¡Si, se puede!

It was the first time on the Metro in Los Angeles for my partner and myself. I thought it would be an easy trip, no big deal. We arrived at the Hollywood & Vine Station, parked our car and made our way to the machine to purchase cards.

It took a few minutes for us to figure out exactly how the machines work, but we did it. Then we headed toward the trains, but couldn't find a place to swipe our cards. On the platform, I asked a stranger if we did something wrong, because we didn't swipe our $3.00 All Day passes. He informed us that the Metro works on an "honor system," riders are expected to buy a pass, but you don't really have to use it. (Although at random times there are guards watching who will stop you if you don't purchase a pass.) I was flabbergasted! I'm from New York! If the NYC transit worked on an honor system, they wouldn't make a dime! How innocent. How naive. How L.A. I love L.A.!

When the train to Union Station in Downtown L.A. arrived, it was packed! Sardines have more room. Absolutely no one was able to board a train heading downtown. Why? Because we were all heading to a demonstration against proposed Federal legislation that calls for building a 700 mile wall along the Mexican border and making felons of illegal immigrants and all those who offer them help. When I first heard of this bill a few weeks ago, I was deeply ashamed of my country. So this morning when my partner mentioned he might like to go to the demonstration, I was down for the cause.

We wound up taking the train going in the opposite direction to North Hollywood. The end of the line was three stops back, but this was the only way we could get on board because the people united were out in force. When the train arrived at the last stop, it was immediately filled by Latinos from many different countries. Men, women, children and enfants squashed against each other and the doors, but it didn't matter. The mood was light. There was laughter and excitement in the air as our packed train made it's way to Pershing square where we all headed for the demonstration.

The streets were filled with people waving flags from Mexico, Guatemala, the United States and other Latin American countries. They were holding signs delcaring themselves hard workers, not felons. My partner and I joined the march in the middle of 3rd Street, chanting "¡Sí, se puede!" which means, "Yes, it's possible!" Possible to be free. Possible to pursue dreams and aspirations. Possible to feed families, and support relatives back home. Possible...

As we chanted along in Spanish, my partner noted that we were like the White people on Showtime At The Apollo, nervously chanting "wop-wop!" with a crowd Blacks. I laughed, because it was true, and we did feel a little out of place. We were the only Black faces we could find in a sea of brown, with a few speckles of White. Many people smiled and nodded at us, thanking us for our support and solidarity. We were there because the immigration issues that will be debated next week affect us all. Many of the best people I know have immigrated to the United States for opportunity. People that I dearly love, are still struggling for a fair shake, a chance to pursue dreams and live openly and freely as they could never do in their own countries.

As we marched, and I looked at the people and their beautiful children, felt their passion and determination I wondered what was happening to my country. Since 9/11 the threat of terrorism has been used to promote racism. Politicians scare people into believing that our security is compromised by people seeking the same opportunites the Pilgrims, Irish, Jewish, Italians, and other ethnic groups have sought. (My people happen to have been "imported" to be enslaved.) Conservatives paint the majority of immigrants with the same brush used on those who disobey laws and fill prisons in this country. It's always the case, the misdeeds of the few seem to outweigh the good deeds of the many. And the rantings of the ignorant fuel hatred in the fearful leading to dog fights amongst the 'have nots' for scraps from the tables of the 'have alls'.

There is an insidious hatred filling this country, and it's growing at an incredible pace. INTOLERANCE is the new BLACK. Intolerance against immigrants, against homosexuals, against the poor, against the elderly, against the sick, against those who speak out against the government. We are whittling away our own constitutional rights, because we are encouraged to not feel safe. It's "V FOR VENDETTA" right before our very eyes.

As I marched with a crowd 500,000 strong, I was doing it for my children to come. I was doing it because I don't want to live in a Police State, and that is exactly where we are heading when legislation such as this is passed by the House of Representatives! Who the hell are these people? They don't represent me.

It's not easy to open your doors, or to open your hearts to the "others." But they are people just like us, the majority just looking to make better lives. They are people who love this country, work hard, and share their rich and wonderful cultures, which only enhances ours. What are we so afraid of? If we change what the Statue of Liberty, what the United States of America has always stood for because of fear, then the terrorist have won.

The chants of the marchers still ring in my ears, because it is the truth, and the truth can't be denied.
"¡Aquí estamos, no nos vamos!" We are here, we are not going!
DEAL WITH IT!

U.S. Patent Office Don't Play Dat!

Dear U.S Patent and Trademark Office,
I am writing this letter to thank you for having the common sense and decency to reject Damon Wayans' bid to trademark the name, "NIGGA" for his proposed clothing line. In fact, you have dismissed this bid twice, along with the misguided attemps of numerous others to trademark this word.

I applaud you for upholding the act by Congress that says you cannot register a word that is scandalous or that disparages a particular group. Although Mr. Wayans may stand on his soapbox and argue, like many others, that "Nigga" is a term of endearment for a segment of the Black population, and by owning the word we diffuse it's derogatory power; we all know the bottom line is, Mr. Wayans is anticipating this label will stir up a lot of controversy which will result in huge sales that will line his pockets with cash, because he can count on the ignorant to jump on the SHORT BUS with him.

