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Erikka Yancy

Confessions of a Hair Weave Addict

April 12, 2013 By Erikka Yancy In Personal essays

It was a long road to recognizing my racial identity crisis. I did not realize it in junior high when I basked in the glory of being told by my friends that they did not consider me black because I “wasn’t loud and didn’t talk like the other two or three black girls [in our grade.]” I did not catch a whiff of it in high school when I would spend hours of my freshman year with a test tube clamp on my nose, desperately trying to make it smaller and narrower. It was years later, when I was in my thirties and I proudly proclaimed, “I am the least intimidating black woman I know!” The words had barely left my mouth before the shame and awkwardness of that statement hit me. My stylist and I were talking about my latest crush and the chance he may not like black women while I sat in her chair and she weaved fourteen beautiful inches of slick straight Indian Remi hair onto my head. The nausea came with the following thought, “Since when do I buy into that ‘intimidating’ stereotype?’ Do I really mean whitest black woman? Am I still trying to be white?”

Before anyone gets upset I am not saying that women who get hair weaves have fantasies of being white. This is my story and my experience. If you see yourself in it or feel indicted after it, think about it – then forget it; or don’t, it’s up to you.

WATCH ERIKKA DISCUSS HER HAIR WEAVE ADDICTION ON HUFF POST LIVE!

I grew up going to predominately white schools and continued to do so throughout my entire educational career. From kindergarten through graduate school I was the one or one of the few black students. I am also very much a product of my family lineage; no matter how thin or heavy I am, I always have full hips and thighs – and they started to look that way when I was about thirteen. Just around the time when my white female classmates all looked like what Vogue idealizes as the perfect woman, super thin and lanky. My body image took a beating until I went to acting school (college for me) and my voice and speech teacher told me to get over myself; “some woman somewhere is spending tens of thousands of dollars to implant the lips and hips that you were born with.” I saw myself differently after that. But nothing could make me appreciate my hair.

I have always hated my hair. That is not true. I can remember a time, pre-kindergarten, when I wore afro-puffs and would go to my Aunt Georgia’s house and she would cornrow my hair for the summer. During that time I was indifferent about my hair because I was four. I remember being little and running around with a half-slip on my head, pretending it was my long blonde (sometimes dark brown) super straight and shiny hair. I would fling it over my shoulder and whip it back and fourth, decades ahead of Willow Smith. In hindsight I’m pretty sure I imagined my eyes were blue which should have been a warning. But I was a little kid; I didn’t know to look out for these things.

My real hair did not blow in the wind or swing back and forth. It was not yellow and shiny like Karen’s, or brown and slick like Judith’s or even braid-able like the other black girl’s hair. It never got long; it was just frizzy and big. Kids would touch it and say “Eww greasy”. My mom would tell me to tell them not to touch it, which I’m sure you know was super effective in second grade. There was this one kid who loved to complain he couldn’t see over my Afro in class. Grade school seriously sucked.

When I got to high school I discovered relaxers but that was a nightmare. I had grown my hair out to my shoulders at the start of freshman year, but I damaged it so badly with curling irons and blow dryers and whipping it around, that by second semester I had to have it cut into a permanent Halle Berry hair cut until I graduated. But the year before my graduation, a film that would change everything had been released… Poetic Justice. If you haven’t seen Poetic Justice you’re crazy and there’s no hope for you and also you missed the dawn of the box braid. Janet Jackson and Regina King wore these beautiful long box braids in the film. Black women with long hair that they did not have to grow! WHAT?! I wanted them immediately.

My sister knew someone that knew someone who knew this woman that could give me the hook up. I finally convinced my mother that braids would be a good thing and she took me to this woman named Star’s house and left me there for nine hours. That’s right nine hours. That’s how long it takes to have long hair. Star braided my hair so tightly I couldn’t lay my head down to sleep. I took Advil for three days. She smoked a pack of cigarettes as she braided, cussed out her kids and a host of other things I wish I didn’t know. But when she was finished… I could put my hair in a pony tail, and wear it on top of my head. I could whip it, and throw it over my shoulder. I was never going back to my hair again.

I left for college in Chicago two days later. While at school I tried all different types of extensions and braids. I explored the African hair braiders that were famous up and down Clark Street, I found students willing to do hair for pennies and I discovered weaves! I got so much attention for my hair. I changed it nearly every two months and everyone always thought it was really my hair, or at least I convinced myself they did. I prided myself on getting realistic styles. I didn’t even really know what my own hair looked like. I was cast in roles based on my hair – but which hair? Once I had to reshoot a scene for a movie and could not remember which hair I had for continuity. That was pretty funny.

But even with my weaves and extensions, I still felt like an outsider. I felt like I was not black enough for one group or white enough for another. I felt like I confused people and that they did not know what to make of me, but in reality I didn’t know what to make of myself. Trying to “fit in” had made me feel more misshapen and gray than ever. So one day I just decided, because I only operate from two points: inaction and impulse, I walked into the salon and had them remove my weave and cut all of my hair down to its natural state. I loved it. I felt free and centered and beautiful. Then I walked onto the street and immediately felt like everyone was looking at me differently and I did not like it. They did not smile at me the same way. Men didn’t look at me the same way. Friends did not know what to make of it. “It makes you look more severe”, “You look more ‘ethnic’ ”, and “I liked it long” were the most common responses. Twice in the grocery store a clerk called me “sir”.

