yeah right

photo originally found in diversity inc magazine.

abercrombie "cares" about diversity, and they couldn't have found two more racially ambiguous models to prove it. i really hate all of the corporate pandering to people of color through flimsy, lazy campaigns like this one. ew.

unhelpful= maureen dowd

not only do i really dislike her headshot, as it seems a bit pompous and smug (i'm sorry, is it sexist to comment on her headshot? i read her column at least once a week and this is the first time i'm saying it...does that make it better? probs not, eh? oh well, forgive me feminist goddess), but i also really dislike her op-ed today on hillary and barack. i just don't think passages like this are helpful at all:

Is he skittish around her because he knows that she detests him and he’s used to charming everyone? Or does he feel guilty that he cut in line ahead of her? As the husband of Michelle, does he know better than to defy the will of a strong woman? Or is he simply scared of Hillary because she’s scary?

He is frantic to get away from her because he can’t keep carbo-loading to relate to the common people.

neither is this:

But this is clearly a man who can’t wait to get back to his organic scrambled egg whites. That was made plain with his cri de coeur at the Glider Diner in Scranton when a reporter asked him about Jimmy Carter and Hamas.

“Why” he pleaded, sounding a bit, dare we say, bitter, “can’t I just eat my waffle?”

His subtext was obvious: Why can’t I just be president? Why do I have to keep eating these gooey waffles and answering these gotcha questions and debating this gonzo woman?

Before they devour themselves once more, perhaps the Democrats will take a cue from Dr. Seuss’s “Marvin K. Mooney Will You Please Go Now!” (The writer once mischievously redid it for his friend Art Buchwald as “Richard M. Nixon Will You Please Go Now!”) They could sing:

“The time has come. The time has come. The time is now. Just go. ... I don’t care how. You can go by foot. You can go by cow. Hillary R. Clinton, will you please go now! You can go on skates. You can go on skis. ... You can go in an old blue shoe.

Just go, go, GO!”

dowd-y. friend. could you be any more crass? could you be any less useful right now? he wants to go back to his "organic scrambled egg whites"? WTF? who are you helping? who are you hurting? at the very most, you're just annoying those of us that sometimes think you have something useful to say.

anyway, if you want useful analysis of the situation, check out the JJP post, and i'm sure dailyKos will have some interesting stuff. the painful journey down primary road continues...

will nas be hanes' newest spokesperson?

h/t to nsekuye's google reader and racewire for giving the heads up on these new hanes ads.

yes, they are disturbing and badly conceived. my biggest question, though, is where the hell do they run? where can you put up that ad? and what does it have to do with underwear? who the hell is your ad firm? why can't you be more like fruit of the loom and feature singing men in fruit costumes? what's wrong with you?

another image for ya

you know perugina chocolates? i posted a bit of nonsense about how much i love their bacis a few weeks ago. yes, well they usually include an uplifting quote in every wrapper- a message about love, friendship or the like. today, though, i received a homophobic message. go figure. and it's been translated, helpfully, into four languages! the running office joke is that we should send it in to diversityinc as an inspiration for yet another deeply insightful article along the lines of their "top ten things not to say to a (enter minority group here) coworker" series. yeah.

"ethnic dress for success tips"

completely idiotic thoughts from my (least) favorite "diversity" website, diversity inc.

for this month's electronic issue, yoji cole, diversity inc's token black guy (this is the site, by the way, that features a "ask the white guy" column), goes to town on giving some suggestions to ethnic women in the workplace on toning down (or up, if they're asian) their looks. some choice "this is how you've been seen "historically" and the only way to get away from that is to assimilate" stereotypes:

"For example, many Latinas prefer bright colors, low-cut tops and short skirts..."

really, now? and do many professional Latinas (who, culturally of course, prefer skimpy clothing) wear those clothes to the office?! because when i think of low-cut tops and short skirts in the workplace i think of samantha on sex and the city or ally mcbeal. last time i checked, they were both white.

