General Snobbery

101 Flavors and All of Them Unelectable

I don't know if I've ever voted for a president. I've voted against some people (Dole, Bush, Bush 2: Iraqi Boogaloo). I don't know if you ever get to vote for someone as a minority. You're just always squinting at people thinking, "Now which one of you bastards is going to screw me over the least?"

I'd like to vote for someone. You know? Just once to actually be naive enough to think that someone cares about the plight of the poor, the brown, the Black Snob. But nobody loves us.

And I just love how almost everyone running for president this year would be the first something or other, somehow rendering them near unelectable. First black guy. First white woman who would be the first First Lady. First Latino. First Mormon. First lapsed Catholic Italian. First rapidly decomposing Vietnam vet. First former hedge fund guy. First dude who had a supporting role in "Die Hard 2." First elf-man with unnaturally hot wife. Much hotter than elf-man. It's ridiculous. Who knew Dennis had such mad ridiculous white liberal guilt game? Did he woo her with whispers of sweet universal healthcare in her ear?

But, seriously. If there was just one, JUST ONE, non-obnoxious, generic white man who could manage to not talk like a complete moron, all of these people would be focusing on their day jobs. Except maybe Guliani. I honestly think he has serious mental health issues. Like he's hitting the Klonopin hard just to keep from shouting that he single-handedly saved everyone's life on 9/11, including Flight 93 and the plane that hit the Pentagon. Dug out Ground Zero with his bare hands, then strapped on a katana blade, headed to Waziristan and screamed at Osama "I AM THE HIGHLANDER AND THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!"

Seriously. If I have to remember to take my Lithium, Rudy, you have to remember to take yours too. You don't want that bipolar disorder to get too out of control. Your kids hate you. You're already on wife number three. The US is on war number two. I don't want you to become president and find out that you've decided to take on North Korea and Iran with nothing but Steven Segal and the Los Angeles Police Department. Granted, the LAPD can open a can of whup ass on some poor immigrant rights marchers and has been knockin' in the heads of black folks since 1941, but Kim Jong Il doesn't take his lithium either. And he hasn't been fighting two wars for almost six years. And he's just faking crazy. Unlike you, Rudy. You, who is actual crazy.

Rudy and Dennis aside. I'm enamored by almost all of 08's cuddly, little unelectables. From crazy old man Mike Gravel to the only candidate who's compared himself to Jesus just because he came in number two in the Iowa straw poll, Mike Huckabee of Arkansas. They're all such lovable losers you just wanna "Dean Scream" all over them with glee.

All jokes aside. There is one bone that is not completely made of cynicism residing inside of me. And that is the bone that secretly wishes, hope and against hope, that by some act of God, Obama goes the distance. Not because I think it would be mind-blowing for a black man to be president, let alone a black man without an Anglicized name. No, I would want it to happen because Obama winner is the one thing that would cure my bleak cynicism, for if he won I would basically have to rethink America. Like, seriously rethink it. Like, I'd have to go live in the mountains for a little while and contemplate my purpose in life.

I mean, when the history of your family in America consists of not actually having the rights freedoms of other citizens for almost two hundred years. When your father throws away the free American flag we get every July from the neighborhood association because he grew up under Jim Crow and had to kick ass everyday of his life to get everything he owns. When you watch thousands of people die in a city older than the United States of America, when you watch people who look just like you, like your grandmother, your mother, your sisters and you watch them drown on live TV and help doesn't come, you're not going to be the sort of person to slap on two magnets screaming "God Bless America" on the back of your truck.

It's not that I dislike the United States. I think its the greatest country there is. But it's also the only home I've ever known. I don't know if I could pull a James Baldwin or Paul Roberson and just announce, "Screw the man. I'm moving the Europe." Like it or lump it, my family helped build this country, so I've chosen to stay and hope for the better while expecting the worse.

But President Barak Obama would not be what I, or anyone I know and love, would have expected. What would that mean for America?

Would my heart actually fill with pride on the Fourth? Would the pledge of allegiance finally be more than just words?

Would we overcome inaugural day instead of "someday?"

Could I admit to finding men who aren't black men attractive and not be accused of abandoning the black men who I also find very attractive? Would all blackness cease to be politics? Because, my non-Negro friends, everything about blackness is political. Everyday I am aware that I am "the other." But if a black man was president, would I be an "other" no more?

And see? That's why I'd have to move to the mountains if the impossible happened, because I'd have to rethink everyone and everything, because for Obama to win a WHOLE lot of people who aren't black and are most definitely white would have to vote for him. And that would be the thing that would blow my mind the most.

But my mind's not going to get blow. Because I'm a cynic. I'm the fruit of the Civil Rights movement. And I don't think America has made it to that point yet where they would pick someone other than a white man to be leader of the free world.

But prove me wrong, Barak. For the love of MLK, prove me wrong.


I hate everything. Especially Taye Diggs. But Lord, I don't know why. I just do.