I bought a wig.

Over the next fifteen years I spent ninety percent of the time in some form of weave, wig, extension or braids and ten percent of the time impulsively cutting it all off and trying to wear my hair natural. Inevitably a day or two into being natural I would go running back to the beauty supply store to buy more hair of some type. I was so confused that once after watching Chris Rock’s Good Hair, I literally had emotional breakdown in my stylist’s chair. I have done the math and from the time I was eighteen until early 2013 I have spent $25,000 getting my hair weaved, braided or extended and just over one and a half years sitting in a chair having it done. When you want to fit in you’ll do just about anything. I am not saying that people that wear extensions want to be something they aren’t anymore than someone who drinks is automatically an alcoholic. But I was still a little girl with a slip on her head, flipping her blonde hair around, imagining herself with blue eyes. I just didn’t realize I was still doing it.

To start recover from alcoholism you have to come to believe that a power greater than yourself can restore your sanity; to beat an eating disorder you have to realize that controlling your food will never give you control over the things of which you have no control and in order to recover from an acute addiction to hair weaves, you must realize that no amount of Kanekalon, Yaki or Indian Remy is ever going to make you anyone else but some woman with a bunch of store bought hair on their head. The thing is, I kind of love my hair. It has giant curls in some spots tight coils in others and some parts are just tangles of zig-zags. It is a little bit crazy, strong but fragile, coarse but soft, and completely unpredictable. We have the same personality.

I have been natural now for longer than I have ever been, which is not long. I’m not going to lie, it has been a challenge. But the more time I spend being natural, the more I like my hair and the less gray and misshapen I feel. Sure, in the beginning, I wanted to run and hide whenever I thought someone was looking at me funny or when a shampoo commercial came on, you know the ones with all of the straight hair flowing down the screen? But a friend reminded me recently that hair is not just hair; it is intrinsically wrapped up in who we are as individuals. It is as much a form of expression as the clothes we put on everyday. If you don’t believe that, drastically change your hair and walk around in the world a bit.

What Do Civil Rights and Giant Sodas Have in Common?

January 24, 2013 By Erikka Yancy In Politics, Social Justice

I’m addicted to Coke, a complete addict. I absolutely can’t kick it. If someone offered to install a Coca-Cola drip in my home whereby it’s sugary sweetness would be pumped into my mouth with just a flick of my wrist whenever I needed a fix, I have to be honest – I would be tempted to allow it. I also recognize it is like battery acid to the inside of my body and has caused two root canals and working on a third and if I stopped drinking it I’d probably lose ten pounds without even trying. So when I heard about Bloomberg’s ordinance about limiting restaurants to only serving 16oz of soda at a time, I was at first offended and a little scared this law would find it’s way to Los Angeles. But then, I thought, good for him! I don’t order supersized drinks anyway. I just refill my small sized drinks. But it is nice that someone is trying to look out for people. Also, being African American, I have to acknowledge that I am more prone to diabetes and high blood pressure and that my $20/week Coke habit is not helping the cause.

So it was with shock and awe that I saw that the NAACP and the Hispanic Federation were joining a lawsuit with American Beverage Association against the proposal to limit the size of sodas served in New York City. Why so shocked? The motive behind the lawsuit for ABA is clear: They like customers like me, the addicts that keep drinking their syrups of death and disease. But when people like Bloomberg start trying to limit people’s civil liberties, their civil right to soda and the pursuit of happiness, well that’s where they draw the line and get national civil rights organizations involved. We could argue all day that NAACP and the Hispanic Federation have become involved to fight for the civil rights of people everywhere to sell and enjoy a 32oz Root Beer, but a very simple follow-the-money Google search shows us that both companies receive funding from Coca-Cola.

Can we begrudge non-profit organizations doing good work in their communities for taking money from big corporations in order continue their services? Each organization also boasts several progressive funders as well. But when it comes to joining a lawsuit that actually harms the community for which they serve, I think it might be time to take a step back.

The Office of Minority Health reports that Hispanic Americans are 1.2 times as likely to be obese than Non-Hispanic Whites. Among Mexican American women, 78 percent are overweight or obese, as compared to only 60.3 percent of the non-Hispanic White women. In regard to African Americans, women have the highest rates of being overweight or obese compared to other groups in the U.S. In 2010, African American women were 70% more likely to be obese than Non-Hispanic White women. Now, it’s true there are other contributing factors to obesity – pizza is pretty good, so is cake and French fries…also exercising can be such a drag. We can’t just blame soda, right?

OK let’s look at diabetes. I’m not going to get into specifics of how type 2 diabetes happens (you’re born with type 1, you acquire type 2) but the amount of sugar you eat messes with how your insulin works and boom. there you are. There’s tons of sugar in soda; that’s what makes it so tasty. African American Collaborative Obesity Network (AACORN) has a study showing that African Americans between the ages 31-50 on average consume double the amount of sugar sweetened beverages than of white females in the same age range. African Americans are 2.2 times as likely as non-Hispanic Whites to die from diabetes and Hispanics are 1.5 times as likely as non-Hispanic Whites to die from diabetes. Sobering and kind of messed up that the NAACP and The Hispanic Federation are spending time fighting for McDonalds’ (also a funder) civil rights to continue to sell super sized Sprite.