"Black women tend to wear big earrings, she notes."

i'm sorry, but WTF?!?!?!?!?!?!?! what. the. fuck. i tried to laugh at this shit, but i started to get tears in my eyes. if this is what corporate america thinks "we" need, i need to move to a different fucking universe.

the rest of the article is available here to subscribers.

and if that isn't enough, check out diversity inc's article on "7 things not to say to your LGBT coworkers." this shit is so laughable, i'm surprised they don't list tina fey as a fucking source.

argh.

as usual, i'm late on this

can you believe this?! and what happens when the money gets old? or the lazy kids start kicking the smart kids' asses for their money instead of earning it themselves?

um, mr. klein? mr. fryer? when was the last time you actually went to a struggling middle school and observed behavior? and when was the last 30 bucks impressed a kid that would rather be out on the streets selling weed? and how do you think this incentive money will be spent? buying new notebooks?

i want to start my own school really, really badly until i read things like this...

***

on a slightly different note, whoa. $125,000?

proving your _____-ness. fill in the freaking blank.

so i ran across this article at times today (it's listed as one of the "most emailed.") basically, the article is titled "how do you prove you're a jew?" and it has me thinking about an experience i had this weekend with some friends.

i never have to prove my jewishness. i am not a jew. i do, however, sometimes feel that i am asked to prove my blackness. it's something i resent and that i have struggled to deal with and get past my entire life.
(more after the jump)

one reason the whole argument over barack obama's blackness never made sense to me is the fact that i have often been accused of not being "black enough" and both of my parents are black. i have no white mom to confuse my identity. i do, though, have a variety of experiences and a history of self-doubt and low self-esteem that have created an adult who still wrestles with "proving herself."

so back to this weekend. i was hanging out with a boy. a boy that i have a humongous crush on. we went to the black comedy experiment on friday, and the apollo on saturday. it was nice. he's cute. he's smart. he's funny. he's also BLACK (yes, in all caps, just like i told my friend laura a few days ago). i, on the other hand, am black (yes, in all lowercase). he went to an HBCU. i went to a top ten small liberal arts school. he was a tv junkie as a child; i was only allowed to watch tv for a few hours on saturday, after i finished my chores. he loves 90s hip-hop and other "black" music; my fanatical parents only really let me listen to the radio once i was in high school. before that, i was relegated to james dobson's focus on the family, d.c. talk, and jars of clay.

we are different, yes. but is it our "levels" of blackness that are in question? if so, what is this checklist of things that "real" black people must aspire to fulfill?

now, i know that there are tons of complications (in my own mind as well as in the minds of others) on this issue. a few of the ones that come to mind:

1. when white people do/like/are interested in things that are given other racial markers (i.e., things that aren't listed on what white people like), they are regarded with suspicion and considered to be co-opting another culture.
   
2. when black people "sell out" and support/do things that are considered to be negative for their own race, they're seen as "oreos"

now, like i noted, i think that way as well. i think al sharpton's permed hair is an abomination, and white people with locks and dirty clothes that try to preachify on issues of equality and revolution annoy the hell out of me. but i don't feel like i'm trying to be "white." in fact, that's the last thing i want to be. i have devoted my life to education and activism to further the "struggle," yet my authenticity is still measured by whether or not i can recite the script of that boondocks episode by heart.

sometimes i am still the 11 year old girl i once was, with glasses and braces, feeling uncomfortable at the BSA meeting at the prep school i was only able to attend with an almost-full scholarship and countless sacrifices on the parts of my parents. the other black kids at the school, and in BSA, had parents who drove mercedes and lived in big houses in nice parts of town. they called me an "oreo" while laughing at the uniform clothes my mom found for me in the lost and found. i was the inauthentic one, always, because i didn't think the black scholarship boys, who came from liberty city and overtown and played football, were so exciting as to be worthy of my adoration. my hair wasn't permed or pressed yet, and i liked to read and study and get good grades.

any ____-ness, any identity, has its markers, i know. and i know there are any number of reasons to feel like an outcast in a situation. i also know that i was just a nerd, and that was just as viable a reason for the kids to make fun of me as any other. i guess i just feel like i didn't, and don't, want to have to change to be able to be seen as part of my race. if i can't sit at the cool kids' table, so be it. but to not be black because i don't hate acapella singing groups? damn.

that smarts.

