Hi My Name is Imon and I Suck at Writing.

This is a confession of love. I am in love with my secret lover and his name is writing. No one would ever know it, but I truly and utterly really like writing. Words are magical and powerful and when put together they can create true beauty. I can remember some writer saying it should be glass; smooth with no imperfections. Well my writing is much like broken glass with no chance of ever being perfectly smooth.

My writing level is comparable to a six grader’s. Strangely, that is when I stopped scoring high on the in school writing tests. I became frustrated with words and began to hate them. They were my worst nightmare and haunted me every time I put pen to paper. Those around made me fell as if I were mentally challenged or dyslexic (I really could be dyslexic). I was so ashamed of my writing that I purposely wrote in chicken scratch so no one would be able to read what I wrote. That sucked because my handwriting is really nice and I have a gift of writing amazingly in cursive. English 101 in college I almost failed and in English 102, my teacher asked me if English was my first language. In A.P. English in high school I hated writing so much I used to rhyme every thing I turned in to my teacher, from my essay test question, to major papers. She made me move to regular English and put all of my writings on file in the guidance office, so it could be on record that I was a bad writer. Regular English was wonderful. We never wrote, just watched made for television movies about famous novels and drew pictures that were our own interpretation of the movies. I felt smart. Rhyming all of my work in A.P. English paid off during the Shakespearean poetry unit. The other kids would buy me things if I would write there poems for them.

I am taking a stand! I like to write and I can’t do it well. (That is why I started to write for a blog so I could get better). I know for a fact there are trillions out there who are just like me. We need to stand up and fight against those who turn their noses up at our inability to spell, place a colon, or make sure our sentences have a subject, verb and predicate. The good writers in the world need to watch their backs because there is a war brewing; us bad writers who like to write, we secretly have more heart, passion, appreciation for the written language than Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Toni Morrison put together.

Posted By Imon

In Search of My Dreamweaver

All politics and principles notwithstanding, nothing quite gets me excited like some good weave. I don’t mean just any old beaver pelt, mind you, I’m talking about the kind of sew-in that inspires full reenactments of Beyonce videos. I want the stuff that will prompt me to perform all the choreography to “Proud Mary” at the bus stop. I want that good Kimberly Kimble ish.

Though I’ve been rocking the curly demi-fro for about 6 years now, I have always had an unnatural fascination with fake hair. Don’t get me wrong, I love my hair. Despite the urge it gives strangers to paw my tendrils and hand me free organic supermarket coupons in the street, it is my crowning glory.

Still, there is something to be said for the effective use of a store-bought coiffure. Good weave takes your hair to heights and lengths and thicknesses it could never (and probably should never) reach on its own, and seems like a fun alternative to the everyday. When done correctly, I imagine it looks and feels like a party is happening all over your scalp. For some, good weave is a way of life! I mean, just ask Patti LaBelle, Jessica Simpson, or Nicolas Cage. The right rug will set you straight.

I have been planning to get one for my next birthday for some time. Though my big B’day is not quite what you would call “coming up” (it’s in November), I have already begun the search for a suitable hair artist. I don’t want just anyone performing scalp voodoo on me! Surprisingly, my hunt for a proper stylist has turned up nothing. You would think that in a city like Washington, DC, at a school like Howard, I would be able to find a good weave man, but it’s been unexpectedly difficult.

You see, in a perfect world, I could just ask someone with a nice lace front who hooked them up, and they would give me a straight answer. Unfortunately, this is real life, and people can be so stank about it! I can’t just inquire as to where they got that shit, like it’s a jacket or some shoes. Apparently that’s "rude."

Well, you know what else is rude? Keeping secrets.

Look, we all know it's fake. By the grace of God, I have two working eyes with which I can see that your hair came out of pocket. I am asking you about it because it looks fantastic! So swallow your pride, take the compliment, and point me in the direction of your Yaki dealer, okay?

Seriously. I’m taking recommendations.

Posted by: Brittany

Photo Source/ BeyonceWorld.net

Sex and the City vs. The World

Like many girls, I often fantasize about a specific future: me, a phenomenally wealthy corporate CEO, strutting to work in variety of fashionable outfits, all while single handedly changing the world. Basically, I hope to be an intelligent goddess saint in a cute power suit.

My visions can probably be attributed to my watching too much Sex and the City in high school. Of course, I was excited that this season, ABC and NBC took the SATC formula; unnaturally fly women in a big city making big city dough, and duplicated it. My question: what took so long? A SATC remake seems a surefire hit for primetime television. Unfortunately, I also have to ask why their efforts have yielded two shows that should never have seen the light of day. ABC’s Cashmere Mafia, which stars the beautiful, but underwhelming Lucy Liu, is an irritating bore, and NBC’s Lipstick Jungle doesn’t look much better. In the hands of the major networks this formula has resulted in a few psychotic, emotionally void, oversexed hipper-than-thou chicks taking New York "by storm.” Personally, I think it is the plan of the networks to paint these career female images in a less than positive light in order to make the average woman want to stay home and have babies. But that’s just me.

