It's BBQ Time

The unofficial start to summer was this week and just in time came the roasts of all roasts: Spike Lee skewered Tyler Perry. Opinions deferred on Spikes assessment of Tyler's body of work, who likens it to coonin' and buffoonery. Can't say I don't agree on many levels. Others would argue Tyler is simply entertaining folks and who are we to call into play the taste of millions of our good sistas and brothas who find his brand of down-home comedy appealing. Not my taste and certainly not what makes me laugh, but can't say I haven't chuckled at Madea. I can separate coonin' from Uncle Tommin', shuckin' and jivin' from get-over-yourself- lighten-up- and-laugh-at-our- differences-and selves-itain't-that-serious-type stuff. Secretly been waiting for someone to sock it to Madea, whom I liken to a modern day Aunt Jemima, and her alter-ego and creator Tyler Perry, whom we've heralded as the new King of Black Hollywood, the one to save the genre. Not mad at Tyler's grind, just think there are other movies I'd like to see that don't star a man in a dress, a non-acting Pop Tart, same-performance-every-time Denzel or Will Smith, who stopped being a regular Black cat years ago. So Spike, I give it to you for having the courage to say what others have been whispering for years but were too scared to make waves and talk about other Black folks openly--wouldn't. Like the folks who destroyed Hip Hop whom I liken to modern day minstrels, Tyler's Meet the Browns and other characters are setting us back just a tad and relegating those of us with good script ideas and talent to what we've always been forced to do in Hollywood--comedy. Oy.

Now on to roasting of another kind. Wendy Williams Queen Roast a Bitch had her TV talkshow picked up and will be on daily beginning July. This after the critics and viewing audience roasted her ass for setting daytime talk shows back to the days of Robert Downey Jr.. I do have to say she has handed it to a few well deserving egomaniacs, but damn can she learn to read the prompter and not be so mean? Has she looked in the mirror lately? Makes Madea look good and could have been a real contender on RuPaul's Drag Race. I'm just sayin'...How you doin'?!

And speaking of my turn to roast someone, what's up with Kelly I -can't-find-my-lane-since-I left-Destiny's-Child Rowland, co-hosting Bravo's Project Runway pales in comparison replacement The Fashion Show? When did she become a fashion expert? Because she sits on the front row at a few runway shows, now she's a host and giving advice to retail aspiring designers??? Might want to start with your former girl group partner and that crap of a clothing line she calls high fashion--House of Dereon. Like the line goes when a contestant is booted off: "We're just not buying it".

And because, I had to carry the BBQ/roasting folks theme to the end, check out what has to be the funniest roast of a comedian trying to roast someone--ever http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fpmu6efVRk4

That's it. Back to the vineyard

The heat is on

I, like most of my grape soda connoisseurs, love the heat and summer--BBQs, rooftop parties, warm nights, frizzy hair, stick-to- your-back-from-the-sweat-linen 'fits, flip flops and a better disposition. Winter sucks and gray skies are depressing. One good thing about the winter, the clothes and kick-ass leather boots and the fact that folks cover up all that winter weight. My people, my people. I love the way Black women flaunt their curves and embrace their bodies with confidence and pride. And I love how Black men (and the brothers with the lighter/other mothers) seem to take pride in looking (until it's a gawk and a stare and an inappropriate comment to someone young enough to be your grandchild, then it's a problem). But my people, my people--it's time to step away from the Popeye's, the mac and cheese and Mickie D's and step to a gym, treadmill or walk around the block before you shed those winter frocks and trade them for minimal coverage. And while you're at it--get a pedi or two.

And hot weather brings out hot heads. Kinda miss the crisp, cool silence of a winter's night when I can open my window, let in the fresh air and not hear gunshots echoing through the hood. Sad. Try to be a Renaissance woman and embrace the historical characteristics and vibe of one of our more renown urban meccas (not to mention the cost of real estate is far more reasonable if you call $850K for a closet reasonable)--but the youngins are making it hard. Just reminds you of what effects crack has had on our communities. And what's with gang-bangin"? Didn't that play out in the 80's when Hip Hop reigned? My bad, Hip Hop is dead so back to being on the block being billy bad ass. Jeez.

Enough griping and groaning, time to break out the bubbly grape and enjoy the first day of the BBQ season.

Happy Memorial Day, y'all. Here's to a long, hot summer.

Gigs and gripes

I got gripes my Grape Soda Digest readers. Unlike my friends at White Whine, my belly-aching is rooted in some real deep seeded and angry girl shit.

