Charles Easley

Did you hear about the Florida drag queen bandits? By Professor Locs – September 22, 2011

I swear, sometimes I run across stories that are just too good to be true. I want to thank my girl, Ramona Holloway, for this one. I saw it on her Facebook page.

Move over, Crips and Bloods; there is a new gang in town -- the Tiaras. No, seriously. Florida has been plagued by a gang of drag queens who have been stealing from stores for more than a year.

Local officers report that a group of men wearing wigs and dressed as women, (Hello, that would be drag queens) were arrested for stealing hundreds of dollars of bras, boas and other accessories. (Hey, we are living in a repressed economy, and looking fierce does not come cheaply.)

Three of the men, or “ladies,” were caught in the act Sunday afternoon at an Orlando textiles shop. The manager, Amanda Marshall, was quoted as saying, “It was a whole gang of drag queens.” (I think the technical term for multiple drag queens is a “gaggle.” Lol)

Marshall went on to state: "They were real upset when the police made them take their wigs off."

Well, of course they were upset. What self-respecting drag queen wants to have his mug shot taken bald headed and wigless?

Marshall said the group would order large swaths of expensive fabric and then stuff it "in their man purses and (leave) without paying."

I think the official term is man bag…lol.

"Oh, gosh, they could wipe out a whole section of boas in seconds," Marshall told a Florida paper.

The report states that the drag thieves stole multiple items, including packs of feathers, red lace gloves, false eyelashes, padded bras, butt pads, fishnet tights and several boas and fake glasses.

The visuals of this story is sensory overload. This is a serious movie in the makings. It would be like “To Wong Foo Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar” meets “Set it Off.”

Trailer Announcer: Destiny Michaels, Ima Mann and Chardonnay Blunts are just three small-town ladies with big dreams. They long for the glitz and glamour of the stage and to one day perform in the big city, but their tired Walmart drag and Family Dollar salaries are not enough to make them stars. Follow their journey as a repressed economy, expensive bras and an escalating cost of rubber parts and accessories force them into a life of crime.

Ima Mann: I don’t think I can go through with this. What if we get caught?

Destiny Michaels: You want fame? Well, fame cost, and this is how we are going to pay for it. (Insert French tip open-hand slap to the mouth) Now get in there and snatch some bras!

Police: We have you ladies surrounded. Come out with your hands up and wigs off!

Ima Mann: Girls, what are we going to do now?

Chardonnay Blunts: I tell you what I am not going to do. I am not leaving as a nobody!

(Chardonnay rushes to the dressing room and a few moments later emerges in full glam drag.)

Cue music and police spotlight on Chardonnay Blunts

Chardonnay Blunts, singing: “And I am telling you, I’m not going.”

Announcer: Don’t miss the moving saga of three simple ladies and their heartwarming story filled with crime, passion, dreams and stolen boas. Coming soon to a theater near you!

I challenge you to come up with your own drag queen star name…lol.

 

Go, Wild Things By Professor Locs – September 14, 2011

There is a country song, “Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys,” by Willie Nelson. Well, I think that should be expanded to “Don’t Let Your Babies Grow up To Be Athletes.”

I recently attended my first high school football game in years. I have three nephews, and they are all football jocks. (How does a skinny, library card-carrying, bookworm, comic book geek grow up to have three jock nephews?)

I had been promising my nephew’s that I would come to one of their football games, so it was time to put up or shut up.

I left work early and drove to Mooresville and met my sister and her boo at her house. The game started at 7 p.m. so we left and made our way to the school. My twin nephews were traveling with the other jocks and participating in pre-game jock rituals. Go, Wild Things!

We navigated the crowded parking lot and paid for our tickets. This is when the marketing blitz began. They were hawking everything: Wild Thing jerseys, programs, pom poms, cups, Frisbees, towels, bumper stickers and, I think, even a Wild Thing toilet seat cover. Go, Wild things!

I made sure to avoid eye contact with a set of tables I called Raffle Island. They were selling tickets for all kinds of fundraisers. For a $1 investment and the chance to win a genuine faux fur Wild Thing throw rug, you could help send anyone to almost anywhere. One ticket could help send band members to band camp, cheerleaders to state finals, drama club to Broadway, science club to NASA and delinquents to reform school. Go, Wild things!

We made our way through the Wild Thing marketing mania to our seats. We found a spot up close, next to what looked like the Wild Thing cage. There was yellow tape that roped off the next section of bleachers. I was not sure if the tape was to keep us out or to keep them contained. Either way I was amazed at the level of teen narcissism. Here we were at a live game but most of the kids were texting, yelling at people or posing for pictures. Go, Wild Things!

