Friday Feel-Good Tune: “Get Me Bodied” by Beyonce

All hail the Queen of onesies, for she is a bad Bey.

While you were sleeping, Beyoncé dropped an album last night and basically upset the cosmos. The Beyhive is abuzz, folks. Tread lightly.

Although I’m probably her core demographic (black female, 18-45), I’ve never loved Bey like the rest of Black Girl Nation (and the world) seems to. Her videos outperform her music sonically, to me; she undoubtedly is a wonder to watch. I dig a few songs here and there, but her “I’m the baddest,” “This booty is too much for you menz” “Bow down bishes and stunt on heaux” sassy tell-em-girl aesthetic never quite fit into my mellow tendencies. With one exception.

“Get Me Bodied” is my dance break theme song, the tune that pulls me out the chair in a club I don’t want to be in and makes me drop down low and sweep the flo’ with it. I unabashedly love this song and will act an entire fool.

While I’m still debating whether not cop her newest release just for the 17 videos, I’m definitely going to get a chair dance going off “Get Me Bodied” alone. Here’s the extended mix, just so you can get 101% of your life together.

Happy Friday, people!

Ashy Larry Logic is Alive and Well in Atlanta (A Shady Story)

No amount of lotion can fix inner ashiness. Get right, sir.

One thing is for certain: if you’ve never seen an Ashy Larry, you know for sure what one is when you meet him. Originally, the trifling character of Ashy Larry featured on Chappelle’s Show. But I never knew what #AshyLarry the hashtag was before I got on Twitter this year. Per its originator, blogger Auntie Peebz of dirtyPrettythangs.com:

…I came to regard all things bad, unattractive, base, ignorant and flat-out undesirable as “ashy.” Ashy is not about how you look. No, not necessarily. It is a state of being.

With that definition, allow me to introduce you to the ashy candidate I met one fateful evening at Pappadeaux in north metro Atlanta. By all rights, it should have been a perfect night; I gussied myself to wish a friend well on her move. Isis and I sat in the balmy summer air people watching and talking, waiting for the hostess to call our party.

A tallish guy with locs twisted down his back strolled into our view. We nodded politely but he stopped in front of us and introduced himself as Andre*. His black shirt, appropriately thin for the August humidity, stretched schmedium against his biceps. Fishing in his pocket, he handed us each a laminated business card that proclaimed him a seller of weaves. I dropped the card into my purse carelessly. I don’t do Yaky.

Shameless plug: I make writing prettyful on a freelance basis!

I will out myself as a social noob here. The ink was barely dry on the mini-business cards I’d bought to market myself as a freelance writer, and I was excited. Too excited, maybe, to realize that my cell number was on the card. I’m not naturally self-promoting, so I challenged myself to exchange business contact information with everyone who initiated it. I grinned and told him, “Let’s trade!” and introduced my hustle like he did his. He took my card, wished us a good evening, and went on his way.

Isis and I decided to sit at the bar and sip drinks while we waited for the other ladies. Engrossed in our conversation, I was oblivious to everything around me until the familiar two-toned dings sounded from my cell phone. I checked the message, surprised to find an unknown number.

UNKNOWN: Hi
UNKNOWN: It’s Andre
UNKNOWN: Smile

The last message startled me. Who tells you to smile when they aren’t looking at you? My head popped up and swiveled left to right. Across from the bar sat Andre-the-seller-of-weaves, sitting at a booth with his phone in his hands. The woman sitting across from him was a pretty chocolate brown lady with a pixie haircut. A thin line of a smile flashed across my face then disappeared. I did my best to turn my back to him.

“Girl,” I whispered to Isis. “That dude. He’s across from us. Texting me. While on a date. With another girl! GIRL!!!”

Who does that?!” she said.

Who does that? Ashy Larry, that’s who. Even if I gave him the benefit of the doubt and assumed he didn’t see my wedding ring, what kind of man flirt texts a woman he just met while he’s on a date?

We ignored Andre-the-seller-of-weaves (and his lovely date) and were seated at our table in the back of the restaurant with the other ladies. The drinks were flowing, the laughter bubbling, when my cell phone dinged.

UNKNOWN: Where did you go?
UNKNOWN: Where are you sitting?

I rolled my eyes, flabbergasted. I refused to text him a response, afraid of somehow encouraging more bad behavior. I felt bad for the lady at his booth waiting for him to stop texting. Maybe it was his sister or cousin, I reasoned. I hoped.