"diversity training"- what's the point?

so part of my job involves training educators in the use of the curricula created by my org. i travel all over the five boroughs, visiting different afterschool programs that use our stuff. the trainings usually involve some combination of icebreakers, "identity" activities, a pedagogical mini-lesson, and an overview of the structure of the actual curriculum. we call our work "diversity" education, and because we deal with issues of identity, participants generally react to our work as "diversity training."

most of the time, these trainings are not hard. the icebreaker does in fact break the ice; participants have "moments of understanding" around the identity activities, thinking about ways in which they are privileged or not; everyone gets the pedagogy and the structure of the curriculum.

and then there are the other times, when things don't go so well.

how do i judge whether something is a success? to be honest? i only think a training is a success if i have what i feel is evidence of the participants having confronted their privilege.

"okay, so what?" you say. you're shrugging your shoulders right now, i know.

but the "so what" is that i think there's something to be unpacked there. like, why is it that i think forcing people to confront privilege is so necessary in the role that i play? and is that my job? is that my place, to go around asking people to recognize the privilege in their race or class or gender expression? is my need for the validation of their exploration about me or them?

i'm working on a lesson on race for a project right now, and it got me thinking. when we talk about identity, and try to shed a light on the structural nature of social identity, what is our goal? i know that consciousness is the first step towards acting for social change, but somehow i don't think that my job, as described by my boss, is to bring about social change in the lives of afterschool educators. i don't know that the two hours i spend with said educators is really even a viable place or time to undertake such a task. i don't know if i'm even really sufficiently trained to do that.

a few days ago i trained in brooklyn. the student population of the afterschool program is predominantly asian and eastern european. i, the black woman with a big afro, stood in front of a room of 6 white people (one a fairly recent immigrant from italy), and listened while they danced around the identity activity i placed in front of them. when i asked for reactions to the exercise, three of the six people stated that they were annoyed by the exercise, because "none of these things {race, class, gender, sexual orientation, religious affiliation, ability, first language, biological sex, the list goes on...} really matter. i'm just a person. if anything, i see myself as american."

two of the other people stated that it was interesting, because the only thing on there that they ever thought about was age. one, the italian immigrant, said first language was important to her, because she only recently became comfortable with english and is "really glad it is now her first language." this came after a few of her peers spoke about the fact that they never think about first language, because english is so easy! it just rolls off the tongue!

so i tried to unpack, to push. i really did. but no one wanted to go anywhere. anytime i started to talk about privilege, eyes started to wander and doodling commenced. it was really frustrating.

and that, i guess, is why i wonder if it's my place to struggle against all of this at all. if i want to keep my job, at least. because at the end of the day, if the evaluations aren't great, i hear about it. if people feel bullied, or bad about themselves, at the end of the time they spend with me, i haven't "done my job."

it makes me wonder about the role of diversity training, and the end goal. sometimes it seems that making people feel better about themselves while giving them a chance to feel better about the "strange" people around them, is the only real goal.

argh. this is so not my thing.

one ferry, three men, lots of anger

**sorry, long post!**

i took the staten island ferry and to and from SI today for work. both trips started calmly, with my head buried in reading material, and both ended with me in the midst of a good amount of anger. the first time (on the way there), i scribbled a poem in the back of the book i'm reading, almost running into the two men that inspired its writing (it needs revision, badly); the second time (on the way back), i wrote a blog post angrily on the margins of a piece of paper i found in my bag. i'm going to share both pieces here.

i don't know what's up with me and anger lately. there's something, though, about constantly feeling like me and mine are being openly dismissed/used/abused by others that just makes my blood boil a little bit. i bite my tongue, i don't fight, but my silence doesn't erase my anger.

i write my anger, and hope that it will resolve itself.
(there)

tears of rage, or
my brother always says i cry too easy


90 miles,
they say

two white(?) men.
the Staten Island ferry.

