Written By:
Richard Corey, Hip Hop Maestro of the Steez Conglomerate
Fears that the swine flu would evolve into a more dangerous strain were realized yesterday, according to the World Health Organization (WHO), which has already confirmed several high-profile cases of infection.
The new strain of H1N1, also known as the swine flu, primarily affects brain function. Symptoms include incoherence, delirium, and an inability to distinguish between fantasy and reality. Although the new strain is not considered fatal, those infected mentally degrade to vegetative, dull-witted states. The virus acts quickly and currently there are no vaccines or cures.
According to WHO, the most recent confirmed infections have occurred in Cambridge, Mass. The first incident involved a Sgt. James Crowley who, while suffering from the mentally debilitating symptoms, arrested a man in his own home.
The arrested man turned out to be distinguished Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates, Jr., returning from a research trip in China.
According to the officer, Gates was acting belligerent, but did produce identification proving he was the homeowner. However, it is at this point in the story where health officials agree the mind-dulling symptoms overcame the officer’s ability to think rationally. Instead of leaving the scene, Crowley arrested Gates for “disorderly conduct.”
The charges were, of course, dropped when unaffected police realized the stupidity of arresting a man, while in his own home, for speaking loudly to an officer, which, in and of itself, is not a crime.
On July 22, President Barack Obama held a press conference on health care reform and was questioned about the event. Obama responded by admitting he was “biased” as Gates is his friend, but believed the officers acted “stupidly” for arresting a 58-year-old man who uses a cane for breaking into his own home.
The president was later forced to step back from his statement in response to a backlash he received from newly infected individuals who had crawled their way, no doubt slobbering incoherently, to blogs and telephones to voice their unintelligible protests.
Patient 0
Officials can only surmise when the virus mutated, but the location of the first confirmed case points to Delaware. There a woman exhibiting symptoms disrupted a June 30 town hall meeting held by Rep. Mike Castle (R-Del.).
The woman, who one unaffected witnesses described as a shrieking zombie-eyed harpy, leveled her boney finger and accusations at the President of the United States, Barack Obama.
In what appeared to be a fever-induced hysteria, the woman, disease ravaged and absent her faculties, stated that the president was in fact a citizen of Kenya and that he had made no attempts to prove otherwise.
Our source, who wishes to remain anonymous because he fears for his life, was shocked to hear such outright and utter wrongness pouring from the mouth of a bipedal creature. But what he saw next left him horrified. Before his eyes, the virus seemed to spread as audience member after member stood up in defense of the raving, frothing lunatic. Each fallow face and hollowed eye, held the unsteady shake of sickness.
“They meant to kill me, so I left,” our source said, before falling to his knees and sobbing openly, “Christ, the children…those poor children.”
The bones of what appeared to be several toddlers were later found at the scene, the flesh picked clean. Local authorities suspect cannibalism.
The Obama Connection
Health officials have noted the link between both high-profile cases is President Obama’s existence as the first black president of the United States.
“Apparently, the existence of a black president has, in the minds of some people, triggered hormonal reactions that mutate H1N1 within the neocortex of the brain,” said Dr. Anthony Lashley, assistant to the associate director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases at the National Institutes of Health.
“Although it appears to affect mostly individuals of European descent,” he said, “there are cases of infected African-Americans as well, all connected to president Obama in some way.”
This may explain the number of blacks who believe in the much maligned concept of a “post-racial” America. Despite disproportionate numbers of minorities arrested and put in prison, given home and bank loans, and despite the generally accepted and recognized practice of racial profiling, some African-Americans illogically hang on to the belief that Obama’s election signifies the end to “the struggle.”
“We are free at last, hallelujah!” Tawanda Clark exclaimed from her front porch. “I knew this day would come! Now black men can stop using excuses, racism has been dead for years, but we’ve been keeping it alive! We’ve been perpetuating the problem! Obama’s election proves it!”