Please, U.S. Patent and Trademark Office, don't back down from your stance, uphold the dignity of those who can see past the all mighty dollar, and recognize that words have power and have been used throughout history to provoke, demoralize, belittle and exploit.

Mr. Wayans' has somehow confused what might be funny in an IN LIVING COLOR sketch, with what would be inflamatory in the real world. Perhaps it's because his tired TV show, MY WIFE AND KIDS, has been canceled, or maybe it's because his real life WIFE has canceled their marriage and is demanding huge alimony checks to support his numerous KIDS. Whatever the reason, don't let this CLOWN manipulate the standards of our government and the dignity of a people to reignite a faltering career and diminishing bank account.

The next time Mr. Wayans applies for this patent, turn him down, but offer him an alternative. How about Club Foot Shoes? Since Mr. Wayans was born with a club foot, that he has dilegently masked throughout his career, perhaps he would get a "kick" out of it - pun intended. Or better yet, maybe he would get a sense of how humiliating labels can be, and limp his lame azz back to the drawing board.

In closing, U.S. Patent and Trademark Office, I want to give you "two snaps up in a V for Victory" and thank you once again for protecting the American people from the ego of a comedian so desperate for attention and money that he can't hear his ancestors screaming and spinning in their graves.

Respectfully,
chyman@blogspot.com

BLACK. WHITE. STILL UPTIGHT.

Back in the day, when I was in Junior High, (or Middle School as it's called today,) I remember reading a book called BLACK LIKE ME. It was written by a courageous white reporter who used a medical procedure to darken his skin so he could pass for a Black man.

I also vaguely recall a sixties comedy starring Godfrey Cambridge entitled, WATERMELON MAN, about a White man who woke up one day and to his horror discovered he had turned into a Black man. Flash forward forty years, and we now have BLACK. WHITE. a new documentary series on FX in which two families, one Black and one White, through the magic of Hollywood make-up, exchange races.

The White family; Bruno Marcotulli, his wife Carmen Wurgel, and her daughter Rose Bloomfield (yes, they all have different last names - how moderne is that!) leave their mono-ethnic lives in Santa Monica behind to share a Los Angeles home and trade races with the single-surname Sparks family, Brian, Renee, and their 17 year old son, Nick from Atlanta. They spend hours a day being transformed (still, the only ones who look convincing, at least physically, are Rose and her mother Carmen) and they set out to see what it's like, and how differently they will be treated because of the color of their skin.

On one of his earliest forays into the world as a White man, Brian is stunned when a shoe clerk in the pro shop of a golf course, actually takes off his shoes and puts his feet into the pair that he is considering purchasing. He immediately attributes this to racism, since he's never been treated with such deference when he's bought shoes as a Black man.

I find it less as a matter of race and more a matter of grace. I always had my shoes changed by salesmen, Black & White as I grew up in New York. Times have changed, and so has the idea of customer service - it's not automatically a racial thing. When Brian returned to the store as a Black man, the salesman didn't change his shoes. That didn't necessarily prove anything, because it was a different salesman. The episode begs the question, are Black people hyper-sensitive about race?

On the other side of the coin, Bruno thinks racism is in the eye of the beholder. He constantly expounds his 'skewpoint', that a positive attiude and a respectful demeanor are all that's needed to combat racisim. He pontificates on and on about how he can't wait until someone comes up and calls him a "nigger" to his face, because he will act like the word doesn't bother him at all and thereby diffuse their power. Bruno believes that's all Black people have to do, just get over it! (Trust me, Bruno, as one who has experienced this many times, you don't have a clue!) He's a classic pompous blowhard, but his attitude and smug indifference is rampant today.

Bruno's theory also points out the weakness in the premise of the show. Putting a person in blackface will not make them understand being Black any more than dressing a woman in mens' clothing and letting her strut around will make her understand the experience of getting a hard on. It's totally superficial. You are who you are underneath, no matter how much you are coached on Black speech or how to walk White.


Even with Bruno's cockeyed 'point of skew', he isn't the most irritating person on the show. That crown goes to Renee, the Black wife/mother. This pugnacious woman seems to always be looking for a fight. She's a pitbull hungry to snap her jaws shut on some pale ass - any pale ass!

In one instance, Renee and Carmen are being coached on Black/White dialect and vocabulary. At one point, Carmen says, "Yo, bitch" appros of nothing, just trying out her Black dialect and using one of the words on the list. Renee rolls her eyes and seethes. Later, she confronts Carmen, who tries to explain that she thought it was one of the ways Black girlfriends refer to each other, (which is not entirely untrue.) But schoolyard bully, Renee refuses to entertain Carmen's explanation, threatening that if Carmen ever calls her a bitch again she's going to find out who she's f*cking with! She keeps provoking Carmen until the woman winds up in tears. I was livid watching her pummel this woman who is at worst a bleeding-heart liberal who admits how isolated from Black people her life is, and craves a learning experience so she can grow. Carmen did not call Renee a bitch, but the fact of the matter is, in my opinion, Renee is a BITCH, in the worst connotation of the word.