It should be noted that Coca-Cola funding to NAACP was $100,000 for Project HELP — a program promoting healthy eating, physical activity and healthy lifestyles in African-American communities. It should also be laughed at hysterically.

It must be a challenge to be a non-profit in today’s economic climate. You want to continue to serve your community and as a result you need funding and at times that money comes from corporations and sometimes those big corporations want favors. But there has to be a time when you take a principled stance against money and against favors and say no, this is not right for us. I cannot help thinking that in a time when food deserts are rampant in under-served communities of color, immigration reform is still a thought and not a reality and we have laws that tell people they cannot marry those whom they love; these historic organizations that have fought for justice and equality could be focused on other “issues of fairness.”

Forget About Debt Limits and Social Security, We Need to Save Romantic Comedies

January 5, 2013 By Erikka Yancy In Films, Self help

Recently, Vulture writer Claude Brodesser-Akner wrote an article posing a terrifying question: “Can the Romantic Comedy Be Saved?” First, who knew the romantic comedy was in peril, and second, why does he spend fifty percent of his article questioning studio executives? In this day and age studio execs are mostly business school graduates, not Creatives who understand the subtle nuance of the Rom-Com Genre. He could have asked a bona fide Romantic Comedy Expert. What makes someone a Romantic Comedy Expert, as opposed to, say, a fan of romantic comedies? I will tell you. An expert never uses the term “chick flick,” as it disparages the genre and is derogatory. She has seen 27 Dresses no fewer than 27 times because it feels like her duty to watch it every time it comes on TBS (and because, James Marsden…duh). An expert hates Hugh Grant and Gerard Butler but loves Colin Firth and believes Tom Hanks is some type of deity. She adores Sleepless in Seattle, tolerates Pretty Woman and knows Larry Crowne is indefensible. So I offer you an expert response to how we as a country can come together and save romantic comedies.

R.I.P. Nora Ephron
Brodesser-Akner cites failing box office numbers and diminishing audiences for the reason why romantic comedies are in peril. The studio executives spend quite a bit of time blaming you, the audience, as well as unwilling actresses. But to get to the heart of what is really wrong with the modern day romantic comedy, we need to go to the late 1980s/early 1990s — The Golden Age of Rom-Com — and look at the Queen of the genre, the late Nora Ephron.

Nora Ephron is to the romantic comedy as John Hughes is to coming-of-age movies. Invariably, when you think of romantic comedies, you’re thinking of one of Ephron’s most famous films: Sleepless in Seattle, When Harry Met Sally or You’ve Got Mail. Ephron had a knack for writing about the magic of falling in love, the fear that comes with being vulnerable and the clumsiness of the beginning of relationships. Instead of being slick and sexy, her characters often said the wrong things and tripped on their words: they were human. She captured all of the nuances that modern day rom-coms miss. Now characters meet and sleep with each other within twenty minutes of the opening credits and fall instantly in love. Before the first act has concluded they have all this investment, these impossibly high stakes. Then like clockwork, forty minutes before the film ends it all falls apart, but comes back around just in time for boy to chase girl through the streets of Big City A and fix everything. It rings false, yet studio execs keep shoving that same formula at us with different packaging. That is why Ephron’s films and one or two of Gary Marshall’s remain the most beloved of romantic comedies — and why there hasn’t been a truly great romantic comedy since 1998, the year You’ve Got Mail was released.

Indie Is Doing It Right
Though I remain the genre’s biggest fan, it’s a sad fact that the romantic comedy has lost imagination. Two people meeting several times in their lives before they realize they’re meant to be together — that’s creative. A recently widowed father set up by his son on a radio show to meet his soul mate in the style of An Affair to Remember — that’s genius! What isn’t genius is the plot device of two men fighting over the same woman. That same premise has been repackaged in many ways. We loved it most as Bridget Jones’ Diary but really have to draw the line at when it comes to spy vs. spy in This Means War. Studio romantic comedies have started playing to the lowest common denominator. They’ve shamefully bought into the premise that the genre is little more than a date movie and they do not need to try very hard to entertain. They could stand to take a cue from independent filmmakers who are making beautiful forays into the romantic comedy world. (In indie film, they’re called “relationship films.”) Indie filmmakers have the imagination to make a story about a divorce romantic, funny and heartbreaking (Celeste and Jesse Forever). They have the creativity to create a world where a novelist accidentally writes his dream girlfriend “to life” and then must deal with the consequences (Ruby Sparks). I don’t want to say that indie filmmakers are better than studio executives at making solid stories to which people can relate, but they are.

