Friday, May 30, 2008

Mothers and Daughters


In light of the recent melodrama over Alice Walker and her daughter Rebecca Walker, I thought it would be interesting to explore the relationships between black women and their mothers. Therefore I'm soliciting personal stories from readers about their relationships with their mothers for an upcoming article I'm writing for the blog. If you're interested in sharing your story, please e-mail it to me. I will not use anyone's names as I want people to be honest about the good and bad, their love, disappointment, joy and pain in their relationships with their mothers.

So if you have a story to share, write up to a max of 500 words on your relationship with your mom and email The Black Snob at blacksnob@gmail.com.

PS. I'm still on break! But I'm still answering my emails and working on story ideas for when I come back. Toodles!

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

Snobbin' Ain't Easy

Taking a trip down dusty memory lane I was alarmed to see how random my looks were in high school. On one hand I could be very whimsical and fetching. On the other I looked like a cross between "Blossom" and "Ugly Betty." Granted, the clothes I was wearing from the 1990s were in style at the time and America Ferrera's signature character is donning the same baggy, Cross Colors-esque duds in the skinny jean era. But it's still no less shocking.

Behold the amazing contrasts.

As a junior fashionista I have to say, I was pretty hit or miss except when it came to the hair. Other than my super bang, helmet-do from Freshman year picture day, my hair looks fantastic. And while the loudly colored Parker Lewis Can't Lose shirts and floral prints really time stamp me, for a four-eyed chick with braces I managed to hold it together.

That said, I'm going to take the next two days and the weekend off. I'm pretty exhausted and need some time to revamp. Please feel free to still send emails, suggestions and feedback. I will still be checking my mail, but save something big happening in the news I think I'm going to get some sleep, do some job hunting and hit the gym a few more times.

Until then ...

TTFN -- Taa-taa for now!

Yours truly,

The Snob

Feminism. Abandonment. And Rebecca Walker.


Rebecca Walker, daughter of "The Color Purple" author Alice Walker, recently divulged her true feelings about her mother's ardent feminism and their estranged relationship. I first read about it on The Ultraviolet Underground and Okayplayer.

In a column written for Great Britian's The Mail, Walker talks about being abandoned and neglected by her mother who she labeled as selfish, seeing children as a burden, trapping women into subjugation. She essentially calls her mother a feminist fanatic, pushing the most extreme ends of the women's rights movement.

Some have criticized Walker for "outing" her mother as a bad parent, accusing her of only doing it for her career, but I think what she did took a degree of courage. If she was truly raised with the ideology that children were a burden and internalized that she was an unwanted inconvenience to her mother that's a tough load to carry psychologically.

It's hard to go against your mother, especially when she's more famous and better liked than you. Alice Walker is an icon in literary, black and feminist circles. Her story in some ways reminded me of Christina Crawford's tell-all about her famous mother Joan Crawford. She was bashed for writing her book after her mother died and left her out of the will. They said she only wrote it because she was angry, like being cut out of will wasn't reason enough alone to be furious.

You can debate Walker's methodology, but the only people who really know what went on in her childhood were her mother, her father and herself, and I believe her sense of abandonment is real. A lot of black children are abandoned either physically or psychologically by their emotionally stunted parents. Abandonment happens every day. Black parents who think a "whoopin'" is the answer to everything. Black parents who look the other way when their latchkey kids engage in risky behavior. Black parents who just aren't there. Fathers who split. Mothers who leave their kids to be raised by grandmothers.

Familial loyalty can only go so far in a damaged relationship and Rebecca and Alice Walker would have to have a damaged relationship for it come to this. My mother and I have our differences on things, but we have a healthy relationship. She deserves my loyalty because she gave me unconditional love and devotion. I don't have anything to bitch about.

Rebecca apparently does.

Side note: The article is worth reading for her analysis of the extreme end of feminism alone. While I'm a feminist, I identify more with Rebecca views that the movement was about giving women options, not labeling all things related to "femininity" and "marriage" bad. My mother is an independent minded woman with a college degree who became a full-time stay-at-home mom. I don't think she ever felt subjugated by my father. Their marriage was both retro and modern. My mother had options. That's the point. Women can choose their destines, whether it be a career or motherhood.

Also, if all children were burdens no one would have any and that would be the end of all of us, so that logic is a fallacy. This is the real mythology of the movement, that women can "have it all." We still don't live in a fully egalitarian society. Having a family does involve concessions, usually on the woman's behalf. Anyone who thinks otherwise is delusional.

Shakespeare's Got Nothing on This 'Nothing'

I have insomnia, so I stayed up most of the night thinking and making this graphic that is both a pun and at the same time very apropos to describe the trivial way the Democratic race for the nomination has been portrayed: as a series of gaffes, laughs, smears, slanders and out-right, bold-faced lies.

Angry ministers. "Me So Pretty" Breck Girl allusions. Cackles. Billary. Asbestos laced pantsuits. "Menacing" middle names. Is he or isn't he a Muslim? Assassination fantasies. Sniper fire over Bosnian skies. Flag pins and patriotism. Sexism is worse than racism. Racism is worse than sexism. Ferraro. Steinem. The Weather Underground. Bitter-gate. Elitism. Geraldo dreams of black baby genius factories.

She's a monster. He's nothing but words.

Is this what things have come to?

For the most exciting election in a generation all the spats, missteps, misfires and misspeaking seem to be the obsession of a press corps and cynical populace bored by the perceived similarities of the candidates' stances.

The campaign for the Democratic nomination is a joke. And I don't mean that the voters are a joke or that the candidates are jokes, but to the system, the process and to the outsiders looking in, this is a joke. This is schadenfreude. To the jaundiced eye this is a menagerie of when ambition and ego collide.

Part of the flaw is the fact that there is no honor among politicians. Expediency is the rule of the day. Who's quarterbacking and who's piggybacking? If it's the Barack Obama train leaving the station, that will be the one they'll ride. But we can't get there without a laugh track and a fistful of statistics arguing who can't win what and where and white working class people as Hillary Clinton plots her next move in her quixotic bid for a nomination that is seemingly beyond her grasp.

God bless her cold, dark heart. She is truly The Thing That Won't Die. Cheering for her is almost like cheering for the gut sucking beast in Ridley Scott's "Alien." Making Barack Obama Sigourney Weaver in this scenario.

In politics no one can hear you scream.

I know I may be in the minority on this, but I don't think she actually wishes the most tortured of ill will on Barack Obama. I think she wishes that something, anything would surface to make him damaged goods. Invoking Robert F. Kennedy and his assassination by Sirhan Sirhan was more telling of how dire things are in Clinton Country. She's cranky. She's tired. She's fucking up.

It's everyone else's fault but my own. The rallying cry of the fatally ironic. The last refuge of the refuted.