Renee and her husband gang up on Carmen again when Carmen refers to a young, Black female poet as a "beautiful creature." They zero in on the word "creature" completely disregarding context or the spirit in which Carmen was trying to honor the poet. Are we as a people so closed off, and adamant about race that we can no longer discern intent or content? Perhaps that is what's truly fueling the racial divide today. If a person can't reach out without getting their fingers chewed off, why reach out at all?

There is a bright spot in the show for me, and that is Rose. She is an articulate, sensitive, smart and open young woman who is trying to use this experiment to learn, share and come to a better understanding of another race/culture. She looks the most convincing in her transformation than anyone on the show, yet she refuses to try to "act black" or pretend to be anything she's not. She joins a Black poetry workshop, and on the day the group first meets, they are asked about some of their favorite music artists. In the midst of those representing Kanye, Mary J and Tupac, Rose has the courage to keep it real and say, "I like The Cranberries." She is undaunted by the reactions of those who's only reference to 'cranberries' is the juice or can-shaped "sauce" that is as staple on many Black tables at Thanksgiving, (It ain't Thanksgiving without it to me. I love the way it jiggles yet holds the shape of the can. And how slice-able it is! But I digress...)

Rose observes, and remains refreshingly honest at all times. She finally, out of respect to the revelations and passion of the group and it's poetry, reveals to them that she is a White girl in blackface. She bravely opens herself up to their questions, criticisms, and the prissy reprimand of one of the "gayest" professed straight men to ever walk the earth. Still, she accepts his queeny tirade with grace, and wins the acceptance of the group, and the start of what is really important in the midst of all this razzle dazzle, the possibility of nurturing new friendships and new understanding.

I will continue to watch BLACK. WHITE. For all of it's irritating elements, the fact that race is being put forth and discussed on American television is a good thing. I've come in contact with too many people, mostly White, who refuse to believe race is still an issue. They categorize films like, CRASH as "too on the nose" or "like a TV movie" unaware that they are just reveling in their ignorance. They'd rather dismiss the film, instead of challenging themselves to get to the heart of why it struck such a chord in so many of their fellow citizens.

Racism is an iceberg in our society. Hulking, cold, and all the more dangerous because of what lies beneath the surface.

And Then There's CLAUDE!

It's been a week since the last time I've posted, and I really have missed it. I've been busy with a deadline and studying for my Spanish final. Well, I'm happy to say that the deadline was met, and I got a 94 on my final! Woo-hoo! Trust me, it ain't easy teaching and old brain new palabras, so that took a lot of effort on my part. Now that the chores have been done, it's time to get back to the bling of blog. A lot has been going on since last week, some of it inspiring, some of it disheartening, and then there's Claude...

I must admit, I had never heard of CLAUDE ALLEN before last week. I don't make a habit of following Black Republicans...or any republicans for that matter. That's dangerous. One should never turn one's back on the enemy. I'll try to do better from now on.

That is the same advice I would like to pass on to Claude Allen. Try to do better next time. When it you get the urge to commit a crime, commit one that befits your white collar status DAMMIT! What was a man of your stature doing ripping off TARGET and HECHT'S stores? What could possibly be more dumbfounding than a white collar brotha commiting blue collar crimes?

Claude, you big dummy, leave the petty theft to the ones who've earned the right; professional boosters, drug addicts, con artists, or the men, women, children and victims of Hurricane Katrina with no alternative because they've been backed into a dark and lonely economic corner by the administration you supported and advised!

Try to do better next time, Claude. Look around you, there are plenty examples of the level of white collar crime to which you should aspire; leak an FBI agents name to satisfy your vindictave boss, attempt the assasination of a wealthy business man and claim you were shooting quail, start a war for oil in the name of fighting terrorism and finding weapons of mass destruction that don't exist. Come on, Claude, MAN-UP! If you're going to be a Blacpublican, live up to the legacy, dawg.

Lawdy-lawdy, Mista Claudey, try to do better next time! To be in the position you were in, you were most likely already good at deluding yourself, turning your back on reality, and kissing bushy Texan ass! So next time, Claude, if you are hell bent on embarassing our race, do it with the style expected of you by your conservative constituents! Slap on some platinum and diamond Grillz, and commit real estate fraud, or set up a few dummy offshore companies to line your pockets, or fix and election, that should be easy to do, especially in Florida! That's the kind of action that would have kept you in the club, and you'd still have been the administrations 2nd favorite house Niggra!

Damn, brotha, you really f*cked up! Who's gonna sit at the West Wing cafeteria colored table and have lunch with Condi Rice now?

That's all I can stands, 'cause I can't stands no more!

BUH-BYE!

American Idol is shifting into third gear now. America has chosen the top 12, and thankfully we won't have to dedicate 3 nights of viewing a week anymore - at least not for awhile. Starting next week, there will be one performance show with the men and women performing, and one elimination show. They finally leave the claustrophobic studio, and move into a big soundstage with a large audience and larger band. Now, it really gets down to it, but before we move on, we must give our condolences to the fallen idols.

I was kind of sad to see Kinnik Sky get voted off. She had an elegance and assurance about her that will be missed. She seemed to be a very lovely well-spoken lady, but the way she killed Alicia Keyes' IF I AIN'T GOT YOU, sealed her fate. She was channeling Alicia "OFF" Keyes. Her performance was horrible on Tuesday, but much much better on Thursday after she was voted off. I guess her nerves were calm since her fate was sealed and she was able to sing better, but she was two days late and two dollars short, so we must say - BUH-BYE!

