I Love Black People

I am not a racist. I have black people in my family. My aunt is married to a black man and he was invited to my sister’s wedding. Yes, I know that I am not my sister, but I would totally invite him to my wedding.

A lot of times black people just assume that I am racist. One reason is the way I look. I am pale white with blue eyes and flaxen blonde hair. I’m a Nellie Olsen looking motherfucker. If it were Prairie times, I have slave-owner written all over me. The second reason is I’m from Boston, apparently the racist capital of America. Forget the Bible belt, if you mention you’re from Boston and have a last name starting with a Celtic prefix, you might as well be wearing a hood. I try to tell people I come from the Kennedy part of Boston, not the Marky Mark part of Boston, but that just seems to make things worse.

I have black friends. I have a black director and black co-stars. I have even dined with the esteemed Baratunde Thurston, author of How To Be Black. We sat at the W Hotel’s Spike Lee table! I realize I’m name-dropping black people names and maybe that’s just desperate ways to get you to think that I’m not racist. Here are some more: My favorite indie actor is Don Cheadle. My favorite baseball player is David ‘Big Papi ‘ Ortiz. My favorite basketball player is Paul Pierce. My favorite football player was Asante Samuel until he defected to the Eagles. My favorite teacher could have been black if my University had hired any. That one’s not on me.

I don’t know how much more I can make it clear to you that I’m not racist. I like black people as much as I could like ANY human being. I mean I’m not much of a people person in general. As far as people go, some of the black ones I’ve met have been pretty great. I feel like maybe all this groveling is maybe sounding a bit racist but whatever I can do to convince you. You see, the other night I flinched.

I was booked on a performance with four other amazing performers at Comedy Central. Another performer that night was a wonderful and hilarious gentleman, an African American who did a piece on how white women are crazy, especially the ones he dated, and sometimes a little racist.

I, personally, had a bitchy tidal wave of a week filled with a disappointing dickbag, a hit-and-run car smash up, and pet cancer. I had to pull deep inside my good ole Scot stoicism that solders a steely shield and holds in the tears that come out every 200 years, like Brigadoon. That rock hard badassery got me through the show and helped me kick some ass.

In the swirl of the after party, I finally had a second to reflect on my horrible week and I got lost in my head for a moment. I felt a tap on my shoulder and I hunched my shoulders a bit. I turned around and saw it was the black guy from my show. Oh no! Not the black guy. Anybody but the black guy! He’s gonna think I’m racist and that I flinched because he is black. Sure enough…

“Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to touch you…”

I could have told him I didn’t know that it was him. Or that he had startled me. Or that my week had been like a piñata stuffed with human waste that had burst everywhere. I could have told him that.

But instead I made it worse:

“I have a bad shoulder.”

“You have a bad shoulder? Oh, it’s like THAT. That’s a new one. I’ve got to write that one down.”

“No really! I fell hiking!”

The fact was I did have a bad shoulder. I am a clumsy fool. But I’m no racist.

I asked him if I could give him a hug. He begrudgingly agreed. I took a running start and gave him a massive bear hug. It lasted so long that most people around us began to get uncomfortable. I think I would have given him a blowjob if it would sort out race relations. Hell, I think I would have given white guilt head to anyone in Affirmative Action at that moment just to smooth things out. For someone who doesn’t like most people, I sure do want everyone to get along.

You know what this means. I’m definitely going to have to vote for Obama again. That should prove to you that I’m not racist. I do love having a black president. I just really wish he wasn’t a Muslim.

Are You Cat Mom Enough?

The times, they are a changing. The traditional family is no longer so traditional. Marriage is being fought over on an international level, and yet it seems fewer and fewer people want to enter into that contract.

Many women find that while having a healthy career, they don’t have time for a baby or don’t want a baby. Or perhaps their dating pool is genetically inferior. Or missing altogether. But women can always make room in their hearts for a cat baby!

 

Kittens are so cute! Who doesn’t like a kitten? If YouTube and the Internet is any proof, the WHOLE DAMN WORLD loves kittens. So why all the hate when kittens become cats…and they happen to live with women? There is a disturbing misogyny out there that permeates our society: why is a woman that has a cat baby weird, undesirable, or unfit to be wed? That woman you hate on is just a single mom!

Somehow being overly attached to a human baby you have is fine. Even a dog fetish seems acceptable. Nine out of ten times if someone is pushing a baby carriage through the streets of Los Angeles, you can bet there is a dog in it. In today’s society you can bring your baby or your dog to parties, games, movies, malls, even to restaurants. It’s called attachment parenting. However, if you brought your cat? You’re the eccentric, weird cat lady with issues. Society should think long and hard about the idea of bringing your baby everywhere. Mommy and me yoga classes? How unrelaxing.