Ironically, Clark was arrested by local police during our interview for disorderly conduct, while on her porch. She was booked at the county jail where Ms. Clark was accidentally shot while handcuffed to a bench. Officers on the scene, including Sgt. Bradley Lawson who fired the fatal shot, state she had been speaking loudly and in a rude manner.
Both Clark and Lawson later tested positive for the mutated swine flu strain.
Read More!
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Attack of the Sniffling Zombies
*Cough Cough*
Oh, excuse me, did I just infect you?
A few weeks ago, the World Health Organization (WHO) announced that Influenza A virus subtype H1N1 (blah blah blah), otherwise known as the Swine Flu, has killed (and infected) enough people to warrant the bold stamp of Pandemic; an eruption of disease worthy enough to stand labeled with such historic outbreaks as Cholera, Malaria, and HIV/AIDS.
You see, the word “Pandemic” alone is enough to scare the shit out of a whole grip of folks all across the world. How scared are they? I’d put it at a category Jocelyn – that is, at the same threat level as if the WHO declared cat face lady Jocelyn Wildenstein’s facial condition contagious. Nasty.
Enough with the ominous labeling and all this fuss; I’ll make due with a bottle of scotch, some contraband cigars, and the Delfonics on repeat.
If only the rest of the globe were on the same page with me. So what is it, world?!
Perhaps it’s the funky nature of the virus’s development. Popular culture has long taught us through flashy Hollywood productions to wallow in glee at the unexplained and unexpected, the bizarre and mutated. Swine Flu shares two genes from flu viruses that circulate in both avian and human genes. Perhaps it’s this combination and suggestion of malicious mutation that draws us in like, (pun intended), pigs to the slop.
Or perhaps it’s a time-based rationale that’s caused such concern and interest. Civilized first world countries haven’t seen a Pandemic since the world first accepted the seriousness of HIV/AIDS almost 40 years ago. Which, I should mention, is still plaguing thousands across the globe today.
Guess facemasks can’t do much there. WHERE DA RUBBERS AT!?!
Oops, too blunt? Anyway…
SARS came close but never made the grade, grinding to a halt just short of becoming an epic outbreak. No 3D-Hollywood-Kung Fu-Zombie blockbuster to look forward to (or avoid).
The Avian Flu blew its way across the world on the wings of my favorite poultry’s cousins and I shed a tear and poured out some Courvoisier for all those burnt to a crisp. And I don’t mean the finger-lickin-good kind. But even this stopped shy of “Pandemic,” as it failed to sustain its human-to-human zombie infection factor. Swine Flu, with it’s esoteric nature, is something the fear-based, drama craving people can latch onto.
For whatever reasons, Swine Flu is going to be a big deal. I mean, look... THE VACCINE RESEARCHERS GOT LEGAL IMMUNITY! And FOX News can't stop warning us about the coming doom from Swine Flu and how we should NOT stop worrying. Even though most the deaths have involved other medical complications. Or have occurred in countries with sub-par medical technology. Roll out the face masks and needle-points; we may see this one freak out a lot of unsuspecting idiots. I mean people. My apologies. This Swine Flu must be eating my frontal lobe.
So what’s my point in all this? Yea we’ve seen it before, the media pours out the warnings and the masses follow unquestioningly. What’s the big deal, it’s nothing new. Big surprise. Big whoop.
But see, here’s the catch: us in the free-wheeling, unconventionally startling art world can do more than sit back and shake our heads as the sheep of the world baa and tremble for fear of losing their wooly stuffing. We can take it to a whole ‘nother level. In the spirit of the western world let’s capitalize on the Swine Flu Pandemic; bring art and fashion to the forefront of attention using the popularity potential of mass hysteria.
Lets turn fear into world-class art.
*Cough Cough*
Here, take my Steez custom designed facemask, it’s got a pig getting fucked by the WHO snake. I got it offline. You should see the vaccine pills, they’re shaped like cigars and shotgun shells. My new mink coat isn’t really mink, it’s pig skin. Hypothetically, I’m a walking football. But it’s lined in Louis Vuitton classic print so at least I look stylish. Oh, AND I just talked to Jigga. He’ll drop a shout to the Swine Flu on his upcoming Blueprint 3…granted we aren’t all sniffling zombies by then.