It starts with the Arizona State University's snub of our esteemed Pres.
So they ask him to speak but failed to confer an honorary degree upon his greatness (or what I like to think of his Grapeness--he's our king), citing that he had not accomplished enough for such a gesture. WTF??!! Some clown can go and make a speech who never set foot within anyone's 4 academic walls, has nothing more than a jailhouse/shade tree degree/made the cover of a movie magazine and Obama is not worthy of your fake-couldn't-get-a-job-let-alone-start-a-fire-with-it-number-17Th-ranked-on-the-party-school-list diploma??!! Can you say Columbia and Harvard law grad? Pardon me--too drunk to spell g-r-a-d-u-a-t-e. Or is the fact that he's the first Black president of the United States and will always have that distinction, not enough for you? Then again this is the state that refused to honor Martin Luther King's birthday as a national holiday. But enough about those losers. I'm sure the grads that managed to stumble in in flip flops and get out with a semblance of a higher education, were thrilled to hear him speak. That's if they remember. Hard to do when you have a 4-year hangover.

Nothing newsworthy on the industry front to gripe about, other than Jay Z making some school's student activities fund go into default when he demanded $750,000 to appear in concert, didn't sell out or come even close to filling a small venue. Wonder if the students who booked this show took math and business classes at Arizona State University? Humm?
Concert Promotions 101: old irrelevant overpriced rapper equals concert promoter disaster. Now the school will have no more activities, ever! Rappers--get your egos and spending habits in check. Who does this??

On the personal gripe front--went to what I will call the Geritol Geriatric Grape Soda Lovers B-day Gig, this past Friday.

So, we get there, and there's a line, but we've been told that since we are guest-listed VIP, we can go to the front. So of course, some of us have no regard for protocol and order, and simply bump our way past us (more like PIs-- persons of interest-- as we would soon find out), as if we weren't standing there, only to get their rude behinds sent to the end of the paying customer line. Oops, must have been that Jeri Curl juice in your eye that wouldn't allow you to see the sign that clearly said: "THIS LINE FOR GUEST LIST PATRONS ONLY". Maybe it was the word "patron" that threw them off. Maybe if it had read: "IF YOU DIDN'T GET FREE TICKETS ON THE RADIO, YOU CHEAPSKATE, TAKE YOUR BROKE, BORROWED MONEY FROM YOUR BABY MAMA,AIN'T GOT A POT TO PISS IN, SLEEPIN' ON YOUR MOM'S COUCH BEHIND TO THE BACK OF THE PAYING LINE"

Name on list. Check. This way to the full-on purse and body search. WTF?? Do I look like I want to start a fight, stab that bitch who's been calling my deadbeat baby-daddy, or can fit a .22 in my Chanel? I thought pat downs were for hard-leg young bucks and 21 and under clubs? Last I checked, most of these cats in line were younger than the Pope but not by much. What do they plan to do, hold a fool up for his Viagra supply and EBT card? (I'm going to hell)

We're in. What a dump. My friend has not arrived for his celebration or I'd be tempted to leave. We check out the VIP lounge and back to the dance floor. Old school jam mix. No worries. I can take a round of Whoppin', Smurfin' and two steppin'. It Takes Two and time to turn it up. Here come the leisure suit wearin, original Soul Glo, ain't been on beat since the 70's crew. Folks fresh out (and you know who I'm talking about), trying to get their grind on, spittin' no type of gentlemanly game-- (note: do not refer to any woman's seemingly tight appearing genitals by 6 letters used to call a cat a kitten to her face, in a public place, and think you won't get smacked or she won't think you're just out of prison with your trash mouth), and sweatin' like runaway slaves in all that polyester gold suit, fake gator shoe wearin', big gut manliness! Just a hot mess. Fool stepped to me, or I should say rolled to me, in a wheel chair. Normally I'd have empathy, but this cat was no doubt Lil' Willy Bobo who took one back in the 70's and ain't been right since. Sad then, and pitiful now. Cats trying to old-school grind and back you up on the dance floor. "Step off, fool". That was not going down in the basement of Ms. Jones' house, so you know I was not going for it in Midtown Manhattan.

Long in the tooth, tired looking crew. Dateless and desperate cougars with visible tracks. Confused young girls looking for sugar daddies, and old dudes looking for a good time. Simply atrosh. This was the party and the folks that time forgot. And here we were gathered to celebrate our friend and life, his life and the richness of his journey. Instead, I'm having flashbacks to old gripes, because sadly, the same folks who gave me trouble back in the day when I was clearly headed somewhere and trying to take them with me, were the same trifling grown folks trying to shimmy their way back in time on a Friday night at The Shadow. Happy birthday, my friend. Glad you made it out and made something grand of yourself.

Not griping about folks wanting to have a good time, but my gripe is with folks trying to hold some of us back, put us down and still mad because some of us chose to keep it moving despite the odds and the gripes. That kind of attitude got you where you are: nowhere; trying to get your mack on at some trifling bucket o' blood club. Get a grip and let it go. Like you need to let go of my ass; Homie don't play that!

