This month we are highlighting, singer and Houston native, Eloise Laws

Eloise Laws is a hidden gem whose music is most often dug up out of dusty bins by vinyl record aficionados. Laws emerged in the seventies and despite being the sister of flutist Hubert Laws, saxophonist Ronnie Laws and vocalist Debra Laws, she never got the “big break” in the form of a hit single she deserved. As much style as she exudes on the covers of her albums, she also includes in her music. Hers is a sweet, groovy and sassy sound. Best exemplified by her singles “Baby You Lied” and “Ain’t It Good Feeling Good” to name a few.

Hue Soul at it’s best.

Tidbits:

- Eloise Laws attended Jack Yates High School and Texas Southern University in Houston, Tx.

- Laws currently resides and still performs in Los Angeles, California.

We honor Houston’s own Phylicia Rashad. Many are unaware of just how varied Ms. Rashad’s life and career has been. Best known for her role as Clair Huxtable in “The Cosby Show,” the NAACP dubbed her “the mother” of the African American community at its 42nd NAACP awards.

Little Known Facts:

- Phylicia Rashad is the first Black woman to win a Tony award for her performance as Lena Younger in the play A Raisin in the Sun in 2004.

- Rashad’s mother Vivian Ayers was a Pulitzer prize nominated artist, poet, playwright, scholar and publisher.

- She released a disco album in 1978, produced by her then husband, Victor Willis, who was a member of the Village People. The concept album tells the life of
Josephine Baker.

- She attended Jack Yates High School in Houston Tx.

A talented lady with so much grace and Soul.

On August 5, 2000, I arrived on the campus of Florida A and M University a bright-eyed freshman from Little Rock, Arkansas. I adored my hometown but I needed culture, music, and a point of view outside of what I saw during my 18 years in the natural state. Amongst of sea of midwest attitude, east coast swagger, and west coast flavor, my sugar, sweet southern belle self found everything I needed. I quickly assimilated. I learned how to make a fly head wrap, stopped relaxing my hair, and dove heart first into all the music I wasn’t exposed to back home.

One day, while chatting with girlfriends in the dorm, I saw a woman that reflected the best parts of myself in a video. Her hair was wrapped like mine and she had confidence oozing from her pores while she boldly told another woman to stop getting in the way of her feelings.

And so began my kinship with the music of Jill Scott.

I tried to restrict this piece to a review of her new album, The Light of the Sun, and found it impossible. I cannot limit my appreciation for her work to one album. I must share with you how over 11 years in the business she has managed to meet me right where I am in life with music that brought me through to the next and inevitably amazing stage. Many of her songs are so dear to me that I can recall the exact feelings they evoked when they entered my life. Allow me to share with you the top five songs from Queen Jilly from Philly that have endeared me to her work forever.

Slowly, Surely – This is such a beautiful affirmation of how walking away, although painful, will result in happiness. I play this often when I wonder what could have been to remind myself of what will be.

The Fact Is (I Need You) – Ever the self-sufficient woman, I remember hearing this after falling in love and thinking, “He has to hear it!” It will always be the spirit in which I share my life with another, vulnerable and open.

The Real Thing – In my head this plays when I walk into a room. Cocky? Maybe. True? Absolutely!

Crown Royal – Jill never fails to remind us that women are raw, sexual beings and that our sensuality is one of our greatest assets. I play it often and never let myself get out of touch with desire.

When I Wake Up – I played this each day for a solid week. I needed the affirmation and still do! Ultimately, the power of Jill is that she reminds us of the beauty of life! This is another song I use in the morning to make sure I start my day thankful for what is ahead of me.

Since you’re here I will assume that you, like me, find a life- affirming quality in music. If you’re lucky, you have the kind of soul that feels lyrics and melodies so deeply that you need it to get through the day. Occasionally, an artist shares so much in their work that they are no longer a distant figure; they are an integral part of your life. I know you have one! Share with me the artists and songs that have become your life’s soundtrack! I’d love to hear it.

