Booze, Broads, and isn't Mad Men about to start?

I love the 1920s, really I do. I mean women had just earned the right to vote and, despite the criticisms hurled at them by intellectual suffragettes, flappers were liberating women from corsets, sitting in bars, smoking and drinking with the boys, working outside the home, and wearing pants. The decade that brought us an immigration act, Hemingway, Steinbeck, and Gatsby old chum, jazz, frozen food, oh and let's not forget the resurgence and growth  of the KKK, is also the setting for HBO's newest serial that is apparently about baby gangsters.

In addition to being a smorgasbord of everything we think we know and love  about the 1920s-gangsters, free flowing booze, flapper talk, crooked politicians-Boardwalk Empire is visually stunning. The scenes of Atlantic City the way it was way back when are so insanely beautiful that I want to rent out the place for a sweet 16 for my un-conceived daughter-complete with late night sideshow style barkers urging you to come in and watch a girl in high waist shorts do the Charleston.

                       

Aside from the aesthetics, I couldn't tell you much about the show. There are bootleggers, a bunch of dirty politicians, famous Mafia bosses in their adolescence, and a battered woman. Basically its like Gangs of New York, Casino, and Goodfellas with ragtime and fake pearls. For a show filling the time slot of another show where no one is what they seem-who knew Lafayette's new boo was a Mexican warlock?- and wraps up before a show where just when you think you know a character they change-except Betty she's pretty much the same character she's been-the fact that the characters in Boardwalk Empire are exactly what they appear to be-they are based on historic figures-is not refreshing, just not like the others. Maybe next week I'll change my mind...I doubt it

To Chop or Not?

I don't have any pictures of me as a little kid on my computer b/c there were no digital cameras n such when I was a little kid.

Ever since I can remember I've had middle length dark brown hair that has been the bane of my existence. Unlike the other girls I've known through my life-cousins, friends, classmates, you get the picture-my hair was the exact opposite of thick and resilient or super soft and curly. I blame this lack of shiny, thick, luxurious hair  on my parents because instead of expressing the hair genes of oe of my parents, I got stuck with both. Which wouldn't be bad if my dad didn't have Duke Ellington's waved do and my mom didn't have thick, tightly curled hair and I inherited my mom's thickness and dad's texture. Alas, I have oddly wavy and curly thin hair that breaks the second you look at it wrong hence it never getting much longer than my shoulders. All of my childhood I fought with my oddly textured hair and battled to get it healthy, shiny, long, and bouncy like the other girls I encountered. However, no one could get my hair to grow, let alone grow without breaking.

That's me on the right in the seond row, amongst a sea of girls that lok a lot like me...sigh cheerleaders

In high school, after several years of going to hair stylists who over processed my precious hair, I found a stylist who knew how to make my stringy hair appear to have body and life. With my mom's permission I cut it into a bob that grazed the nape of my neck and even highlighted it before shipping off to college. Since I went to a school that was 45mins-1 hr away from my home town, I was able to keep up with my hair appointments and my hairdresser who saved my fragile hair after I let a pal lighten a patch of my dark brown hair to a rusty blondish brown color-do not let girls dye your hair in their dorms bad idea it burned and lifted in under 5 minutes. After finishing school hair in tack, despite losing track of my stylist during the 6-8months after Katrina, I got my first trendy cut, a bi-level bob a-la Posh in about 2006/7 and even colored my entire head a light brown that matched my skin.

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                               At formal or maybe it was semi-formal with a long, luxurious locks

My hair battles didn't start again until I moved to Atlanta where apparently hair dressers don't know what kind of relaxer to put on hair that is not super thick and resilient, or that you can't treat colored hair the same way you treat virgin hair. Needless to say after 6 months in the A my hair was still growing strong-it grows pretty fast and always does- but it was stringy-er than ever and was breaking off to no end. I eventually began to take care of my hair myself which wasn't that bad until another set of untrained hands used a super harsh relaxer on my lil hair, resulting in a massive patch of hair falling out. I cried, died and stopped going to her asap. I tried my hands at the Dominicans but those driers on relaxed hair was a big no, no, and I tried going back to the first girl I went to in the A but the fact that she permed my hair when I told her to not when her professional expertise told her to left my hair weak and a mess.

Pre-Atl with my light brown bob smushed unde rmy cap

After much deliberation I decided to try the natural route, and ahh haa my hair is back to the length, sheen, and bounce that it had when I was at home. Apparently all I needed to do was stop processing it and let it be. The problem now is that in order to be fully natural I have to cut my relaxed hair off, which means cutting almost all of the length of my hair. Did I mention my hair has never been shorter than chin length since I was a kid? Did I also mention that I have a serious habit of touching, twirling, shaking, and stroking my hair? (Friends call it my "white girl tendencies/mannerisms" and they developed sometime between me watching the movie Clueless and starting college) I've been a huge fan of flat iron it, bump it, ponytail it, headband it, etc for bad hair days ever since I was tasked with combing my own hair sometime in 5th grade and am dreading having to do something with my mess of oddly curled short hair-that my hairdresser promises will look awesome. I mean worst comes to worst I can weave it up-I do live in Atlanta home of the 8 foot Pocahontas Indian Remy weave-however fake hair and the thought of it on my entire head makes me itchy for some odd reason. Then again, maybe I just need to get used to the idea of having short curly hair. I mean my hair does not and never will grow straight, so I might as well get over it and it'll grow back after a year or so.

I promise to post pics of my short cut next week...

Tell 'em John!

This is another MISS original, meaning this post is all their's. To view it in its original format got over to Woman is the N-word of the World.

John and Yoko said it, I just agreed

If she won’t be a slave we say that she don’t love us. If she’s real we say she’s trying to be a man…

In 1972 John Lennon and The Plastic Ono Band released the song “Woman is the N—– of the World.” The song was inspired by the statement by James Connolly “the female is the slave of the slave” and tackled the issue of women’s subservience to men across all cultures. Due to the song’s usage of the N-word, which I am not completely opposed to in this particular instance, the song was banned from radio air play and Lennon’s hope to show the world how women had been and were still being treated was lost to the general public.

We insult her every day on TV, and wonder why she has no guts or confidence

If you have not heard the song yet, I suggest you give it a listen, because the issues that it raised in 1972 are still issues that plague women around the world. Women still are taught to be strong but appear weak, to be intelligent but not speak too loudly, to stand by her man through thick and thin, and to be pretty above all things. We turn on the television and are forced to choose between watching over sexualized video girls, materialistic man starved fashionistas, or strong intelligent –itches, mostly due to the appallingly low number of female directors who receive support from big studios. We are still underpaid despite having the same degrees, and we are still expected to make dinner, clean house, take care of the kids, and hold a 9-5 without complaining or asking for a day off. As far as we have come in regards to improving the condition of women and girls in this country in the past 30 odd years since this song has been released, we still have a long way to go baby. I’m not even going to touch on the countless atrocities committed against women in the developing world.

No matter what you feel about the use of a word steeped in a history of hatred and wrong doing, which is actually quite apropos, there is no denying that across all cultures, ethnicities, creeds, and colors, that women are indeed the slave of the slave.

Woman is the n—– of the world, yes she is…think about it.