The Black Snob

Politics. Pop Culture. Pretentiousness.

Archive for August 2007

James Blake is killing me! (Now updated!)

with 5 comments

And not in a good way.

I don’t know why I watch him play tennis. I’m watching the US Open and the dude is like a heart attack. One minute he’s brilliant. The next he’s crap. Then he’s brilliant again and then he’s down 40-love. Why, my adorable little Ivy League tennis man? Why do you torture me this way. Just kick this Tahitian’s ass already!

Venus and Serena only do this to me on rare occasions, but they make up for it by beating every heifer like she made a crack on their weaves. And usually all my tennis related heart-attacks for them are because I just know how Venus has the weaker serve of the two sisters and Serena’s always got something injured, but both go down in a hail of glory if they’re going to lose. I can respect that.

But James, despite being incredibly sexy (although I miss the dredlocks), tends to get all flat and wishy-washy like he forgets he’s at the US Open and not some backyard barbecue with the rest of the J-squad, tossin’ back the Heinekens with the white folks, joking about whatever people who can afford to go to Ivy League schools joke about. The cartoons in the New Yorker? Britney Spears’ wig/hat?

But by the time you read this James will either be giving me a heart attack in the third round or I’ll have lost all interest in men’s tennis outside of Roger “I’ve been hanging out with Tiger Woods too long” Federer, who showed up at last night’s match in all black, looking like a fey, tennis version of Joaquin Phoenix in “Walk the Line.” The ensemble was quite fetching, although R. Fed has too prominent of a Cro-magnum man brow for me. The Black Snob no-likely.

Other than that, he was sexy. Obviously El Tigre has been giving him Intimidation 101, lessons on how to out-fashion your opponents into submission. First the white on white suit at Wimbledon for R. Fed, now he’s the man in black. And fashion intimidation is real. I mean, one look at Tiger in beige and cream and Retief Goosen knew that all hope was lost. He could never be that skilled and look that good doing it. And when he wears red on Sundays? It’s all over.

I mean, just ask Serena. Or Kimora for that matter. If clothing could kill she’d be serving 15 consecutive life sentences.

And now the Tahitian wants to get a rub down instead of play because his such an obnoxious faker. Hurry up so my torture can END!

***UPDATE***UPDATE***UPDATE***UPDATE***UPDATE***
James Blake SI
I forgive his sexy not-black-black-man ass. Give ’em inconsistent hell, James!

And it was the first time in James’ pro career that he beat a guy after a match went five sets. Much more satisfying than watching him just give it up to R. Fed a week back like a 16 year old girl backstage at a Fall Out Boy concert.

I think the R. Fed is awesome too, James, but dude, at least make an effort to damn his brilliant ass and mount a believable attack. After all, if I ever got to interview Prince I could probably contain myself just long enough to get the basics out of the way before begging Prince to adopt me and make me one of the Rainbow Children.

It’s the New Power Generation, bitches! The only thing standing in our way is you.

I’d give anything to be one half of those afro, not-black-black-girls who dance around Prince on stage pretending to strum their legs like guitars. That’s so hot. Everything about Prince is hot. To see him fall out on the stage while singing “Beautiful Ones” one more time. I mean, I’ve seen it three times, but it only gets better.

But, um, my point was to Blake. Keep up the good work. And find more excuses to take your shirt off during matches. I kept having to stare at the gross, hairy Tahitian (and not hairy in a good way like I like — see “Allen Payne.”) His gross thigh rubdown and his gross shirt removal and just … grossness. All players not named James Blake and Roger Federer keep your fucking shirts on. Just sweat that bitch out. No one wants to see.

Written by blacksnob

August 31, 2007 at 3:23 am

Incognegro Part II: Kimora Lee Simmons

with 6 comments

The bitch is fierce. The bitch is crazy. The bitch is my very most favorite, crazy black-Japanese-Korean, Florissant, MO native — Kimora Lee Simmons.

FLO-MO in the house!

Even when Kimora goes off the rails a little, with designer Karl Lagerfeld declaring he’d turned his once adorable little teenage ingenue into “a $5,000-tote-bag-wearing monster,” she still manages to only thrill.

And she kind of is a monster. But so what? She’s a fabulously decorated monster that I have grown to love. Sure. I’d never want to work for her. And I’d probably get sick of her if I had to spend more than 10 minutes in her gorgeous, 6 footer, supermodel presence. But, c’mon? She’s hot. She’s banging. I’m shocked Nelly has never given his fellow St. Louisian a shout out on a record. (What is it Nelly? No love in U City for the County Brownies? Or in Kimora’s case, partial-brownies?)