This is a sign in Little 5 Points, Atlanta. Clearly it applies to the entire city. SMH.

If anything, this incident taught me to be careful passing out my business card to any old seller of weaves who hands me their hustle flyer. I never considered the potential for unwanted messages or phone calls.

I will admit that I’ve been out of the dating game for the better part of a decade, and I’ve never dated in Atlanta, which is notorious for shenanigans.

 

But is this common practice? Was this my fault? Do people mack (I’m showing my age) other people while their dates are sitting across from them? Help me out here, ya’ll. 

*Andre’s name was changed to protect the ashy.

Being an Introvert Kind of Makes Me a Jerk

But what if you still suck after all these concessions?

Few things suck worse than engaging in introspection and realizing you are not the shining exemplar of humanity you’d like to be. We’re coming up on the close of 2013, and, reflecting on the past year, I see some things I am not proud of. Let me explain.

The Internet, which I secretly believe is run largely by introverts, has pulled back the covers on introversion and made it a Thing. I am a strange kind of introvert: I love interacting with people, conversing…but I become reserved and withdrawn when there are too many of them around me. Sure, I want to go to your party! But I will never be the coolest kid there, unless you talk to me one-on-one.

The worst aspect of my introversion is rather stubborn aversion to conflict. My social failings cause me to avoid awkward situations at all costs, so I am tactful and politically correct, to a fault. I rarely ruffle feathers on purpose. If I don’t want to do something, I tend to communicate it passive-aggressively, rather than directly.

But there comes a time in every introvert’s life when she has to put on her big girl Vickies and step to the plate. It’s called being an adult. Most of the time, I succeed at busting down the dread that suffuses me when I think of having to do an unpleasant social task. This year, though, I failed. I put myself in some unnecessarily awkward situations–and hurt some people–because I refused to speak up and rectify the problem.

Deathbulge, “Jerk,” 2013, by Scott McCloud

This has haunted me a bit. It’s a stain on my stellar year to see those glaring failures of character and wish I had done better, knowing it was fully within my grasp to do so. God don’t like ugly, and He lets me know it. Worse, I know I have marred the outward perception of myself as a “nice person.” Frankly, I’ve been a jerk to people this year. Missed calls and thank yous, failed to relay important information, avoided difficult conversations–all because I didn’t want to be uncomfortable.

But I’m uncomfortable anyway, knowing that I owe people multiple apologies. I have been considering writing letters by hand and snail mailing them, but I’m not sure if even this would be a cop out. Writing is both strength and crutch for me. It’s my most powerful communicative tool, but it allows me to sidestep the crucial verbal aspect of interpersonal relationships. I do crave the barrier of paper to shield me from having to put myself out there in conversation, to vocalize the words, “I apologize. I was wrong,” and physically face the music.

In the end, my using introversion as an excuse is also a class-A jerk move. All this could be avoided if I was an extrovert; I could leap awkward conversations with a single bound then! Right. I am actively trying to overcome my reservations about certain relationships, speak my mind, and be a better person for it. But until then, this introvert will have to look herself in the mirror and live with that patch of ugly on her personality.

Are you an introvert or an extrovert? How do you deal with conflict and hard conversations? 

Is Sallie Mae Helping or Harming Black Millennials?

For almost the past 50 years, there has been a shift in the American Dream of success, especially in regards to black families. Civil rights laws opened doors to education. Colleges and universities began to flood with women and minorities who previously weren’t welcomed at institutions of higher learning. By the time the generation of Americans called Millennials were born in the early 1980s, “go to college” was a required step in adulthood.

A degree should equip students with skills and knowledge they need to be productive members of society. And for many black families who are sending their first generation of college students off, this is the first step of building wealth. The formula hasn’t been so simple, however. Graduating into the yawning mouth of a recession, many Millennials find themselves both jobless and penniless, their dreams swallowed up in a harsh reality.

In mainstream media, the growing sentiment is that the “microwave generation” is lazy and doesn’t want to work hard for their success. Last week, blogger Sydette Harry sparked a conversation on Twitter with her hashtag #millenialsofcolor, alternately (and correctly) spelled #millennialsofcolor.

The topic resonated with me. Consequently, ah, I went off on Twitter.

