Holy schnikeys, do you see the size of the cobwebs over by the Barack Obama post? I really need to pay attention to this place more often…
I am having a ridiculously chilled night. It’s been a long, busy day. Everyone else in the house is away. Now I’m home for the night and indulging in the following embarrassing things;
1)An extremely non-nutritious dinner and
2)A Michael Jackson music video marathon.
Sh’mon y’all. Be real. Can’t nobody tell me that this wasn’t the ISH back in the day. Nothing says more about pop culture in the late 90’s than a plasticized man doing the wop with a bunch of fake Egyptians. Except, perhaps, the Free Willy theme song.
Speaking of Egyptians, I’ve been working with a lot of real Egyptians lately, learning a lot about the culture, the language, and the food. (Foul medames = yum. Even though the name doesn’t read all that appetizingly. However, when you consider that I’m having croissants, chocolate and beer for dinner tonight, maybe my opinion is not to be trusted on what is and isn’t good food.) In any case, the biggest thing I’ve learned from my Egyptian friends is that Black American people who derive a lot of cultural pride from popular books on Egypt look extremely silly in the company of loads of modern Egyptians. I did, at first. Mentioning the Metu Neter in their presence earned a lot of condescending looks and a really long, multi-session history lesson. It’s interesting. Egyptian people know their origins, history, and where they come from. American Black folks don’t have that luxury. And interestingly enough, I’ve learned more about being Black from Egyptians than I have from the most conscious folks I knew back home. I can’t even begin to describe the osmotic education I’ve received from my Nigerian, Ivorian and Congolese friends and acquaintances. The books don’t get it half right–and I mean the mainstream AND the so-called “conscious” ones.
My people need to travel more, is all I’m saying. Our history and identity is out there if we go looking for it genuinely instead of reactively. Seeing is believing.
Oh, snap. Scream just came on. And wow, Janet is like, one-eighth of the dancer that Michael is.
Do you know what? Michael Jackson is a scary dude. But in the fine tradition of art and artists, I wonder if he would be the icon that he is if he wasn’t scary? I mean, if MJ had emotionally metabolized his childhood in a way that resulted in relative normalcy, would anybody even know who he is? Or would he be singing for fun to his coworkers at the call center and thanking God that he didn’t turn out like Gary Coleman did?
OH WOW! Earthsong just came on y’all. I gots to go. Next time you see me, I will have spent a portion of my Sunday night stomping my foot in tandem with the King of Pop.
*now where’d I put my cape…?*