Listen, Kanye is outside of the box. We all know this. I wish I turned myself into a stampin fool when my father died but I went inward cause I don’t have that big beautiful painting of an ego that Kanye has. It’s not a diss. That ego is like a wall mural of a big city street during rush hour and sometimes we need that. What else would folks talk about if not Kanye sometimes?

But this ain’t about him or how I listen to “Flashing Lights” on repeat at the gym sometimes. This is about dude’s website with the BOMB art! How come nobody told me? He’s collected some beautiful images. Man, if you don’t have the $$ to fly to Paris or ain’t in the mood to stand by tourists NOT looking at the art at the museum, just click on this:

http://www.kanyewest.com/home/#/category/art/

No it’s not those weird bears he had in one video and it damn sure ain’t Amber Rose spread eagle (there is a sneaky image or two of the Ye and the former Bun but it’s not too bad - since you can see her for zero reason at the opening of an envelope these days). There’s a bunch of different types and styles ranging from Russian Prison tattoos, supermodels, Liberian children, Madonna and some vintage shots. Man, this dude should curate a bunch of stuff. Wait, that’s what he does already. Curate sounds awful close to create when you say it outloud, don’t it?

And it ain’t me.

I have a very interesting relationship with Vanity Fair magazine. I love it for its size. When it comes in the mailbox, I see myself in the bed with snacks, wearing my reading glasses (if I remember) and devouring almost ALL the articles, sad when I get to the Proust questionnaire because it’s all over then.  Sometimes the BF clowns me and he should. It’s not like Vanity Fair ever reached out to me directly. In fact, they bypass me and give me the stories I yearn for: there’s always a political story, a social story, a scandal story that may or may not be historical but still relevant, an art/architecture/fashion story and a bunch of bits that I either swoon over or bypass (I mean who doesn’t read the My Stuff with great detail? I do care what soap other people use - I’m crazy what can I say?).

Yet once I wrote them and told them that their cover (it had a few chocolate and cinnamon girls in it that month) was more diverse than their writing staff (George Wayne may or may not count - depending on the scandalous questions he asks).  They neither published my letter nor reached out to me. (On the contrary, Glamour magazine’s Editor in Chief responded to an email I wrote to them and Instyle published one of my commentaries on the endless bashing of Michelle Obama - FLOTUS who can do no right by those who look for only wrong).

So imagine my surprise when they did a spread on the Hamptons and found this black girl (she has a name: Christina Lewis - WSJ Hamptons reporter) in it…looking literary…in a house that’s hers with some of MY favorite flowers. What? Okay she inherited it but that makes it that much more interesting because most times we are just regulated to Martha’s Vineyard. Who knew there chocolate folks with old money in the Hamptons? The last time I went there (I was a guest of course) the only person I saw who looked like they were from my tribe was Russell Simmons himself. And he didn’t even blink at me. Despite us being the only chocolate people on the whole beach. Not even a curious “how did YOU get here” glance. Maybe I was acting wrong. I think I was supposed to BE there and not be there with my big huge old eyes.

Whatevs.

I hatelove you, Vanity Fair.

I suppose we should’ve seen this whole thing coming…the one where the President is always to blame for everything. I mean President Obama saw it coming. He did keep saying stuff like “the buck stops here” and “this is my job” but some of us really didn’t understand what that meant until the weird complaints started coming in. You know…like the death threats from so-called Christians. The impatience from those who have been fighting decades long battles and had expectations that there would be a magic wand waved and all our problems would disappear. Majority of the country who hadn’t pretended to read the constitution since they were in American History class, now reciting bits and pieces to fit their agenda. The ones who forgot this is a democracy and we have other people in government who are responsible for their jobs and that the President doesn’t do EVERYTHING. I mean we’ve never expected the President to do EVERYTHING before so why now?

It’s a blessing and a curse to have a  historic President. On one hand, we’ve done something we’ve never done before. On the other, we are now doing everything we did before and worse (economically, socially, culturally - we should come up with new deadly sins) and expect one person to wipe up after us.