We settled in and the teams emerged on the field. The crowd jeered and yelled with great enthusiasm. I sat on my five-dollar Wild Thing cushion filled with dental floss. My view was only occasionally interrupted by cheerleaders tossed into the air like graduation caps. The opposing team scored first, encouraging the requisite boos and growls from the Wild Thing crowd. It was around this time that my sister informed me that they did not sell cocktails at the game (insert zoom to extreme close-up and scream.) Go, Wild Things!

One nephew played for most of the game. The other actually plays for the junior varsity team but was running up and down the sidelines without a uniform, yelling at various team members. I thought surely someone would say something, but he was left unchecked to his amateur coaching. Go, Wild Things!

I started having these high school flashbacks. My feeling of nostalgia was due to my sister’s running monologue of her high school glory days on the field. Her boo and I would stare at her blankly as she randomly performed phantom moves. She was caught up in her own world, like some weird form of drill team turrets. Go, Wild Things!

The game came down to the final seconds with my nephew’s team losing. The Wild Thing crowd next to us scattered in a whirlwind of hair care products, giggles and teen spirit. It was like there had been a Justin Bieber sighting in the parking lot. Go, Wild Things!

The nephew who did not play was holding court with a bevy of jock groupies near the concession stand. He was regaling his harem with his take on why they had lost the game. I resisted the urge to yell, “Hey, nephew: I picked up that salve you asked for from the pharmacy. It should help with that itching and burning.” Go, Wild Things!

It is weird how, after all these years, the high school dynamic has not changed. I looked around, and if you changed the music and fashion to the early 80s, it was like being back in high school. You still had the popular kids, mean girls, band members, nerds, emos, geeks and jocks. Go, Wild Things!

Referencing my earlier song analogy, parents of athletes have to be very committed. Between the practices, home games, away games, pep rallies and playoffs, being a young athlete is a full-time gig. I was a geek as a kid. So other than my bowling league in a climate-controlled environment and the occasional science fair, I was pretty low maintenance. Go, Wild Things!

My other nephew finally emerged from the locker room, surly and ill tempered due to the team’s loss. I hugged him and told him how proud I was and how well he played, but it was little solace.

I know he was glad I came, but he declined to ride home with the family, instead choosing to ride home with one of his fellow football warriors. I watched my nephew, this teen titan, disappear into the night, and I felt a little reflective that, although we now had different interest and I knew little of his rockstar, jock world, I could proudly from time to time cheer him on from the stands. Go, Wild Thing.

Toddlers, tiaras and tatas By Professor Locs – September 7, 2011

I watch everything from TCM’s black-and-white films to the reality-induced craziness of “Jersey Shore.” I swear I have seen it all, but every now and then there is something that simply seems too bizarre by even today’s standards. I am talking about the tiny, freakish spectacle that is TLC’s popular reality show, “Toddler’s & Tiaras.”

If you have not seen it, the show is about the engaging and strange world of pageant moms and their children. What makes the show so disturbing is how the toddlers are treated and dressed up like mini-grown women.

Well, one mother has taken the big hair, mini ball gowns and flippers (fake teeth) to a whole new level. She made her 4-year-old daughter, Maddy Jackson, wear fake breast and butt pads. (Holy To Wong Foo, Batman. Are they serious?)

Granted, Maddy was doing a tribute to Dolly Parton, but was the Mom going too far to allow this?

Maddy’s mom, Lindsey, defended her decision: “When she wears the fake boobs and fake butt, it’s an added bonus,” she said.

I know this works at Drag shows, but for a little girl’s pageant?

Maddy’s mom continued: “It’s really funny when she comes out on stage; they think it’s hysterical. They realize not only is she Dolly but she has the added enhancements just like Dolly has.”

If they thought that was hysterical then maybe next year she will sport a pair of stilettos, fishnet panty hose and pasties and really crush the competition.

Toddlers & Tiaras is known for its trademark stage mom’s screeching, “Sparkle” to their sometimes-traumatized daughters. This reminds me of a scene from Gypsy where the ultimate stage mom, Rosalind Russell, screams out to her daughter played by Natalie Wood, “Sing out, Louise.”

Unfortunately in Gypsy, the mother is grooming her daughter for a career as a high-class stripper. Is Toddlers & Tiaras an example of art imitating life too closely?

I must put this into perspective. I was a freelance editor in Atlanta for FOX during the JonBenet Ramsey media spectacle. I remember, like many people, watching the eerie images of this woman-child prancing around like a life-sized doll, with big hair, short sparkly dresses and that haunting plastered pageant smile.