FRESH.
This is the new generation of art snobs and popular culture. This is the wave of the future.
Suck it up or go cough on someone else.
Read More!
Oh, excuse me, did I just infect you?
A few weeks ago, the World Health Organization (WHO) announced that Influenza A virus subtype H1N1 (blah blah blah), otherwise known as the Swine Flu, has killed (and infected) enough people to warrant the bold stamp of Pandemic; an eruption of disease worthy enough to stand labeled with such historic outbreaks as Cholera, Malaria, and HIV/AIDS.
You see, the word “Pandemic” alone is enough to scare the shit out of a whole grip of folks all across the world. How scared are they? I’d put it at a category Jocelyn – that is, at the same threat level as if the WHO declared cat face lady Jocelyn Wildenstein’s facial condition contagious. Nasty.
Enough with the ominous labeling and all this fuss; I’ll make due with a bottle of scotch, some contraband cigars, and the Delfonics on repeat.
If only the rest of the globe were on the same page with me. So what is it, world?!
Perhaps it’s the funky nature of the virus’s development. Popular culture has long taught us through flashy Hollywood productions to wallow in glee at the unexplained and unexpected, the bizarre and mutated. Swine Flu shares two genes from flu viruses that circulate in both avian and human genes. Perhaps it’s this combination and suggestion of malicious mutation that draws us in like, (pun intended), pigs to the slop.
Or perhaps it’s a time-based rationale that’s caused such concern and interest. Civilized first world countries haven’t seen a Pandemic since the world first accepted the seriousness of HIV/AIDS almost 40 years ago. Which, I should mention, is still plaguing thousands across the globe today.
Guess facemasks can’t do much there. WHERE DA RUBBERS AT!?!
Oops, too blunt? Anyway…
SARS came close but never made the grade, grinding to a halt just short of becoming an epic outbreak. No 3D-Hollywood-Kung Fu-Zombie blockbuster to look forward to (or avoid).
The Avian Flu blew its way across the world on the wings of my favorite poultry’s cousins and I shed a tear and poured out some Courvoisier for all those burnt to a crisp. And I don’t mean the finger-lickin-good kind. But even this stopped shy of “Pandemic,” as it failed to sustain its human-to-human zombie infection factor. Swine Flu, with it’s esoteric nature, is something the fear-based, drama craving people can latch onto.
For whatever reasons, Swine Flu is going to be a big deal. I mean, look... THE VACCINE RESEARCHERS GOT LEGAL IMMUNITY! And FOX News can't stop warning us about the coming doom from Swine Flu and how we should NOT stop worrying. Even though most the deaths have involved other medical complications. Or have occurred in countries with sub-par medical technology. Roll out the face masks and needle-points; we may see this one freak out a lot of unsuspecting idiots. I mean people. My apologies. This Swine Flu must be eating my frontal lobe.
So what’s my point in all this? Yea we’ve seen it before, the media pours out the warnings and the masses follow unquestioningly. What’s the big deal, it’s nothing new. Big surprise. Big whoop.
But see, here’s the catch: us in the free-wheeling, unconventionally startling art world can do more than sit back and shake our heads as the sheep of the world baa and tremble for fear of losing their wooly stuffing. We can take it to a whole ‘nother level. In the spirit of the western world let’s capitalize on the Swine Flu Pandemic; bring art and fashion to the forefront of attention using the popularity potential of mass hysteria.
Lets turn fear into world-class art.
*Cough Cough*
Here, take my Steez custom designed facemask, it’s got a pig getting fucked by the WHO snake. I got it offline. You should see the vaccine pills, they’re shaped like cigars and shotgun shells. My new mink coat isn’t really mink, it’s pig skin. Hypothetically, I’m a walking football. But it’s lined in Louis Vuitton classic print so at least I look stylish. Oh, AND I just talked to Jigga. He’ll drop a shout to the Swine Flu on his upcoming Blueprint 3…granted we aren’t all sniffling zombies by then.