In Living Color
One thing can go the furthest to save The Romantic Comedy from a fate worse than The American Western: Studio executives, producers and casting directors must to begin to acknowledge that people of color have relationships and fall in love. I understand that this is a novel concept as Tyler Perry’s on-going string of misogynistic portrayals of African American women in films like Why Did I Get Married portrays them as nagging, cold, career focused bitches. And we’re hard pressed to find evidence in any film that Latinos or Asians ever fall in love except for maybe Jennifer Lopez, but she’s somehow always cast as an Italian woman. But consider this: The most successful romantic comedy last year was Think Like a Man, which brought in $33 million its first weekend. The film has a predominately African American cast but is technically multi-ethnic. An unnamed studio executive in Brodesser-Akner’s piece dismisses the numbers out of hand because it “never truly broke out beyond its predominantly African-American target audience.” This is grossly inaccurate. Think Like a Man only opened in 2000 theaters its opening weekend. The film brought in $91 million dollars at the box office domestically and the audience breakdown was 37% males and 63% females; 38% were under 30; and 62% were 30 and over, according to market research firm CinemaScore. By these numbers, only black audiences saw Think in the same way that only black people voted for Obama.

Only in Hollywood is segregation still legal. Studio executives would be wise to start diversifying their casts when it comes to romantic comedies, and I don’t mean token characters. I mean real people with real roles. Look what it’s done for television. Bonus points if you have an interracial couple. Double bonus if you stop calling films with predominantly African American casts “urban.”

Save the romantic comedy by making smart films about real people in real relationships with a couple of laughs in between. Until you can figure it out, I’ll still be watching — but I’m probably the only one.

Bechdel Testing Les Miserables

December 21, 2012 By Erikka Yancy In Films, Reviews

The Bechdel Test, sometimes called the Mo Movie Measure or Bechdel Rule, is a simple test to determine if a movie is free from gender bias. It names the following three criteria: (1) it has to have at least two women in it, (2) who talk to each other, about (3) something besides a man. While not the first web zine to take on the meme, Dog Park is the first to have me as the guide!

It is almost unfair to Bechdel Test Les Miserables. The Bechdel test is about exposing the lack of strong women in cinema and calling filmmakers to the mat for not writing women as three dimensional characters, but as fluff or filler screeching across screen, stalking men, fighting for a man’s attention and not really having lives of their own. A great case in point is the 1939 film The Women, starring Joan Crawford and Norma Shearer and boasts an all female cast. The film spends nearly two hours talking about nothing but men. I’m not joking. If you think I’m lying, they astonishingly made a remake in 2008 with Eva Mendes and Meg Ryan that falls into the same horrible trap of being a movie starring women that is about men. So the Bechdel test is not without merit at working to keep Hollywood in check. But Les Miserables is the story of three incredible women and that Valjean guy, why run the Bechdel on it? Because it’s the most recent film I’ve seen, okay? Spoilers ahead, proceed with caution.

Anne Hathaway as Fantine, just before her slut-shaming.

Les Mis, originally a novel by Victor Hugo, then a Broadway Musical composed by Claude-Michel Schönberg; and now an epic film directed by Tom Hooper, begins in France in 1815 and spans nearly 20 years. The film stars Hugh Jackman, Russell Crowe, Anne Hathaway, Amanda Seyfriend, Helena Bonham Carter and Sacha Baron Cohen. There are even Black extras, you guys! The plot is too long to go into here, so read the synopsis. There is amazing singing, brilliant performances by Anne Hathaway and Samantha Barks who plays Éponine, comic relief provided by hyphenates with no hyphens — Bonham Carter and Baron Cohen — and unintentional laughter by the horrible singing of Russell Crowe. A story of “the people,” revolution, love (requited unrequited) and redemption, you would have to be some type of uber conservative Republican not to want to see this film. But this blog is not Gushing over Les Mis, it is Bechdel Testing Les Mis. So let’s do that.

Fantine, portrayed by Anne Hathaway, is the story’s badass. She is written as a strong woman working as hard as she can to provide for her daughter who is being cared for by two innkeepers in another town. She works in a factory owned by Jean Valjean (Jackman), but soon loses her job and is turned onto the street to make money in the oldest profession. The good women at Bitch Flicks raised a question that bothered me during this entire film. Though Anne was impressive as Fantine, I couldn’t figure out why this woman needed to be so waiflike. Hathaway dieted down to almost nothing to portray a woman who needed to maintain her strength to work in a factory to provide for her child. Her thinness made an ordinarily strong character seem fairly weak and victim-like, save the scene when she delivers the song that will win her an Academy Award. But it did make me wonder how a woman so frail got strength to kick the crap out of a man attempting to assault her on the street.

The scene in which Fantine is slut-shamed by her horrific co-workers is one of the scenes with the most women in the film. This is a powerful scene for every woman involved. Fantine is put into a difficult position, needing to fight for her right to work, just as the other women are fighting for their right to be horrible and selfish. As a chorus they move the story forward and give us much needed background information.

Eponine, singing about a man.

You will spend quite a bit of time rooting the lovelorn Éponine and she will break your heart. I want to call her a feminist, but I realize that 98% of her actions are motivated by her obsession with a man, which automatically tosses her out of the feminist category and almost derails Les Mis’ Bechdel standing. But let’s cut her some slack, even cool girls get the blues. She is brave, independent, courageous and smart. Because of her motivations, she never has a conversation with another woman. Her mother, Mme Thénardier, played by Helena Bonham Carter, talks at her, and she has several near misses with Cosette, her childhood friend and story counterpart.