I'm surprised Will Makar was even a part of the final 24. If White Bread could sing, it would look and sound like Will. He is a very wholesome young man, and if this were the 70's he would probably be on the cover of Tigerbeat Magazine. He looks like Bobby Brady from THE BRADY BUNCH, down to his haircut! Who even cuts hair like that anymore? Take some advice from the song from the famous BRADY BUNCH episode where Bobby's voice was changing and they needed him to record a hit record: "When it's time to change, you've got to rearrange, who you are into what you're gonna be - sha na na na na na na na na! Sha na na na na! - BUH-BYE!"

I was sad to see Ayla Brown go. She took it very hard. Surprisingly, I grew to like her more and more each week. The judges said she made a mistake singing UNWRITTEN, but I like the song, and think she sang it just as well if not better than Natasha Bedingfield. Her sadness at the end was heartbreaking, especially paired with the lyrics she was singing that spoke about the future being unknown and UNWRITTEN. So sad to say - buh-bye!

It was a shock that Kevin made it through another week, but I don't mind since this FOOL was sent packing. GEDEON MCKINNEY is a freak of dentistry. How did so many teeth and so much disillusioned arrogance get packed into one skinny 17 year-old black boy? Whenever he spoke, he sounded like a second grader who just learned how to read. And when he went into his retro soul-crooner act, I felt he was just as pitiful as that fake-assed Sinatra that got voted off a couple of weeks ago. This week he gulped his way through WHEN A MAN LOVES A WOMAN, and ended it with his head titled back and his mouth opened so wide, that I backed away from the TV! I felt like a wildebeast at a watering hole just before being swallowed by a croccidile. This boy is creepy. He has madness in his eyes and a psycho smile. I wouldn't be surprised if in 20 years, we hear about him again, leading a group of religious fanatics to the Koo-aid and cyanide punch bowl. I guess you can say, this guy gives me the serious heebie-jeebies, and so I'm so happy to say - BUH-BYE!!!!

Gordon Parks

Another African-American icon has passed away. Gordon Parks was a photographer, journalist, poet, musician, author, and director. A true renaissance man, Mr. Parks was an inspiration to young African-Americans of my generation.

When I was about 9 or 10, I read the novel, THE LEARNING TREE, a fictionalization of Mr. Parks' own coming of age in the south. I loved this book, especially the section on his sexual awakening. As I recall, it happened during a hurricane, and this big black woman lay on top of the adolescent lead character to protect him from the storm, and he felt stirrings in his groin for the very first time. WHOO! That was a hot scene to me, LOL. I know I came back to those pages again and again.

Mr. Parks was the first African-American director to work for a major studio when he adapted, scored and directed the film version of THE LEARNING TREE. I remember thinking the movie was just okay. The hurricane scene was no where near as hot as the book, and I was disappointed. LOL

Mr. Parks' next film was the huge box-office hit, SHAFT! Man, I loved that movie back in the day. SHAFT is called the first in a long line of blaxploitation films. I don't agree with this assesment. SHAFT was an excellent detective/action picture that tapped into the community because it was honest, current, empowering, and directed by an artist.

The films that followed were cheap imitations made to pull droves of Blacks to the theaters, exploiting the fact that we were so hungry for images of ourselves on the big screen that we would settle for the crap Hollywood dished out. The Blacks were being 'exploited', we were definitely not the ones doing the 'exploiting'.

The only Blacks doing any 'exploiting' were the one exploiting the opportunities to finally earn a living as an actor. Pam Grier, Fred Williamson, Ron O'Neal, Judy Pace, Thalmus Rasulala and others were finally able to survive in Hollywood. They may never have been able to find work beyond the limited genre, but the were stars to us, but because they were all we had. (And to be perfectly honest, we always lined up to see Pam Grier movies because it seemed she had no qualms about showing her gi-normous breasteses in every picture!)


In 1972, Mr. Parks' directed SUPERFLY. Once again, he tapped into the zeitgeist of the generation. The clothes, the lingo, the names (we had a puppy who's middle name was Superfly, and my friend had a puppy who's name was Shaft. We would have chosen Shaft, but Phillip got there first.) The action and stories of Black men beating the system gave me and my group of 13-14 year old friends a feeling of empowerment from movies that was unavailable to my father or the generations of Black men that proceeded him.

The music from Mr. Parks' films was groundbreaking. Issac Hayes won an Oscar for THE THEME FROM SHAFT, a song that broke all the rules for Hollywood theme songs with it's R&B and gospel 'call and response' elements. Mr. Hayes paved the way for Three Six Mafia's Oscar win for sure!

The music from SUPERFLY was a revelation. Curtis Mayfield composed a score that transcended the film. Everyone had a copy of that album, or eight track tape for the car. To this day, I know most of the lyrics. They were lyrics that made me look at my environment with a critical eye that led to a deeper knowledge of what was destroying it. Peep this, and it's from memory!