Shine Bright Loves,
CassandraDione

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The clock has struck the five o’clock mark and become another hour of musical metamorphism. Attending college here in *jig* city Dallas, and less than 200 miles outside the city limits that raised me, Houston, Texas has brought about the many interpretations of hip hop, and the climbing of urban culture in the South. Electrifying the world of alternative sound, grind-time for the reformation of real hip hop is on overload. With mainstream suffering a decline, it’s about time we found peaceuvmine. “New Beginnings” shouting from my speakers as I jam Cranberry by H.I.S.D. makes me want to erase everything in my iTunes and start over. I’m slowly coming down from this lyrical high as I sober back into a mindset of where this music just took me. It’s hard to find music that can provide electric relaxation varying from jazz/soul/hip hop. I’ve had enough of the bitches, the hoes (degradation of women), the cars, the clothes (most of which few can relate); I’m ready for the message and reiteration of the original purposes of hip hop. Signing off–  Common MissFit

If I were a bell, people, I would ring and tell the whole world about Ms. Teena Marie, but since I am not a bell and writing is my thing, this is my tribute to Lady T. Teena Marie was a rare pearl and if you were lucky enough to discover her, you instantly strung her to the necklace of your life. She was a midwife of Funk and an instrument of Love. Her impact is as immeasurable as counting the stars above. In her last days, I had the honored opportunity (via Twitter) of sharing and talking about music with her. Our correspondence began around the Music of Aretha Franklin and Ms. Teena responded to every one of my tweets about music except the ones in which I extolled her greatness. How incredibly modest! I had heard Ms. Teena say in several interviews that, Sarah Vaughan, was her all time favorite singer and I was helping her to find a particular album by Ms. Vaughan she hadn’t heard before, entitled, ‘The Mystery of Man: Sarah Vaughan sings the Poetry of Pope John Paul II.’ The night before she passed, she tweeted a quote from Sarah Vaughan saying, ‘May you never grow old and may I never die…’ When I saw that tweet I asked her had she gotten the album yet and she immediately answered with what ended up being her last tweet ever, saying, “No, I haven’t found it! What was the name of the Pope John Paul 2nd/Sarah Vaughan Project?” I responded with 6 tweets describing the album and was eagerly anticipating her reply. You couldn’t imagine my shock when I found out the next evening she had passed. All of this is a memory that will forever last with me. My heartfelt condolences go out to her friends & family. I am so thankful for the music & the legacy of Ms. Teena Marie. I am thankful for how she touched me and how she touched the world. I feel now more than ever a responsibility to share the music and the story of our, “Lovergirl”.

- Terrence Lathan

Below is a special playlist comprised of some of my favorite Teena Marie songs….Enjoy!

I Need Your Lovin’
I’m Just a Sucker For Your Love
It Must Be Magic
Square Biz
Lover Girl
Young Love
Dear Lover
I Can’t Love Anymore
Out On A Limb
If I Were A Bell
Oh La La
Shangri La
Portuguese In Love
Cake & Eat It Too
Tune In Tomorrow
Casanova Brown
Irons in the Fire
Deja Vu

Download The Teena Marie Playlist

Subscribe to Peace Uv Mine Radio on iTunes

One might have hoped that, by this hour, the very sight of chains on Black flesh, or the very sight of chains, would be so intolerable a sight for the American people, and so unbearable a memory, that they would themselves spontaneously rise up and strike off the manacles. But, no, they appear to glory in their chains; now, more than ever, they appear to measure their safety in chains and corpses. ~ James Baldwin

The above-mentioned quotation is from James Baldwin’s An Open Letter to My Sister Angela Davis . I choose to begin this post with that quote because a) its Baldwin b) its a brilliant truth and c) I was introduced to George Jackson by reading Angela. Regardless of how one views our fight for liberation, or those who fought and continue to fight that good fight, we must acknowledge the sacrifices of so many men and women who only had our ultimate freedom in mind and at heart.

Immediately upon beginning George Jackson’s Blood In My Eye I felt inspired and strong and a part of something amazing, resplendent, brutal and real. He reminded me so much of Malcolm (which hardly anyone does), especially his journey from street kid to master-mind. Our brothers are so beautiful… George, like Malcolm found himself behind prison walls at an early age. Growing up on the hard and impoverished streets of Chicago, Jackson acknowledged that prison seemed an inevitability for Black boys. So, in the sad tradition that has become the reality for so many of our men, George was incarcerated for stealing seventy dollars from a gas station cash register at eighteen. I don’t defend or condone theft, or any crime for that matter, but I certainly understand the complexities at play when one considers a sentence of one year to life for such a trivial offense. Today, we call this system the prison industrial complex and a form of neo slavery.