In this Shakespearian melodrama, every player takes turns being the clown for the cameras. The pundits chew over the 24-hour surveillance courtesy of the World Wide Web. From boob tube to YouTube. This is point and click journalism. No investigation, no background check required. Whatever sounds good to the ear. Whatever tune can captivate the masses.

They can beat Hillary with the same Missy Elliott hot beat, rapping "She's a bitch!" over and over, then switch to marveling the perils of Barack's "naivety" and the drama of being the man with the permanent tan. They don't even flinch as they talk out of both sides of their neck, then let out their own cackles. Kick 'em while they're up. Kick 'em while they're down.

The only thing more annoying than this fixation on the trivial is the fact that so many people gobble up this garbage. A third of all voters believe Obama is a "secret" Muslim, as if a religion indicated one's intent. There's the non-stop coverage of Bill Clinton's word vomit. Video of John Edwards fluffing his hair as if everyone wasn't doing their same, working to look their best to impress eager voters.

"What does Hillary Clinton want?" Cries out Chris Matthews every night (while Clinton avoids him and his show). Most say a VP spot and that's why she remains swinging haymakers, racking up delegates and hammering home the point that Obama is weak among "Reagan Democrats," code for the white blue collar class that is less sophisticated, most resistant to Obama's halcyon calls for egalitarian change, most suspicious of the tan man.

Vote for the black guy? Surely you jest! He's scary. He has a funny name. His pastor and his wife hate America. And Israel. Or at least that's what FOX News keeps telling me. And CNN. And certain segments of MSNBC.

God bless American? No, no, no. Goddamn America. And two wars rage on. And the economy falters. And a crime wave sweeps American cities. And folks are siphoning the gas out of other people's tanks. Four houses on my block remain unsold and it's been more than a year for three out of the four that are on the market. I'm unemployed with no health care. Millions of others are unemployed with no health care.

But don't ask the candidates about us, the huddled broke unemployed war-weary masses. Please do continue making a farce, making fools out of us all. Make the monkeys dance for our delight. Watch them burn ever-so-bright then burn out.

They've crunched the numbers for Barack and it doesn't look good. There are too many leaks in the dike and not enough fingers. But when they say this, the following is what I hear:

The bitches and the niggers have fucked everything up! The laity cry out for a savior. A man who rose from the political dead to become a champion of the trees and the bees. Al Gore riding astride a steed like El Cid prepared to vanquish the Moors from Spain.

What we need right now is a white man! There was none of this Ferraro v. Brazille, Tina Fey v. Tracey Morgan, "Black on Bitch" violence when the white man ruled the roost. We need someone gender and race neutral! I don't see color when I see a white man. I just see a leader. The sort who doesn't raise these sort of hackles, these difficult questions about sex and race. Obviously this task is too difficult for a multitude of menopausal doyennes and Obama-aid drinkers. Look at the horrors they have caused, breaking apart a coalition white men worked so hard to forge.

And they said a child shall lead them. But would a white man do for you? Standing in a suit, so inoffensive and plain, the same as we've had before? No more fighting over who's time has come. No more calls for her to be done. No more "go back where you came from." Just the (always) chosen one. The only one who can lead and we would follow. Ambitions borrowed on promises of tomorrow. He said tomorrow your time will come.

But not today.

Spades and skirts are a joke. Their foibles make me smile. How can you take one so seriously, when they can't hide their inadequacy? Where is that golden child? I'm voting for John Edwards even though he's been out of the race for months. I'm building a bridge back to the twentieth century to play "Return of the King." I'm looking for that one ring, that one white man to rule them all.

My precious, my precious. I covet your banality. I covet your perceived normalcy. Your neutrality. Obviously this nomination was never meant for me. (Or any other harridan or black buck. We're bad luck!) Thank you Pat, Chris, Sean and Lou. For reminding me that only more of the same will do. It was naive of me to believe that we could move past this fallacy. We will shut the fuck up and accept our inferiority. We'll all just drop our trousers and bend over. We know the game. We're begging. Please fuck us all one more time.

Fuck change.

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Parade of Suedo Stars!

For all us poor people, it was just "May." For the rich and famous, last week was the Cannes Film Festival where everyone goes to France to be camera-whores.

It's hard work, but someone has to put on a $8,000 mini dress and go do it.

As always, Supermodel and Cellphone-Fu black belt champion Naomi Campbell was on hand at Dolce & Gabbana's Cannes party.

She was wearing Roman-esque silver gladiator sandals, a sparkly mini-dress and black feathers for a coat of some kind, but she's Naomi. She could put on a black Hefty garbage bag and make it work.

While a lot of people at this party looked especially garish (Lindsay Lohan and her disappearing emerald skirt and Rose McGowan's scraggly red hair to be specific), others looked less so. Like Sean "Dolphin Teeth" Combs and Kerry Washington who only looked a little silly in his white tuxedo suit and her hairy gold sweater of a dress.

Nice "finger jewelry."

Is it just me or shouldn't Kerry's legs be shinier? Her face area has a nice, healthy glow and she's wearing gold so shouldn't her legs be all cocoa butter oiled up? Because at these sorts of events with all the cameras flashing not enough sheen can make a Negro look ashy. And that's what I'm really saying. I realize she's no "Ashy Larry" but the matte finish look does not work for a black person's "evening legs," especially when the skirt is this short and the gold is blending in with her natural skin tone.

I'm not saying she has to bathe in a bucket of Crisco or make love to some fried chicken from Church's, World's Greasiest Retail Chicken Chain, but ... it couldn't hurt.

But enough of that. It's been five minutes. Are Nick and Mariah still together?

Oh, thank God! I was worried. No pictures of them had shown up in my inbox for nearly three whole days. Sure, I'd seen that one picture of a solo Nick at a party Diddy threw last week, but nothing substantial since the Six Flags Cupcakes of Love soirée they gave me May 16th. Thank heavens some paparazzi were there in Japan to greet them at the airport where a shy and resigned Mariah Carey fought tears as she reluctantly posed for pictures.

"Is this what you wanted! Is this what you came to see, you whores!" she shouted as she whipped out her left hand, displaying her wedding ring. "Why won't you people LEAVE US ALONE? Why, Nick? Why???"

I know it was hard, Mimi. I really do.

This is what it sounds like when doves cry.

And black tights with black sandals? Really? Is that what's hot in the streets now? I can't hate because she's sort of making it work, but ... black tights and sandals? It makes her look like she should have on a leotard, hopping a time machine to the 1980s so she can go "Jazzercise" in hot pink leg warmers, a matching scrunchie and a crimp ponytail.

Picture Me Rollin'*


Craziest thing? Wheeling around in this dealie is my earliest memory. I was in that sucker that much. (I believe it took me the longest to learn how to walk. Thirteen months to be exact which might explain the frequency in which I was sitting in this.) I can remember the colored shapes on top. I can remember trying to get from the couch to the patio door in it. I can remember just sitting there, chillin', when my lil' legs got tired. Then I don't remember anything else from my babyhood until suddenly I'm three and Baby Sis, aka Baby Snob, is born and is threatening to bite me as we sit on the kitchen floor in our church clothes.