Surprisingly, the creators and producers of these shows have great track records. Oliver Goldstick, who now produces Lipstick Jungle, made television crack with Ugly Betty, Popular and Everwood (ok, maybe that last one’s a stretch, but it got ratings, so whatever). Candace Bushnell, the series’ sole credited writer, penned both the original SATC book, and the chick-lit novel that Lipstick Jungle was based on. Cashmere Mafia, interestingly enough, is produced by Bushnell’s SATC collaborator, Darren Star. Star is also noted for his work on Beverly Hills 90210, and Melrose Place. Shows like this, with such all-stars behind them, should be great, but aren’t.

The reviews for Lipstick Jungle, which premiers February 7th, are already lukewarm. Cashmere Mafia, which I know for a fact is crap, is doing decently ratings-wise, but probably because of the Patricia Field wardrobe, the writers’ strike, and the fact that people will really watch anything that moves. My advice to both the SATC fan and the average television viewer: don’t waste your time on these shows. If you want something to fill the void of your SATC nostalgia, do the obvious, lovers, and get to a midnight screening of the premiere May 30th. And to the girl with high-powered wishes and M.B.A. dreams? Move to the city, but try to not be as vapid as the women in these second rate imitators.

Posted by: Imon
Photo Courtesy of Time Warner (I think)

When You're Growing Down Instead of Growing Up

Those who bemoan the state of popular music, rejoice! I come this holiday bearing gifts.

Meet Janelle Monáe, urban rock star. The title of this post was pulled from her lyrics. Monáe is an adorable pint-sized firecracker hell-bent on saving the world, one concept EP at a time. Simultaneously channeling Prince and Buddy Holly with all the natural grace of a ‘40s-era jazz chanteuse, Monáe is a true original. Her music evokes the sweat and grit of good rock and soul, and live, she is something to behold (so I’ve heard). Approved by both halves of OutKast, Monáe is an icon in the making. Understandably, her distinct look and sound could be lost on the Rihanna-addled* masses, but there’s still Alice Smith.


Smith, has self-penned radio-ready grooves, sultry ballads, and an unbelievable range that is even more impressive live. Even with a Grammy nomination under her belt, Smith, like Monáe, is without the following that she so deserves. She is gorgeous in not only a universal way, but also in the way that America likes its black folk: slender and light-skinned. Not to devalue Smith’s artistry or beauty, but honestly, what more could the record industry ask for in a marketable black singer?

YouTube sensation Esmee Denters, a chirpy Scandinavian teenager, was recently signed to Justin Timberlake’s Tennman label because of her ability to sing Beyoncé and Luther Vandross covers in front of her webcam. Thanks to the publicity her record deal generated, not to mention the stamp of approval from Oprah, Denters’ debut album has a guaranteed audience. She is talented, I guess, but something about her come-up just doesn’t feel right, especially considering the Amy Winehouse-Sharon Jones fiasco of 2007 and the struggling state of many a talented black musician of moderate renown.

What does it all add up to? I don’t really know. One could blame the aforementioned masses, but that wouldn’t be totally fair. They only take what they’re being pushed by the hype machine. And if the hype machine is only supporting the Timberlakes, Thickes, and Fergies of the world, whose records do you suspect the public will buy? One could also get mad at Oprah* for not featuring more new black musicians on her show, but, um, what else is new? It’s all a manifestation of what is fundamentally wrong with our society, I suppose.

Today, we are all supposed to reflect on Dr. King’s dreams and take stock of how far we have come or how short we have fallen in realizing them. Many people I know are just glad to have a day off from school or work. Obviously, some very long strides have been taken toward racial equality, if that’s even an attainable goal, but using solely the state of popular music as a barometer, America still has a long way to go.

Little black boys and girls have been making nice with little white boys and girls for years (see: Alicia Keys, Halle Berry, Sally Hemmings, common affection for Kanye West and Justin Timberlake), but that’s not the point, nor is it enough. Though the days of slavery, lynching, and being blasted with water hoses are in the past, life's still not easy for black people, nor for our Latino, Asian, Native American and Middle Eastern/ Arab/ Muslim friends. Institutional racism feels as prevalent as ever. Evident in all media and in the hearts and minds of all Americans, probably more often than they realize, it is obviously not disappearing anytime soon. Again, racial inequality, sexism, and homophobia in the entertainment business is nothing new, but today has me thinking about it more than usual.

Why are artists like Monáe and Smith hustling to gain sizable audiences when Brooke fucking Hogan can wear assless denim chaps and get decent airplay? When will we take up for the LGBT community (yes, Dr. King was down for that cause, too), finally allowing 50% of hip-hop and Hollywood to come out? Wendy Williams and I want to know. Why is the gifted, but coked-out Amy Winehouse favored over Sharon Jones, who is both divinely talented and consistently sober? When will there be enough love to go around for everyone who rightfully deserves it, regardless of color?

Will I still be alive then?

*I like Rihanna, but she ain’t no Janelle Monáe.
*I love Oprah, but sometimes she makes it so damn hard.

Posted by: Brittany, who is officially off her soapbox for the day.

Photos courtesy of I don't know, but obviously, I didn't take 'em.