs
I had been talking for months with a good friend of mine about going to the Outkast Listening Party. He promised, once the CD dropped, we'd be there. He was going to make sure that I got on ‘The List.' Well, my friend came through Tuesday evening. (Yeah!!) You can imagine my elation. I was about to 'have my moment.' Just picture it: me, Dre, and the "Love Below!" ump, ump, ump.
Now for those who don't understand my obsession (oops, I mean luv) for André, let me just say that my name was placed on the list by a separate source as well, a dear friend who works at the venue hosting the Release Party. You sense a pattern, right? In other words, most know my feelings for this cat and people are looking out for me. Good friends are the BEST! So with two different options: one from The Industry, the other from the club, I am a shoe in; it is meant. I am going to meet Andre 3000. Life is nice.
The Beat Goes On....
After much deliberation (see, I am fighting a serious head cold and my friend, for various reasons, couldn't make it), and an evening of talking on the phone with several buddies about life, love, heartaches, anger, disappointments and fears, self-determination, art, employment, and Andre, I figured I would quit waffling and carry myself to the party. I knew I probably had a better chance of climbing Mt. Everest than meeting him this evening, but that opportunity would definitely be zilch if I stayed at home.
So, I got all dolled up in my freshest digs: D & G, BCBG, H&M....I did up my face a la Beyoncé. You know, the I-have-on-makeup-but-it-looks-like-a-natural-beauty-and-glow-vibe (BTW, what kind of name IS Beyonce!? Is it french for Bouncy-Bouncy because that's about all she's doing lately.); jazzed up the hair and went on my merry way. I thought: "This is good, Rhea. Create your destiny. Make your fun, chile!" And figuring that before I met my man, in all likelihood I would have to deal with someone manning The List who had an inflated sense of power and a lot of attitude, I made sure I was armed with all the vitals. I knew where to enter, and the on The List protocol. It was on and popping, baby!!
ATL Party Scene: Shawty-Pimp Style....
By this time, it's about 1 a.m. I speculate Outkast (read: Dré) should be arriving soon. (Word had it that they would not arrive until "fashionably late party time, circa 1.30/2ish). The party was being held at one of the hottest clubs in ATL, Visions. Visions is known for being extremely nice on the inside, hosting all the industry parties, etc., but none of that impresses me; it’s STILL just a club. Anyway, I get about four-to-five blocks from the place and I definitely notice a lot of cars in the area. I didn't think too much of it, though. I turn right at the corner and Visions is still about two or two-and-a-half blocks up the street, but I wasn’t expecting what I saw when I turned the corner. There were Negroes "uerywhere." I literally gasped. It was like brothers and sisters were coming out of every crevice and corner imaginable. You would have thought I was on the set of the Thriller video (many looked about that crazy, too!!!). Instead of a Record Release Party, it looked more like a Prison Release Party!!! The exclusivity I was expecting (and so appreciate, at times) was so not there! I can tell you what was there, though: Escalades, Lexus', Spinnas, Dubs, Mercedes SUVs, H2's, you name it , it was there – in all its ostentatious glory. And for all you fashionistas: puu-leez, you would have been handing out citations left and right. And to think, I was worried I wasn’t haute couture enough for the evening. HA!! I swear, can a brother wear anything else BESIDES an oversized throw back jersey, matching sweat bands and baseball cap? But in all fairness, I was forewarned about the gear, I just had no idea it would be SO bad! Well, maybe I shouldn't say bad....yeah, I should say bad. And the sistahs: let's just say we have a lot of work to do. In essence: too much, too short, and leaving too little for the imagination. Needless to say, I observed the scene with tremendous fascination and quite a bit of dismay. I also noticed to my left a line reserved for people on The List that snaked three times around a metal barricade. All this drama for people on The List?! Next to those waiting in line were folks on their cell phones feverishly yelling into their earpieces, mouthpieces, anyone who would listen: "I am in the back, come get me, I am on The List." (Yeah, I should point out I am describing the rear of the club, which was regulated to those who were on The List. One can only imagine the mayhem in front of Visions). Incorporated into this scene were brothas who had just parked their cars up on the sidewalk, they were leaning back on top of the hood, knee on the bumper, cap to the side and watching folk. Actually, they were 'tryin' to holla at da shawty's by yelling, “aww, skeet/skeet.” It was all so ‘extra,’ so colorful, so....what do you think COULD have happened next?....
Well.....
I followed the blue flashing police lights to the end of street, turned right, made another right, then a left and carried my black ass home!! Sorry y’all, I am just getting too old. I am not ready for the Y2K+ "Bling/Bling" Club Scene. And I have been to an Outkast concert before – in ATL, too. They tend to generate an – can we say – eclectic mix, but this was different, way different.