No one believed me when I said that she was a biter. But I knew better.

* Correction: The baby in this photo is my little sister, Baby Sis. As babies almost all the Snob Girls looked exactly alike and Baby Snob looks exactly like how my mother looked as an infant. So upon further review Big Sis told me that this was not me, but that is the walker all three of us used as babies.

The Dream Mate


With the Democratic nomination close to being sewn up (despite some caterwauling from the peanut gallery), the pundits are engaging in their favorite national pastime -- Vice Presidential Candidate Dream Date.

John McCain's looking for a veep of his dreams. My money is on Mitt Romney as he is sucking up the hardest, per usual. He wants to be the new face of the Republican party and he's willing to do, say, be anything to get it. His only caveats being he wants to stay a Mormon and keep his family. Everything else is negotiable.

Romney knows McCain might be a one-termer. What better way to launch your second presidential bid than after four years in the White House?

Of course, I don't know what Romney brings to the ticket (Utah? Ann Coulter?), but Mike Huckabee's too folksy and his other former opponents (Rudy, Tancredo, et al) are either heavily damaged or deranged. Florida Gov. Charlie Crist is supposed to be in contention. But there's still a grassroots campaign to draft Condoleezza Rice. I still think that would be an astronomical mistake, but hey, do it and surprise me, McCain.

As for Barack Obama, the pundits have been hitting the Hillary Clinton/John Edwards/Bill Richardson bong, ignoring some serious flaws in that logic.

1) Barack and Hillary hate each other.

2) Edwards was already a veep nominee for John Kerry in 2004.

3) Richardson got knifed up by Tim Russert on "Meet the Press." Like damaged. Like fatally. I don't trust that man's stamina in front of the Washington press corps. Plus, people already struggle with Obama's ethnicity. I don't know if he can afford to add such a huge dollop of diversity on what is already a United Colors of Benetton ticket.

Other names being bandied about include: Sen. Christopher Dodd, Sen. Joe Biden, Sen. Jim Webb and Kansas Gov. Kathleen Sebelius

I don't know how I feel about any of those individuals as VP. I like Webb potentially because he's a Vietnam War veteran, is intelligent and is a "no bullshit" guy when it comes to dealing with the press hacks. But I don't know if he's the perfect potential running mate.

A lot of people like Sebelius and she is more of a centrist, which makes her interesting, but hmm ... I don' t know. Her rebuttal to the president's State of the Union Address was dullsville compared to Webb's kick ass rebuttal the year before. I respect Dodd for being willing to do a one-man filibuster back in January to stop some bogus FISA crap going down. And Biden is great when he gets all pissed off, but sometimes he can be a little "flying from the seat of my pants" like.

So I'm stumped on the whole thing. I don't know which flavor of veep I like: Old, white and male. Not-so-old, white and male. Used. Clintonian. White Female. Centrist. Angry Liberal. Southerner. Who would be your dream mate for Obama or McCain?

Incognegro VII: Dwayne Johnson

First off, I did not initially smell what "The Rock" was cooking.

For one, I hated wrestling. Back when I first discovered Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson (who is now just Dwayne Johnson) about seven years ago when I was dating a guy who loved wrestling. I thought that was just about the tackiest thing in the world. I tried not to hold it against the dude, but man, fake sports? Lame.

His favorite wrestlers were The Rock, aka "The People's Champion" aka "The Brahma Bull" aka "The King of Ridiculous Nicknames," Stone Cold Steve Austin and some dude who would hit his crotch with his hands in a V-formation. I didn't like that guy. But The Rock seemed like a charismatic enough fellow. I just couldn't get over the wrestling thing.

Thank God he quit wrestling.

Johnson is not the greatest actor, but he's the closest thing we're going to get to an heir apparent to Ah-nuld Schwarzenegger. Schwarzenegger, also a mediocre actor, had a certain something, a look that said, "I could fuck shit up or be really hilarious, because, seriously, I'm ridiculous looking. I mean, look at these muscles and the thickness of my neck. I'm utterly ridiculous."

Johnson is utterly ridiculous with "The People's Elbow" and that crazy arching eyebrow thing he does. He's Ah-nuld with an American accent, a more handsome and warm face and a lovely incognegro brown covering. He's essentially delicious.

While he has to share some of his bona fides with fellow incognegro and potential Schwarzenegger clone, Vin Diesel, Johnson definitely gets more work or (more likely) he's willing to take on more crappy work in-between the good stuff.

Johnson was supposed to be an NFL pro-baller. He was an incredible football player for the University of Miami, but a back injury killed his chances at a career. After poking around in the Canadian League (and getting cut from his team), he ditched his legitimate sports dreams altogether and hit the wrestling arena where his father, Rocky Johnson, had once reigned supreme.

His incognegro status comes from being one part black Canadian and one part Samoan. While it is obvious that Johnson is "brown," as both black people and Samoans are known for their "permanent tans," Johnson doesn't quite look like a black American. Maybe it's the nose or his protruding brow or his hairline or the overall, not-quite-black look of his facial area. I just didn't see him as a Negro or even a half-Negro. I still don't. But while searching for photos of him on the internet one site had his pictures tagged with the ethnicity of "black." So, whatever. I don't know if anyone ever asked the dude what he was since he seems pretty down with his black and Polynesian roots.

In most of his films he's your racial "everyman." Latino? Pacific Islander? North African? Negro? Who the fuck knows? In Disney's "The Game Plan" they made sure to cast his "daughter" with a child actress who also fell into the "who the fuck knows" category. And Johnson will probably remain in on-screen racial limbo for the rest of his career.

I mean, how many roles are there out there where you can play 6'3" Samoan?

He, quite famously, got $5.5 million dollars to star in "The Scorpion King," and has starred in mostly action flicks, remakes and video game adaptations ("The Rundown," "Doom," "Walking Tall") and even popped up in the highly anticipated Richard Kelly's surrealist/sci-fi flick "Southland Tales."

Like Schwarzenegger, Johnson is a Hollywood Republican. Unlike Schwarzenegger, Johnson is royalty. His mother, Ata Johnson, nee Maivia, came for a royal Samoan bloodline, leading Samoan King Malietoa Tanumafili II to bestow Johnson with the title of "Seiuli, Son of Malietoa" during a visit to Samoa in 2004.

Johnson dropped "The Rock" from his name in 2006 wanting to leaving wrestling behind completely and be seen solely as an actor. That was probably a good thing, but the not-quite Polynesian face with a quasi-black American name (I don't know a lot of white dudes named "Dwayne," but black guys? Hoards.), there's still a bit of cognizant dissonance. But never mind. I'll still go see "Get Smart" this summer anyway. He may be ridiculous, but he's a hot, chiseled, royal incognegro sort of ridiculous and that's something which everyone can partake.

Monday, May 26, 2008

Not the Face!