Kimora married serial model dater and horribly unattractive little rich man Russell Simmons. (They’re divorced now and he’s moved on to the next tall, leggy runway strutter.) They have two amazingly beautiful daughters, Ming and Akoi, who are about the only people that make Kimora’s new reality show on the Style Network Life in the Fab Lane watchable. I do enjoy how the program has a lot of crossover from America’s Next Top Model, or as I like to call it, model crack. Top Model regular and habitual line-stepper J. Alexander called Kimora a busted footstool behind her back and her daughter, all tiny and petulant, told J. that her mother was “beautiful.” Then proceeded to go tell on him.

Kids. What can you do? They’re all total narcs.


That said. Kimora’s clothing line is WAY too … I don’t really know how to put it in a way that doesn’t sound elitist … but words like “tacky” come to mind and “tasteless” and “gaudy.” She’s like the hood Versace. I mean, I know there’s a business model, a successful biz model for the hood Versace known as Baby Phat, but just because I love Kimora and all her bitchy fabulousness (like how she barely wanted the amateur models in season one of ANTM to wear her clothes as if they would somehow render her cheap ass clothes cheap) doesn’t mean I’m blinded by the gold lamé.

If you ever looked at Kimora and wondered what was going on there in her DNA, just look at her clothes. If there is one thing blacks and Asians have in common — we like to look FIERCE! Go to LAX (Los Angeles International Airport) to catch a flight and every Asian girl has on ten-times the gold that I do, a Balenciaga bag and a blackberry. She has on skinny jeans and Gucci shades and looks absolutely no different from the sister at baggage claim with a weave so incredible it’s in Ripley’s Believe it or not.

We are fierce, brown and yellow peoples! FIERCE, as Tyra would bark at us on ANTM. Embrace the fierceness that is Kimora. She’s a tsunami of glam camp. Or as she would say, a tsunami of “fabulosity!”

Kimora is the epitome of the not-black-black-girl.

Written by blacksnob

August 30, 2007 at 7:12 am

Katrina two years later …

with one comment

… And it still makes me cry. It was so hard to watch people and see the faces of my grandmother, aunts, uncles, cousins, sisters and friends. When ever I think about it too hard it makes me so angry I could shake. I know that pain isn’t indifferent towards the poor or the black. And my father has told me time and time again that if I get mad over the plight of blacks in America I will be mad everyday of my life.

But some days are harder to block out the noise than others. I’m a cynic, but I never wanted to become so hardened to think that my government would sit and do nothing while people died. W. can compartmentalize it anyway he wants, whatever way it takes so he can sleep ever so soundly at night. It must be nice to be largely unaffected by the suffering of others. It was the cruel indifference of people like Bush who poured acid into the wounds that God’s nature wrought. These are the kind of succubae who don’t really see the American people as people, but merely points on a graph where the end game is how “history” judges your legacy.

Who cares about the opinions of those who have to survive under the reign of the boy king? But maybe this was the goal all along. So many Republicans profess to dislike government. Perhaps Katrina was the ultimate extension of it, the contempt towards the notion that somehow the federal government should be held accountable in an “every-man-for-himself,” capitalist driven society. Bush believed government needed to be out of our lives. I’m sure he thinks he did the people of the Gulf Coast a favor. For if you ever believed that government did not work, this was the administration to meet that challenge and raise you one or two natural disasters.

Good luck, New Orleans. I’m glad I got to see you years ago when you were still completely you. Sometime it amazes me that this America is the same America that went from isolationist former British colony to victors of fascism and Nazi Germany. The same America that managed to stay together after a bloody civil war. The same that put a man on the moon and beat the Russians in that game of chess known as the Cold War. The same that voted for the Civil Rights Act of 1964 when they knew they were dooming the south for Democrats for decades to come.

Our government was never perfect, but it got things right some of the time. How can one administration get so many things so wrong so often? We are a nation being led by fools who saw the world stage as a game they could arrange in their favor. Yet, they didn’t even have the follow through to even execute their takeover with even a decorum of precision. When people compare Bush n’ Co. to the Nazis I always tell people that’s really insulting to the Nazis. The Nazis were devils in the details. They managed to exterminate more than 6 million Jewish people while the world sat around twiddling their thumbs. The Nazis took power, held power then launched a successful campaign to siege Europe. Real Nazis are terrifying because they’re cold, efficient and execute everything to the fullest. And they were, of all things, competent. They were not an easy foe. Millions of lives across Europe and thousands of Americans are still buried in France from the invasion. The Nazis set the world on fire then were destroyed by their own ambition.