90 miles?
yeah, yeah
90 miles from Miami to
Coo-ba

yeah.
so close, they get
here
and their feet are
still
wet!

yuk, yuk.

90 miles.

as a tear of rage
seeped out of my eye,
i neglected to share
that cuba is 90 miles from
key west,
not
miami,

and when they
shouted out
the aryan nation
as the only
"solution"
to miami's
"problem,"
i didn't say
that the problem is
ignorant bigots like them,
wearing 9.11.01 tee shirts.

i didn't say that
i'd prefer
wet feet
over
ignorance and hatred
any
day.

i didn't say
that our country
was built with
wet feet,
or that

it would seem that
along with
drying feet
come
shrinking brains and narrowing
minds.

i didn't insult the
man's
accent or
intelligence,

i didn't make
sweeping generalizations
about the group of
people
i believe he most resembles.

i didn't blame him and
his "kind"
for my lack of
comprehensive health insurance
or my
$60,000 in
student loans.
.
.
.
.
i didn't expect him
to understand
my tears
or my
language.

///
there are just so. many. things. i
didn't say.

*****
(back)

why is it that black middle aged men so often consider my body their property? at least once a week i am confronted with men old enough to be my father commenting on/trying to touch/eyeing my black female body.

there is something in their attention, too, that is about my youth. the way they comment and gesture suggests that i am, at once, their daughter and their concubine, simultaneously innocent and deviant.

today, one man decided that his avenue to interaction with me would be schooling me on manners. after he sat next to me, staring at me for a number of minutes, i yawned without covering my mouth. i felt warmth near my cheek, and i realized he had raised his hand to almost touch my face! "cover your mouth when you yawn," he said. "you're so pretty!"

i gave him the stinkeye and went back to reading. after assuring me that he wasn't "trying to teach me anything," he decided to model the correct yawning "procedure" with his newspaper. i asked him to leave me alone and promptly called my mother, telling her loudly that there was a crazy man next to me. he continued to stare openly and smile creepily throughout the (too long) SI ferry ride, and to place his coffee cup as near my thigh as possible without actually touching me. he protested when i rose to move away.

why do men, black men who are supposed to be supports in my community, alternately ignore and abuse this idea of me? i can't get the attention of an educated black man under 35 for my life, but granddaddies are in large supply for the position of fetishist.

i don't understand what is both so alluring and off-putting about me. is it my independence? my unwillingness, as one friend put it a few weeks ago, to "pretend to be weak"? is it my personality? my expectations? because none of those things are on display. i don't know how to erase myself enough to lose the attention i don't want and to gain that which i so desire. to be honest, it depresses me to think that i will never be fully attractive to the men that are most attractive to me as myself. it depresses me to think that in order to find a life partner i have to deny parts of myself. it depresses me to think that i either have to give up on finding love, or be willing to define love as old men touching my face without permission on a ferry, or young men cheating on me and refusing to call what they feel love. youth breeds man-boys unready for relationships, and age breeds man-boys who want 25 year olds like the woman i am now, "ripe and fresh."

ugh. what a freaking day.