Today I’m annoyed because people are pissed at Obama for coming to LA and making traffic bad. Really? Traffic in LA is always bad and none of the local politicians seemed to ever care. If we had a city where things on the road ran smoothly, the whole world wouldn’t collapse because Olympic is shut down. Now I know the Secret Service is part of this ring (and they have a helluva job guarding a historic President given there are people who aren’t happy about his skin color in 2010 - real talk). But how come nobody asks Villagrosa to clean up the HORRIBLE traffic on a daily basis? How come we never find out about the protests that close off streets until we are in the middle of them (I mean I’ve learned more about the Armenian Genocide sitting on Wilshire than I ever did in school and don’t even get me started on the Day without Latinos)? How come the Hollywood Bowl area is a always a clusterfuck no matter which way you go since they hold the lights so people can go stack park their cars for $20?

All this has made me read the news less or get soundbite news. I can’t stand how we present actual facts nowadays. There’s always a sly twist, an unsubstantiated tangent, a rash process of judgment, a disregard for humanity. There is no news anymore. There’s just tone - a sarcastic tone, an angry tone, a defensive tone, a judgmental tone…we’re going so fast that we can’t even hear ourselves anymore. I suppose if I was more tuned in, I would find all of this fascinating but I don’t. I find it exhausting. I’m tuning out.

My blood boils a bit when I hear people being so upset with Lebron James as though he literally stole the check out of their mailbox. People from wackalicious Charles Barkley (who NEVER got a ring by the way) to, well, me, have an opinion about how Lebron should have handled his career. Key word HIS career. Barkley, Jordan, etc all say they would have never done what Lebron did (and by “did” let’s separate the HOW from the WHAT). Times were different back then, old timers. Nobody had to live in Cleveland to make their way. I’m not a Cleveland basher but having family from there (so thus, visiting a few more times than I wanted to), I can say that it is NOWHERE near my top choices to live. It’s around where Philly is but Philly has The Roots so I wouldn’t be TOO devastated in Philly.  For Jordan and his years of being off the rader before being the demi-god he turned into, he could do it in fancy Chi-town with all its jazz, good food, metro people, and a budding youngish Oprah who was smashing Phil Donahue in the ratings. Something to do, in other words. Barkley had some nice weather. Bird had Boston where he fit right in, being vanilla and all (If I was vanilla, Boston might be a nicer place for me too). I won’t even get into Magic. I’m from Michigan so I know where Magic came from and I live in LA so I know where he landed. Dude, you had not one complaint. None of y’all tried to make it ago in Cleveland where you literally have to recreate fire.

I imagine it being heavy carrying an entire state’s hopes and dreams. And when people talk about Lebron quitting in the finals, I wonder if they ever bashed Kobe for doing the same (as a message to his teammates) or considered the fact that dud was just tired of being Whole Team Cavaliers.

Haters go hate but there’s nothing wrong with some young men trying to achieve their goals. They outsmarted some rich team owners who sometimes act above the law and they got theirs. Nobody took a check out of your mailbox so fall back and stop taking it personally. I can’t wait to see how many of y’all are camped in front of the tv waching Heat games.

(Please note, this post is heavily influenced by the emotionality of PMS - it’s real)

This weekend, sparked by a couple of events, made me aware that times in our lives are like cities we live in for a time and the move on through. I was remembering people that I used to be

so close to and how heavily dependent (or so I thought) my life was on my relationship with them - friends, friends close as family, etc. This isn’t about missing or regret because neither of those feelings came up. This is more about realizing that I’ve grown as a human being beyond anything that I could’ve imagined for myself. Think expansion more than being “better off”. I’ve been able to look back at my old self and see events and relationships that served a specific purposes and been able to put them in their appropriate photo album.

Life really does feel like a journey lately.

I’m remembering people like sights to visit on a vacation. I’m remembering how once seeming large events are now put into perspective and letting them fade into the scenery. It’s kind of nice to realize that you don’t need to grasp on to people as you if they would leave if you let go. Sometimes it’s good to let go so you can let yourself go and you can expand.

It’s funny to feel or realize that you have friends in your life who are moving in a direction that you’re not going into. And it’s okay. I feel like at the end of the day/month/year/decade, maybe you can pow wow about two different experiences and share.

This post is so vague and esoteric - internal - what a welcome back from a long break of blogging. But it’s necessary for me anyways to document for what used to be years’ long guilt of not going above and beyond to stay in touch with certain old friends. I’m letting myself be okay with doing what I can and allowing life to charter on.

I feel grown. Deep.

Anyways, this to send love to all of those whom I never talk to but used to regularly. I hope life is whipping great joys up like a cotton candy machine!