On Mamas

"I'll always love my Mama, she's my favorite girl...you only get one" Respect your mothers today and everyday. And mothers: love yourself first.

Going to take a break today from raggin' on tired mofos and drama best reserved for your mama, in honor of this day. After all , I am someone's Mom and I deserve a break from the madness. Shame folks don't stop and think about what they do. What would your mother say? Like when you step out in some ill fitting, inappropriate, I can see the crack of your pimply behind type outfit, did you not stop and think: "My mother would tell me to get my behind back in the house and change" or does what she thinks not matter? Or maybe you have one of those mothers who's trying to borrow your credit card slot baring pants? I digress. I promised to let it go today in honor of the coolest mother EVER--drum roll please--mine!

So enjoy your Mom and even the baby mamas with major drama, the mother of your children, the woman who is like a mother to you and all the other women who should be honored on this day. Who else to buy you grape soda?

The First 100

So, while the country and pundits pontificated about our illustrious pres' first 100, there was a whole lot of mess going on in the world of those who partake of the bubbly grape!

Damn if that predictable Obsessed did not score more than a few million at the box office, despite my review. I knew it would manage to get a few women folk and their somewhat reluctant male companions to cough up some dough. Oh well. Not mad, just would like to see some better Afro chick flicks is all. Speaking of chick centric flicks or shows, what's with the Chronicles of Zane on Showtime? Sorry, for I digress. But that show is wack.

So, Nas and Kelis have called it quits. Humm...didn't take Madame Cleo to figure that one out. Cheating. Sex tapes. Ill behavior. Verbal abuse. Talk of taking folks to the cleaners. Oh well. Next.

Popeye's runs out of chicken and the blogosphere goes into overdrive. My people, my people. Have you not learned from the hundreds of other Black folks gone wild, that someone is watching you and therefore, you should watch what comes from between your lips??!! Mad because Popeye's is out of chicken and they don't understand you have kids to feed???!!! Get your behind down to the Heart Attack Grill, they'll happily clog your arteries with a Coke and a smile.

VH1 has been accused of exploiting Black women. OK. So, someone twisted the arms of all those women who willingly swapped spit and other DNA with Flav, Chance, Real and Ray J. for free, without a dental dam, insurance plan, doctor in the house or an attendant from the CDC? Not saying that VH1 is not milking a good thing, but before we place all the blame on them, let's be honest and shoulder some of the responsibility.

Celtics and Bulls. Yeeeesss! Hotness. Still miss Jordan, and no matter the new faces of the Celtics, I will always root for the other team.

Hip Hop still sucks. Let's bring talent back.

Deuces. I'm out.

Hip Soul Chic goes to the movies

Single-woman-goes-after-married-man-meets-her-match-and-her-maker plot line, circa 2009; and so the story goes for new release Obsessed—starring Idris Elba, Beyonce Knowles and Ali Larter, in theaters nationwide.

So, my expectations were not very high as I headed to the theater on preview night. I remember the thrill and novelty of the now classic, Fatal Attraction (having seen it opening night, neck craned from the front row of a hot and crowded theater); The roommate background check frenzy that Single White Female caused; And the nanny cam-keep-an-eye-on-your -man stir The Hand That Rocks The Cradle whipped up. These movies are a tough act to follow, as chick flicks go. But here we have a twist: the race card (white woman after married Black man), and otherwise sweet and seemingly passive Beyonce, thrust into a “kick-ass” role. Never mind, that the screening was in Harlem at the Magic Johnson Theater, where the audience would be largely female, anti white-girl-dating-a-brotha comprised, and Beyonce loving. All those factors were not going to sway me. My mind was made up. I was not going to be thrilled or impressed.

Plopped down, some 6 rows back from the front (this time), sandwiched between a bold, yet somewhat sheepish young Black man and his white date, two older Black gentlemen, and some folks who fancy Idris Elba (apparently both sexes fancy him, could be his swagger, tight body or Wire role, take your pick!)

Credits roll, and so our story begins--slowly and somewhat awkwardly, with little warning and character development, back-story and the like. Derek Charles (Idris Elba), is happily married (or so it would seem), has a young boy (who was oddly quiet and lifeless), a great job and an attractive, new, eager to please the boss and somewhat off her rocker temp. His wife, Sharon (Beyonce) has her suspicions after meeting her, but not for obvious reasons. She was once the temp and Derek hit on her. Jealousy and suspicion rears its ugly head and not, as one would assume, sista sixth sense when it comes to our men and someone slinking around him. Her fear was that of any man or woman who may wonder about those people you spend the better part of your day with. All this, I might add, I gathered not from the depth of plot development, but from my own theories about love, life and the dynamics of relationships.
And like most men, Derek doesn’t see that Temp Girl (as she calls herself) has a wild eye for him, until he’s had one too many at the employees only Christmas party, and our somewhat aggressive seductress follows him into the restroom, with mistletoe in tow for some extra holiday cheer. And so the obsession begins.

