19 Dec 2011

Fried Chicken Chronicles.

Written by sally @ 3:29 pm — Section: sally

I.

In line for the plate lunch at the grocery store:
Woman in front of me, loudly: Don’t you just LOVE their fried chicken?
Me, normally: I do. It’s the best.
Woman, loudly: My husband just adores it. He was raised by a black maid, you know, and says it reminds him of her.
Me: (examines fingernails)

II.

I know someone who does impressions. He thinks he’s really good at it — “I’m really good at impressions,” he says — but all he does is talk in various dialects. If he’s doing an impression of any black person in the universe, it’s standard black dialect (no matter what kind of dialect the person may or may not have). Personally, even if you are just the best black person dialect impressioner, I think you should just shut your mouth. Hone your talent in your home if you must, perform to your audience of one in the bathroom mirror, but please just do not release that into the air, the precious air that the rest of us must breathe.

So the other day this person was talking trash about a lady we know — and look, she is annoying, I was joining in and all — until he said something like “Oh and I bet after that she was like, “‘Where de fried chicken?'” Cue the record scratch sound that is now as outdated as TALKING ABOUT HOW BLACK PEOPLE LIKE FRIED CHICKEN. “Oh, that wasn’t necessary. That’s actually racist,” I said. “No it’s not,” he protested. “Look, you don’t know how it is! Every single day my next door neighbor brings home a box from Popeye’s!”

I can’t tell you how depressing it is to be around someone whose master defense of why he made one black person talk about fried chicken is that this OTHER black person likes fried chicken. I unbuckled my invisible seat belt, got out of the invisible car we were riding in, and drew a line through his name in my head.

5 Dec 2011

Cinq!

Written by sally @ 6:58 pm — Section: sally

1. Man to Salvation Army bellringer: Man, there’s just too many of y’all.

2. Rankin county tag: GORR JUS
(I made a panicky phone call to the Hinds county Gorjus, who had already heard about it.)

3. Books I Have Recently Given Up On:
Ready Player One by Ernest Hines
An Object of Beauty by Steve Martin

4. I have a long history of abandoning tv shows that I previously wrote long love letters to in my heart. Grey’s Anatomy, Brothers and Sisters, Survivor — the list is long. I just would rather see nothing than the characters I used to love do stupid things while Ingrid Michaelson songs play in the background. It is with a heavy heart that I tell you that I think The Good Wife and I are about to break up. Yes, it was never on my super love list, but I enjoyed it in a CBS (dorky, chaste) way. This last episode had just the worst case of CBSing I’ve ever seen. We are lead to believe a kid has been kidnapped. Instead, she has SNUCK AWAY TO GET BAPTISED. I just…I’m done. I’m sorry, Kalinda! Maybe I’ll still record the show just to see your hot leather outfits.

5. I was having breakfast at Spike’s school the other morning when he suddenly said to his teacher, “Ms. Brown! Ms. Brown! My mommy doesn’t have a winky!”

3 Dec 2011

For Me, It Isn’t Over.

Written by sally @ 5:08 pm — Section: sally

If you listen to the radio at all, you probably know all the words to the Adele song “Someone Like You” because it is played incessantly. Don’t get me wrong: I listen every time! I sing along lustily, much to the chagrin of my child, who wept as he begged me to stop singing the other night! This is much better than my usual relationship with popular music, which is thus:
1. What is this crap.
2. Why would anyone listen to this.
3. I’m going to continue to listen to try to figure out why humans would enjoy this.
4. (Twenty listens later)
5. Singing along: Wake up in the morning feeling like P. Diddy
6. (Twenty listens later)
7. OH GOD PLEASE PLAY SOMETHING ELSE, RADIO!
8. Repeat 1-4, replace lyrics in 5 with HAY SOUL SISTER AIN’T THAT MR MISTER ON THE RADIO STEREO ET CETERA

So I am delighted that I enjoy the Adele song, as it could be worse (see above). Although it could be made better if she weren’t a super creepy stalker lady in the song. All she needs are a roll of duct tape and an adult diaper to get herself arrested.

She starts out ok: she’s heard that the dude has settled down and gotten married. I can sympathize with this segment because even if you didn’t even like someone you dated all that much, hearing that they’ve gotten married is rough. I’m with you, girl. Then things turn weeyid. She says, “Old friend, why are you so shy? Ain’t like you to hold back or hide from the light.” Hmm. Sounds like she’s standing in front of the dude wondering why he’s not saying much. Surely she’s not, like AT HIS HOUSE or anything, right?

Then she sings this part (this is the best part to sing, btw):
I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited
But I couldn’t stay away, I couldn’t fight it.
I had hoped you’d see my face and that you’d be reminded
That for me it isn’t over.

Oh. Oh, girlfriend. So you’re at his door? Face to face, wigging him out with that certain gleam in your eye that makes adrenaline pump through one’s body in the manner of those who are about to be kidnapped? Well, no fucking wonder he’s shy! He’s trying to signal to a neighbor to call the police.

Then thankfully, she doesn’t sing any verses about how she chopped him up in little pieces; she changes her tune and sings the chorus: Nevermind; I’ll find someone like you, I wish nothing but the best for you, etc. Things are looking up for old Adele’s sanity here. I like to imagine she delivers this part and then goes and gets back in her car to leave. The happily married boyfriend then locks the door, sets the house alarm, and tells his wife she and the dog can get out of the safe room now.

I further imagine that maybe when she repeats the creeptastic verses about wanting him to see her face and realize that she is still a psychopath that she’s just singing it to herself as she drives away. Maybe at this point she will call me so I can tell her she DEFINITELY did the right thing by leaving without murdering anyone. As she crosses the train tracks, we see the police arrive, responding to the neighbor’s 911 call where he reported “some British lady is singing to my neighbor and he was raising his eyebrows in Morse code and I’m pretty sure he spelled out S-O-S but it might’ve been M-O-M because I’m not that good with Morse code and all.” Happily, Adele gets away, leaving her able to release another song in a month or so that I will soon learn all the words to and sing along to while my child cries in the back seat.