My uncle believes there are people who will, on their judgment day, “burn in a lake of fire.” To be clear we were talking about atheists and not homosexuals, transgenders or any other alternate lifestyle…we didn’t get there in the conversation.

I am pleasantly delighted when I hear Dario Franchitti speak because he’s from Scotland and I thought he was Italian but then he can be Italian from Scotland because that’s what immigration is all about. He lives in Indiana. He won’t be asked for papers there but he could be if enters Arizona. He’s got a “tan”.

I frequently get a heavy heart when I read the news. More so than I did when I grew up in Detroit and read about Malice Green or the Atlanta Child Murders or even reading about American History. I used to look at pictures of lynchings and water hosing and the Holocaust and Japanese camps and think how hard it must have been back then. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized, we are back then.

We have a black president who stepped into poo for a job. Some may agree or disagree with how things are being done there but I have yet to find any of the alternative rational solutions to be plausible or even without partisan motive. It’s as if the alternative to the president is to be angry, mean, disrespectful or unrealistic. I will never forget, during the President Bush years, I had a mini-conversation with a co-worker who was Republican. She was older and she stopped our conversation from getting any where near politics. She said, “I was taught to not criticize the President, to not talk religion or politics when cocktails are involved.” While my actions are so far from that, I could respect what she was saying. It seems that respect is gone now. Even Clinton with the girls and the scandals garnered more respect than the man trying to do the best he can in office now. I only know what it’s like to be American, to be a woman and to be black. I can empathize with other scenarios but I don’t know them intimately so I can imagine the fear that rests on others’ chest at night as they watch the world change from something familiar to something that they cannot control. Yet this world was never ours to control in the first place. We are only here to get to know ourselves so that we may grow, try to end our lives some place further than where we begin, appreciate our moments, and institute some kind of order that is fair and balanced to all. Beyond that, we get into scary territory.
Yesterday I was saying to the BF that the conservative white people who are afraid of how this country is turning out must not remember that this country has always been about cheap labor. That’s how black people got here, that’s how Native Americans almost became extinct, that’s how Latinos are still here en mass though this “here” was their “here” first like the Native Americans, that’s how most every immigrant has gotten here and stayed here. What did you think would happen? They would pick cotton, tobacco, fruit, vegetables, clean houses, water lawns, build houses and then leave? You called in specialists and paid them nothing. Of course this country is becoming more colorful. You asked for help and you got contributors. You thought you got free or cheap labor to build your Shanghri-La. Surprise. Nothing belongs to anyone. You fight for existence, not your right to be a bigot, prejudiced or racist.
I got a petition in my inbox to sign something to prevent a mosque being built near Ground Zero. I am baffled. I don’t understand why we wouldn’t have all places of worship near such a tragic site. I can’t believe that there are religious people sending this petition around. There were muslims in the towers, alongside other religious/nonreligious folk, that had nothing to do with the terrorists. There were Muslim nurses and cops who were trying to help people. Just as there were Muslims, there were Christians, Jews, Hindis, Atheists and Spirtualists. I am unable to understand how we are not able to make the separation of religion from terrorists. Just because a murderer says he does something in the name of God does not mean we have to accept that. We can reject it. We can tell them that they are murderers no matter what their reason. This is what happens in the courtrooms. Why can’t it happen in our minds? When Timothy McVey bombed children, did we care why he did it? Did we look at young white men funnier after that? Were they held in a different light? When Columbine happened, did we outlaw bullying or get scared when we saw kids walking down the street? There are so many instances where we have chosen different paths of reaction whether because of emotion or convenience but we must know that every choice has consequences.
It is very difficult to watch people’s prejudices and anger come out all at once. I am sure my irrational mind would love it if I acted a fool over the Detroit shooting of Aiyana Jones but my rational mind definitely paid attention to what Al Sharpton said about it not just being a police issue but a community issue. Maybe it is maturity or getting further along in age but what I strive for most is compassion and the struggle for peace. Suddenly I really feel like if people aren’t doing all they can for that then they must look internally for the problems they place at the feet of others. My old math teacher, Mr. Cole, used to ask us to ask ourselves this question before we did anything: “Is it kind and is it necessary?” At the time we thought it was corny but now I realize he was asking us to create a thought prior to action. To examine our motivations to the fullest prior to presenting our ideas out to the world. To pray for the death of anyone, including a president (like the ever growing Facebook groups) seems to so anti-human that I feel bad for the karma it will create to those who think it necessary.
This is a soapbox rant and I’m not sure how many agree and I’m not even sure if that matters. I just wanted to lament my heavy heart at watching the world grow. Puberty sucks. I can’t wait until we get to be fine adults.