So, I say all this to say: one of ya'll know Dre, damnit!!! Or you know someone who knows him, or you know someone who knows someone who knows him well. Quit BSin...hurry up and introduce a sister. I am not even disillusioned into thinking that he will be a nice fellow and we'll live happily ever after - although that'd be nice; in other words, I am not someone who has mystified him more than necessary. I jusy really think that we'd hit it off - as people.
That said, I just can't keep taxing my senses this way. I mean, I need to be so fresh and so clean for when we do finally meet, and I tell you, these kind of interactions just wear me out! But beyond that, they have me terribly concerned about the state of affairs and future of our people; I see troubled days ahead, y’all. The materialism and the lack of self-respect seems to have reached its meridian. I am wondering how bad things have to get before there is collective change; is there any hope for the future?
Holla@yourgurhl,
Rhea
www.rheality.com
Finally, I highly recommend you cop the new Outkast double CD, “Speakerboxxx/The Love Below". It's a marvelously produced and well crafted piece of musicianship. One side is all Big Boi and the other side is just Andre 3000. Both sides are quite good, and Dre's side is simply marvelous!!! Overall, it's very refreshing, definitely unique, mind expanding, witty and honest: it's hip hop.
Tuesday, May 13, 2003
Rheality.com welcomes your thoughts. This forum becomes an opportunity for dialogue and virtual interaction.
Speak your mind, and the rest will follow....
Until the community page is up and running, hit me at info@rheality.com and I will try and post your comments and feedback. This way, we can all begin working on realizing ourselves as change agents. For now, just hear me out, please.
So what's up with the new "terrorist" attacks? Folks still pissed at America perhaps? What "is" their problem? Don't they understand there is an agenda at work here. Has al Qaeda forgotten the rules? You, Mr. and Mrs. al Qaeda --whoever you are (since there are 'cells' all over the world)--were supposed bomb and piss America off just once. Leaving Bush and his buddies no other choice but to bomb Iraq. Don't you get it? You weren't supposed to get involved after that. America uses you as the scapegoat to get oil from "Iraq." What is this you are up to now? Unless, of course you have 'reappeared' because the 'war is winding down,'and now you and I both know that the US has no intention of bringing freedom and order in Iraqi land, just grabbing oil beneath their sand. Is there a pattern emerging? Is al Qaeda again becoming the scapegoat for the American public to watch and worry about so Bush and his pirates can pilfer natural resources from the Middle East all in the name of 'peace'?
On a different note, please check out adbusters.org and click on the mini-doc contest winners. Watch a preview of Red Bone Guerillas by exittheapple.com. It won second place. It's a great work-in-progress that wages its own war, if you will. A war against complacency and accepting societal norms. This is a daring piece of independent cinema that is soon-to-become a classic. Check it out.
Thanks for tuning in to Rhea's rantings on rheality.com. There is definitely more where this comes from. 'Til next time.
Speak your mind, and the rest will follow....
Until the community page is up and running, hit me at info@rheality.com and I will try and post your comments and feedback. This way, we can all begin working on realizing ourselves as change agents. For now, just hear me out, please.
So what's up with the new "terrorist" attacks? Folks still pissed at America perhaps? What "is" their problem? Don't they understand there is an agenda at work here. Has al Qaeda forgotten the rules? You, Mr. and Mrs. al Qaeda --whoever you are (since there are 'cells' all over the world)--were supposed bomb and piss America off just once. Leaving Bush and his buddies no other choice but to bomb Iraq. Don't you get it? You weren't supposed to get involved after that. America uses you as the scapegoat to get oil from "Iraq." What is this you are up to now? Unless, of course you have 'reappeared' because the 'war is winding down,'and now you and I both know that the US has no intention of bringing freedom and order in Iraqi land, just grabbing oil beneath their sand. Is there a pattern emerging? Is al Qaeda again becoming the scapegoat for the American public to watch and worry about so Bush and his pirates can pilfer natural resources from the Middle East all in the name of 'peace'?
On a different note, please check out adbusters.org and click on the mini-doc contest winners. Watch a preview of Red Bone Guerillas by exittheapple.com. It won second place. It's a great work-in-progress that wages its own war, if you will. A war against complacency and accepting societal norms. This is a daring piece of independent cinema that is soon-to-become a classic. Check it out.
Thanks for tuning in to Rhea's rantings on rheality.com. There is definitely more where this comes from. 'Til next time.