"rapping" presidents (sad face)

this is so stupid i'm annoyed that it even exists. presidents with "rappers'" hands rapping about a car deal. funny this is being launched in the midst of black history month. arrrrgh. all they need is the presidents in blackface to more clearly marry BHM and president's day. i guess i'm just thankful that they poo-pooed that idea.

tavis smiley who?

okay, okay, i have to admit something. i know it's going to come across as yet another betrayal of my "blackness," but i have to get this off my chest.

i don't give a flying fuck about tavis smiley. :/

i have never seen a "state of the black union" address, nor am i likely to see one at anytime in the near future. i haven't listened to ol' tavis' radio show, and i haven't read any of his books. i'm pretty sure neither of my parents has watched one either, and i would be willing to bet that none of my aunts, uncles or cousins has ever boosted old tavis' t.v. numbers. why, then, can't he get the fuck over himself? why is he making a stink about barack having better things to do with his time? what is the purpose of the show? to whom is it speaking?

these shows are a way for the shortlist of black talking heads to have the same conversation many engaged citizens have already had (more thoughtfully and with more nuance) in the blogosphere/over sunday dinner/at church/over gmail chat. these t.v. spots really just serve to further mask the diversity of thought within the black community for the (mostly white- this is the united states, people) journalists who watch these shows to provide them with soundbites for their articles and opinion pieces. they also serve as a way for the black news machine to further indoctrinate a u.s. black community that, like the rest of this country, has been taught to take its opinions from the media.

tavis. dude. move on.

one thing about this campaign that i really appreciate is the way that it is bringing a huge number of people to the political "table." i am really excited about that. i just wish that our modes of communication and the gathering places for political discussion could find a way to be more appreciative of that engagement. i wish that we could find ways to galvanize this unprecedented level of interest among u.s. citizens into ways to have local discussions that are then shared across the nation in a way that allows us normal people to be heard. i think the new debate formats- mtv, youtube, etc.- are the right start, but they aren't really very accessible for the over-40 crowd. my dad is probably never going to sit down and email a question in to a youtube debate. but he would probably be willing to organize a group of churches to get together and discuss the issues over a potluck dinner. i dunno. i think there must be some way for us, in 2008, to figure out how to bring all of this together.

for someone with a deeper analysis and less snark, check out jimi izrael and/or melissa harris-lacewell (smart lady crush!) at the root.

is anyone else feeling a little uncomfortable?

there's something about the way that barack is currently being presented in the press that bothers me.

an article from today's front page of nytimes.com:

Obama Outshines Clinton’s Success at Raising Funds

By PATRICK HEALY and JEFF ZELENY

After the Clinton campaign said that it had raised $7.5 million online this month, the Obama campaign that it had raised the same amount in 36 hours.

okay, okay, why am i hating, you ask?

well, for one, there's a typo in the blurb. they forgot the word "said." i've been known to publish a few typos in my day, but i'm not the new york times, goshdarnit!

for two (is that how you follow up to the phrase "for one"?) , i don't like the way this is being spun. i don't know who's spinning it, though i am pretty sure barack's campaign is at least partially responsible. this dirty, competitive, one-up-driven typical politics stuff is exactly what i thought i wasn't going to get from mr. barack obama, and what i'm tired of getting from our biased, somewhat ridiculous national press machine.

i thought this campaign was going to be about change. i thought we were hoping for unity. what i didn't think the campaign about was petty schoolyard bullshit about who was picked first for the softball team.

now i know that it's not really that drastic. and i know the press is pitting the two against each other in hopes that people will do what i have done and get other people to click through to their sites. i know. and i know that if obama didn't toot his own horn, the media would continue to spin the news in the direction of their own endorsed candidates, trying to change the minds of americans in a not-so-subtle, completely dishonest way, without any ability for the campaign to get the truth out there.

i guess i just wish american politics could be more about the issues and not all about the benjamins. i wish being a viable candidate for president didn't necessitate being a multimillionaire. i wish our individual votes counted for more, and were counted more accurately. i wish i really believed that the quality of my life, and the quality of life of people that look like me all over the globe, would actually be positively affected by anyone that could actually be elected to the presidency of our country. i wish my hope weren't so shallow and short-reaching. in short, i wish the world were a completely different place.

that's not happening anytime soon.

so in the meantime, i do what i can. and so does barack. and i settle for what i can have right now.