A word about Cosette. Amanda Seyfried has a lovely voice and I’m sure that she is a nice enough person, but Cosette is everything that is wrong with the world. She is not to be trusted. We hate Cosette and she is not strong, she is weak and fluttery and makes us want to throw up. Cosette speaks to the Mme Thénardier character about fetching a pail of water.

Bechdel Test:

1. It has to have at least two women in it: Les Miserables has four supporting women and features a bevy of women in featured choral roles.

2. Who talk to each other: These women talk to each other often. They sing and talk. It’s delightful.

3. About something besides a man: Only the lovelorn Éponine sings about a man, but to herself – so it’s ok.

Bechdel Approved!
Yancy Bonus:

Points for casting African American extras.

Sniffle score: 5 – Take Kleenex. If not for you for the person sobbing in the corner of the theater (it’s probably me).

Broadway Babies:
While not the best performance of Empty Chairs at Empty Tables I’ve ever heard, if you aren’t moved to tears by Eddie Redmayne’s performance, there may not be hope for you.

25 to See Before You Lose Your Liberal Sensibilities: Number 2

December 13, 2012 By Erikka Yancy In Films, Politics

Better This World (2011), Directed by: Kelly Duane de la Vega and Katie Galloway

I’ve always been the type of person that was socially conscious. I got it from my father, who got it from his parents, who most likely got it from their parents. But they weren’t activists. I was always disappointed that neither of my parents marched on Washington or took on the man by sitting at lunch counters or being Freedom Riders. I remember hearing Tom Hayden say once that there was this national misconception that people who weren’t around in the ’60s seemed to think that those ten years were just about marching and fighting and protest, but there were regular people, folks who just wanted to live their lives, just as there are today. There were people who were just working to get by. For most of my life I was socially conscious, doing what I could for others, volunteering when I could, but mostly I just wanted to live my life. Everyone that becomes “engaged” in the world of activism has a moment that pushes them into action. For me it was the time period of the 1998 murder of Matthew Shepard and the 1999 shootings at Columbine.

I am extremely lucky that I came of age politically in the wake of those events because I had just moved from uber conservative Indiana to Chicago to attend college with many like-minded young adults. I was able to feed off of them and a few hippies-turned-professors, and they served as mentors guiding me on my journey to becoming an angry little activist, helping me channel energy into various forms of positive expression.

David McKay, Better This World

That solid mentor or support group is what two boyhood friends from Midland, Texas desperately needed as they found their footing before the 2008 Republican National Convention. The mentor they found ended up costing them more than they could have imagined. Better This World takes a look at the case of David McKay (22) and Bradley Crowder (23), who are accused of domestic terrorism thanks to FBI informant and former radical leader and activist Brandon Darby. The filmmakers originally set out to follow Darby as well as Crowder and McKay but upon learning that their side would also be told, Brandon Darby dropped out of the filming process, leaving the filmmakers scrambling to put their film together without his voice. By using interview footage, radio interviews and an actor for voiceover, what they were able to do to capture his story turns out to be creative and a refreshing take on documentary narrative.

Brandon Darby is integral to the story because he serves as David and Matt’s ever important guide on their way through activism. A long time radical activist, Darby mentors them and helps them plan for the events that unfold at the 2008 RNC. He encourages them to take the actions that eventually get them both charged as terrorists and lands McKay in federal prison for four years and Crowder for two. Darby gives the guys the idea to make Molotov cocktails and tries to get them to throw them at a nearby police station. The two young men flatly refuse several times out of fear of what the repercussions of their actions might be. But Darby continues to harass the young men well into the early morning hours, pushing them to use the explosives. Neither Crowder nor McKay ever used any of the Molotov cocktails that were made. No one was killed, injured or harmed in any way. In November of this year a drunk driver was also given four years in prison for killing a jogger. That’s justice.

Bradley Crowder works with his attorney.

Some call what the FBI orchestrated with the assistance of Brandon Darby “entrapment,” others say he exposed the willingness of two would-be terrorists, I think it’s absolutely terrifying. These were kids with something important to say, looking to a mentor to help them express themselves. If you have ever been inspired to act, if you have ever wanted to fight the establishment, if you have ever seen an injustice in the world and thought, “That’s complete bullshit — we have to change that!,” then you must see this film before you become the establishment and decide that these kids got what was coming to them. Because it’s only a miracle that what happened to these two young men hasn’t happened to you.

In case you’re interested, Brandon Darby is now a regular writer for Breitbart and does not like it when people on Twitter call him a douchebag or a coward. He is also quite proud of his work as an informant.

Holiday Lists for the Misanthrope: Part Three

December 6, 2012 By Erikka Yancy In L.A., Listicles, Self help

Do you have a radio station in your city that starts playing Christmas songs 24 hours a day for 30 days the day after Thanksgiving?

Los Angeles does. When I first moved here in 2000 it was charming, but now it is nauseating. Imagine it’s 10am Wednesday and you’ve already listened to your podcasts of This American Life, Radiolab and Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me and for some reason The Moth hasn’t uploaded a new podcast in weeks. So you start flipping stations. You have the choice of Justin Beiber singing “Baby, Baby”, sports talk radio, or 103.5 The KOST playing The Backstreet Boys singing Little Drummer Boy followed by Johnny Mathis roasting chestnuts on an open fire.