FRESH.
This is the new generation of art snobs and popular culture. This is the wave of the future.
Suck it up or go cough on someone else.
Read More!
Monday, July 6, 2009
Reassigning the F-Word
Written By:
Richard Corey, Hip Hop Maestro of the Steez Conglomerate
Ice T, once in an interview with Arsenio Hall, remarked how he was tired of blacks worrying about what white people think. His eyes were enraged and his mighty lisp sent spittle flying toward his host. I don’t even remember what the question was or the topic of discussion. All I remember was his response. And I tend to agree, mostly because I’m not a faggot.
But let me explain.
At the 2009 BET Awards and its impromptu "tribute" to Michael Jackson (our own tribute will arrive late Tuesday/early Wednesday), some eyebrows were raised when Lil’ Wayne and his Young Money crew performed their hit “Every Girl,” while several underage girls danced around them onstage. Filmmaker Byron Hurt, in an open letter to BET, stated that the show, specifically Lil’ Wayne’s performance, was embarrassing. Embarrassing?
Many others who were in attendance and those who witnessed it from the censored safety of their television agreed. The world was watching! Mainstream America was tuning in. “This is horrible,” people protested, “why must we portray ourselves this way?” “Why are they representing us in this fashion?” Oddly enough, R. Kelly was quoted calling the performance “fiendishly brilliant” and was last seen backstage, jumping up and clicking his heels while furiously rubbing his hands like an early 20th Century silent movie villain.
The general sentiment, and one I found echoing online from blog to blog was, “Oh no, they’re embarrassing us…and in front of the white folks!”
Really?
Surprisingly, the idea that blacks should act a certain way, no matter how artificial, for the sole purpose of elevating their collective self image isn’t that alien of a sentiment. There are a lot of black folks out there who believe our art’s only purpose should be to convince white people that we’re cool to hang around. These people, for lack of a better term, are, in essence and in my opinion only, faggots.
Yup…that’s about the size of it.
The idea that somehow Lil’ Wayne represents us, as a whole is…retarded. Lil’ Wayne represents Lil’ Wayne. He doesn’t represent Will Smith, he doesn’t represent Obama, and he doesn’t represent me. And by the way, aren’t we the ones fighting against that same blanket generalization in the media that likes to make assumptions about our community based on the actions of a few? So how are we now doing it to ourselves?
And moreover, why should we behave for them? Am I the only one bothered by that concept – grown men and women being told how to act, and even dress? “Why can’t you wear a suit and tie? Look respectable!” Why? For who? The tired argument that there are times that require a suit hold little water when even the dumbest street artist can differentiate between a job interview and the raucous, alcohol and ratings led sensationalism of a cable awards show. Many of these artists are also businessmen who regularly wear suits to meetings. I know, because they rap about it a lot…a lot, a lot .
The really sad thing is that no one else gives an eighth of a shit about how we perceive them. Do you think Jerry Seinfeld worried that his show’s depiction of older Jews may be stereotypical? What about Ray Romano and his show’s portrayal of Italians? And I doubt before Ozzy Osbourne putters onstage at whatever rock event he stumbles upon that there are moral sentinels praying he doesn’t go too over top, because Lord forbid black people see it. Do they care how we feel? No, they’re too busy caring about how many of us they can employ and layoff this month.
Sadly, more and more blacks are becoming a culture of whiners and crybabies, a bunch of insecure school yard children, afraid our classmates will make fun of our old and ripped jeans. Faggots. Faggots, faggots, faggots, faggots!
Now I apologize if I offend anyone, but honestly, I think the word may have been attached to the wrong demographic all this time. Take Al Sharpton for example. Remember when he rallied against Def Jam and blacklisted Nas, one of the most provocative lyricists of modern American poetry, and successfully prevented him from releasing his “Nigger” album per his artistic vision? Didn’t that just scream “faggot” to you? I know it did for me.