Last week on MSNBC's "Hardball" I watched Chris Matthews go feral on conservative talk show host Kevin James. James, like many people, was tossing around a historical term, "appeasement," without actually knowing the etymology and historical significance of said term.

Matthews, who obviously laid the trap that James pounced right into, pulled out his club and commenced to beating James about the head. Matthews enjoys doing this to people (which I probably why Hillary Clinton won't go on his show ... that and he's a huge sexist who totally hates her.)

This most recent fracas was akin to a "douche off" he had with former Democratic Chairman Terry McAuliffe and a savage impaling of Obama supporter Kirk Watson. But this latest attack was over recent veiled statements President Bush made in Israel about Barack Obama, accusing individuals like him of being naive for wanting to talk to our enemies. James used the magic word, "appeasement," and the beatdown commenced.

If you're pro-Obama, it was good to see an anti-Obama dude get a torn a new one. And if you're pro-historical accuracy, it was funny to see someone get forcefully corrected.

And if you just enjoy watching Chris Matthews act like Chris Matthews, it's a hilarious clip.

"When you're in a hole, stop digging!"

Bonus: Here's Bill O'Reilly freaking out back when he hosted "Inside Edition" and a club remix of that profanity-laced freak-out. We'll do it live!

The Romano's Macaroni Grill of Chinese Food

PF Chang's Chinese Bistro (Left) in Clayton, Mo.'s mixed use neighborhood/high-end shopping area, The Boulevard.

Last night I went to PF Chang's Chinese Bistro for the second time in my life. There much less snickering than the first time I went, two years ago, when it opened in Bakersfield, Calif. First, you have to deal with the whole "lazy American" thing where we call expensive, large restaurants "bistros," when it's a French word for tiny, moderately priced restaurants and taverns. Basically a French version of a tapas bar or taco hut.

But, whatever. That's too much to ask of the US of A. "Bistro" sounds fancy, even if it's not supposed to. I first went to PF Chang's not-bistro bistro with my good friend Christine P. We both loved Chinese food. Everyone was making a huge deal about the place, so we wanted to give it a shot.

Now, a disclaimer. I started going to "local" restaurants over chain restaurants when I moved to Texas shortly after graduating from college. I quickly learned that if you wanted to actually eat something interesting it was best to go local over a chain where everything always tastes like a slightly better version of Denny's.

That said, PF Chang's made me chuckle because despite some really great architecture and design, including giant fake stone horses and warriors, the food was underwhelming. I'm not saying it was gross, because it wasn't. It was perfectly fine. It just wasn't better than some of the best Chinese restaurants in Bakersfield. It was about on par quality-wise with Bakersfield's finest Chinese buffets, namely Panda Palace. But no where near as good as Great Castle, which was the premiere, fancy pants, sit down Chinese restaurant in town.

It was one of those mom n' pop enterprises that had grown into a grand and unique dining experience. Where the dumplings were just the right amount of sticky and were made from scratch. Where the orange chicken took on a spicy, gourmet experience with just the right amount of creative flourishes and shaved orange rind.

PF Chang's wasn't even as good as Bakersfield's second best Chinese restaurant, Bill Lee's Bamboo Chopsticks, which has its own Chinese stone warrior.

It wasn't even as good as the greatest Chinese restaurant in Midland, TX, Quo's, where I went so often for the vegetarian dishes and the sesame chicken that the women working the front desk and the owner knew my name and joked with me regularly.

And all the people at the restaurants were extremely friendly, generous Chinese people.

I'm not saying there's anything wrong with going to PF Chang's. But up until now I'd only been to Chinese restaurants run by Chinese immigrants or first/second generation Chinese Americans. It's a little weird experiencing Chinese where everyone from the hostess to the waitresses to the manager is white. I couldn't see who was burning it up in the kitchen. Maybe they hid some Chinese people back there. But Chinese without Chinese people is like Garfield without Garfield, just bizarre.

Now, it's not like I expect Romano's Macaroni Grill and Olive Garden to be teeming with Italians. But I also don't expect either to make food that actually tastes as good as the real Italian food you can get in some of the most famous Italian restaurants in St. Louis made by authentic Italian Americans. I don't expect Chuy's or Chevy's or Casa Gallardo or even Taco Bell to be filled with Mexicans, but I don't expect any of it to taste as good as the Tex Mex I ate all the time in Midland, TX or the comida del mar I ate in Bakersfield.

But there's something to be said about going to a fine local restaurant staffed by people with intimate knowledge of the food and culture. I couldn't read the Chinese and Korean fashion magazines at Quo's but I still would flip through them as I waited for my table. It didn't occur to the owners to put out English-language magazines. They put out what they had, and they were Chinese/South Korean magazines. I loved looking through them. And I loved how the hostess always tried to joke with me even though I knew zero Chinese and she was big on the broken English. It didn't really matter. I knew I was getting delicious food and good service and she was getting the American Dream. Fair trade.

It's the same deal with going to a fish fry house, barbecue or soul food restaurant and seeing those brothers in the back burning up some of the best food you'll ever eat. I got a great meal and I put a smile on the face of the brothers frying that catfish and burning those ribs. I kept their family business going so they kept their part of the dream.

And I'll be honest. I don't even trust barbecue unless it's been made by either black people or white southerners. How the hell do I know what I'm getting if it's not made by a Tyronne or a Bubba who've been pulling pork, slicing brisket and smoking ribs since the late 1800s?

Seeing white people working at a Chinese "Bistro" is like seeing Chinese people working at Roscoe's House of Chicken and Waffles. I'm not saying Mr. and Mrs. Yang from Sichuan Province can't fry chicken. I'm just saying they probably can't fry like black people fry chicken.

But in the spirit of the grand American tradition of taking something good, mass producing it and rendering bland and meaningless, I propose we make a fancy pants "southern-style" food chain that's just an ever more expensive version of Cracker Barrel, but with a distinctly more Negro feel to it. We could call it Big Mama's or Sweet Tea's Dixie Bistro and be real lazy and lump in Louisiana/Creole cooking with the soul food of the Georgia/Alabama/Mississippi region. And it could be staff with former sweater-folders from Abercrombie & Fitch and the Gap. And sure, the chicken and waffles won't taste "bad." It might even be kind of good. But it won't have soul.

And that's what PF Chang's was like. Chinese food without soul. Or, more appropriately, without shenling.

Sunday, May 25, 2008

The Obamas: Too Cute, Yet Again

Had to share. This is from last week when the Obamas were heading to Iowa for their big shindig. The girls are too cute, specially Malia in her little junior trench coat! And look at those gams on Michelle. She's got legs and she knows how to use them. And all the leggings on the girls and the cute little ballerina-type slippers. I'm in love! I'm in love! I'm in love with this family! I could stare at pictures of them all day.

Have A Great Memorial Day Weekend

Honor your deceased loved ones through barbecue. This rib is for you, Uncle John!