I’ve been talking informally about the student loan crisis in America for a while now. Student loan debt has reached $1 trillion dollars and defaults are through the roof. I have several issues with student loans and the company Sallie Mae, which often serves as a stand-in target for this topic.

First, a little background. It wasn’t always so easy to take out a student loan prior to the passage of the Higher Education Act of 1965. This legislation enabled institutions to offer financial aid for students unable to afford the cost of college. In 1978, the Bankruptcy Code eliminated the ability to discharge student loans like other debt, and the 1990s saw other laws passed restricting that discharge to a hard-to-prove undue hardship clause.

Even with these stark consequences, many people still take out student loans…because they have little other choice. The cost of college has risen over 1205% percent since Millennials were first born in 1980. Arguably, this has affected the entire country adversely, but the gap between rich, poor, and the dwindling middle class is only growing wider. Higher education costs mean that more poor people (27.4% are black) cannot afford college. Without college, they cannot find decent-paying jobs. So, for them, student loans are a beneficial Catch-22.

During school, none of my peers knew their projected monthly loan payments. I believe that one great failing of higher ed and the loan industry is not adequately preparing students for the anvil that is to come. There should be yearly, semesterly, or quarterly counseling and regular updates as to the actual dollar amount that will be required.

Once you graduate, the reality of your student loan payment hits you very quickly. At the beginning of the recession, in 2007, it took me three months to find a job. I’ve known people for whom it took longer. Most student loan payments are due within six months of graduation. You may defer, but even that has adverse financial consequences in terms of interest accrual and loan amortization.

I know of little to no people who have been able to wrest the albatross of student loans from around their neck. There are plenty of links on the Sallie Mae website to counsel you to avoid default, but very little help once you are in it. No mercy and no mitigating circumstances. That payment, sometimes upwards of $500 monthly, prevents saving and investing, and can detract from the ability to take out mortgages or fund children’s college tuition. Baby Boomer black parents, already facing bleak retirement prospects, must take responsibility for those payments if they co-signed for their adult child’s student loan.

I have long wanted to preach the gospel of “Avoid Student Loans!” to high school students. But this would be unfair and hypocritical. I took out a small loan in graduate school and was able to pay it off, but that was nearly a decade ago. Costs have risen since then, and it may be impossible for students with financial hardship to attend school without loans. Without a vocational plan, telling kids to skip college is akin to sentencing them to lower salaries. But are we not currently asking them to mortgage their futures with Sallie…so they can’t afford a real mortgage later?

For as many testimonies that I hear about the crippling debt black Millennials are carrying, I hear mingled amounts of regret and pride. Not one student regrets attending school. We are some brilliant people, ya’ll. We’re carrying the load, sometimes struggling, but our parents taught us to be hustlers. The grind doesn’t stop at graduation.

And for our children, we can’t stop. We have to be proactive with the next generation and teach them how to smartly manage their debt, if they choose that route. But we also need to advocate for more nuanced underwriting of student loans. We cannot saddle 18-25 year-olds with the debt load of a small mortgage without allowing for future wages and earnings. We have to fight for fairer rules for discharge in bankruptcy and mitigated higher education costs.

Because I don’t want to be afraid that allowing my daughter to attend college will constitute the worst decision of her young life.

Friday Feel-Good Tune: “Get Lucky” by Daft Punk

The mysterious manbots of Daft Punk.

How do I love Pharrell Williams? I have already counted the ways, so I won’t tire you all with another Skateboard P post. Another day. perhaps.

I remember reading earlier this year that “Get Lucky” would not be the Song of the Summer because “Blurred Lines” would reign supreme. Although that article turned out to be absolutely correct, I never loved Robin Thicke’s summer jam as much as I did this one. Both songs borrow heavily from two black musical icons (Marvin Gaye and Michael Jackson) and both were produced by Pharrell.

My Bean and I have had no less than three dance parties featuring this song. I do my best sh’mon impression and she wiggles her non-existent hips from side-to-side. Since this tune has made me feel pretty good in 2013, I found it a worthy candidate for a Friday Feel-Good Tune.

*Nota Bene: Speaking of feeling good (or not) I’ve been battling a nasty case of pharyngitis this week, hence the wacky Mon, Thurs, Fri posting. I should be up and at ’em again next Mon, Wed, Fri, per usual. 

Happy Friday, ya’ll; hope this weekend finds you doing things that make you feel good!