PUSHERMAN
I'm yo mama,
I'm yo daddy
I'm that nigger
In the alley
I'm yo doctor
When you need
Want some coke?
Have some weed
You know me
I'm your friend
Your main boy
Thick and thin
I'm your pusher man.

Listening to these songs at 14, illuminated the danger of the temtations all around me. I credit Mr. Parks for the film and the music (without his groundbreaking work, Curtis Mayfield and Issac Hayes would never have been hired to score a movie) that empowered me and opened my eyes to the human and moral decay that saturated my community. He also infused me with the belief that I could be a part of the industry that manufactured the films I loved so much.

Bon Voyage, Mr. Parks! May you blaze as fine a trail in heaven as you have here on Earth.

The Envelope, PLEASE!

THE OSCARS have come and come and come and come and finally they are gone. The show felt really long to me, and the funny, touching and exciting moments were few and far between, but there were some beauts!

Three Six Maffia. Who the hell are they? I guess I'm not deep enough into hip-hop to know anything about them, but they did right a great song. I love IT'S HARD OUT HERE FOR A PIMP, and I'm glad it won. I was surprised and delighted. Finally, someone showed some excitement and enthusiasm for winning. I just hope they don't attach their Oscars to chains and wear them around their necks. Taraji P. Henson did a good job with the song, and even though they had to change some of the naughtier words, the whole performance worked. (I hear Tyra Banks was undercover as one of the hoes on stage during the number. Well, what can I say? If ya gotz to be a hoe, be an undercover hoe, yo!)

Brokeback Mountain's juggernaut was CRASHed. Can't say I didn't warn you. 1 out of every 4 members of the Academy are actors, and this was teh actor's favorite movie. It had lots of friends for them to vote for, it won the top prize at the SAG AWARDS, and it had lots of meaty roles. The actors branch bum rushed the show a few years ago when it was a forgone conclusion that SAVING PRIVATE RYAN was going to be the winner, and SHAKESPEARE IN LOVE, another actor's favorite, won for Best Picture.

I was ecstatic when TSOTSI won Best Foreign Film! It's really a great piece of work, and I can't encourage you all to see it on the big screen, it's magnificent. I was touched by the directors speech, but the beast part was seeing the two stars of the film in the audience, and having them actually get a shout out and stand up on camera. They deserved it. Amandla!

Almost everyone looked good last night, it makes the whole red carpet deal kind of boring. I long for Cher or Bjork to come back and show them how to make the front page of all the international newspapers. Still, there were some wrong turns on the way to the show.

Charlize Theron, great actress, not the best dresser. What was she trying to hide a hump with that giant bow? The whole thing was WRONG. The fit, the color, and that design! Looks like a leftover from a Project Runway challenge.

Now Paris Hilton, there just is no excuse for this celebretard. So much money, so little taste. Think of all the naked peacocks shivering in the cold, and for this! Quelle monstrosity! She gets two snaps way down, and a Napoleon Dynamite "IDIOT!"

The Oscars aren't the only place where people dress up...or dress out you could say. Check out the sisters at the SOUL TRAIN AWARDS.

VIVECA A FOX what the hell are you thinking these days. With all the botox, colored lenses, hair and pancake make-up, one would think you're having a rough time dealing with the fact that you are in your FORTIES!!! Stop the madness now, V! She could be the poster girl for a new law requiring women to show their ID before buying Hoochie Couture. But, I guess Viveca is doing the best she can, afterall she was hosting the show and to paraphrase an Oscar winning ditty - You know, it's hard out here for a hoe!

TICHINA ARNOLD, John Goodman from MONSTER'S INC called, he wants his arms back. What the hell was she thinking? A few nights prior, she won an NAACP IMAGE AWARD. After seeing the kind of image she portrays in this outfit, somebody ought to slap her upside the head and take the award back. Poor thang, she thinks she's looking fly, she even matched her eye shadow to her hairy arms. LOL

I think Jennifer Lopez was the best dressed woman at the Oscars. Her dress was a shade of green no one else wore. She looked elegant and sexy. Way to go, J LO. We've been missing you. Time to get back up on the screen.

Well, that's all for now. Until next year, "Goodnight Mrs. Calabash, wherever you are!"

OSCARS!

Today is Academy Award Day here in Los Angeles. This is a high holy holiday in this town, the reason no one in L.A. gives up hubris for Lent.

Ever since I was a child, I've been dazzled by the Oscars. I still am, even though I've been around this business long enough to know that most awards are just popularity contests. Trust me, if George Clooney weren't so popular in this town, there is no way he would be up for any awards, or GOOD NIGHT & GOOD LUCK would be nominated for best picture. Don't get me wrong, it's not a bad film, it's an 'important' film, the kind of historical dramas they used to take you to see on school trips. Boring, slow, but important. And SYRIANA, was a mish-mash of politico-babble that refused to let the audience in on what the hell was going on. Clooney gained thirty pounds to play his role. Whoop-de-doo! I can gain thirty pounds, bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan and never let you forget you're a man! No biggie.