i need a man, part 1

so do you remember this blast from the past? p. diddy and usher sharing a laundry list of the things their "girl"s needed to be in order to make them happy? well i think it's time we ladies made a laundry list of our own.
i had two somewhat disturbing conversations this weekend with female friends who have decided that much of the abhorrent behavior displayed by men is "to be expected." you know, things like lying and cheating, using women for their bodies, being arrogant and selfish, needing the women in their lives to pretend to be weak in order to highlight their "manliness." i have trouble with that notion. i don't know why i would be interested in settling for a partner (for life or for a week) who isn't interested in doing the sort of self-maintenance (mentally and emotionally) that i do. i don't expect anything from a man that i don't also expect from myself. so this morning, i've decided to make my "i need a man" list.
(funnily enough, my dad told me to make a list like this a long time ago and i thought the idea was crazy. silly me. dave is no fool.)

be this, or be gone list

1. honest. and by honest i don't mean just when it suits you. i mean respect and love me enough to tell me the truth, even when the truth is not about you being disappointed in me, but rather you being disappointed in yourself.
2. able to admit that you're wrong. this is actually a challenge for me. it's something i work on, and something that most of my friends struggle with as well (ahem, friend-of-mine out there! mark-paul gosselaar??). it's natural to want to be right, but sometimes in a relationship your partner needs to hear that you know what you did was wrong and that you'll work on it.
3. well-groomed. and by that i don't mean that you have to get man manicures. but please wear a decent pair of jeans, a matching shirt, and have a pair of cute shoes. i like a man that looks and smells good. just don't bring the pretty-boy arrogance with you.
4. in possession of a nice smile. there are things i can deal with-- awkward movement, lack of rhythm, slightly effeminate affectations...it's all love. one thing, though, that i'm not down with is a man who doesn't know who their dentist is. figure it out. and halitosis is not a terminal sickness. you can cure that shit.
5. not broke. no need to be uncle scrooge and swimming through cash in your personal safe (did anyone else ever think that looked painful?) , but have enough to be comfortable picking up the bill every once in awhile. i don't require especially expensive restaurants with a dude, and i'm happy to cook at home (with you, not just for you), but when we have a nice night out, don't get stuck trying to tabulate your bank balance in your head, asking if i have any cash for the tip.
6. knowledgeable about the hanging of mirrors. i have a mirror that i've needed hung for about 4 months now. glass makes me nervous, so i haven't wanted to chance it with just my google-knowledge. and, unlike my life in cali, there's no home depot around the corner with do-it-herself classes. i need you, man.

there's more, i'm sure, but i need to get dressed for work. so, like p. diddy, i'll be back with number two and a little ginuwine. :)

get your game up

just spent 15 minutes on the bus listening to a man bullshit his girlfriend over the phone. i mean, WOW.

not only did dude screw up his story over and over again ("I'm walking to the train station over here in Brooklyn...what's that sound? Oh yeah, did I say I was walking? Oh, my bad, I'm on the bus, baby!"), he was also trying to get at me in the process! dude, i know you're lying to another woman RIGHT NOW. and badly, to boot! no, i'm not gonna give you my fucking number. and you're the second dude i've met this weekend wearing british knights (yes, readers, by british knights i mean british knights).

if i thought i could have jumped off the bus fast enough to get away without any possible injury i would have blown his story up, but i'm just not that nimble. oh well.

interview for being a fellow advisor is coming up soon. keep the digits crossed!

i'll leave you with an ode to footwear:

so why isn't this on a billboard on houston

instead of the constant up-close and personal pics of cameltoe?

i'm sick. boo.

here's to drinking tea 'til i can't pee no more, craving carne asada but not even being able to imagine actually getting it down my throat, and purell-ing until my hands feel raw.

i really need winter to draw to a close. any time now.

note: my sickness has also affected my ability to spell/write. i've had to edit this three-line entry five times for mistakes at this point. wow.