Memorial Day Weekend Randomness

The Snob is a big fan of good music. Even when it's not sung in English. Especially if it falls into the soul/R&B/jazz continuum. Last year I discovered South Korea's answer to Usher and Justin Timberlake, pop singer/actor/model/pop n' lock enthusiast Rain, and his song "Escaping the Sun" on of all things, The Colbert Report. I went to Amazon.com in search for it, knowing full well it would be an import and cost way too much money. (I wanted for months to buy UK's The Servant's self-titled album, but then Amazon decided to stop teasing me and put it up for download.)

Anyway, long story short. Amazon does not have the Rain album that contains this song. This is worse than when I had to move heaven and earth online to get Mayumi Kojima's "Hatsukoi" after I heard it in, of all things, a Nintendo commercial. I suppose I could stop being lazy and do some serious internet crunching to find the damn thing. Learn enough bootleg Anglicized Korean to determine which site will hook me up and which will just infect my hard drive with malware, pop ups n' porn.

Why can't it be easy to find like Japanese Pop's Pizzicato Five or Asian American sample/hip hop mashup Cibo Matto? The man is doing songs with Omarion of all people! There is a demand. Meet it, marketplace!

But if anyone out there in Snob World knows how to hook a Korean pop loving sista up with some Rain that is not the bitorrent malware file from hell, I'd appreciate it, because, seriously ...

I need this song in my life.

That said, the Los Angeles Lakers beat the shit out of San Antonio Friday night. It was not as sweet as when the Lakers beat the shit out of Utah. Because I live to watch the Jazz lose, but it was nice to see my fake Laker boyfriend is hot half-black Jewish incognegro Jordan Farmar and the rest of the second string get a chance to run around like little kids because the Lakers were up by 26 in the fourth quarter. They went on to win the game by 30 points after Luke Walton, perpetual whipping boy in our household, drained a three from downtown.

I'm just glad the Cavs didn't make it to the Finals, because if they had and if the Lakers make it there I'd be torn between Farmar and my fake Cavs boyfriend Daniel Gibson, who people insisting on calling Boobie because that's what the brother's mother calls him. Stop insulting my fake Cavs boyfriend. He has a first name, you emasculating TNT announcers.

BTW: I totally love men who can shoot a three in the clutch. I'm still dreaming about Reggie Miller talking shit and raining threes on them. It's sad that a dude that talented has zero rings.

Eva Longoria's "desperate" ass took Tony Parker from me, so I don't have a fake boyfriend on the Spurs anymore. Not that there would be any scenario where I would not root for the Lakers, fake boyfriends or no. I've loved them since Magic Johnson. I love them up or down. I made it through Kobe Bryant's rape charge and Bryant throwing a hissyfit before the season began. I was down even during the pre-Kobe, Shaq years which were craptacular considering "hack a Shaq" was en vogue (is it ever NOT en vogue?) and I had to watch him destroy the team through his inability to get two at the foul line.

I just love the Lakers. The Lakers and the NFL's Dallas Cowboys, are the only teams I've ever given a damn about. (I know I'm from St. Louis and hence contractually obligated to back the Cardinals, but ... ahem ... fuck the Cardinals.)

I know my teams of choice not beloved by all (mostly because they're so arrogant from having legendary franchise histories behind them). But I love their chest pumping, nose thumbing, king-of-the-world asses. Confidence is sexy and they got sexy by the Escalades.

Stay sexy, you arrogant bastards.

Pining For "The Man"

My Great Great Uncle Charles Smartt: citizen, soldier, husband, "the man."

He just looked good.

In every photo in my great-great-aunt's collection, her husband Corporal Charles Smartt looked good. Smooth double black skin. Serious look on his face. Boots spit-shined, a handsome military man. His wife, my Aunt Ollie loved him and they spent their life together in California, specifically living in a wonderful little house in Santa Barbara.

My aunt was an "incognegro." She, and her sisters Bertha and Josephine, could have easily passed, but Ollie and Josephine chose to marry the darkest, handsomest military men they could find. Aunt Josephine, Josie's, husband, was my Uncle John Myricks. He was a Buffalo Soldier who went to West Point to learn Veterinary medicine, tending to the calvary's horses. They were educated men. They were confident men. They were men that if you had a problem they would work to find a solution. They were exemplary in every way.

They weren't perfect. But they were the man.

When people say someone's "the man," these days it can be fore just about anything or nothing all at the same time.

Dunk a basketball. You da man! Spit some game. You da man! Juggle some girlfriends. You da man! Beat someone at pool. You da man!

But what is the true definition of a man? One that is not based on sporting skill or the mere ability to engage in coitus with a multitude of dimwitted females? What really makes a man? When people say "man up" is it merely a call to be cold and withhold feelings? Is it to deny pain and problems? When young men announce that they are men by what criteria are they basing it on? Is it simply chronological age? Or is he announcing more? Is he announcing that he is the master of his world? Or is he merely announcing he's the master of his domain?

I am not writing about these sorts of men. I'm writing about "the man of honor."

While I find all sorts of men attractive, my heart beats strongest for black American men. When I see one, all put together, full of the sort of confidence that only self-respect, education and class can bring, I fall in love a little, no matter the age. My eyes wander. I daydream. If they are young, I want to give them children. If they are old, I want to hear their stories.

For me, the definition of a man is what my uncles were and what my father is. While I have benefited from the feminist movement greatly and defend a women's right to have choices, I know that if I met the right man, the man, I would be honored to follow him, to fight for him, to love him, to protect him. These are not benefits I would hand out lightly. I wouldn't submit for ANY man. But for THE man, I gladly would. I'd be proud to do so.

The wedding of my parents. (Left to Right) Grandpa, Granny, Mama Snob, Papa Snob and my Aunt "Dinkie"

Maybe it's because my mother, a stay-at-home mom who was opinionated and educated, encouraged my sisters and I to be intelligent and self-sufficient while showing us another side--the security, love and trust that can come from a healthy marriage. The fact that for all the feminism and modernization, I came from a two parent home where my mother had an education of her own and familial roles were defined. My mother cooked, cleaned and looked after us, making sure we were well educated. My father worked hard, moving up in his career, balancing the household budget, providing for the us and sending my sisters and I to college.

My father with my Big Sis.

My mother was loving, but firm. My father was firmer, sometimes withholding emotionally, but he was a man of honor. The love was quietly there in how he did anything to support us and protect us. He took care of us financially, celebrated our triumphs and encouraged our talents. Why wouldn't my mother trust him, love him and be willing to follow him? He is "the man." If there is a problem, he fixes it. He told her that she wouldn't have to work as long as his job could support the five of us. He kept his promises. She doesn't worry about money or their home because he has taken care of it. Just as he doesn't worry about his health, his comfort as she takes care of him. He is loyal and dependable and always on time.