The Bushies are not Nazis. Don’t insult the evil that was the Nazis with the comparisons. The Bush Administration is more like a drunk driver hitting people indiscriminately along the highway, trying to make their way to Crawford, TX from D.C. but they forgot the road map and didn’t bring along enough money for gas, so they keep hitting up a Chinese loan shark to float him the cash because “you know I’m good for it.” I mean, drunks are always making plans, but then not following through. Lashing out at little to no provocation. Just being irrational. George just took us on a six-and-a-half year bender and Katrina was just that one time he drunkenly mowed down a family of four as they were staring at the wreckage of their water-logged, wind-damaged home the insurance was unwilling to pay.

I just can never say it enough, but when I think of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, when I think of Katrina and the governor of Missouri worrying more about “activist judges” than how he messed up people’s Medicare I just want to scream, “a pox. A pox on both your houses.”






Written by blacksnob

August 30, 2007 at 6:17 am

Incognegro Part I: Grady Sizemore

with 5 comments

Because, in America, we have a special sort of racism (dubbed the “One-drop rule” by the racist geniuses who came up with it), we have a lot of people who are considered to be black people who don’t look like black people. Or they look like black people, but don’t want to labeled solely as “black people,” a la my favorite not-black-black-looking golfer, El Tigre.

I’m quite fascinated about these “racial rebels.” (As I’m fascinated by all things race related.) I had a great, great aunt who, along with her mother and siblings, basically looked white, but considered herself black and chose not to “pass” for white (even though, the way she looked, it really wouldn’t have been much of a stretch.) But, she didn’t go out of her way to correct people when they admitted her ailing mother to the “good” (re: white) hospital back in the ’50s.

That said, I’m glad the country has evolved enough to at least to pretend to tolerate the pleas of multiracial Americans to define themselves. (Behind your back, the blacks and the whites just argue over whether you’re a little black or a lot of black. But no one ever argues over the state of actual blackness, like, that you might not consider yourself to be black, per the cruel and bizarre one-drop-rule.)

Anyway. Here’s our first Incognegro Major League Baseball’s Grady Sizemore as part of a series of on the not-black-black-peoples of America!

Mmmm … Grady.

For those who just thought Grady was blessed with a healthy “Jew-fro” prepare to have your mind blown! The Jew-fro is just your average afro and while his mom is white, his dad is black. But who cares about that. Look at the hotness! And despite having a horrible, unsexy name that brings to mind Fred Sanford’s ever-ashy looking buddy, this Grady is so en fuego he has his own cadre of women, dubbed “Grady’s Ladies.” He was also dubbed the future of baseball by Sports Illustrated. Sure, he plays for a team whose mascot is a horrible and insulting racial stereotype — but, c’mon! Look at that face! And I bet he has two strong arms to hold you. Sigh!

Written by blacksnob

August 29, 2007 at 4:21 am

Going. Going. Gonzo …

leave a comment »

They say White House guests are like fish. After three days they start to stink. In Attorney General Alberto Gonzales’ case, he’s been so far gone that last checked he was fossil fuel embedded in the ancient, glacier covered rock of the Klondike.

On with the probes!

Written by blacksnob

August 28, 2007 at 4:20 am

101 Flavors and All of Them Unelectable

with 2 comments

I don’t know if I’ve ever voted for a president. I’ve voted against some people (Dole, Bush, Bush 2: Iraqi Boogaloo). I don’t know if you ever get to vote for someone as a minority. You’re just always squinting at people thinking, “Now which one of you bastards is going to screw me over the least?”

I’d like to vote for someone. You know? Just once to actually be naive enough to think that someone cares about the plight of the poor, the brown, the Black Snob. But nobody loves us.

And I just love how almost everyone running for president this year would be the first something or other, somehow rendering them near unelectable. First black guy. First white woman who would be the first First Lady. First Latino. First Mormon. First lapsed Catholic Italian. First rapidly decomposing Vietnam vet. First former hedge fund guy. First dude who had a supporting role in “Die Hard 2.” First elf-man with unnaturally hot wife. Much hotter than elf-man. It’s ridiculous. Who knew Dennis had such mad ridiculous white liberal guilt game? Did he woo her with whispers of sweet universal healthcare in her ear?