I had to post this article from Clutch Magazine (if you don’t know them and you got some color, even if its rosy, you need to) because it’s been a long time since somebody really got down to the lovely bones of why Beyonce is either loved or hated.

I personally have ZERO issue with Beyonce, even when others are annoyed by her repetition, the rumors of her song ganking (listen, I only know the music biz from the sidelines and there’s A LOT of that going from a whole lot of folks AND let’s not ever forget the biggest creative rule of all: EVERYTHING THAT’S HERE HAS ALREADY BEEN DONE SOMEHOW!), her secrecy, her ability to use her power without question…none of that bothers me. I am sometime bothered by the fact that she could use a few more words in her vocabulary when talking to the press but I don’t know her personally and, for all I know, she could be Shakespeare with the fam. Who cares? At the end of the day here’s what I know: most of her songs are catchy, she can dance her ass off on screen and in concert, I heard her SING in concert and not mouthed the words, she is not afraid of her thighs like I’m a little shy of mine.

In other words, she gets play on my music player without shame. I’ll not say the same for J. Lo who could learn a few things from B (neither one of them should be acting very much, btw, unless they go hard in acting camp like Marilyn Monroe did) in terms of song selection, being private (dude - Bennifer thoughts still makes me cringe when I listen to that WHOLE album dedicated to a due who’s now married to another Jennifer) and commanding her choreography.

Geneva Thoma’s article goes further:

Step into my office. And just for a second, let’s leave our ultra-feminist/womanist egos at the door. The imagined barriers that separate us from our “other” sisters. The “I graduated from college–she didn’t” wall–you understand. This isn’t another postmodern feminist read. This is rather best received as an unsolicited response. Guns down ladies. I come in peace.

Why does Beyonce get under our skin?

Beyonce presents a hybrid of stan allegiance, angst and utter disgust. And dare I say, closeted envy? She’s pretty dumb, pretty blonde, pretty fake, pretty married, pretty paid and pretty pretty.

Face it, the sista has it all. Or at least all we were sold on having. She has the dream career and the dream marriage (would you have ever thought we’d describe the “Girls, Girls, Girls” Jay Z as such?). But we no longer gag at these classic “I have arrived” formulations. We’re more interested in substance–why do we presume this is the very thing Beyonce lacks?

The singer’s early interviews revealed she wasn’t the smartest chick off the Houston block or the best prepped. She fumbled over words, appeared uneasy, and at times her eyes roamed to the ceiling. Beyonce quickly earned Black music’s airhead title and we’ve given her little room to out grow it. Beyonce’s ‘60 Minutes’ interview however has shut down those staining coming of age moments. Albums later, the strings were seemingly unfastened, a 28-year-old confident and mature Beyonce emerged– in charge of her brand. The superstar declared she puts herself first.

She’s far from the loud mouthed industry prima donna, she saves her “Diva” antics for the stage brilliantly marketing an alter ego Sasha Fierce. The gusty temptress allows space for a more private Beyonce she leaves only to a curious public imagination. We actively wonder what of Beyonce, the woman and Beyonce, the wife.

On Jay: “Make him think he’s in control”

Beyonce gives the Southern Belle makeup able to compliment a larger than life hip hop king’s ego. She stands in demure posture; the 16 Grammy Award winner is a quiet storm who quietly upgrades. Imagine the couple vacationing on a private island (as they probably are right now). In the company other wealthy lads Shawn Carter boasts on a yacht about his latest capitalist venture and his “on to the next one” spend. The men blow out hearty laughs and cigar smokes. Somewhere in a noiseless corner Beyonce sits near a pool smiling on the inside giving only the gracious *sigh*. Nearly 10 years later she epitomizes Destiny’s Child’s chart topping “Independent Women Part 1″ single — she tops the Forbes list and yes she makes more dough than her man. Lest we forget with a pretty crafty prenup in tact.