Just like his father. Just like his uncles Charles and John. Just like almost every man on both sides of my family the had honor. They were prideful men who turned into larger than life John Henry's when duty called, when it was time to stand up and fight. These men were not self-involved or vain. They were not petty. And they loved their women, deeply. And stood by them.

That's why my heart yearns for a black man. I've seen the best in them through the challenging and charming men of my family. I have seen the potential. I have seen the sense of duty and pride in taking care of their families and the women they pledged their fidelity. The women they promised forever.

And this is what I want, what most black women want. Their heart breaks longing for that man, the man, head held high, will strong, ambitious, loving and understanding. Whether in a freshly pressed uniform and shiny shoes or in a wool suit coat with thick striped tie or in coveralls and work boats. There is nothing more beautiful that a couple joined together -- two against the world. And together they can't be defeated.

I won't rest until I find that in a man, a many, but it would be a dream if the man is a black man.

Friday, May 23, 2008

The Sell-Out: An Addendum On "The Coon"

The idea to write about "sell-outs" came from my correspondence from a reader, bklynbam. He offered this rumination on the emasculation of black males in film and the fascination with "the exotic other" some whites have, specifically in the role of "the coon," always worth mocking.

On a cold day in the late 1990's, at one of the finer engineering schools in the Northeast, a group of mostly white students gathered at the movie-showing place on campus for a screening of the modern classic L.A. Confidential. For those unfamiliar with the film, it is set in the 1950's and, in a scene entitled "Interrogation," three bumbling, ignorant young Black men, accused in a multiple homicide case, are questioned by sharp, highly intelligent and shrewd, yet fiercely tough white police officers. So outclassed, outwitted, and out-toughed were the trio of Negro miscreants, that one of them actually began to soil himself visibly.

At this, a murmur of chuckling and laughter began to form over the mostly white audience at that fine institute of higher learning. The crescendo of chuckles builds to a quiet roar upon seeing the pathetic whimpering face of the piss-puddle's provider juxtaposed with the cool, cunning, intelligent white detective.

At the scene's climax, a different white detective suddenly shoves a revolver into the mouth of one the suspects.

It is at this point that the movie-watching crowd broke into a loud round of guffaws. Though the laughter had built up slowly, it was brought to a screeching halt with just six loud and passionately expressed words (i.e., "what the **** you laughin' at?!!") in the curiously strong Brooklyn accent of one of the university's outstanding bright, young, Black engineering students ...

It's not too much of a stretch to say that America's oldest and longest-surviving entertainment form is laughing at Black people. We all know about minstrel shows, and we should also know that these were Black-tie affairs. People used to put on tuxedos (TUXEDOS, man!!!!!) to watch tar-faced performers engage in what was considered to be the most ludicrous buffoonery, i.e., imitating Black people. As time when on, the minstrel show died, but many believe it lives on in today's entertainment media: television, film, Internet, you-name-it.

I've spent a long time trying to get at the root of (1) what constitutes coon'ing, (2) why it is wrong and (3) when is it cooning?

From Amos N' Andy, to the Wayans Brothers Show, to J.J. from Good Times, to Flavor of Love and O.D.B. (r.i.p.) the argument on who's a coon and what makes a coon is a heated one and it never seems to end. Some say it has to do with poor English and enunciation. Some say it's too much damn dancing! Some say it's a lazy and loud-mouthed manner of behavior. Nobody ever really defines it, and it's hard to get everybody to agree.

I learned a couple of things during that movie screening so long ago: First, that intimidating a very large room full of people is f-r-r-reakin' sweet! More importantly though, I finally understood that the "Coon" is the characteristically Black object of *condescending* White laughter (*). No more; no less. Every coon who ever coon'ed, did so by this principle (note that there are Brutal Black Bucks, Mammies, Pickaninnies, Jezebels and other classically re-occurring, degrading Black stereotypes in American entertainment, but the coon is the funny one). This, I believe, is what distinguishes genuinely original and creative Black comedy from coon'ing: i.e., it's the condescending laughter of on-looking white audiences.

You can begin to answer the questions of (1) "what it is" and (2) "why it's wrong" with this idea, but (3) "when is one coon'ing?" is the tough one because the line between great Black comedy and coon'ing can be blurred and sometimes it's the same damn thing.

(*) - Even though the three young men in that scene are not coons, the revelation was all the same.

Nerd Girl: Series #1 "Remember College?"

*Yes. That is a Que Dog in his underwear with a brand on his chest, gloves and a scarf. He is a regular feature of the comic. His name is Curtis. To see the comic that preceded this one, click here. And yes. Those are references to Star Trek and an old skool Toys R' Us commercial.

The Sell-Out

Back on May 7th I asked readers to submit what was their definition of "cooning" or a "sell-out." I received a lot of responses that took me some time to examine. The following is my ode to the sometimes real, sometimes mythical so-called coons, buffoons, toms, turncoats and sell-outs.

She packed a gun for one reason and one reason alone.

Once you got on the railroad you didn't get off. She couldn't risk them being found out. She couldn't allow one scared fool to ruin a chance at freedom. She went down into the rebellious south over and over again, a black Moses, working to set her people free. But she didn't trust all of her people.

That's why she carried the gun.

We're all in this together. That's the mantra of black America. Light, dark. Brown to almost white. Bound by shared sacrifice and suffering in victory and defeat. Bound by racism and the solidarity that comes with being in "the shit" together. And we're still holding Harriet Tubman's gun to the heads of every nigger who dares to step out of line.

The sell-out. The turncoat. The Tom. The fool who dares to threaten the majority who holds that gun. And they can fire at any given time. Sometimes it's a misfire. Sometimes the aim is lethal. It can lead to banishment. Some might not think much of it, but the black community is small and banishment is painful for those who still feel they should belong. Who feel they are misunderstood. Who believe there was a misfire.

Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas is routinely held up as the quintessential, so-called "Uncle Tom." An individual accused of kissing white ass all the way to the top. But Thomas still laments being an outcast. He believes his works were done out of love for black Americans. But he was fatally wounded by that gun. He's dead to most blacks. He's finished. He has been judged, the jury has rendered its verdict and he has been executed right out of the diaspora.

What crime must a black commit to get shot? Doc L called it "mercenary behavior that misrepresents your culture."

I say mercernary because that implies a deliberate, volitional act. Many so-called "coons," "Toms," "sellouts" are simply ignorant of themselves, their history and the impact of what they do. I believe when they are educated, then they change. They "do better, when they know better." However, when you deliberately do things that cast yourself, or your people in terrible light--especially before the majority who definitely has no true understanding of your background and culture--and do so in the name of the almighty dollar,, trying to justify it through ratings, "harmlessness," "it's what the public wants," etc., I think you're "cooning," you're "selling out".

Doc is describing the individual who seeks profit in the exploitation of "low class" black culture. He is describing individuals like Robert Johnson who created BET and Debra Lee who currently is at the helm of the network. Cartoonist Aaron McGruder dedicated a banned double-episode of "The Boondocks" based solely on Lee and BET head Reginald Hudlin.