Jackson would approve of our progress in identifying it as such. It’s progress, a progress almost as beautiful as watching a man child argue the complexities of American facism with his mother, that brings us one step closer to emancipation. Those are my favorite letters from Jackson’s Soledad Brother, him attempting to comfort his mother’s grieving heart, but also explain to her why him putting his life in danger, every day, for our freedom and evolution was so necessary.

Jackson’s mother lost both her sons to our freedom struggle- Jonthan, just a baby of seventeen years when he died, was fearless, audacious and urgently for our cause. It was August 7, 1970 when Jonathan pulled weapons and held up a courtroom in an attempt to free the Soledad Brothers, including William Christmas, James McClain, and Ruchell Magee, (he perished in the throws of the escape). The state would finally succeed in assassinating George as well. He was murdered August 21, 1971.

It was Mumia Abu Jamal (who was scheduled to be executed on August 17, 1995) that began to to link together other revolutionary events and movements that took place during the month of August. So although Black August began with a desire to commemorate the lives of George, Jonathan and the other slain brothers, it has become a celebration of the lives and efforts of all past and present political prisoners, including the likes of Mumia, Herman Bell, Sundiata Acoli, Angela Davis, Assata Shakur and Mutulu Shakur- to name a few.

I try, at least a few times a year, to write letters to the political prisoners that I admire in an effort to offer my thanks and solidarity for all that they have sacrificed. A list of political prisoners and addresses (although the addresses may not be up to date) can be found here . My sister-friend,Aisha, who is a public defendant and a revolutionary in her own right, suggests that the addresses be cross referenced with the federal prison database to ensure accuracy (since most political prisoners are held in federal prisons).

In addition to taking a moment to write a letter to our brothers and sisters who have indeed traded their freedom for ours, you can join me on Thursday (August 26th) at Lincoln Center for the screening of Dream Hampton ’s Black August: A Hip Hop Benefit Concert. Details of the event can be found here .

I wanted to say so much more in this post, but time restraints and fatigue prevent me from “going in”. Use the web to begin the study our liberation movements and Black August (if you have not already). I’ll leave you with one of my favorite George Jackson quotes that always makes me think about my personal desires and dedication towards my own emancipation and the emancipation of my people:

Settle your quarrels, come together, understand the reality of our situation, understand that fascism is already here, that people are already dying who could be saved, that generations more will live poor butchered half-lives if you fail to act. Do what must be done, discover your humanity and your love in revolution.

Free ‘em all!!!

If a wikipedia page opens up for Cilla K the introductory paragraph will describe her as a vocalist, beat maker and songwriter based in New York. Her sound combines jazz, soul and hip hop and R&B that comes across as a mix of massive attack meets floetry. After taking a good listen to this French-West Indian’s first full album Fine Line(released April 2, 2010),you can expect a little bit of everything-which could be a good or bad thing depending on your taste. Her back story is as eclectic as her music.

Born in the French West Indies (Guadeloupe), Cilla was accepted by Sarah Lawrence College where she was a History major and also doubling as a model in New York. On her way to a casting call, she ran into David Pattillo, a producer/writer in NYC, and a great collaboration was born. The two have been working together over the past year and have since brought on board such collaborators as Julius Bervine (Floetry, D’Angelo, Common), Clay Sears (Jill Scott, Vivian Green), Danny P. (Joss Stone, Robbie Williams), and Mr. Khaliyl (Da Bush Babees, Talib Kweli). So we have a History major, model, singer, and she produced 7 out of the 15 tracks on her album-if you are reading this MARRY ME.

Honestly I had to take a couple of listens to really get into the album. I am not a fan of people who do everything on their album. I like my gravy with my mashed potatoes, but then again some people like Chinese food with fried chicken. Go figure. but there were some promising tracks like “Future” and if the track tells us anything about the future of cilla K we will be hearing more from her in the future.

Suggested Reading:
Fine Line Review by Terrence Lathan

First off let me start by saying that I have the highest expectations possible for ‘Good Ass Job’ (Def Jam 2010 *fingers crossed*). Not because I thought ‘808’s And Heatbreak’ was a cluster-fuck of burning trash, I (for one) actually love(d) most of it. Not because Ye’s “rapping again”. Not because of the rumored all-star cast of artists contributing to the album, including the likes of Dwele, Pete Rock, DJ Premier, QTip, Officer Ricky, Symbolyc One, and a host of others (maybe Hov. probably Hov.) My expections are high because, well, he’s Kanye…
So although it’s pretty absurd to even review a song that may or may not be finished, may or may not be mixed, hell, may or may not even be on the album, there are so many triumphs as well as pitfalls here, so many read-between-the-lines’ AND in-your-face’s, that I can’t NOT. Because well…he’s Kanye.
Plus I’ve been waiting on this for like, months so…
The dichotomy within this song is so hard to ignore, similar to the duality in his own character. (see: Gemini. Twin. Or Aries. Most times, ram, sometimes, lamb.)