Instead of following in the footsteps of Dick Gregory and Randall Kennedy, two black scholars who have named their books “Nigger” in an attempt to examine the word, Nas was deprived of his artistic right. You want to know why? It was because of the deep fear that any Wally and the Beav’ could skip happily down to their corner malt shop/record parlor, pass their 5$ over the counter with their taffy-sticky hands, and ask for that “new Nigger!” along with their Sarsaparilla.
(And Christ, what does that say about his perception of the youth. Why didn’t he try to ban the books? “Oh, it’s okay, them little fuckers don’t read.”)
Am I comparing Lil’ Wayne to Nas? No, I’m not. Was his performing the raunchy “Every Girl” while a troop of pre-teens danced around him classless and in bad taste? Definitely. I’m not even saying he is beyond reprimand. All I’m saying is that if you’re going to be upset, please let it be for a reason that’s not so…faggoty. Read More!
Richard Corey, Hip Hop Maestro of the Steez Conglomerate
Ice T, once in an interview with Arsenio Hall, remarked how he was tired of blacks worrying about what white people think. His eyes were enraged and his mighty lisp sent spittle flying toward his host. I don’t even remember what the question was or the topic of discussion. All I remember was his response. And I tend to agree, mostly because I’m not a faggot.
But let me explain.
At the 2009 BET Awards and its impromptu "tribute" to Michael Jackson (our own tribute will arrive late Tuesday/early Wednesday), some eyebrows were raised when Lil’ Wayne and his Young Money crew performed their hit “Every Girl,” while several underage girls danced around them onstage. Filmmaker Byron Hurt, in an open letter to BET, stated that the show, specifically Lil’ Wayne’s performance, was embarrassing. Embarrassing?
Many others who were in attendance and those who witnessed it from the censored safety of their television agreed. The world was watching! Mainstream America was tuning in. “This is horrible,” people protested, “why must we portray ourselves this way?” “Why are they representing us in this fashion?” Oddly enough, R. Kelly was quoted calling the performance “fiendishly brilliant” and was last seen backstage, jumping up and clicking his heels while furiously rubbing his hands like an early 20th Century silent movie villain.
The general sentiment, and one I found echoing online from blog to blog was, “Oh no, they’re embarrassing us…and in front of the white folks!”
Really?
Surprisingly, the idea that blacks should act a certain way, no matter how artificial, for the sole purpose of elevating their collective self image isn’t that alien of a sentiment. There are a lot of black folks out there who believe our art’s only purpose should be to convince white people that we’re cool to hang around. These people, for lack of a better term, are, in essence and in my opinion only, faggots.
Yup…that’s about the size of it.
The idea that somehow Lil’ Wayne represents us, as a whole is…retarded. Lil’ Wayne represents Lil’ Wayne. He doesn’t represent Will Smith, he doesn’t represent Obama, and he doesn’t represent me. And by the way, aren’t we the ones fighting against that same blanket generalization in the media that likes to make assumptions about our community based on the actions of a few? So how are we now doing it to ourselves?
And moreover, why should we behave for them? Am I the only one bothered by that concept – grown men and women being told how to act, and even dress? “Why can’t you wear a suit and tie? Look respectable!” Why? For who? The tired argument that there are times that require a suit hold little water when even the dumbest street artist can differentiate between a job interview and the raucous, alcohol and ratings led sensationalism of a cable awards show. Many of these artists are also businessmen who regularly wear suits to meetings. I know, because they rap about it a lot…a lot, a lot .
The really sad thing is that no one else gives an eighth of a shit about how we perceive them. Do you think Jerry Seinfeld worried that his show’s depiction of older Jews may be stereotypical? What about Ray Romano and his show’s portrayal of Italians? And I doubt before Ozzy Osbourne putters onstage at whatever rock event he stumbles upon that there are moral sentinels praying he doesn’t go too over top, because Lord forbid black people see it. Do they care how we feel? No, they’re too busy caring about how many of us they can employ and layoff this month.
Sadly, more and more blacks are becoming a culture of whiners and crybabies, a bunch of insecure school yard children, afraid our classmates will make fun of our old and ripped jeans. Faggots. Faggots, faggots, faggots, faggots!