For these thirty days filled with insufferable Holiday cheer, I always make sure to have my ears safely guarded by a mixed tape (1996-2000) or a playlist. I will now share my 2012 playlist with you.

Week Three: Holiday Music

I’m Only Happy When It Rains
Garbage, Garbage (1995)
During the month of December you will find that people give you disingenuous wishes of a Happy Hanukah, Kwanza and New Year. But we both know what actually makes you happy, their silence, and rain.

Christmas Card From A Hooker in Minneapolis
Blue Valentine, Tom Waits (1978)
It’s a misconception that I dislike Christmas music. This Tom Waits song is an old favorite of mine. It first made it’s way onto my playlist in college. I know it’s strange to say a Tom Waits song is beautiful, but this song is beautiful and messy and sad. Merry Christmas!

Sullen Girl
Tidal, Fiona Apple (1996)
Have you ever been a 9-year-old girl with a birthday five days after Christmas so it is always impossible to have a cool birthday party because everyone is always out of town or at their grandparents or skiing or something lame like that? I don’t want to bum you out; but some 9 year olds never quite recover from it getting dozens of “RSVP- no” responses year after year. Hypothetically speaking.

Old Boyfriends
One From the Heart, Crystal Gayle (1982)
Let’s be honest, a reason lots of people don’t like The Holidays is because no one loves them. Ok, well someone that used to love them doesn’t love them anymore, or doesn’t love them enough. Basically they’re not in a relationship anymore – that’s the worst during the holidays. HBO is constantly showing Love, Actually, there’s mistletoe everywhere – it’s totally obnoxious. I get it you guys; I’m single this year too. However, music is balm for the soul – so here’s another Tom Waits song for you sung by Crystal Gayle. This one is particularly balmy.

Merry Christmas (I Don’t Want to Fight Tonight)
Brain Drain, The Ramones (1989)
A friend really felt this list needed some punk. I didn’t want to fight about it.

I Don’t Give a Fuck
2Pacalypse Now, Tupac Shakur (1991)
I’m not going to lie to you, while this is one of my favorite workout songs, the beat and Tupac’s attitude may compel you to sincerely not give a fuck. Or punch someone in the face. You’ve been warned.

For Traditionalists
If you insist on having some Holiday cheer, I suppose you could enjoy the following, but it’s pretty close-minded of you.

Santa Baby
Eartha Kitt (1953)

All I Want For Christmas Is You
Merry Christmas, Mariah Carey
(I LOVE this song, but just singing and dancing around to it, not because it inspires Holiday cheer or whatever.)

Christmas in Hollis
Run DMC, (1987)

We Wish You A Merry Christmas
A Christmas Together, John Denver and the Muppets (1973)
Yay, the Muppets and John Denver! Aww, John Denver…

Happy Holidays you scrooges!

Bechdel Testing The Five Year Engagement

Jason Segal and Emily Blunt in The Five-Year Engagement

December 3, 2012 By Erikka Yancy In Films, Reviews

The Five Year Engagement is not a new film, but it is relatively new to DVD, which is how I viewed it several weeks ago. It stars a few people in Hollywood whom I happen to find very funny, among them Emily Blunt, Alison Brie, Jason Segel and Chris Pratt. Written by Nicholas Stoller and Jason Segel, this film suffered what I like to call “funny film studio marketing”: Because the cast is made up primarily of comedians, the studio wanted you to believe you would be bent over howling the entire time at the shenanigans of Segel and Pratt. “Five year engagement, eh? I bet that Pratt figures out all sorts of ways to keep Segel from getting married so they can stay bachelors and go out and get tail! And then just like a woman Emily Blunt listens to her nagging sister about how to drag him down the aisle, and finally five years later, she wears him out!” That’s at least what this 30 second TV spot would seem to suggest.

What that horrible spot fails to communicate, however, is that Blunt has applied to several post-doctoral psychology programs and that after being rejected by her first choice, a school in San Francisco where they live, she gets accepted to a school in Michigan. The couple decides they will postpone their wedding and make the move. It’s a pretty fantastic flip for a romantic comedy to look at a wedding and relationship through the eyes of a couple pursuing their careers, and to show the woman’s interest prevail. Their wedding continues to be postponed as Blunt’s character is offered a position at the school in Michigan and Segel must again delay his aspirations as a chef. Their relationship deteriorates as Segel becomes increasingly unhappy as he has not only sacrificed his career, but is beginning to realize the sacrifices they’ve both made in terms of their relationship. We also see, maybe for the first time ever in a romantic comedy, a couple with real fear and insecurity surrounding commitment and marriage. Their relationship gets messy and falls apart. I like this Hollywood trend of reality in relationships. As long as the couple gets back together in the end; I’m looking at you, Celeste and Jesse.

(L to R) Sisters Suzie (ALISON BRIE) and Violet (EMILY BLUNT) probably talking about men, but that’s ok because there are plenty of other times when they don’t.

Bechdel Test:

1. It has to have at least two women in it: The Five Year Engagement stars two women and co-stars at least four to five others who are complete characters.

2. Who talk to each other: There is no shortage of woman-to-woman conversation.

3. About something besides a man: As an academic Blunt has several conversations with her female classmate, played by Mindy Kaling, about psychological tests and exams. Also Brie and Blunt talk about motherhood.