This label encompasses enterprises like Radio One profiting from what many view as trashy rap music.

Many people described these acts and these actors as the ultimate definition of a "coon," naming individuals like Flavor Flav and Armstrong Williams. Individuals who appeared to be knowing pawns in a rigged game.

But others charged that the real villains in the world of media based "sell-outs" are the corporations who promote these individuals. Commenter Monie made this pertinent point:

I used to think rappers were coons as well. I have a larger view of the situation now. I think that although they certainly aren't blameless in being participants in the minstrelsy that is hip hop, they are really just pawns used by corporate America.

It's really easy to attack them, rappers as Oprah has done. It's much harder to attack Viacom and David Geffen and all of the real power brokers who control hip hop.

Vcat shared the same view.

(W)e blame actors/comedians/etc for white people who believe negative stereotypes of black folks--and I think that lets those white people off the hook. It easy to get mad "our own" because it's easier to show disapproval for individuals than to deal with the larger problem of racism. It perpetuates the myth that if we (or characters on the screen) just acted "right" racism would magically go away. Not that people shouldn't be offended or upset by stereotypical characters--but those characters where/are symptoms of a much larger problem.

The vast majority of commenters stuck with the view that a sell-out is someone who behaves in a manner that harms the black community out of financial gain. A racial profiteer. Anti-Affirmative Action activist Ward Connerly has been labeled as falling into this category, targeted with accusations that his pockets are being lined by wealthy white male contractors who want the playing field to return to the field of old.

The gun of banishment was fired on Connerly a long time ago. But this is typical. His actions are perceived as dangerous, his motives suspect and his views not in line with the black mainstream.

While racial "clowns" like Flavor Flav are tolerated in hopes they can be reformed, black conservatives tend to catch the worst, being routinely shunned. The Congressional Black Caucus famously sparred with former Rep. JC Watts on a regular basis. Justice Thomas, Thomas Sowell, Shelbey Steele and Alan Keyes are eyed with suspicion, treated as anathema by the majority. They committed the primary sin of deferring from the masses.

Many who commented felt most black conservatives did not deserve the demonization they often receive by the black populace. Many felt the bulk of them are operating in what they believe are the best interests of the black community, even if there may be some disagreement over their views and methods.

Yet they remain shot with Harriet's gun all the same. Dead to many blacks, quick on the trigger towards dissenters. One false move and you're out of the race. A Negro without a home. While some prefer life outside in the snow, for others it's like "Paradise Lost," them being the archangel cast out of heaven.

But who is this sell-out? Who is this race traitor? Harriet has her hand on the trigger and she's taken aim. Who's going down?

Scene from "The Boondocks" featuring the ultimate caricature of a self-loathing black man, Uncle Ruckus.

Is it a self-loathing, lonely Justice Thomas?

Is it the black misery profiteer? The altruistic business man like Damon Wayans character in "Bamboozled?"

The aldermen and women, the city council members who promise every year is the year they're going to fix our schools and divert funds to their crumbing wards and districts?

Is it the man or woman who prefers the company of anyone but another black person? Is it the individual who marries outside of their race, the act perceived as a rebuke of blackness?

Is it that thick-lipped, grotesque picaninny of our nightmares? Cheshire cat grin on a coal black face, acting out scenes from Darius James' "Negrophobia," dancing for the crowd becoming everything we don't want to acknowledge, everything we don't want to see? The thing we try so hard to hide but resurfaces over again. We try to kill it but the mother fucker won't die. He just changes shapes and takes on new forms. He is a phantom embedded on the American conscious. His barbarous stories of jungle bunnies and fat mammies, jiggling and jigging for blond glamazons and wealthy power brokers. Embarrassingly confirming for the low and high class the worst in us. Entertaining them all with our stories of violent gun play, bad, biggest nigger tales, Iceberg Slim and Snoop Dogg.

They can't get enough and Harriet's gun isn't strong enough to take it out.

After thinking and study and reading the responses to my query on what a sell-out is, I can say that I agree with reader Bkylnbam the most: I don't know.

Refining my opinion on what constitutes coon'ing and embarrassing portrayals of black folk in general has been a long, long journey of reflection, research, re-evaluation and introspection and it ain't over yet. It is in fact this very issue that's brought it back into the forefront of my consciousness ... Now that I think about it, I'd say the jury is still out on this one.

Reader Andrea believes most blacks are sell-outs because they choose to not live up to their potential. She singles out black people who choose to "opt-out" of the shared burden of blackness, people who turn their backs on the struggle. She sets the bar high, but when I ponder her words I can see why she came to this conclusion. To blur or disassociate one's blackness. To divest from the community. To stand idly by while suffering surrounds. To think blackness is a choice, not realizing that although you can check out any time you like, you can never leave.

Individuals like OJ Simpson, running back to blackness when in need. Individuals who declare they are undefined and above the racial construct until American knocks them off that perch, leaving them to cling to blackness, hoping for salvation.

The sell-out lives in all of us. We are in constant warfare with ourselves, with our definitions of blackness. We all have our guns and we're all pointing at each other waiting for that one false move. That one sign of a defector contemplating a run back to the plantation. Sometimes our aim is straight. Sometimes we misfire. But no one is safe from being blasted if they dare to get out of line. We're all in this together.

Until death we part.

Thursday, May 22, 2008

The Baddest Snob of All

Baby Snob!!!

Don't hate!

I just found this old picture of my little sister. She started striking "supermodel" poses around age two or three. She didn't stop making them until she was about thirteen.

I just felt like sharing.

Harold Ford Jr. and Barack Obama: Converging Paths, Diverging Politics?

Sen. Barack Obama campaigning for former Rep. Harold Ford Jr.'s failed bid for the senate in Tennessee in 2006. (Getty Images)

This article is part of an on-going series on black political thought on Barack Obama. In the past I've profiled the views of black Republicans, centrists and conservatives. Today's feature is on DLC Chairman Harold Ford Jr.

In 2006, Sen. Barack Obama went to Tennessee to help his fellow Democrat, Harold Ford Jr., in his effort to win a hotly contested Senate seat. Both candidates, who'd spoken at the Democratic National Convention and were rising stars in the party appeared to be riding a new wave of young black Democrats rising to visible posts within the party. But most of us know how Ford's campaign played out.

He lost his bid in a close election, quite possibly due to his race or his Christian pandering or his then "bachelor status" or all three. He now sits atop the Democratic Leadership Council, or the DLC, a "New Democrat" organization with self-described progressive-to-centrist policies. The same organization former President Bill Clinton used to launch himself onto the national stage.

It is often labeled by Liberals as the "conservative" wing of the Democratic Party.