I am Dande, therefore I am The Black Snob.

Typically, the word snob has such a negative connotation. Giving off the air of arrogance and self-entitlement that you're perhaps used to experiencing virtually through drunken rich white girls on the PCH mowing down the paps. But I don't operate in that tax bracket, skin tone or weight class, so my snobbery is not about that.

No, no ... my snobbery is a much, much different thing. I am a member of W.E.B. DuBois' "talented tenth (if you don't know about it google that shit up. I don't have the time right now to tell you). I have sat on the sidelines watching things people turn like maladjusted, disease-ridden tricks into giant vat of "good Lord, HELL NO!" I thought I could hold it in a few years back when it was Omarosa breaking multiple protocols of while BIP - "black in public." But then it became 50 Cent. Then Katrina happened. And BET. MY GOD! B F-ING ET! When one day it straight up morphed into a softcore porn channel, a naked minstrel show sans the blackface (although I suppose bold, dangerous indifference could stand in for the caked on black shoe polish.)

OJ. The word "crunk." Don Imus and Michael Richards thinking screaming the n-word was a punchline. The devolution of Flava Flav. Half of America's prison population being black when we only make up 12 percent of the population. "Bling Bling" being used by white journalists on television. Having both Aaron McGruder and Dave Chappelle remove themselves from the respective geniuses that they created (one because he was exhausted. The other because he was exhausted and questioned if he was helping the cause of black folks as his humor could be easily manipulated by those who despise those with permanent tans that you can't spray on and don't fade with the coming of cloudy days.) And seriously, what am I supposed to read for my comics Aaron? Candorville? What about ME! What about the kids?

And now Michael Vick. On top of it all, I had to return home to St. Louis, simultaneously one of the coolest and most racially sodomized places in North America just above the Mason-Dixon line.

And that's just the race stuff. I haven't even touched my hatred for crocs, strechy black gauchos that show every dimple of fat and the Tyra Banks Show. (Tyra, I love. Her as a talk show host, she just lost me on the fat suit episode where she had the fatties consoling her. You wore a fat suit for five minutes, they're fat everyday. Suck it up, woman!) My disdain for grown men who still live as children. For women who blame everyone for their problems but themselves. The entire slate of Democrats and Republicans running for president. Reality Television. Rupert Murdoch's bid for world domination. The price of gas. Fellow St. Louisian (Florissant native!) Kimora Lee Simmons repeatedly referring to herself as fat on her infantile show on the Style Network. I mean, I'll still watch the crap, because I kind of love her tacky, black-Korean-Japanese, 6'4" psychotic, "fiercely fabulous" Florissant, Mo ass. And no one does tacky like blacks and Asians, and whoa, she's both so she's got crazy tacky in spades.

The fact that saggy jeans are still going strong after nearly 15 years makes me wanna holler. Throw up both my hands. If I didn't think it was hot to see your underwear in 1992 when I was 14 I most certainly won't find it anymore attractive now.

Belts, my brothers! Start a revolution. Dress like you know that the definition of underwear is that you wear it under your damn clothes.

And Taye Diggs. DAMN, I hate Taye Diggs. I don't know why. I just do.

I just can't take it anymore! I think the thing that officially drove me to the realization that I had to become a snob was when I was at Barnes n' Noble and there was a fellow with one of those damn Blue Tooth doo-dads in his ear; those gaudy things that make you look like an extra from "Star Trek." And they were talking, loud as hell and like a fool, I looked to see who he was talking to, thinking perhaps he was directing his raised volume at me. Of course, he was only talking to the little man in his Sci-Fi ear. And that was enough.

So ...

If you hate ignorance. If you hate how people are ignorant of black history, American history, world hisotyr and can't find China on a map.

This blog is for you.

And if you hate how the music industry hijacked hip hop once they realized controversy could turn a profit, especially if it was manufactured in the form of a bullet-ridden corpse. If you hate how people are so willing to sell vulgarity, violent, vitriol and vice to just so they can go drench themselves in a rain of shimmering blood diamonds and proclaim themselves soldiers, pimps, kings or gangstas when they've never served in the military, never peddled flesh, do not have a royal birth right and to paraphrase De La Soul, when it comes to being gangsta "the only Italians they knew was Icee."

This blogs is for you.

Together, we will get some relief. I will vent. You will comment. You will vent. I will comment. We're going to get through this together.

My topics are politics, music, celebrity, fashion, TV/Film, trends, gender, dating/marital/family, being single in the internet era, the war(s), current events, race (all of 'em, not just us self-absorbed Negroes and Caucasians) and mental health issues. Also, as a Libra, I'm a sucker for beauty. So, don't be shocked if I luck up on a good day and decide to wax poetic on the latest gift from heaven that has come down to burn us all in a pleasureful inferno of desire and envy.

And I'll try to update with some degree of frequency, but ... work with me ... I'm a bipolar, agitated, bitter insomniac. So ... we'll just see what we can see, shall we?


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