Bechdel Approved!

Yancy Bonus:

Points for casting a brown lady in a non-stereotypical role. Mindy Kaling plays a post-doctoral psychology fellow.

Sniffle score: 1.5 – while not especially difficult to do, it made me cry – though I’m not entirely sure it is supposed to.

Got a movie you think we should put through the Bechdel Test? Let us know in the comments!

Holiday Lists for the Misanthrope: Part Two

November 28, 2012 By Erikka Yancy In Listicles, Self help

No matter how hard she tries to avoid it, during the Holidays it is almost a guarantee that the Misanthrope will find herself at a party, a gathering of a bunch of people she knows from work, or through a friend of a friend. A mish mosh of people she wouldn’t want to spend four minutes in an elevator with, let alone the requisite 60 minutes to an hour and a half at a party making small talk and avoiding conversation landmines like Obamacare or the benefits vs. detriments of Walmart.

My fellow Scrooges, you cannot skip these parties. They are either work functions to which you must to put in an appearance, or parties hosted by people you don’t completely hate, so you must show your face. You may be wondering, “Why can’t I just pretend to be sick?” Because feigning illness is for high school kids. But our second Holiday List for the Misanthrope will provide you with five professional tools to survive Holiday Parties.

Week Two: Holiday Parties

Earplugs

We’ve all been to a party where there is one guy or gal in the center of the room sucking all of the air out. Every time someone starts to tell a story that is moderately interesting, this nitwit jumps in with the “one up” game. “Oh, you burned your finger? I set my pants on fire.” This person is typically loud and obnoxious and like a cat to the only allergic person in the room, he’ll find you and want to talk to you for hours. If you’ve got your earplugs in, all you have to do is the following: shrug, smile, and nod. That guy will go on all night. The next day he’ll think he had the best conversation with you (he only wants to hear himself talk anyway), and your only memory will be the sound of white noise.

Drink Early, Drink Heavily

In some situations it may become necessary to be the party drunk. I don’t recommend this for work functions, but for social gatherings, sure, why not? You don’t know most of those people anyway. To avoid mindless chatter, I recommend throwing back a few Jameson and Gingers starting the moment you walk in the door. You’re going to need to have a new drink in your hand every fifteen minutes for at least the first hour. Once you’ve passed the point of being fun drunk and are working on being sloppy, no fun embarrassing drunk, no one will want to talk to you anymore. Find a sofa, curl up and pass out. As G. Dubya once said, Mission Accomplished.

Party Hop

The best way to avoid being stuck hanging out with a few annoying people all night is to hang out with a bunch of annoying people all night. Every once in a while the stars will align an you’ll have invitations to attend three to four parties all over town on the same night. Accept all of them. If you find yourself with no invites, pretend you have multiples – I always do. I know, this sounds like a nightmare, but it is actually brilliant. You won’t be able to stay at any one party long enough to have any “real” conversations; as soon as someone starts to irritate you it’s off to the next party! This can be a little tough on your gas tank and you won’t be able to drink much, but you can satisfy up to four friends you barely like by attending all of their parties in one night and never have to actually “connect” to a single person. And if you’re pretending to have multiple parties, you can be home before the bad sketches start on Saturday Night Live.

Take Your Dog

I’m not going to lie, this can be tricky, but if executed correctly this is an almost infallible tactic. You’ll first need to make sure that Fido is welcome in your host’s home, once she’s been given the OK, you’re gold. This works best with small exceptionally cute dogs with personality. Throughout the evening you’ll be afforded the opportunity to excuse yourself from excruciating small talk by taking your pup for pee breaks, when your Ex shows up with his new girlfriend, you can play fetch with your dog to avoid the awkwardness of the situation, and dogs are a very good judges of character: if she growls at that guy trying to give you punch, you know it’s laced with GHB and not to drink it.

Everyone loves to see a dog coming, but no one likes a barking restless dog. As the evening goes on your dog will start to get a little stir-crazy. She may even start barking and harassing guests to play. This is your cue to leave. Don’t let your dog overstay her welcome or the memory your hosts will have of the dog will be negative. You want the memory of Fido to be cute and playful so she’ll be welcomed back next time you need an exit strategy.

Start to Love Football

It’s The Holidays so there is almost always going to be a football game on television. Your mission is to find the TV and be the one to let the host know that you’ve got money on the game and you really need to see if the Jets (that’s a football team right?) are gonna pull it out. I find football about as difficult to follow as a soap opera plot, but that’s the entire point. You’ve got at least four hours to figure out what the hell is going on. Get so involved in working out what 1st and 10 means and what a Tebow is that when people come over to talk to you they think you’re really into the game! Warning: you will need to figure out what to do with halftime and commercial breaks. I suggest combining Take Your Dog and Love Football as a perfect avoidance technique.

For traditionalists

**If all else fails, you can pretend to be sick, but everyone will know you’re lying so you’re going to have to pull out a kidney to pull it off.