Attachment parenting for a newborn kitten is an exception and should be practiced. I’m a proud cat mom. True, my kitten did not come from my loins, but that doesn’t make her any less loved. Adopted babies belong in a family just as much as birthed babies. And I won’t have anyone slight her for it.

I raised a colicky kitten. She cried and cried. I let her feed as much as she wanted, whenever she wanted. She shared my bed and still does. I try to teach her to use her own bed, but she just loves to sneak in with me and she’s just so sweet and cute. I can’t say no to her. It’s hard to say no to your baby!

People may talk about me or tell me I’m not doing my cat any favors. They say I’m raising her to be a monster. They say ‘what you permit you promote’. Well they aren’t raising her. It’s not their cat baby, so they can butt out!

My boyfriend does get annoyed sometimes, but he just has to deal with cat baby and me. She has been around longer, after all. And what happens if he doesn’t want to deal with it? Well, there are more men where he came from. And what if those men don’t want to deal with my baby, either? Well, I’ve been raising my life partner from the cradle. The cat’s cradle, if you will. So I’m covered any way you look at it.

Photo credit: Michael Rababy

Serato Is Not A Pasta – DJ Intervention Starts Now

I’ve written many times before about the difference between a legit DJ and the hobbyists who like the idea of having their playlist heard on a Friday night for a little cash in their pocket.

If it’s true that ‘Anyone Can Play Guitar’ then it’s even more true that anyone can DJ, especially when you can download Serato for free…but forget beat matching. That rarely even enters into the equation anymore. In today’s club scene a dilettante can get paid four or five thousand dollars and show up with their i pod just because they fucked someone famous and the promoter thinks thats cool and bitchin and shit.

OK, the novelty of seeing the cast of Gossip Girl fumble around with a mixer might be an initial draw but then what? I’ll tell you what. If it’s a nightclub with a dance floor, the real DJ has to come in and save their ass and make sure there’s actual music playing.

Now, not all venues have to have banging house tunes. Many bars and clubs these days want a lo fi, bring-your-own-stuff-to-spin atmosphere, and that’s cool. But the difference is: no one is being paid obnoxious amounts of money for something they downloaded off itunes a few hours before.

I’ve been hired to spin at certain clubs around Los Angeles, mainly because I know music. I’ve been asked to spin records (yes, I use vinyl) in between bands performing at venues…and even though I have been on air at a few different radio stations, I don’t really consider myself a working DJ. On air personality? Yes. A DJ? Not really.

Do I love to search for records? Sure. I like to go to Counterpoint and flea markets. I’ll drag boyfriends and family members to vintage shops and dusty record bins while on vacation until they beg me to stop. However, I don’t make special crate digging trips to Japan or Israel or Brazil like Pete Rock or Cut Chemist do, for the SOLE PURPOSE of collecting rare records. That is LOVE of the craft. That is why those guys should be hired to do the job.

Pete Rock crate digging for vinyl gold

And then some dick promoter is going to pay Peaches Geldof a shit ton of money to “DJ” their party?

When I see the amount of hard work someone like DJ Z Trip or Rhettmatic has put into their careers, only to see some trust fund kid with a chip on his shoulder and a personal paparazzo by his side, breeze by and get flown all over the world for 5 and 6 figure gigs…when I’ve seen that same trust fund fucker literally plug his i pod in at a venue and then walk away from the DJ booth to pose for pictures and pound drinks…it infuriates me for the hard working DJs out there.

Z Trip's first love

I’m not saying that not every celebrity sucks at DJing. Carlos D from Interpol has been DJing for years and only uses vinyl. It seems to me he has a real love for it and puts a lot of time and energy into it. Therein lies the difference. Are you in it because you love it? Or are you doing it for the photo op? Cause most of us can tell, you know.

Club owners: Stop paying good money for shitty product. You want the cast of Twilight to DJ your party? Fine. Don’t pay them. They’re not DJs. Give them a bottle of Grey Goose and set them up in a booth in the corner. You can take a photo of them standing near the DJ booth for the starfucker page on your website and leave the DJing to someone with chops.

Festival bookers: Really? Six figures for a DJ who’s crap?  We’re not that high. Stop it.

Last fall, after another night where Z Trip had to follow another “DJ” train wreck, he took to twitter and ranted which I have to admit, I egged on and on. Our tweets ultimately gave me the idea for this film…this is part one of an ongoing series of DJ INTERVENTION.

If you like it, pass it on to all of your friends who may need some help. We know you’re out there and we want you to get the help you deserve…

Or you can vote for it here on Funny Or Die:

DJ Intervention, Part 1 – watch more funny videos

Part Two to come soon!!