Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Modelland Should be Two Words

I received some disturbing news today that roused up the ole' HATE. Tyra Banks has a book. No, Tyra is not going to be on the cover of another book (magazine). Miz Banks is authoring a book called Modelland. It sounds like a cross between Zoolander and Planet of the Apes, but I'll never know because I refuse to read it. Beautiful people can't be satisfied with merely taking over our magazines, movies and televisions; now they're infiltrating our brains with tales crafted in their over inflated airheads. Exqueeze me- there are real writers out here dying to profit from their adorable little anecdotes about jealousy and rage.

I understood Tyra's need for a post-modeling hustle after she lost a battle to Popeye's chicken and blew up to a whopping 125 pounds; thus producing the reality TV tour de force, "America's Next Top Model." I even supported Tyra when ANTM got staler than Magic Johnson theater popcorn and she launched her own talk show, in which she's nothing more than a fashionable and judgmental version of Jenny Jones. ('memba Jenny Jones?) But now she's going too far.

Tyra Banks has clearly proven that she is capable of being more than just a pretty face. But really, why does everybody have to be a triple, double decker threat nowadays? She was born with the rare ability to smile with her eyes while strutting in six inch stilettos - all on an empty stomach. That's as commendable a talent as any- and it made her a millionaire. Why couldn't she stop there? Because she's greedy and surrounded by enablers. I'm pretty confident she has nothing profound to write about because if she did possess the elusive combination of outstanding beauty and brains, then she would've already figured out a way to somehow conquer the world- or at least Obama.

Obviously, a powerhouse celebrity such as Tyra Banks is an easy target for my Hate. Yeah, I could insult her seeming lack of intelligence enough to fill up this entire blog but ultimately, only six people will read this as opposed to the millions who will buy her book. Kudos to Tyra. She's just cashing in on the game. Should I really be hating on her or the society of dimwits who will drop twenty-five bucks on something called Modelland? The fact that she compounded the word is just plain irritating.

In the spirit of Modelland, I've comprised the following list of successful books written by people who probably think Moby Dick is either the prequel to Free Willy or a porno.

1) Going Rogue: An American Life by Sarah Palin
Aside from considering life in Alaska to be the epitome of American, Palin's autobiography lost a few sales to a parody book released the same day entitled, Going Rouge: An American Nightmare, by Richard Kim and Betsy Reed. The similar titles confused her fans, who probably didn't know the definitions of ROGUE or ROUGE in the first place.

2) The Twighlight Saga by Stephanie Meyer
I initially refused to read these books because it was written for tweens and I'm a grown-up. But then I really got upset when my eyes bled after suffering through the silly movies starring those brooding, sickly looking teenagers, who are somehow sex symbols. Is this an acceptable follow-up to Bram Stoker, Anne Rice and Octavia Butler?

3) Untitled, but working title, Unwrapped: My Life Before and After Lil Wayne by Antonia "Toya" Carter
Just pass me the OxyContin and Patron because I'm going to need it before I blow up the publishing house that green lit the pearls of wisdom from the mouth of Lil' Wayne's baby's mutha. And no, BET books is not the responsible party; although I do blame BET for giving this girl a platform for her countrified voice to be heard. I will also include Neffe's book, My Happiness is My Sanity and Nene's Never Make the Same Mistake Twice in this section. Basically, reality stars should stick to acting "real" or whatever it is they do.

Please feel free to add your worst favorite books in the comments below.

Friday, May 7, 2010

With Friends Like Me

I can't stand women who disrespect the sisterhood in favor of solely BFF'ing guys (who secretly want to sleep with them); or gays (who secretly want to be them). You know those girls who contemptuously boast about banning female friends because they think girls are jealous, catty, gossip mongers? And, while I may have been both an accomplice and victim of the occasional stabbed back, I will forever attest to the glory of girlfriends.

Over the years I've built and maintained solid relationships with some great gals- all of whom are either pretty or talented or successful or engaged, or even worst - all of the above. Obviously, it behooves me to surround myself with such positive women. Birds of a feather flock together, right? The problem is, more often than not I feel like a pigeon flocking with peacocks. Turns out, the awesomeness that initially attracts me to these ladies inevitably starts tugging at my hate strings. Could it be that I am the girlfriend responsible for the platonic pal pandemic I so despise?

Don't get me wrong. I am a damn good friend. When my obnoxiously overpaid homegirl, Penny, overdrafted her checking account, I didn't think twice about wiring thirty bucks, which I desperately needed for my two week lunch supply of Hot Pockets, to get her out of the red. Yeah, I furtively texted, "Penny gotta do better" to another mutual friend when commenting on her reckless spending habits. But did that really outweigh my display of generosity?

When Sandra's boyfriend of five years broke off their engagement, I shared her misery and weight gain by indulging in a three day cheeseburger and whiskey binge with her. Does it matter that while she was spewing tears and tales of a love lost I was doing mental cartwheels because I was tired of trolling the bars for men solo?

I was the first girlfriend on the scene when Lisette gave birth to her baby boy. On top of that, my thirty year old, possibly-barren-self has never missed a Yo Gabba Gabba birthday party since. Big deal if I occasionally joke that the kid looks like the Black Benjamin Button.

I dutifully play my BFF position by smiling, clapping and break dancing for my friends' success- and 89 percent of the time I am sincere. However, I fear that one day, through some strange telepathic or text-reading incident, my girls will discover me secretly gloating at their mishaps and drop me faster than the U.S. fell from from the World Cup (OH SNAP). That situation would not be ideal for me since I have no boyfriend and have never met a guy who could fill my girls' shoes- not even Aisha's size eleven boats. There I go again. But c'mon, she's super creative and Naomi Campbell's doppleganger, so her big feet are much deserved.

My subconscious hating on my friends is a direct reflection of my own shortcomings. There are moments when I feel like a fat guy dating a supermodel anxiously wondering how and why I'm in this relationship, and when it's going to end. "They like me?!" They really like me?!" Despite my sometimes not so friendly displays of friendship, I really like them too, and am truly grateful for having these phenomenal women in my life. To all of the Anti- Girlfriendites - may you someday find friends like mine to help you appreciate the true value of a good girlfriend.