Holiday Lists for the Misanthrope: Part One

November 21, 2012 By Erikka Yancy In Films, Listicles

It’s that time of year again. The time of year when every blog and news site rolls out a list of holiday movies, books, CDs and recipes to enjoy with your family! But what about the Grinch? What is he supposed to do while sitting around waiting for his heart to grow two sizes — count his nose hairs? It may be that the majority of the world enjoys making merry during the holiday season, but we cannot overlook the misanthrope. There are some of us who loathe the holidays. The only thing I hate more than garish lights, jingling bells and jolly fat guy in a cheap red suit with a raggedy beard are holiday lists that end with Home Alone, A Christmas Carol and Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas. You can pretend to disagree with me, but I know I’m not alone. So I present to you a series of Holiday lists for us, the Holiday Misanthropes.

Week One: Movies.

The Diving Bell and The Butterfly (2007) - Director: Julian Schnabel

The true story of Jean-Dominique Bauby who suffers a stroke and has to live with an almost totally paralyzed body (locked-in syndrome) with the exception of his left eye. I agree this sounds awful. But you’re missing the bright side. He never has to speak to anyone ever again. Yes, sure it is very tragic and he feels trapped inside his own body, but, when he’s exhausted of everyone he merely has to close his eye, and all of those annoying people go away. Win.

The Decalogue (1988) - Director: Krzysztof Kieślowski

The Decalogue is a ten part series originally produced for Polish television. Krzysztof Kieślowski tells the story of the tenants in a housing project in 1980s Poland. Little kids drown, husbands die in comas, women are stalked and a prosecutor fails to save a possibly innocent man from dying on death row. It beautifully illustrates the uselessness of life over the course of ten hours. If you haven’t got ten hours to spare you can cheat and watch A Short Film About Love or A Short Film About Killing, but you’re only cheating yourself.

Dancer in the Dark (2000) - Director: Lars von Trier

Don’t let the fact that Dancer in the Dark is a musical turn you off. There is a pretty sad death at the end. In fact the entire film is full of sadness and squalor. Lars von Trier had the brilliant idea to cast Björk as this tiny elf who moves to the U.S. with her son. They’re pretty poor and they work in a factory with down on her luck Catherine Deneuve. Yes there is lots of singing. But it’s Danish and it’s von Trier and as I’ve promised you there is a very sad death at the end. Also you’ve seen this, right?

Tokyo Story (1953) - Director: Yasujirô Ozu

Tokyo Story tells the tale of an old couple that decides to visit their children in the city. They soon find out that their children are too busy to visit with them. The children spend time pushing them from house to house until they lose track of their parents. While I can’t really fault the kids for not wanting to be bothered with their old parents who sort of just drop in unannounced, this actually might make a misanthrope with parents a little sad. Keep a phone close to give them a call when the film is finished.

The Shoot Horses Don’t They? (1969) - Director: Sydney Pollack

Jane Fonda, Michael Sarrazin, dance marathon. Do I have to say more? Ok – so, a bunch of people participate in this dance marathon during The Great Depression to win $1500. It’s pretty nuts. But the guy running the marathon is crooked and is pretty much never going to let any of these people win. The marathon goes on for weeks. That’s right, weeks. People are dropping all over the place. Jane Fonda is amazing and grumpy as always, and Red Buttons is pretty incredible. The sad thing is, this could totally happen today.

**For the traditionalist

Just for fun, watch It’s A Wonderful Life, but turn it off 15 minutes before the end. It’s a much better movie

25 to See Before You Lose Your Liberal Sensibilities: Number 1

November 15, 2012 By Erikka Yancy In Films

The Battle of Algiers (1966), Directed by: Gillo Pontecorvo, Written by: Gillo Pontecorvo and Franco Solinas

“When dictatorship is a fact, revolution becomes a right.” – Victor Hugo

I was fortunate enough to see The Battle of Algiers on a 35mm print at the New Beverly in Los Angeles. The film was on a list of over one hundred films that my film school determined all good filmmakers should see before entering a graduate film program. Said film school has for some reason made themselves the authority on lists of 100 films, which is nice, but they could stand to cut it down a bit.

The week before school started, I ventured off to one of the last indie film theaters in Los Angeles to see this little gem with two other students whom I’d never met. It was August 2004, little more than a year after we started dropping bombs on Iraq and Bush declared his Mission Accomplished, and only a few months after the Madrid train bombings. It’s fair to say that times were tense in the US. But off went to this tiny little theater to see this strange foreign film.

As soon as the action started in the movie, I was convinced I was going to die in a well-orchestrated attack—timed to make the theater blow up exactly when the bomb in the film went off. What better way make a point to the imperialist America than by blowing up a movie theater during a film about revolution, killing a bunch of Hollywood liberals , right?

That is how well Gillo Pontecorvo builds tension in his masterpiece. When the revolutionaries assemble at their designated check points, my knuckles turned white. Each time a character is almost caught, I held my breath. I am the master of suspending my suspension of disbelief, but this is documentary style narrative; it feels real. I was absolutely convinced someone was going to bomb the New Beverly. It made for a fantastic viewing experience.

You should see this film before you start thinking of the safety of your kids and the expense of rebuilding the country and decide that revolution is a bad idea. Revolution is the only way real change can happen. If you disagree with me it’s already too late for you. If you agree, buy your own copy; mine is still sealed in the Criterion wrapper. My regret is that you won’t have the same thrilling experience of The Battle of Algiers on DVD as I did, completely enveloped in my twisted little nightmare of an imagination.