Example…

He reminds you that he can’t REALLY rap…

“…they say / I was the abomination(?) of Obama’s Nation…” Errrr. What??

“….my furs is Mongolian…” Uhhhhh, what??

He reminds you that he really CAN rap…

“…I just needed time alone, with my own thought/got treasures in my mind, but couldn’t open my own vault…” Brilliant.

“…Reality is catching up with me/ takin’ my inner-child, I’m fighting for it, custody…” WOW.

Is this a love letter from Kanye TO Kanye??

“…ion’t need yo p#ssy, bitch I’m on my own d*ck…”

“…he knows/he so/ fucking gifted…”

Or a suicide note??

“…I was drinking earlier, now I’m driving…”

“…Now this would be a beautiful death (Jumpin’ out the window)…”

Or should ANY of this be even taken literally??

?????

A tad bit on the self-conscious and reflective (in its own way) side for a guy presumed *COUGH* to be a self-absorbed ego maniac…right??

Managing to cover the past 18 months in under 5 minutes, (the “break-up”, the introduction of Amber Rose, the VMA stunt/relapse, the cry for help that is the ‘Run This Town’ verse, ect.), “Power” is actually quite the lightning-in-a-bottle. And a breath of fresh air, considering that the song reflects how he FEELS, and feeling is what fuels creativity. Not just rhyming because you can rhyme good.

Simplicity?
Complexity?

Doesn’t matter. It’s about the FEELING. And even WITH the inception of Aubrey Graham, when was the last time you could tell how a rapper FELT in a song?? Sure how ‘Ye feels may be clouded by all that Riesling he drinks (LOL), or a few light-skinned girls and some “Kelly Rowlands” (im not mad, have you seen Kelly lately?), but at least it’s HONEST.
SO honest in fact, that Kanye may actually have the third best performance on HIS own song, following Symbolyc One one the beat, and then Dwele on the chorus. Big drums, big guitars, big sample, big beat, big chorus. Oddly enough, Ye’s lyrics are overshadowed by the music, and for a guy who’s presumed *COUGH* to always push himself to the forefront, he’s essentially playing a supporting role on his first post-hiatus offering??

Hmmmmmm.

Not to mention that (DON’T LOOK AT MY FACE) B.E.T Awards performance….

Hence, “You got the power to let power go??”.

His raps could stand to be louder, noticeably ,and although they’re still mostly filled with the witty narcissism and chuckles we expect, they are overshadowed by the music. Could it be the mix?
Possibly. But I think there’s more to it than that. Purposely.
As soon as he starts to get respect as an emcee (Graduation), he ditches emceeing (808’s). He acts like he doesn’t really give a fuck, obviously he does. “Power” seems to be a mixture all of Kanye’s previous works, only now with the notion that he’s not the underdog anymore. And although the song doesn’t give me chills (yet), I can’t wait to see what’s next.

Swagtastic, but at a price…

I have a mean swagger (fine I couldn’t think of a better descriptor)… A vain statement, possibly, but I’ve earned the right to say it. I have lived outside the traditional standard of beauty since I was knee high to a grasshopper and have never failed to be reminded of this fact, whether it be from school mates, well meaning family members, or abusive boyfriends. The first time I recall being called fat was in 5th grade, by one of the popular boys, I suppose if one can be popular in elementary school. Actually, I remember bringing those comments up to that boy once he became a man and decided that he loved women with curves like mine, upon him asking me out on a date. He apologized by the way, however I still chose not to go out with him. Actually, I have been called fat, chubby, big boned, thick, chunky, voluptuous, big fine, buxom, and more recently a thick snack ( a term brought to my attention by the lovely Huny Young whom I adore) to name a few terms. I wear all of them like beautiful scarves, or scars, I’m not certain which one exactly, but I wear them nonetheless. I would be remiss in not acknowledging that being assaulted with such adjectives has led to quite a few tears, some depression, and certainly many insecurities. They have also led to an exceptional pursuit of knowledge (I suppose in response to being “unpretty”), a Cum Laude degree, a burgeoning writing career, and a mean-head held high-arched back walk. I have had absolutely no choice but to accept myself and love myself, despite what society says I’m supposed to look like. It was either self acceptance or misery, and “I love myself when I am laughing” (thank you Zora Neale), so I choose the former.

