NIGGER, WHO TAUGHT YOU OCTAGON?

Editor's Note:
The origin of the title: "Nig, who taught you octagon?" is from Chris Rock. He was joking about slaves being forbidden to read and what a dilemma it must have been to try to hide it. So the joke goes that the slave who's driving cracker's buggy comes up to a stop sign and is scared to stop for fear of incriminating himself as literate. So he explains that he knew to stop because he saw the big red octagon...
Get it? My learning that simultaneously eating and hot combing wasnt normal is akin to learning to read and seeing the world in a new way.

I’ve been going to a black hair salon all my life. Can’t think of any reason why I may have ever been in a white one.

Until television brought me there, of course.

If your life is as pathetic as mine and is predicated by a television schedule you watch cable like me, you’ve probably seen Peter.Perfect on Style network. Ok so the concept is that Petey, who is a renowned Bevvy Hills stylist, goes to struggling salons and basically does a makeover on the shop and the owners.

So it’s just like any good makeover show…first they highlight the foolishness. He runs up and through the shops kicking stuff over, and hollering in amazement that they even have a single client the way they got their shit set up.

So I’ve seen a couple episodes that featured black salons. And they are oddly familiar…

No receptionist.

No separate break area.

Stylists stopping mid-perm to take a personal call.

Plastic lawn chairs in the “waiting area.”

Cushion coming all out of the ripped up dryer chairs and shit.

Stylists balancing a chicken box in one hand and a tail comb in the other.

The Dudley products on display out of a cardboard box.

So Peter goes absolutely bananas when he sees this shit. He simply cannot believe that this is a business, much less a profitable one. He can’t fathom a place where there’s not a person dedicated to answering the phones and taking appointments. It is beyond his realm of possibilities that clients should ever witness their stylists having lunch.

So then he takes the poor saps to his salon. They get there and are immediately greeted by a friendly and trendy receptionist who offers them water and champagne and shit. They walk in and it’s like an oasis of beauty and relaxation. Completely foreign.

So this is the part where I start dreaming about freedom...

So I’m sitting in the salon yesterday getting my locs sexied. My fav neighborhood pal found this place in our hood, and I decided to give them a holler. It’s nice inside. There’s some gospel music blaring, and it’s fairly quiet. Not too much shenanigans. I’m pleased. I don’t sit and wait 100 years before I’m called over. I’m immediately shampooed, albeit half assedly . It was serene and pleasant, and very befitting of the modest digs.

But then suddenly homegirl’s cellie starts singing. She goes ape shit trying to answer it. Says hello loudly no less than seven times before slamming it down in frustration. Then some chick comes in talking and talking and talking. Loud. And I’m zoning out. She asks me if I’m ok, because “I’m really quiet,” and I pause. I’m really quiet because I already told your ass that you parting my damn hair feels like you’re pulling up loc’d hair and you pretty much ignored me. And because ain't nothing to be talking about... I'm reading!

I sink into my book and only partly absorb the words on the pages. My mind is actually wandering back to television. And I’m pissed! I think of every time a stylists has asked me if I wanted to order something from the Chinese takeout spot next door.

Every time I’ve passed the hours counting roaches.

Recalled the countless personal phone conversations I’ve overheard.

The sons and daughters who come in like it’s Take Your Crumbsnatcher to work day. Every day.

Every time I’ve walked out with a style I didn’t ask for.

The treks through town before arriving, looking for an ATM machine because I know they don’t take cards.

The times I've almost tripped on pulled up linoleum on the floor.

The times I've left smelling like hair spray and bbq ribs.

It could very well be that I just havent been to an upscale black establishment. This is true. I have a penchant for the hood since most of the places I've lived have been mostly blue collar towns. But damn, why do I feel real plantation about my experiences? Why do I feel like I've been accepting this nonsense as normal?

Why do I feel like the ngga who just learned to read and sees the world in a whole new way? This some ole bullshit!!

WE BRIEFLY INTERRUPT THIS EXTENDED ABSENCE...

"You're father died cuz you're a f@ggot!"
~The ngga formerly known as the One Who Could Get It, on RW.

Rehab, anger management, albino stripper???

Golden Age of TV I tell you!!

[Joy, I'm "banned" from talking to you about it (read: text immediately when you see it)]

HOLLYWOOD HERE I COME

And just like that...I'm Back!!!

No, not with a post (duh!) I'm talking about Real.World Hollywood.

I know what I had said before... but I'm in and I'm in big.

Clearly I'm in love with Will. Clearly there's no way he could be that attractive and be from like a really dangerous city. (That wasnt an ex joke, I was quoting the blond bitch. WTF? Classic!)

Associates.

Albino chick and Will in the remake of Glitter.

Yo could you imagine pining away for your signif other...then watching them making out with some clown in a effing hot tub? No mas.

Yeah, still love Will even tho he hates strippers evn tho I dont hate strippers. Remember?

I actually don't hate the pretty dude. He's socially inept, and I have a feeling he's an islander. My guess start with a T and ends in rini. lol

Peasants.

"You're scary." Who ARE these judgy juvy broads??

Clearly I hate Will and the Arizona broad.