Everyone predicts that BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN will win Best Picture, although some are looking out for an upset with CRASH taking the prize. They were both good movies, but neither is my choice for best picture. For my money there was only one film this year that lived up to everything I feel a movie going experience should be, and that picture was:

KING KONG
Many people will scoff at that choice, but I don't give a hoot. KING KONG mesmerized me. People say it was too long, I didn't look at my watch once. I was engrossed from the beginning until the end. I've been a fan of the director, Peter Jackson, for a long time, but not because of THE LORD OF THE RING cycle. Frankly, I found those films boring and indulgent, and I had to watch them on DVD to catch up with the stories because I would always fall asleep watching them in the theaters - talk about LONG, those movies felt interminable to me.
I was a Peter Jackson fan because of HEAVENLY CREATURES one of his earliest and most brilliant films. To watch his artistry in bringing KING KONG to the screen was like church to me. I laughed, I was thrilled, I was on the edge of my seat (when those T-Rexes were after the girl!) and by the end, I was in tears. I saw this movie three times in theaters and will be there on the first day when it comes out on DVD. I expect it will be a big hit then, because people will get to see what they missed in the comfort of their own homes. Too bad for them, because to see it on the big screen - well, it was amazing, and that's what movies are for.

Back to the nominees, I'll just list my favorites.

BEST ACTOR

I loved HUSTLE & FLOW, and I think Terrance Howard turned in a brilliant performance as DJay, the brokeass pimp with a dream. I was relieved to see him nominated. This is a really tough year because the Best Actor category is rich with deserving performances.


Phillip Seymour Hoffman in CAPOTE was amazing. He mastered the same magic trick Jamie Foxx did last year; taking a recognizable real person with loads of affectations and imitatable qualities and creating a flesh & blood character, not a mere impersonation. Mr. Hoffman will probably win, and he is deserving for his spectacular performance.

Heath Ledger's performance in BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN haunts me until this day. The depth of his characterization touched me. I first realized what a good actor he was from the small part he played in MONSTERS BALL a few years ago. He's truly lived up to his potential. I doubt he'll win this year, but I'd imagine he'll be back in the race real soon.

BEST ACTRESS

There is really only one contender in this category for me and that is Felicity Huffman.
I'm am prepared to be disappointed because of the Reese Witherspoon (most popular, homecoming queen 2006) will probably take the Oscar home. Too bad. Hollywood wants Reese to win, because she is young and pretty and putting Oscar Winner in front of her name will mean more money at the box office for years to come.
Still, Felicity's performance was an amazing transformation. She descended deep into the character of this troubled man looking to save his life. She found humor, pathos, grit, edge and heart in her performance. Unfortunately, she's not the ingenue that studios think will make big bucks, and Reese is repping the only studio film to have major nominations this year, so the big machine is behind her. Still, stranger things have happened. When Hillary Swank won for BOYS DON'T CRY, it was the most deserving of upsets. Hopefully, history will repeat itself tonight.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTORS

Amy Adams in JUNEBUG was a joy to behold. Funny and enthusiastic, she was the life of the movie, until the end when she lost her baby, then she was the heart of the movie. Her scenes in the hospital alone deserve an academy award. Best of luck to you, Amy.

I hated Matt Dillon in the first part of CRASH, then I grew to understand him, and how his character represented flaws in us all. And after years of light comic, and second leading man roles, that was quite an achievement. His work is the most outstanding in this category in my opinion, and I think he just might surprise everyone and take home the golden boy. Although, I wouldn't be mad if William Hurt took home the prize for his 10 minute scene stealing turn as a mobster in A HISTORY OF VIOLENCE, which is one of the most overlooked films of the year.

Well, we've already discussed who's going to win best picture. If Ang Lee doesn't win for Best Director, well, there is just no justice.
I'm looking forward to the red carpet shows on E!. I used to watch Joan and Melissa, but since they've moved to the Siberia of the TV GUIDE Channel for bigger bucks (who can blame them) they don't get a prime spot on the carpet anymore, and Joan's brain has fossilized, and I just can't stand to hear her lie about how 'beautiful' her homely daughter is anymore.
So, I'm sticking with E!, so I can see everyone and make fun of them while I stuff my face with chips, dip and Buffalo Wings. Hey, that's the same menu we had on Super Bowl Sunday. Guess why they call this the Gay Super Bowl. Chris Rocks statement that only gay men are interested in the Oscars is probably true. The good thing is we don't have to sit through his lame jokes this year!

Hooray for Hollywood - such as it is.

THE CLOSER

TNT has a new series, well, it's not brand new, it premiered over the summer when I was shall we say, out of service, so I missed the entire run. This winter they started an encore run of THE CLOSER and it is my favorite new show on television.

THE CLOSER is a drama (although sometimes it's hella funny, too) starring Kyra Sedgwick as offbeat, tough-as-nails homicide investigator Brenda Johnson. Brenda is from Atlanta, but moves to California to head up a special unit of the Los Angeles Police Department that handles high-profile murder cases. Brenda is tapped to lead the unit because she is a world class interrogator, and when it comes to obtaining confessions, she is a closer - hence the title, y'all!

I fell in love with this character in the first scene of the first episode when one of the macho detectives she's assigned to work with calls her a bitch and she replies cooly, "If I put up with being called a bitch to my face, I'd still be married." I whooped it up when I heard this, and Brenda Johnson has had my full attention ever since.