But, seriously. If there was just one, JUST ONE, non-obnoxious, generic white man who could manage to not talk like a complete moron, all of these people would be focusing on their day jobs. Except maybe Guliani. I honestly think he has serious mental health issues. Like he’s hitting the Klonopin hard just to keep from shouting that he single-handedly saved everyone’s life on 9/11, including Flight 93 and the plane that hit the Pentagon. Dug out Ground Zero with his bare hands, then strapped on a katana blade, headed to Waziristan and screamed at Osama “I AM THE HIGHLANDER AND THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!

Seriously. If I have to remember to take my Lithium, Rudy, you have to remember to take yours too. You don’t want that bipolar disorder to get too out of control. Your kids hate you. You’re already on wife number three. The US is on war number two. I don’t want you to become president and find out that you’ve decided to take on North Korea and Iran with nothing but Steven Segal and the Los Angeles Police Department. Granted, the LAPD can open a can of whup ass on some poor immigrant rights marchers and has been knockin’ in the heads of black folks since 1941, but Kim Jong Il doesn’t take his lithium either. And he hasn’t been fighting two wars for almost six years. And he’s just faking crazy. Unlike you, Rudy. You, who is actual crazy.

Rudy and Dennis aside. I’m enamored by almost all of 08’s cuddly, little unelectables. From crazy old man Mike Gravel to the only candidate who’s compared himself to Jesus just because he came in number two in the Iowa straw poll, Mike Huckabee of Arkansas. They’re all such lovable losers you just wanna “Dean Scream” all over them with glee.

All jokes aside. There is one bone that is not completely made of cynicism residing inside of me. And that is the bone that secretly wishes, hope and against hope, that by some act of God, Obama goes the distance. Not because I think it would be mind-blowing for a black man to be president, let alone a black man without an Anglicized name. No, I would want it to happen because Obama winner is the one thing that would cure my bleak cynicism, for if he won I would basically have to rethink America. Like, seriously rethink it. Like, I’d have to go live in the mountains for a little while and contemplate my purpose in life.

I mean, when the history of your family in America consists of not actually having the rights freedoms of other citizens for almost two hundred years. When your father throws away the free American flag we get every July from the neighborhood association because he grew up under Jim Crow and had to kick ass everyday of his life to get everything he owns. When you watch thousands of people die in a city older than the United States of America, when you watch people who look just like you, like your grandmother, your mother, your sisters and you watch them drown on live TV and help doesn’t come, you’re not going to be the sort of person to slap on two magnets screaming “God Bless America” on the back of your truck.

It’s not that I dislike the United States. I think its the greatest country there is. But it’s also the only home I’ve ever known. I don’t know if I could pull a James Baldwin or Paul Roberson and just announce, “Screw the man. I’m moving the Europe.” Like it or lump it, my family helped build this country, so I’ve chosen to stay and hope for the better while expecting the worse.

But President Barak Obama would not be what I, or anyone I know and love, would have expected. What would that mean for America?

Would my heart actually fill with pride on the Fourth? Would the pledge of allegiance finally be more than just words?

Would we overcome inaugural day instead of “someday?”

Could I admit to finding men who aren’t black men attractive and not be accused of abandoning the black men who I also find very attractive? Would all blackness cease to be politics? Because, my non-Negro friends, everything about blackness is political. Everyday I am aware that I am “the other.” But if a black man was president, would I be an “other” no more?

And see? That’s why I’d have to move to the mountains if the impossible happened, because I’d have to rethink everyone and everything, because for Obama to win a WHOLE lot of people who aren’t black and are most definitely white would have to vote for him. And that would be the thing that would blow my mind the most.

But my mind’s not going to get blow. Because I’m a cynic. I’m the fruit of the Civil Rights movement. And I don’t think America has made it to that point yet where they would pick someone other than a white man to be leader of the free world.

But prove me wrong, Barak. For the love of MLK, prove me wrong.

Written by blacksnob

August 27, 2007 at 8:37 pm

I hate everything. Especially Taye Diggs. But Lord, I don’t know why. I just do.

with 8 comments


I am Dande, therefore I am The Black Snob.

Typically, the word snob has such a negative connotation. Giving off the air of arrogance and self-entitlement that you’re perhaps used to experiencing virtually through drunken rich white girls on the PCH mowing down the paps. But I don’t operate in that tax bracket, skin tone or weight class, so my snobbery is not about that.