She simultaneously offers her latest alter ego creation B. B. Homemaker. A stylish 50’s housewife where dusting in 4-inch designer heels is a fashionable inconvenience. Beyonce belts out lyrics Betty Draper could only imagine. A nostalgic symbol of Americana juxtaposed by sassy temper–to many of our counterparts this is a shock factor, but for Black women in America, it’s in our matrilineal blood–audaciousness is what we do.

“You ain’t never seen a nigga like me ever in your life.
And that’s what you can’t understand!” — Diddy, “Hate Me Now”

Beyonce the branded brainless girl is no distinction. The artist has clearly taken cues from her mother. Tina Knowles quietly dismissed herself from a cheating husband, managing to skip Wade-like controversy. Beyonce’s squeaky clean image is perhaps more than due to a PR strong hold, could it be her rearing? Beyonce’s success rivals if not out performs her counterparts. Yet we’ve seen little of a wild party girl. No DUI. No criminal court appearances and no panty-less car exiting. She seems to have mastered old school ‘good girl’ rules — the kind that will make him ‘put a ring on it’ while concocting an unparalleled career arguably unseen in recent memory. Beyonce sells sex and ‘House of Dereon’ sheets. What’s outwardly unusual about it all is that she anchors and sails her own ship.

What’s wrong with being sexy?

Decades after the women’s/feminist movement, some how we still conceptualize the feminist or more liberally, the socially conscious woman as a makeup-less, bra-burning, hair wrap wearing butch. A disregarded or misinterpreted sexual revolution unrealized, today a woman in towering Brian Atwoods and a cute mini is still not taken seriously. Beyonce’s stage costumes and sidewalk paparazzi shows are visual appetizers to men and an eye-rolling, nose-turned up presentation to some women. No doubt some looks and moves are suggestive and we aren’t co-signing ‘Single Ladies’ children. But why can’t a near 30-year-old woman be sexy? Much of her off-stage looks are often casual and understated ensembles, excluding her signature fire-hydrant red lips.

A friend-less Bey?

Notice she never runs in packs. That is outside of her own entourage. Beyonce isn’t spotted conveniently lunching at a California camera hotspot with the coveted Hollywood BFF crew. Her friends much like her image is protected. Entertainment’s female rat packs often appear to be constructed to solicit some kind of media attention. Twitpics of peace sign and kiss throwing images shows industry camaraderie gone fake. Ever since Beyonce tied the knot with Jay Z, she’s rarely seen with anyone else. This is met with relative contention and understandably so. But when you’re on top of the world its presumably hard to have genuine friendships, even with a cousin. Damn.

Beyonce vs. Black Women

Beyonce strikes a strange discord with Black women. We’ve undoubtedly witnessed a decade of Beyonce-over load–making her the woman we love to hate and perhaps the woman we’d like to miss. What really stops the singer from receiving the kind of nobel Alicia Keys praise? Even amid the Swizz Beatz-MaShonda controversy, Alicia Keys escapes the fight nearly blameless. We spare no punches with Beyonce. We deconstruct her every flaw–such is the life of an international celebrity.

But can we stand to consider the things we can learn from her? Is there some concealed part of our collective selves that admires her? Perhaps her pleading vocals in “Why Don’t You Love Me” speaks not only to an ungrateful man but also to her estranged sistas, “why don’t you love me, tell me (sista) why don’t you love me?”