It all started on twitter…

For the reasons mentioned above, and for the mental illnesses that have sat beside them- you know the thoughts of suicide, bulimia, red pepper diets, promiscuity, et. al.- I am extremely sensitive about how unrealistic beauty standards affect women, and how we sometimes unconsciously perpetuate them. So, I admittedly have a few ruffled feathers after reading replies to this twitter post from Harry Allen today. Harry and his tweeps were discussing Common and Queen Latifah’s new film “Just Wright” , where Latifah’s character and her best friend (played by Paula Patton) pursue the same man, who is played by Common of course. I immediately asked if the twitterverse was implying that Latifah wasn’t believable as Common’s love interest because she was deemed as not being attractive enough. After a few responses it appeared that most men, and a few women, agreed that Common (Scott) choosing Latifah (Leslie) over Paula Patton (Morgan) was unrealistic, which puzzled me for a moment because I find both women to be stunning.

Pretty for a big girl…

In chatting with a friend about this twitter conversation, I was confronted with a statement that made me pause. She said, “But Latifah is just as beautiful as Paula Patton. She’s really pretty for a plus-sized girl.” Full. Stop. Heart. Drop. I may have gone a little left on my sister-friend. See, this is where those insecurities surface along with my common response to them, a flippant mouth. Commenting that someone is attractive “for” “fill in the blank with dark, big, and otherwise not Beyonce”, is akin to saying that one is not really attractive at all. At the end of the day one is either desirable or she is not, adding clauses is reductive and therefore not really a compliment at all. This, of course, from the woman who has often been described as “pretty for a big girl”. I can speak on it. It is still hurtful, whether one acknowledges it or not.

The bite and the antidote…

Like a Black cop who racially profiles while on patrol and objects to being racially profiled while driving in plain clothes, I am also guilty of a bit of hypocrisy and mildly dissing Latifah. After reading Harry’s tweet I thought, “as if a man isn’t capable of judging a woman on more than looks.” Wait…what? Me implying that Scott chose to date Leslie instead of Morgan, still maintains, somehow, that Latifah is less attractive than Paula, which is not the case. The two women are certainly a different lovely, but lovely nonetheless. I shared this observance with my girl Genine (@moreandagain on twitter), in response to this tweet from her. Umph. I’m nobody’s consolation prize. As a matter of fact, I can recall telling a lover once, “Listen, if I’m not what you want, I’m what someone goes to bed and wakes up dreaming about. Let me find him. Don’t waste my time.” Extra, possibly, but I get it in exactly like that. I’m not sure I even believed that statement when I spoke it, but by speaking it then, and many times since, it has become my affirmation, manifesto, and reality.

Get it how you live…

I wondered after reading Harry’s comments, and the multiple cosigns from his male followers, how many of them really wish they were strong enough to choose a Latifah over a Paula? How many of these men are closeted thick snack lovers, dreaming of amply breast, hips, thighs and bottoms to get lost in? I bet a lot. As a matter of fact, trust me when I say more than they, or the model types they run around with pretending to desire, would like to admit to. In New Orleans, one of my favorite cities in the world, the locals use a phrase called “get it how you live”. It is a term that translates to mean one should live guilt free and in the moment. I was waiting for one of my male followers to reply to me by saying, in honesty, that he would have made the same choice as Scott. I haven’t received that reply, but I haven’t checked my direct messages either, as there may be a few replies hiding there *smirk*. Yes, I used the word hiding because many hide their true feelings and desires as they can not fathom living outside the societal standard. We love the comfort of boxes even if we pretend to abhor them. It is unfair to expect a person you desire, care for, or love to live in a shadowy place because you lack the courage and strength to express that desire, care, or love openly and freely. I’ve been hidden, it was so harmful that to this day if I have an inkling of a feeling that someone does not freely and openly desire or love me, I remove myself from the situation, even if it hurts me to do so.