Now I apologize if I offend anyone, but honestly, I think the word may have been attached to the wrong demographic all this time. Take Al Sharpton for example. Remember when he rallied against Def Jam and blacklisted Nas, one of the most provocative lyricists of modern American poetry, and successfully prevented him from releasing his “Nigger” album per his artistic vision? Didn’t that just scream “faggot” to you? I know it did for me.
Instead of following in the footsteps of Dick Gregory and Randall Kennedy, two black scholars who have named their books “Nigger” in an attempt to examine the word, Nas was deprived of his artistic right. You want to know why? It was because of the deep fear that any Wally and the Beav’ could skip happily down to their corner malt shop/record parlor, pass their 5$ over the counter with their taffy-sticky hands, and ask for that “new Nigger!” along with their Sarsaparilla.
(And Christ, what does that say about his perception of the youth. Why didn’t he try to ban the books? “Oh, it’s okay, them little fuckers don’t read.”)
Am I comparing Lil’ Wayne to Nas? No, I’m not. Was his performing the raunchy “Every Girl” while a troop of pre-teens danced around him classless and in bad taste? Definitely. I’m not even saying he is beyond reprimand. All I’m saying is that if you’re going to be upset, please let it be for a reason that’s not so…faggoty. Read More!
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Say Hello to the Sea of Green
Contributing writer:
Shao, Political Guru of the Steez Conglomerate
Allah Akbar…Marg bar Khamenei
Imagine a nation’s masses, strewn amongst a Sea of Green, chanting these exact words each night from the balconies of their homes in concerted defiance against an unjust, oppressive, and tyrannical regime.
Ain’t it a beautiful thing?
The situation in Iran has become increasingly complex. For those who have no idea what I’m alluding to…you must live under a rock. A very large rock. And by very large I mean, if people were hustling stones like their retirement plans depended on it, even Oprah couldn’t afford this one...
Since June 12th, the Iranian people have taken to the streets, reinvigorated by a long-brewing desire for a kind of social dignity that their political system has repeatedly refused. This is no random hood riot. These forces have been bubbling to the surface for years…fueled by bleak economic outlooks and despotic mullahs. For far too long, the youth have been thinking, no more velayat-e faqui gone unchecked. The stolen election was just the spark they needed. Say hello to the Sea of Green.
The funny thing is, their quarterback Mir Hussein Mossavi isn’t some charismatic, young, eloquent, Oxford and Yale educated leader looking for a revolution. During the election he was just, by many means, the lesser of two evils. The “moderate” reformist candidate who was willing to consider breakin’ a piece of that Kit Kat Bar with the US.
And how does the US play into this? Well, it depends on who you ask.
On one end, there’s the GOP. Ridin’ that damn horse-blinders wearin’, shotgun slingin’ elephant full speed towards tougher rhetoric. In the last week they’ve seized upon Obama’s restraint in discourse to suggest B is just being weak. I liken it to Jim Jones saying Jay Z doesn’t have legitimate swag.
Are you fucking kiddin’ me?
This is Jay Z and Nas beef, post-Peace Treaty. The US and the Sea of Green have a tacit understanding. But here come the Cam’ron’s and Jim Jones’s of the world, who just need to let go of their washed up careers and that damn Autotune.
On another end, there’s Ayatollah Khamenei and his Ahmadinejad loving cronies. Truth is they’re sitting there, hoping and praying for some EU style, blatantly outraged, pro-protester sound bytes to seize upon. What better way to disenfranchise the hearts and minds of young Iranian activists than to say the big, bad, blundering American devils are playing the meddlesome Imperialist Puppet Master, again?
What do I say? Yes, we support the fundamental principles of democracy. And yes, that is what these protests are all about. But let’s take a quick history lesson about intervention, for better or for worse…
Let’s start with the 1953 CIA backed coup d’etat that eventually replaced a democratically elected Mossadeq with the iron fisted Shah. (This later sparked the flame for the Iranian hostage crisis, too). Then there was Jimmy Carter, who just couldn’t keep his mouth shut about his (no homo!) love for Pahlavi. Here comes Ayatollah Khomeini in ’79. We all know how that turned out.