During this presidential election season Ford, and his opinions on Obama, are hotly in demand. He's appeared on all the networks, quite regularly appearing on FOX and MSNBC to offer his views on the race and on what Obama should and should not be doing. People have had varying reactions to this. Some see Ford as a friend of Obama giving some support, some advice and some criticism. Others view Ford as a secret Clinton supporter/sour grapes back-biter, being fickle in his decision to not endorse Obama, leaving some to speculate he is against the candidate.

He's denied that, most notably to The Chicago Tribune last year where he claimed to have no "Obama envy," saying he has long-standing friendships with both Obama and Sen. Hillary Clinton. And Clinton also supported Ford in his failed senate bid.

But what does Ford really think? Let's look at the tape.

In early 2007, Ford offered Obama advice on campaigning as a black American. Repeating the oft heard refrain that Obama should "forget racial politics."

"As long as he works hard, is honest ... and is not afraid to take his message anywhere in the country, he'll do fine," Ford said. "He can't try to predict what other people may think or may do. All he can do is run the campaign that he's capable of running.

"Do I think the fact that he's black will be a factor in his campaign? Probably," Ford said. "It would be a factor if two white guys were running. People talk about race regardless, so race is an issue that we deal with in America. I don't think that will be a central part of his campaign at all."

Later in May 2007, Ford told The Chicago Tribune an African American could win in the south.

The debate continues over the role that race played in Ford's failed bid to become the first African-American in the South to be elected to the U.S. Senate since the 1870s. But he maintains Democrats -- even black ones -- can carry Tennessee and other Southern states, if they meet certain expectations.

"You've got to fit in the mainstream on values issues. You've got to be fair when it comes to economic policy. And you've got to be accountable to people," he said. "Whoever wins the Democratic nomination [for president], if they fit that mold, they'll be able to compete."

In March this year, Ford wrote a column for the Knoxville News lambasting Tennessee Republicans for launching vicious attacks on Obama in an effort to smear him as sympathetic to terrorists, a "secret Muslim" and questionable in his support of Israel. Ford defended Obama, repeating that the candidate is a devout Christian and patriot.

Obama is a patriot, loves his country and stands shoulder-to-shoulder with McCain and others who seek to protect the country against terrorist attacks. Obama believes a new strategy is needed to maximize our fight against radical Islamic fundamentalists, like finishing the job against al-Qaida and the Taliban in Afghanistan and rooting out terrorists who are hiding out in Pakistan. After the tragedy of 9/11, no one should question the commitment of either political party when it comes to the seriousness of fighting terrorism.

But a month earlier in February Ford was criticizing Obama's foreign policy ideas at Quinnipiac University in Connecticut (while defending his own vote to authorize the war in Iraq.) He called Obama's Iraq withdrawal deadline unrealistic.

Now, he said, we have to do all we can to make that country a safer place. Ford’s experiences in Mesopotamia prove to him that presidential candidate Barack Obama is not being realistic with his promise to bring home the troops by Dec. 2009 if he is elected.

“Senator Obama himself says we have to be as careful in getting out as we were foolish and stupid in getting in,” Ford said. “I don’t think Al Qaida will let us leave by 2009.”

Then in April 2008, EbonyJet's Big Ideas blog questioned Ford's "neutrality" in the race.

Is it curious to anyone else how former Rep. Harold Ford, Jr. seems to be hedging a bit on his support for Barack Obama on his most recent television appearances?

Hard to tell what the real deal is, but it’s a marked change in tone from appearances just a couple of months ago when he seemed to lean much more in a partisan way toward the (senator) who campaigned actively for Ford in his own bid for Senate. Most curious is one phrase he keeps repeating, “If I were advising the Obama campaign..” or alternately “If I were advising my friend Barack Obama.”

Which begs the question, “Hey, aren’t you advising the Obama campaign?”

Big Ideas mentions that Ford, who is the vice chairman of Merrill Lynch, has been a big fund-raiser for Obama, but wondered why Ford isn't a bigger player in the campaign. The blog implies that perhaps Ford was rebuffed by Obama and now he's demonstrating his displeasure over this slight by being less diplomatic in his commentary.

Whatever the reason, lines like “If Senator Clinton wins with 8 to 10 percentage points, there are legitimate questions about Barack” don’t sound like the words of a content friend and supporter.

But perhaps there’s an easier explanation. If Ford is being groomed and courted as a regular MSNBC commentator in the Joe Scarborough/former House member mold, all the bending over backward to sound uninvolved might simply be part of his play to solidify his TV image as that of a fair observer who can look at all sides.

Then again, maybe Ford asked Obama to be in his upcoming wedding and Obama turned him down like he did Tavis Smiley.

Some of Big Ideas' criticisms may have come from appearances like this one Ford made on MSNBC where he said Obama had to win Indiana.

The Nashville Post's Post Politics Blog had this to say about Ford's comments:

From that perspective, and in the wake of Hillary Clinton’s win in the Pennsylvania primary, Ford just set a political bar for the black politician that surpassed him in prominence.

“You have to win Indiana,” Ford told Barack Obama (via an interview on MSNBC). And, Ford added, Obama has to “steamroll” Clinton in the other state with a primary two Tuesdays from now, North Carolina.

The Obama camp will not publicly embrace that equation. But for him to truly regain the momentum he captured during his February surge, most party pros will see Ford’s formulation as spot-on.

Commercial Appeal, a Memphis-based news site engaged in some Harold Ford Jr. as a running mate for Hillary Clinton talk, but there was nothing conclusive in the column and it's mostly navel-gazing speculation. And most recently Ford was still brandishing about the notion of a "unity ticket."

(Ford) says he wants Democrats to consider a shared Obama-Clinton or Clinton-Obama ticket in November.

Ford said on MSNBC last night, "I think it's something that this party is going to have to think very seriously about in the next few weeks."

So what did any of that tell us about Ford?

It seems to me that Ford, who I've seen both defend and criticize Obama on NBC's "Meet the Press" repeatedly, isn't necessarily the demon many have made him out to be. I often make fun of Ford, but that has more to do with his status as part of that special class of monied and connected black Americans.

Some of the hullabaloo is likely because Ford hasn't declared who he's supporting and that some Obama supporters are very sensitive to criticism of their candidate, even when it's warranted. (I'm against the war, but even I think the Dec. 2009 promise his highly unrealistic. As for the "he has to win Indiana" thing, I don't know what Ford was talking about there.) But when it's come to the big smears, like what happened with the Tennessee Republicans, Ford has been out in the forefront in Obama's defense.

Is there any envy there? Why not? Who isn't envious of someone on the rise who could both make history and get to be the leader of the free world? But I don't think Ford would do anything to jeopardize an administration he likely wants to join. Once the dust settles on the convention floor and Obama is the nominee it will become obvious what all the fund-raising was for. Ford is a pure politician. He may never make it to the senate or be governor of Tennessee, but he can ride the Obama wave to bigger and better things once he's done playing pretty, pretty pundit with the networks. There is still political life left in Ford.

He's not going to be so harsh to alienate himself from what could be his political future. There are still trails left for him to blaze.