p.s.: i have an interview on friday...i hope i feel better by then!

sexism @ work

The quietly pacifist peaceful
always die
to make room for men
who shout.
- alice walker

I'm not exactly dying, but I am feeling the push to make room for a man who shouts at work. I think that I am drawn to female-led workplaces because I am very sensitive to the propensity for men, regardless of their political leanings, their race or their sexuality, to be fully, ragingly sexist in their dealings with women around them. As a teacher I feel that I worked more for my students than anyone else, and little (or big) boy- and girl-sexists didn't make me feel quite as defeated (being absolutely in charge over them helped too).
Now in the adult workplace, I am lucky to be surrounded, for the most part, by really chill guys who have their heads on straight. Respectful, thoughtful, open, and mentally present to the negative effects of white supremacy and patriarchy.
One man, though, is different. He is, somewhat unfortunately, African American and old enough to be my father, unfortunately because I think it is those aspects of his identity that cause our coworkers to expect the two of us to have an affinity. We get along as individuals, but within the workplace he has a sense of superiority and a desire to be in control that is frustrating. I, being the person who believes in bottom-up, collective decision-making and watching out for those below you as a way of watching out for yourself, find myself being trampled by his shouting. I don't know that the way he treats me is based in sexism exclusively-- he treats the men that are, in his mind, "below" him in the workplace in a very similar way. I, though, am not below him, and I do think there's something about my womanness that makes him feel that he can push me around in spite of our supposed equality.
Next stop on the self-development express: speaking up for myself horizontally, not just vertically. Not letting someone else make my job miserable or uncomfortable.

This mid-twenties thing really fucking sucks.

mentally fatigued

i've spent the last week and a half working really hard. my coworker kinneret and i have been editing/revising/rewriting a conflict resolution curriculum nonstop, and we were starting to go a little crazy. the project wrapped up around 2, and i've been useless ever since.
this job...kind of sucks. i was working on christmas morning. i was working on christmas eve.
it's time for me to hit the lists.
i was on idealist just now and started to try and remember the last time i was actually really happy with the way my life was going. i realized that it was probably 2 years ago. before pam left new york, before i stopped loving teaching, while i was happily single and dating. that was a loooong time ago.
i need to claw my way out of this rut.

on the shaking of tailfeathers

if a certain male coworker asks me again when i'm going to "get crunkalicious and shake my tailfeather to the flo'," i'm going to have to share the following, no matter how embarrassing these truths may be for him:

1. i am not eligible for crunkaliciousness. yes, i am black. yes, i get drunk. but no, i do not get crunk. i am far too bougie for that. lil' jon would laugh my ass off the dance floor if anyone were to ever tell him that i was "crunk." also, you, a white man from wisconsin who seems to have a penchant for essentializing people of color into the most reductive and offensive stereotypes possible, are not crunk and will never be crunk, even though you special order the crunk juice that pays lil' jon's rent by the case.
   
2. "shake your tailfeather" and "to the flo'" are NOT phrases that are uttered together. they are from different songs, by different artists, and when you scream them at the top of your lungs in crowded bars, even the fratty white boys look up like, "WhaaAT?!"
3. i have an ass, a booty, some junk in my trunk. i do not have a tailfeather. nelly is not a benchmark for 2007 cool. nelly is a benchmark for 2001 not-cool. nelly wears air force ones. even if i DID have a tailfeather, you would have zero reason to refer to it. my ass is none of your damn business.
4. lastly, all of this just leaves me feeling really, really bad for your girlfriend, who is of color but must be really lost. to spend time with you and your racist, faux-liberal stupidity must be a daily struggle of a type that i can only begin to imagine.
   

please jump off a motherfucking cliff.

i wish i were smarter

i wish books weren't all i knew how to talk about.

i really wish i had smart things to say about, oh, obama and hillary, or current events, or anything beyond novels and lesson plans. they aren't bad things to be an expert on, but they definitely aren't the end-all be-all.

boo.