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Thursday, 2 March 2006
the lost writings of testosterone boy
Now Playing: Dead Beat Radio (eastvillageradio.com)
Topic: rants de macedonia

where the hell am i?  and how do you get back to the womb?

[okay, so long before there was Both Sides Of The Surface, there was a monthly email newsletter called On The Verge, which ran from January 1999-December 2001. a bunch of music reviews written as well as a number of rants. since it's Women's Herstory Month, i figured i'd start off with an early rant of mine in regards to the topic of women. this was originally published in the ON THE VERGE v1.0 e-mail monthly for March 17, 1999. there are references to certain celebrities that will bring home how dated this is. the line about Lauryn Hill is either ironic, dead-on or both, given all that she's been through since this was written...]

the lost writings of testosterone boy

Don't ask me about estrogen. I don't understand it, I don't pretend to understand it, and all of you ladies out there are just gonna have to deal with the fact that most of us men don't, m'kay?

It was about five years ago that I had a dream. I had a dream that GOD was elected president, but the sisterhood had voted for Mother Nature. Her popularity had just about tripled after she had held a fundraiser to get Eve out of jail. Meanwhile, Adam was on Hard Copy talking about how Eve had paid Lorena Bobbitt to "do a little job for her." She had met with Anita Hill earlier the same day.

And right about now, Monica Lewinsky would be asking for her services (no more jokes about her "love handles," please. My ears can't take it).

Jump cut to now: I'm lost in a world of ultra-flesh that is not of my own making. 15 year-old boys gaze longingly at women they will never meet, be they Playboy pin-ups, Victoria's Secret angels, or female celebs that decided to cover up the right spots of their naked selves on the covers of Details or Maxim. In the midst of all of this, I have to wonder how many decided to skip classes on how to be a sex symbol while keeping your clothes on. More than likely, Gillian Anderson would be teaching this course.

Trying to sidestep fleshworld isn't exactly the easiest of all things, but anything to avoid being the typical male. Can you imagine my surprise on that terrible day when I woke up and realized that I was one?

Jump back to five years ago: I turned a street corner only to see Sharon Stone encircled by a group of women. Between giving her swift kicks to the mid-section, they shouted repeatedly, "What were you thinking? WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!?"

I watched in amazement as Angela Davis stood beside me, shrugged her shoulders and said, "Y'know, she really wasn't helping matters much; the bitch had it comin'." She pointed out towards the street. "Phallus patrol's on the move, brother. They don't take too kindly to Y-chromosomes. You'd better go." Then she threw up a power fist and kept steppin'.

You wanna know what amazes me? When somebody like DMX can stand up on stage in front of tens of thousands and ask "where my bitches at?" and women actually scream with delight. You'd think his dumb ass would get booed off the set, but OH, NO. The ladies in the crowd still said "Ow!" right on cue. WHAT'S THAT ABOUT?

And all these years, I wondered why the nice guy never got the girl. Thugs and players got it made. Fellas, it has become apparent to me that if you want a woman to obsess over you, act like she doesn't exist. Ignore her like she's a chain letter. Don't even bother calling her for two weeks.


But like I said, I ain't the one to ask about the ways of estrogen.

That's about the point when I throw on my headphones. Ear travels bring me to Nina Simone. She doesn't know me from Adam, yet can somehow sing about my pain that I can't even find words for. And Betty Carter brings me out of my darkness with vocal sunshine. And the present-day sirens: Lady Miss Kier, Beth Gibbons, Martina Topley-Bird (yin to Tricky's yang), Bjork, Esthero, Tracey Thorn - each taking my emotions for a different turn.

I'll tell you what I dig - those sistas that's coming full force, making their own music and owning their own labels, like DJ Rap, Miss DJax, The Angel and Nicolette. Sayin' "this is how it should be done for the sisterhood." Women that respond to bass, straight up ball breakers like Riz Maslen and Andrea Parker, creating dark sounds that exorcise their personal demons. And hip-hop females holding their own on the microphone, goin' back to Sha Rock, the Plus One element that was down with the Funky Four. The same feeling when I dote on MC Lyte, Roxanne Shante or Sweet T, on ahead to Apani B-Fly Emcee and the Ladybug Miss Mecca. And whenever Bahamadia speaks, my face is aglow diggin' on that flow - like she's always up to somethin' sinister. or Ursula Rucker closin' out Roots joints with ill urban poetics, heartfelt and introspective.

And as for Lauryn Hill, sista woman is laughing in the face of everyone who told her that she couldn't do it.

The scribes, I'm down with them, too. Read them before I read the brothers: mothers Maya Angelou and Toni Morrison, Nikki Giovanni, bell hooks, Alice Walker, Zora Neale Hurston, Terri McMillan...read 'em all. Got vexed, infuriated and still finished the books.

And the list goes on. Talented sisters, too many to mention.

But, don't ask me to explain estrogen. Me Mars, you Venus, i-ight? It’s like that. I ain't in the mood for no verbal beatdown. It’s hard enough dealing with my own hormone, for real.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

dear sisterhood -

i'm sorry that i haven't always treated you the way that i should have (Lord knows i haven't), but never let it be said that i haven't given you the props that were due you. when you need a ear, you know where i'm at. oh yeah, one more thing...


{jason randall smith}

Posted by macedonia at 3:21 PM EST
Updated: Thursday, 2 March 2006 3:22 PM EST
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