How do we feel about tough discourse on the Iranian election, now? This is a global game of chess and spouting at the mouth, Cold War style, is like putting our binkey-wielding toddlers up against the Decepticons.
Leave it to the people, to lead the peoples’ fight. It ain’t bullets and ballots out there, anymore. It’s bullets, batons, tear gas, and bodies. Here's to the Iranian youth, holdin’ it down out there on the streets. What can we do here at home? End our oil addiction. Focus less on useless rhetoric and more on our own "Sea of Green" revolution. Stop fanning the flames that sustain these autocratic oil regimes. Literally. And with that…I leave you with this:
“I will participate in the demonstrations tomorrow. Maybe they will turn violent. Maybe I will be one of the people who is going to be killed. I’m listening to all my favorite music. I even want to dance to a few songs. I always wanted to have very narrow eyebrows. Yes, maybe I will go to the salon before I go tomorrow!
I wrote these random sentences for the next generation so that they know we were not just emotional under peer pressure. So they know that we did everything we could to create a better future for them. So they know that our ancestors surrendered to Arabs and Mongols but did not surrender to despotism. This note is dedicated to tomorrow’s children.” –Anonymous Student
Allah Akbar…Mo’afagh bashed, Iran.
Read More!
Monday, June 22, 2009
LA Fashion Market, June 2009: The Grand Aftermath
By yours truly:
Jhym Chu, All-Around Extraordinaire
California is a big mash up. Up north you’ve got the progressive well-to-do’s livin’ large in the hills with their open-minded artistic free form expression, milking the term, “by the Bay” to its fullest. Way south you’ve got the beach bum surfer types mingling with the reckless partiers fresh from drinking and debauchery in Tijuana.
And somewhere in between all that there’s LA, in geography and in context. A sun bleached, sprawled out, smog-covered city where some of the country’s richest and finest members of pop culture, fashion and tabloid headlines wink, blink, and drink the night away...
It’s so crammed full of Hollywood style, glam, and drama I could just devour it; a California cocktail with a few shots too many, a cherry at the bottom, and a whole lot of decorative, garnish-like nonsense…the fuck?!?
Did I mention the sugared rim? It’s a blend of sub-pop stars and a big spoonful of eccentrics. Take my homeboy for example, we’ll call him “Chuck”. Chuck and I go way back, almost as far back as J-Lo’s...well, you catch my drift right?
Anyway, so Chuck’s one of those guys you find working at a telecom center in the daytime. He’s not the hippest. He’s no Brangelina. Until of course, the blaring California sun settles down in its milky polluted nest behind the hills and the hustling, bustling LA nightlife I love so much begins. Then out come the leggings, the Chanel cocktail dress with the midnight blue sequins, the eyeliner, the rouge, and the….get this….the blonde afro wig.
Chuck may be a soul-sucked job zombie by day, but he’s the hottest cross-dressing telemarketer to ever hit the late night LA scene.
Riiiight….so you get the picture.
Last week I was in town for the 2009 LA Fashion Market when Chuck appeared, made one of his strange cameos, and left me with more than just models and martinis to sip on.
I was standing in line for the after party at the Standard, decked out in one of my best fits (and looking absolutely dapper I might add) waiting for my turn to step VIP up to the burly 270 lb Samoan doorman at one of the freshest spots on the block. There was this pair of breezies up ahead of me, dressed to the nines, in short little skirts that made my eyes pop. I was working out a plan to “run into” one (or both) of them once I was in, when all of a sudden some shit started to go down at the door.
Everyone in line started shifting around and peering up to the front. Getting all riled up as if Megan Fox just walked up wearing nothing but, well, nothing. Then the deep booming voice of the Samoan bulldog came filtering back like a Barry White track blasting out of some serious 21 inch speakers,
“We don’t just let no sale rack nobody in this joint, so step up off me! Take your shit back to WeHo.”