I just I just should own it.
I’m a locs girl.
Here’s my story briefly. I first got locs my first year of grad school. I’d been natural about four years. They were great. Palm rolled and no cares in the world. I did have an addiction to hair color that eventually turned them some kind of only-visible-to-me dark green and then jet black thanks to more hair color. I cut them off after my heart got broken and I was in such a state as I would’ve done anything “reckless” aside from harm myself.
And then I went back to braids. This was TERRIBLY convenient as Wudia, my braider, had a shop right below my apartment and I could literally roll out of bed and be there. No travel time!
And then I was with my buddy Schwellie at Jimmy’s Uptown when it first opened, before the stick ‘em ups and the disappearance of Jimmy, when I saw this older women with the most stunning hair. She had the loveliest little locs I’d ever seen. I HAD to know what she had. She told me they were Sisterlocks (I really hate the name and I don’t care if people chastise me for hating the name…I don’t hate anyone attached to it). I got the number to her stylist and I went to my consultation. Well, mine plus about four other women. We were all packed up in her upper Westside apartment to learn about SLs. I was misunderstood because I thought it would just be me and I had put some money away, not knowing how much it would be, in case she wanted to start then. Oh no. This was the opposite of what I thought. With all my hair, she said it would be 800 bills EASY…my breath left em. I was a just started working woman! Plus, even though I group up in Detroit with its 24 hour hair salons, I was not the one to put hair over rent.
I went back traditional. I went to the same woman who started them before. Roberta in Brooklyn who’s house smelled of all of her Aveda stuff. Heaven. She also died them the loveliest shade of bronze. I’m sure all around me were overjoyed given I let my hair rock a blowout afro for 1.5 days before it deflated and shrank.
The second loc exodus just happened November 2008. I took two days off and, with the help of Jamyla who’d done this before, I armed myself with a spritzer bottle of water and a rattail comb. I undid my locs.
I had dreams of I’m not sure what. I think I thought I’d get my hair pressed, I’d do braidouts, I’d do twistouts…I did no such things. I did buns. For a year. I realized something about myself. I’m not really a DIYer because that implies doing things. What I am is a “I don’t want to deal with it” er. The only hair thing I like doing myself is hair color and even sometimes I don’t mind somebody else doing it.
Through a series of life happenings, I was able to finally afford SLs though not at the 1998 price I was quoted (I guess that’s when they were like Howard Hughes…now they’re a bit more known). I have come to terms that I need to put my big girl pants on and get to know who I really am with my hair. I’m somebody who doesn’t like to do a lot and now I’m somebody who starting to put money aside to get my hair done. My mother used to INSIST she and I get our creamy cracked scalps tended to every two weeks and perhaps I was trying to run from what that felt like - being in the salon for HOURS (because we always had the stylist that EVERYONE went to), not scratching my head, fear of it turning out horrible. But now it doesn’t have to be that way. Now I can consider some necessary me grooming time and even make myself believe I’m a little girly for it.

Anyone who really knows me knows that I have ZERO problem with being addicted to certain reality television shows. If Bravo squats it out of their a-hole, I watch (except for that Nine By Design and that’s just because it sounds boring and like somebody higher up made this show happen against better judgment). Also, there’s a slew of crazy wedding reality shows. Having never been married myself, perhaps I roll around these things like a pig in shit too easily. I don’t know what it’s like to feel pressure to chose a big puffy dress or scream on my bridesmaid friends or rob Sallie Mae to pay a caterer. Maybe I should but I don’t feel the urge to destroy my life so much. I hope when the time comes, it will be lovely and peaceful and without bill collectors.

It’s a psychological study for me to watch these things: Say Yes To The Dress, Bridezilla, etc. To be fair, I also enjoy House Hunters but more so House Hunters International (I am FASCINATED how people “work from home” and then decide they need to relo to Fantasy Island at the ripe age of 40). These people, I guess, are the Bridezillas after?

Back to reality…heh…tv that is. It’s now getting to a point where I know people on these shows are just going on to act a fool to get on television. Even my beloved Say Yes To The Dress, which is relatively mild in comparison to the Springer-like shenanigans on Bridezilla. Say Yes To The Dress is just about a bunch of women trying on dresses at the infamous Kleinfeld’s. Whereas before these were princess from Long Island, it’s now turning into African girls from London who are on holiday in NYC and just so happened to stop in with her fiance to spot a one of a kind tissue paper like thing for the price of a village (this actually happened - I suspect she was an actress because she was stunning and so was the fiance and they never came back to purchase the dress despite a long hemming and hawing).  Is reality not even sacred anymore.

This post primarily came about as I was cruising my New York magazine Fashion Trend enewsletter and came about a little Vera Wang tidbit. Here it is:

“I dress a great many rock stars and I’m always surprised when they want the most traditional dresses,” she said. On the wedding gown she designed for Jennifer Lopez: “It took eight months and we made three dresses. It pushed me out of my own box and comfort zone.” Read: Lopez almost pushed her over the edge.”

DELICIOUS…where is THAT show? Jennifer’s career is on the downturn so why not make a show about her being a Lifezilla or something? I mean her back up plan could not be Back Up Plan so she might as well go ahead with it. Why am I not a tv show head? I mean seriously.  This also got me wondering which damn dress Vera was talking about. Jenny’s been around the block a few times if you know what I mean.