I won’t spoil it for you, but I will say that Beyonce delivers some of the best lines of the movie and puts new meaning to her song “Sound The Alarm”, although her acting is as flat as that southern drawl she fights to hide.

The producers and director, may welcome the obvious comparisons to Fatal Attraction, and seemingly borrowed from the film, but they could have taken a page from the script, in particular the one that required depth of character, range and raw emotion, timing, surprise, production design, acting skill and nail biting suspense. They failed to draw you in until the very end, and that does not a thriller make. Although you root for Beyonce’s character toward the end, you don’t have much compassion for her to begin with. Idris’ character is flat, and his actions and motives not so plausible. He puts himself in jeopardy more than he is the victim of tainted love. I found myself wanting to see more of Ali Larter’s villainous character, Lisa; her bad-girl- gone-over-the-edge portrayal of the fixated seductress was worth the price of (free) admission. She added excitement to an otherwise predictable, and less than thrilling, 90 minutes.

Go see it, if you’re longing for a chick flick and you simply want to support Black filmmakers. But my bet would be on renting Fatal Attraction and a Sunday spent on a Lifetime channel movie marathon. Call me crazy.

The Juice is Goosed

Back when OJ was playing and setting the gridiron on fire, sports announcers would cry out: "The Juice is loose!" And boy could that brotha go. Big head and all. Flash forward 2008, and the courtroom cry is: "The Juice is goosed". What the hell were you thinking OJ?
Ego, drugs, greed and believing one's own hype can lead one to do some mighty stupid things. I know it's hard to let go of the past and glory days, when you had juice and everyone called your name. Now that that fame has been turned into sideshow freak status, I'm sure it's harder to hold that big head up. But for the love of Pete, did you have to go and get all Old Rotten Scoundrels on their butts, and try and get some memorabilia back? Could you not have asked someone to buy it back for you? Did you have to go and pull a gun on someone? Kidnapping?! For some trading cards and old footballs? How sad is that?
The court of public opinion will never find him innocent and the system has been looking for any excuse to lock OJ up. Didn't need an excuse, OJ squeezed every ounce of dignity, pride and good sense left in him out on this last caper and fumbled big time. Oh well. Maybe he'll organize the prison team and he'll star in the Longest Yard 2008 remake.

On to Tyler Perry. What a week he's had. New ATL studios open and details of his firing his Black writers surface. I don't know where to start with this one. Not mad at a brotha for following his dream and making a fortune off of his craft. He's got a niche and he delivers to his audience well. Told someone a long time ago, that was the way to go, but he beat me to it. I might have used a real Black queen at birth to portray Madea, but that's just me being fair to out of work and talented actors. Not that a man can't pretend to be a woman, some of my best friends are queens, and I do love Shakespeare. And having ones own studio is cool, although I know some other brothas and sistas with their own production studios who didn't get TMZ and US Weekly coverage, and not nearly the amount of butt kissing that I'm sure went on at that event. Come on folks. Be real. Folks talk about this man and his movies, under their breath and behind his back about the wackness, but they all are trying to get on and be down with his studio and get their wack ass movies made. Call a spade a spade. Just do us all a favor, and don't be the benchmark by which studios measure us by when the rest of us go out and make movies or try and get a like-type deal. I like my men dressed like men and my gays to be openly gay. I like my movies to be funny and I like women to be strong and not looking for validation from a man. I like wit and intrigue, a good plot and solid acting. And don't need to pretend like I have class and money, because I have both. And could you up the production quality of your movies, please? I could go on, but I'm starting to feel like a hater and I'm not. Just want us to recognized for our differences. probably why I write this blog. We all don't love grape soda...

Hip Hop Awards tonight. Watched the 100 best Hip Hop songs countdown and The Jacksons: An America Dream for the umpteenth time. Fight The Power. Number 1. Appropriate song and an appropriate time in our history. Would love to see this special on a Black network and the awards there too. But I'm not mad at someone seizing the moment, taking the ball and running with it. Hey OJ-- maybe you should have asked Viacom to retrieve your things. They seem to have a knack for picking up our stuff.

And the Soul Glo Award gos to...drum machine roll, please...Chanel, for providing great foundation in all tonalities so a sista can look like a movie star and glow!

Carry on and register to vote. Do you know that many of us are still unregistered?