No, no … my snobbery is a much, much different thing. I am a member of W.E.B. DuBois’ “talented tenth (if you don’t know about it google that shit up. I don’t have the time right now to tell you). I have sat on the sidelines watching things people turn like maladjusted, disease-ridden tricks into giant vat of “good Lord, HELL NO!” I thought I could hold it in a few years back when it was Omarosa breaking multiple protocols of while BIP – “black in public.” But then it became 50 Cent. Then Katrina happened. And BET. MY GOD! B F-ING ET! When one day it straight up morphed into a softcore porn channel, a naked minstrel show sans the blackface (although I suppose bold, dangerous indifference could stand in for the caked on black shoe polish.)

OJ. The word “crunk.” Don Imus and Michael Richards thinking screaming the n-word was a punchline. The devolution of Flava Flav. Half of America’s prison population being black when we only make up 12 percent of the population. “Bling Bling” being used by white journalists on television. Having both Aaron McGruder and Dave Chappelle remove themselves from the respective geniuses that they created (one because he was exhausted. The other because he was exhausted and questioned if he was helping the cause of black folks as his humor could be easily manipulated by those who despise those with permanent tans that you can’t spray on and don’t fade with the coming of cloudy days.) And seriously, what am I supposed to read for my comics Aaron? Candorville? What about ME! What about the kids?

And now Michael Vick. On top of it all, I had to return home to St. Louis, simultaneously one of the coolest and most racially sodomized places in North America just above the Mason-Dixon line.

And that’s just the race stuff. I haven’t even touched my hatred for crocs, strechy black gauchos that show every dimple of fat and the Tyra Banks Show. (Tyra, I love. Her as a talk show host, she just lost me on the fat suit episode where she had the fatties consoling her. You wore a fat suit for five minutes, they’re fat everyday. Suck it up, woman!) My disdain for grown men who still live as children. For women who blame everyone for their problems but themselves. The entire slate of Democrats and Republicans running for president. Reality Television. Rupert Murdoch’s bid for world domination. The price of gas. Fellow St. Louisian (Florissant native!) Kimora Lee Simmons repeatedly referring to herself as fat on her infantile show on the Style Network. I mean, I’ll still watch the crap, because I kind of love her tacky, black-Korean-Japanese, 6’4″ psychotic, “fiercely fabulous” Florissant, Mo ass. And no one does tacky like blacks and Asians, and whoa, she’s both so she’s got crazy tacky in spades.

The fact that saggy jeans are still going strong after nearly 15 years makes me wanna holler. Throw up both my hands. If I didn’t think it was hot to see your underwear in 1992 when I was 14 I most certainly won’t find it anymore attractive now.

Belts, my brothers! Start a revolution. Dress like you know that the definition of underwear is that you wear it under your damn clothes.

And Taye Diggs. DAMN, I hate Taye Diggs. I don’t know why. I just do.

I just can’t take it anymore! I think the thing that officially drove me to the realization that I had to become a snob was when I was at Barnes n’ Noble and there was a fellow with one of those damn Blue Tooth doo-dads in his ear; those gaudy things that make you look like an extra from “Star Trek.” And they were talking, loud as hell and like a fool, I looked to see who he was talking to, thinking perhaps he was directing his raised volume at me. Of course, he was only talking to the little man in his Sci-Fi ear. And that was enough.

So …

If you hate ignorance. If you hate how people are ignorant of black history, American history, world hisotyr and can’t find China on a map.

This blog is for you.

And if you hate how the music industry hijacked hip hop once they realized controversy could turn a profit, especially if it was manufactured in the form of a bullet-ridden corpse. If you hate how people are so willing to sell vulgarity, violent, vitriol and vice to just so they can go drench themselves in a rain of shimmering blood diamonds and proclaim themselves soldiers, pimps, kings or gangstas when they’ve never served in the military, never peddled flesh, do not have a royal birth right and to paraphrase De La Soul, when it comes to being gangsta “the only Italians they knew was Icee.”

This blogs is for you.

Together, we will get some relief. I will vent. You will comment. You will vent. I will comment. We’re going to get through this together.

My topics are politics, music, celebrity, fashion, TV/Film, trends, gender, dating/marital/family, being single in the internet era, the war(s), current events, race (all of ’em, not just us self-absorbed Negroes and Caucasians) and mental health issues. Also, as a Libra, I’m a sucker for beauty. So, don’t be shocked if I luck up on a good day and decide to wax poetic on the latest gift from heaven that has come down to burn us all in a pleasureful inferno of desire and envy.

And I’ll try to update with some degree of frequency, but … work with me … I’m a bipolar, agitated, bitter insomniac. So … we’ll just see what we can see, shall we?

Written by blacksnob

August 27, 2007 at 10:51 am

Posted in rants, snobbery