Old news right? Fools are always trying (and failing) to make an appearance where they don’t belong in this town, searching for a way…ANY way, to climb to the top of the status ladder.
These bouncers, they’re a bit like Cerberus, guardian of hell in Greek Mythology. They’re sentinels for the entrance to a flaming pit of obscene excess and outrageously overrated self-indulgence. A place that most decent human beings outwardly proclaim to avoid, and would secretly suck a dick to get into. No homo, right?
They stand stoically, arms crossed and hats low, and with one shake of their meaty heads deny countless ugly ducklings and wannabe trendsetters the sacred right to mingle with high-class fashionistas and their aficionados.
As Uncle Karl would put it, the démodé just don’t fly with these guys.
The rejected girl came into view. She’d been pushed backwards, earning a broken heel in the process. When she turned around I caught a glimpse of her face and a strangely familiar…adams apple??!
“Holy shit. That’s Chuck,” I thought.
And here’s the deal: it didn’t add up. Chuck wasn’t some fake floosy trying to worm his way into the scene; he was legit. Decked out in the latest and greatest: Funky East, Mynk, Crow Thief; all some of the up and coming, top designers strutting up and down the runway at the show. Rocking some serious style and class, Chuck was probably the freshest thing to hit this polluted city, not to mention this party, in a long while.
The only catch was, of course, that he was dressed like a she. A very attractive, incredibly with-it, trendsetter sort of she that might turn all sorts of high and mighty fashion heads…if they don’t notice her adam’s apple first. But a she nonetheless.
And apparently this matters to the snooty upturned noses on the inside, waiting to be flattered and doted on with compliments and comments of adoration. Even to the fag hags with their accessory gay hanging off their arm, it mattered. While they occupy a world both alluring and incredibly rich with brilliant creative design, these Runway gurus all have a serious character flaw. Their high maintenance lifestyle requires fulfilling an obsessive need to be constantly surrounded by numerous beautiful and socially significant people. Cross-dressing “nobodies” not included, and all those démodé excluded.
I watched as Chuck stood on one foot, holding his (her?!) broken Jimmy Choo in one hand, looking at the entryway to the Standard’s rooftop, with this sort of sad accepting gaze. Before I got a chance to holler at him, he turned and dejectedly walked away, not noticing how his wig tilted just so slightly askew to the left. He’s normally got his shit so together that this minor detail would usually be fixed quicker than a white kid getting jumped for wearing blue in Inglewood.
Looking back at the entrance to the Roof Top, a now cordial and smiling Mr. Samoan Cerberus was opening the rope for the two Bs I had been admiring earlier. They were batting their lashes and sprinkling that magical sexy-dust the whole time, and damn if he didn’t just let ‘em right in.
I got in too. It didn’t take much. Just had to flash my pearly whites and drop a few names and that was that. The party was bananas. Sittin Rooftop Bar, gazing at the most spectacular views of Los Angeles (animate and inanimate) with the who’s who of Hollywood? C’mon! ‘Nuff said. But I won’t deny, I thought about Chuck and the nature of his rejection more than once that night.
What’s the deal with all these high-class elitists in the fashion world today? They can’t even recognize when the next miss thang walks straight up to them and offers up her seriously fresh piece of ass to do whatever they please with.
And does it matter so much that she is really a he? Fashion has always been about sex. About pushing the limits. About change and innovation and challenging the norm. So that’s real. But in today’s rapidly emerging modern world, who’s wearing what and looking good in it transcends the archaic notions of gender placement and gender role. The metrosexuals are all over it. The “boyfriend” cuts and suit pieces worn by androgynous girls are totally chic. It’s all over the map.
The line dividing gender and sexuality in fashion IS history. And always a blurred one.
So why was Chuck the exception? Word on the street is, GET IN OR GET THE FUCK OVER IT.
LOOK, to those who claim and collect chic, don’t front if you can’t back it. Take the pretentious pre-conceived notions out ya stuck-up nose and take a lung full of real fuckin FRESH air. In the hazy LA summer, you’ve got to breath it in wherever you can find it.
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