Brenda is incharge of the unit which is filled with resentful men, who hate working for a woman. In this sense the show reminds me of the great British series PRIME SUSPECT, starring Helen Mirren. Yet, Brenda is a whole 'nother animal. She is a southern belle made out of titanium. She dishes it out, then follows up with the sweetest "Thank kwue!" in her best magnolia & Southern Comfort accent. She's a fish out of water in Los Angeles, always struggling to find her way around with a Thomas Guide. She's constantly tempted to eat junk food, and is the worst housekeeper this side of Rosanne Arnold. I love her!

Brenda is teamed with Corey Reynolds as Sgt. David Gabriel, a young African-American who grows to respect Brenda as he witnesses her skill and tenacity. Corey was a Tony Nominee for HAIRSPRAY on Broadway. His performance is cool and professional, and the way he plays off Sedgwick makes them a memorable team.

JK Simmons plays Brenda's boss, and although he is good in the role, I can't help recalling the bullying/rapist/Nazi he played for years on OZ. He still gives me the creeps.

THE CLOSER did great in it's first run on TNT, setting a record of 7 million viewers on it's debut. Where the hell was I? Me no know, but I know now. THE CLOSER is one of the best shows on television. Do yourself a favor and ch-ch-check it out!

Okay, here we go 'yall! American Idol weekend wraaaaaaaaaaap up! The show wasn't great this week. I still spend most of my time wondering how these people even made it to Hollywood, but there were some stand out performances and some stand-out stinkers. Let's start with the stinkers, they're way more fun.


¡ADIOS, PROSTITUTA!
Lately, when I arrive at my Tuesday morning spanish class, my teacher Laura and I spend a few minutes talking about American Idol. Laura called Brenna "Prostituta" because of the way she constantly poses and flaunts her body. She had me ROTFL when she imitated her. And now she's gone. And DAMMIT, she deserved to go. She can't sing! Her voice is so less than ordinary.
She also made a cardinal mistake by chosing to sing LAST DANCE, because it become prophetic. Just like a few years ago when one of the forgotten Black guys sang YOU CAN'T WIN from THE WIZ. He got voted off the next night, and had to sing YOU CAN'T WIN again, and all I could do is nod and think, "Well, I guess you're right." Same thing with Prostituta, as she sang, "Last dance, last chance," I just nodded my head thinking, "Well, I guess you're right."

Brenna had the nerve to give a shout out to Clive Davis telling him to call her so they can make some money. I guess she must think Clive is peddling flesh now, because the only way Prostituta is going to make money with that throat is by... well, this is a family blog so I won't get graphic but y'all know what I'm talking about.

Buh-bye HEATHER COX
I'm sorry to see Heather Cox go, because my partner and I had so much fun making jokes about her name whenever she sang. Stupid jokes like, "If Heather Cox married the brother of exotic dancer Dita Von Teese, she'd be Heather Cox Teese!" LOL, so they're corny, so what, we're stupid that way!
Anywho, Heather had the nerve to try to sing Mariah's HERO. Let's put it this way, by the end of the song she needed one. And DAMMIT, she deserved to go! The sad part is she thought she sounded good. Hopefully, she recanted after she saw the show on tape. If not, she's got a tin ear and better go into business with Prostituta - I hear they've got openings at the Chicken Ranch.

Sayanara Fake-ass Sinatra!
This kid is one of the archtypes the judges feel compelled to bring to the finals every year. Some schmuck who croons like Sinatra, Harry Connick or Michael Buble. Poor kid, David is only seventeen, and he has this goofy grin (probably because his two front teeth are off center and he could use some serious time with a top orthodontist) but his voice has so much vibrato and his demeanor is so dorky that DAMMIT he deserved to go!

SWAY THATAWAY
I must admit, I had a soft spot for this little guapito who goes by the name Sway. But somewhere along the way, he lost his swagger. Beside not being able to control that sweet falsetto, he also appeared uncomfortable and nervous during his performances. His eyes kept shifting away from the camera, making me wonder what he was looking at - if it was so interesting, I wanted to see it, too! I think Sway has a nice voice, but this stage fright and knack for picking songs that he can't conquer makes me have to say - DAMMIT, he deserved to go!

But in my heart, Kevin aka Chicken Little deserved to go more. I'll just have to wait until next week for the sky to fall and hit him on the head.

THE BEST OF THE REST!

ELLIOT is wicked smooth. He was outstanding singing James Moody's "MOODY'S MOOD FOR LOVE." He repected the song, yet made it his own. His voice is full, strong, cool and made for Quiet Storm radio airplay. He seems pretty level headed too (although, he should go along with David to the nearest orthodontist.) I could see Elliot go all the way to the top three, he's just that fresh.


CHRIS has got it going on. He sang some rock song that I've never heard of because I'm not a big fan of hard rock music, but a great singer is a great singer and this little piggy has CHOPS! Simon was right when he pointed out that he was the guy to beat because he's current and you can see him being on the charts and filling stadiums. His voice and his stage demeanor are way out ahead of the rest. And to top it all off, he seems like a caring family man. What more could you ask for?

Well, these guys were the best of the week to me. Let's home more people make the list next week when the final 12 are finally announced and the show moves from that claustrophobic studio onto the big stage.