*Thick snack shrug*…

In the end, I believe that the acceptance of the curves that make this sultry size fourteen has made me audacious. I don’t love my body every day, but I do love it most days. I also love it enough to spark conversations about body acceptance, and well, acceptance over all. I don’t take issue with personal preferences on any level. However, I don’t agree that it is unbelievable for a man to love a woman who looks like Queen Latifah over a woman who looks like Paula Patton. I also don’t believe that many people realize making such statements serves as justification for some woman somewhere to vomit up her dinner in an effort to look more like Paula. As thoughts and words become things, we need to realize that it is rarely ever just harmless talk that we engage in, *thick snack shrug*. I’ll keep on sashaying, converting the non-believers, and asking questions. Here are a few as a matter of fact:

What are your thoughts on the idea that a Latifah could never end up with a Common?

What are you insecure about?

Have you been told that you are pretty for a __________?

How can we promote body acceptance, and acceptance over all?

via NewsObserver

It’s time for me to rant about something that’s been on my mind for a long time. I would like to spend a few moments opening up about people who get on my last nerve, people I try my best not to smack upside the head when I see them in public.

That’s right, I’m talking about pretty people.

Beautiful, stunning, gorgeous, attractive – whatever you wanna call ‘em, they make my jaws tight. Yes, I’m prejudiced against pretty people. I’m usually an open-minded guy, respecting people of all races, religions, creeds and sexual preferences. But if you happen to be pretty, I got no love for ya.

A while back, I wrote about why I don’t like Sarah Silverman without bringing up the major reason: She’s too pretty. Funny women aren’t supposed to be pretty! They’re supposed to be neurotic nerds or loudmouth pit bulls! Less attractive people work their whole lives to be funny just so they can get people’s love and attention, and here comes a pretty, foul-mouthed girl like Silverman swooping in and taking all that love and attention away from them with her cute, little, provocative jokes. It’s not fair, I tell ya!

As you’ve probably guessed, pretty women get my disdain. And not just pretty women, but pretty, young women. And not just pretty, young women, but pretty, young women who don’t know anything.

These days, it seems that many pretty young girls are just coasting on their looks, a camouflage for ignorance and inexperience. If there’s anything we’ve learned from MTV’s “Jersey Shore,” it’s that being sexy and stupid will get you very far in this society.

Yet pretty men are worse. What’s with all these guys who are prettier than the women they’re with? I know people get all excited about adorable dudes like Robert Pattinson, Zac Efron and Justin Bieber (who is making little girls cry on YouTube, by the way). But grown men aren’t supposed to have perfectly coiffed hair. Get a crew cut or something, fellas!

Not too long ago, talk-show host Craig Ferguson talked about another of my complaints. “Beautiful people aren’t allowed to be talented,” he said. “People get very angry when very good-looking people are talented.”

Ain’t that the truth. I respect George Clooney, Johnny Depp and Kate Winslet for making offbeat choices as actors. But, man, why do they have to be so good-looking? Not only that, they’re decent human beings to boot. Why must they rub their photogenic good-naturedness in my face?

I can’t fault these genetic freaks when it’s simply our culture’s fascination with beauty and perfection that designates them as the cream of the human-civilization crop. We are inundated with images of unattainable beauty: Beauty sells everything. I’m pretty sure if someone took a photo of a bikini model hovering over an AMC Pacer and plastered it on billboards across the country, guys would be trying like crazy to get their hands on one (the Pacer, that is).

The pressure to be beautiful can hit all points of the globe. Argentina is where painter and English teacher (and my former high school newspaper editor) Paula Lifschitz , who calls herself a former pretty girl, lives. She says Argentina has a tough beauty standard for women.

“Most of the girls get boob jobs, lipo and face-lifts, and they are all really skinny,” Lifschitz says. “So it makes meeting a guy who is interested in me almost impossible.” She says it’s hard for her gal pals to keep up. “Some girlfriends of mine fast every few weeks here in Buenos Aires,” she said. “They don’t eat food for, like, two days.”

Wow, is it really like that for the women of Argentina?

“Well, no, they’re American! But maybe that’s what they have to do to compete with the Argentines,” she said.

I’ve been raving like a bitter, lonely, ugly madman, but you have to admit that the importance of prettiness is getting out of hand. This is how our culture is: Beauty and prettiness are deified and cherished, while flaws and imperfections are damned and condemned.

But I like men who look like men, ugly cusses who look like they’ve been in a bar fight one too many times.

I like women with belly fat and stretch marks and bullet wounds and C-section scars. I also like women with craters and dents and wrinkles. That shows character – it shows they’ve been kicked in the butt by life!

Pretty people may rule, but it’s the regular-looking folk who keep everything going.

craig.lindsey@newsobserver.com or 919-829-4760