Wicked chill.

I'm in! (It really doesn't help that I'm going to LA (where I'll hang my jersey in the rafters ;) ) for the first time this summer!)

Our Evolution...(un)Televised

[I've finally granted all requests for intvws in the comments of the last post. I havent been foloing up to see if yall all answered yet, but if you havent, get ta steppin! Anyone else wanna quiz me, speak now or... ~Management]
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"Black women are the mules of the world."
~ZNH

I’ve been inspired.

Nikki’s recent post about images of sistas on TV, resonates because of its truth. But there is, I believe, also a hidden truth behind the truth…

Fact is, yup, we’re still largely relegated to 3 familiar roles on TV…angry asexual, marriage-obsessed neurotic, and whore. A shame really, because our truth is that we all know Black women to be a diverse and varied soul. We know this because we know each other. We know our mothers and sisters and girlfriends and neighbors. Hell, we “know” our fellow blog sistas.

Problem is folks, that white people don’t know us, and it’s all our fault.

When’s the last time you took a co-worker up on an invitation for a few drinks after work? Or said yes, when the white couple across the street extends apple pie or hot dogs or whatever the hell else they be cooking over there and offering? Or that you actually indulged in a frivolous convo on the elevator, in line at Wa’Mart, or on the A train?

Hell naw. Why? Because “white people so damn nosy!” Always in your business. Always tryna see what you about. Which kind of Black girl you is.

But we steady don’t let em.

So that leaves white people to their own devices. They basically “know” 3 Black chicks besides you…Opr.ah, Bey.once and C0ndi. All us others are a mystery.

Interestingly enough, though I’m very cool with white folks, having grown up with some good ones, I noticed something recently. The only time I go to a predominantly white social spot is when I’m with one of my (Black) homeboys. Otherwise, if it’s me and the girls, we’re heading to somewhere where there’s some nggas.

While brothers are undoubtedly more nondiscriminatory than we are when it comes to sexual conquests, they are also much more open to white folks in general. They stand around and talk baseball with the white guy in Accounting. They don’t mind grabbing a bite with the white chicks from down the block. They accept an invite to the Blessed.Sacrement fellowship picnic.

They are just not as guarded as us. In fact, I believe brothers are more open because they want to be accepted. And I don’t mean in a pathetic-smelly-5th grader kind of way. I mean, it is important that they are seen as a whole person, not as an image. Not as angry or thuggish or violent or stupid (like my pet peeve dude who apologizes for his girl's "attitude" when some white authority treats to play her, instead of having her back when she's justified). They want white men to see that they can look them in the eye without averting, because they are men too, and ought to be treated as such.

Sistas on the other hand, as Zora said, are the mules of the world. We know this. We resent this. And we don’t give a fcuk about proving you wrong. That’s on you for thinking it. We expect that when we work hard we ought to be seen as whole and competent and intelligent and nuanced and complex and human. Just like any other woman. Problem is, we don’t care for the follow up. We don’t want you in our business bec we refuse to be exploited. We refuse to give you the satisfaction of thinking you know us.

So we get the Big 3 when it comes to TV, and film for that matter. Because of course, white folks are the ones behind the lenses and the scripts. They are the ones reflecting to us what we have or have not projected to them.

So while you got brothas like Omar.Epps and Gary.Dourdan. and Isaiah Wash (RIP Burke) and Dennis.Haysbert and Shamar.Moore and Harold.Perrineau and DL.Hughley getting the opportunity to play such complex, meaty roles on TV…sistas, not so much.

We get to play Joan and Miranda and Whoreen. Cuz that's what they know.

But to be sure, Asians fare far worse on TV, and I’m betting for very similar anti-social reasons. Even Latinos who are pleasantly becoming more visible, are often, as in the case of the Solises on DHouse.wives, little more than white characters with tans and accented surnames.

I actually love Miranda’s character on Grey’s. She’s vilified for being a typical Mammy, but dammit, have YOU EVER spent any extended periods of time with emotional, neurotic, hard headed, know it all, young, overly ambitious white kids? Well, it’s her job to baby sit them muhfcukas. A job I couldn’t see none of them other Mcdreamy/creamy/schmeemy bastards pulling off. You’d be pissed off too.

As for Joan, well, she’s written by a sista, and her obsession with finding a soul mate and her life’s work is woefully authentic. Very familiar to me, not unlike many sistas I know, or many of you bloggers I read, for that matter.

Was Carrie.Bradshaw of Sex.And.The.City similarly criticized? Naw. And that chick was all about snagging Big, Manolos and living beyond her means. Basically a paler Joan. The difference of course is that for every televised Carrie or McBeal or Mary.Tyler.Moore, there’s a televised Blanche, Roseanne or Alexis.Carrington. A variety. A balance.

I’m very proud of the Wanda.Sykes, the Khandi.Alexanders, Tonya.Pinkinses, Tia/Tamaras, Epathas, Dianne.Carrols, Tischina.Arnolds, Latonya.Jacksons, and Ryan.Bathes that do exist and that do add a splash of diversity to TV.

And Im very proud of the real life sistas who every now and again accept an invitation from nosy white folk.