OH YEAH, ONE MO' THANG!

This crazy dude, SHANE from SURVIVOR is our neighbor! My partner and I were driving down the hill the other day when we saw him. I stopped the car, and said, "Hey Survivor!" He came over to the window and I almost called him a "crazy motherf*cka!" to his face! But I restrained myself.
He was a total 3 pack-a-day nicotine addict when he arrived on the island, and had to go cold turkey. He has been tweaking ever since on the show. Acting a Primetime Fool! And so, when we saw him on the street, I asked him if he quit smoking? He grinned sheepishly and held up a pack of Malboros that he had just picked up from the store. He's back on the filter. What a shame. He really is a lunatic, but he makes great TV!

I gotz ta go. Y'all come back now, hear?

The Song That Never Ends

I remember the day you came home. The day you came back to me, when you were 21. I was in the bedroom folding clothes while repeating to myself over and over, “doblar la ropa, doblar la ropa, estoy doblando la ropa, estoy doblando la ropa.” It’s one of the tricks I’d learned to make a new language stick to an old brain. Repetition. It’s magical if you have the patience.

The doorbell rang interrupting my mantra. I reached for the remote and muted Oprah. As I headed for the stairs, I was thinking how powerful a piece of molded plastic and four double A batteries had made me. In an instant, with the push of a button, I was able to mute the Queen of all media. The thought tickled me as I climbed the stairs wondering who was at the door. I was not expecting anyone. Could have been UPS with another package. “Por el amor de Dios,” what book that I’m never going to read have I ordered now?

I opened the door and couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you see me see you. Your lips curled and parted revealing those Chicklets I fought so hard to make you brush dilligently. You waved. I swooned, and raced to unlock the gate.

You came crashing into me, your arms finding their place around my neck. You are the reason God gave me shoulders. You’ve owned this space since you were a tiny little thing, with huge translucent eyes, roasted almond skin, and sausage arms stuffed with baby fat, the absolute sweetest fat in the world. Oh, my darling, every time you hug me, it’s like the first time. The woolen sleeve of your candy-colored coat brushes my cheek. I am besieged by the fragrance of honeysuckle. My girl. There are no words for what you do to my heart.

As I helped drag your suitcases inside, you giggled about how you meant to surprise me, and how we had to keep your arrival a secret until dad got home from the restaurant, and oh how the look on my face was priceless.

You fell onto the couch and pulled off that tangerine knit ski cap, and my chin fell to my chest. Your hair. That beautiful jet black tangle of wires, you’d cut it all off. You told me how it was a nuisance during your travels. How the sand flies would take up residence within the waves as you journeyed through the Calamari, (our in-joke way of saying ‘Kalahari’.) My head wouldn’t stop shaking from side to side as you assured me, “It’s only hair, Papi, it’ll grow back.” I frowned and replied, “Lies! Mine didn’t!”

As we lay across your bed, looking at image after color soaked image on your laser pod multi-function screen, I was struck by the smiles of the children, and the sound of their laughter. How quick their eyes were, how knowing, how deep. Their eyes echoed in yours.

You told me how you taught them “The Song That Never Ends” on my birthday, as a way of celebrating me from across the world. You were convinced I felt it, and as I buried my face in what was left of your hair, I was convinced, too. I began to sing, muffled against your skull. You joined in. Quiet at first, building speed and volume until we were on our knees bouncing on the bed.

This is the song that never ends
It just goes on and on my friends
Some people started singing it
Not knowing what it was
And they’ll continue singing it
Forever just because
This is the song that never ends
It just goes on and on...

I open my eyes. The gold-plated afternoon light hangs softly all around me. The mint green sheets and down-filled comforter have absorbed my body heat. I am a toasty burrito. The antsy white window shade, conducted by a breeze, bangs out a rhythm against the sill. The remote control is on the pillow next to my head, it’s grown accustomed to sleeping there. The red an green lights of the DVR glow. It’s after three. Must be recording Oprah. My winter house uniform, inside-out sweatshirt and checked pajama bottoms, lie piled on top of the hardwood floor at the side of the bed where I dropped them before settling in for the most luxurious of luxuries - the afternoon nap. La siesta, la siesta, la siesta. This was a good one. I slept for at least 45 minutes, and I was dreaming...

I rise up on my elbows and look across the room at the green marble child’s urn on the mantle. Throw back the covers and run naked across the floor. It was you! You came to me again. I rest my head against the cold marble that holds the ashes of a 21 week old life. You were still born, and yet you still live in me. It’s been 10 months, and no one else understands, so it’s our secret. In dreams we carry on as if tragedy had passed us by. In dreams our relationship has texture, nuance and breath, but...

Oh, my sweet babygirl, you trouble me, when you show up unannounced.
You trouble me, when you smile at me from those Johnson’s baby product commercials.
You trouble me, when you catch my eye as you roll by in your stroller, at The Grove.
You trouble me, because I see your echo in their eyes.
You trouble me, because it may be days or weeks before I can let you go again.
You trouble me, but I don’t want you to stop.
I am the tortured man on the rack, begging for more. More. Más y más y más.

Josslyn, my sweet babygirl. Even when I sleep, you won’t let me go. You are the song that never ends