Side note: I find those life-size dolls to be very creepy, so sitting in an edit booth day after day and reviewing JonBenet footage was quite unnerving. Toddlers& Tiaras has a similar effect on me, almost like some bad, spicy, vending machine burrito-induced nightmare.

The pageant circuit is not just a mainstream phenomenon. I have spotted the occasional black stage mom and her daughter looking like a mini-Supreme…lol.

Many viewers have been outraged by the fake enhancements worn by Maddy. The bigger question is what type of mom dresses her daughter up in dramatic make-up, fake hair, false teeth, grown up gowns and now fake boobs and butt pads?

You guys watch the video (below) and tell me your opinion. Is this just innocent competition or moms trying to recapture their youth and glory days? Or should we be more concerned with forcing young girls to grow up too fast?

If unchecked, we could be in store for a future season of “Diminutive Damsels and Diamonds: The Stripper Pole Chronicles.” 

Juanita Bynum speaks in tongues...on her Facebook post By Professor Locs – August 31, 2011

Professor Locs, aka Charles Easley, is an educator who explores race, class, gender, sexuality, media and popular culture with humor and insight. His column is published here each Wednesday. Opinions expressed are solely his own. Click here to read his blog

 

 You guys know I love cruising for interesting news. I have to thank my girl Ramona Holloway from The Satisfied Life for turning me on to this story. I saw this posted on Ramona’s Facebook page.

It seem Juanita Bynum is in the news again. Best known for her work as a minister, inspirational speaker and recording artist, her life has been an inspiration to many, especially to women – which made her very public divorce all the more tragic. Bynum accused her then-husband, Bishop Thomas Weeks III, of spousal abuse and ultimately ended the marriage.

Now Bynum is making news for something a little more bizarre. Apparently, she was posting on her Facebook wall and got so caught up in the spirit that she began to post in tongues. (Holy anointed oil, Batman, I did not think that was possible!)

I have told you guys before that I am more of an academic scholar and not as well versed in theology, but I am familiar with the phenomenon of speaking in tongues. I queried several of my friends who are much more versed in the area of biblical studies. I got a range of opinions. Some said speaking in tongues is reserved for a chosen few; others said anyone could perform this act if they were “caught” up in the spirit.

I have witnessed people speaking in tongues in church, and when I was younger I even worked with a woman in customer service who was known for standing up in her cubicle and speaking in tongues after a particularly combative call. I was fascinated by how uncomfortable this made her boss and co-workers.

Side note for those who do not possess the gift of speaking in tongues: If you want to have a similar effect at your job, I have found that yelling random lyrics from any Parliament song will work just as well.

Example: Your boss confronts you on your tardiness.

You respond loudly: “Make My Funk the Pee Funk.”

This response will either confuse your boss into silence or security will be alerted. Practice at your own risk.

Now back to Juanita Bynum. I had to really wrap my head around, logistically, how one can do a Facebook post in tongues? I have this wonderful ap called "Shazam" on my iPhone. It allows me to listen to any song and it will generate the song’s title and artist. I wonder if there is a similar ap for speaking tongues.

Again, when I spoke to other more knowledgeable about speaking in tongues, opinions varied. I think some feel left out because they do not understand the language. If only there were a closed-caption feature for the big monitors in church that allowed non-tongue speakers to follow along.

One person I interviewed said more people are claiming to have the gift. If this trend continues, I wonder if the makers of the Rosetta Stone language-learning series will include tongues in their next edition.

I am not mad at Bynum for using social networks to get the word out. I use Facebook very effectively to communicate with my students. However, I am concerned about how, logistically, you translate speaking in tongues to a Facebook post.

Here is just an excerpt from one of her post:

As usual, guys, I am being somewhat sarcastic, but I am truly baffled by this. I am not sure if this is a speaking-in-tongues post or hardware malfunction. I once had bits of candy stuck in my keyboard that caused a similar effect when I typed.

Those of you who are a lot more spiritually learned than I, please share your comments. Is this proof of Bynum’s anointing? Did she mix medication? Get distracted by an episode of “Basketball Wives?” Or, like me, was her keyboard the victim of some late night snacking?

Professor Locs Pt. 2 The B J Murphy Show 103.3

Professor Locs appears on the B J Murphy Show on 103.3. He hangs out with a self-described cougar. A fierce Diva! 

Professor Locs Pt. 1 The B J Murphy Show 103.3

Professor Locs appears on The B J Murphy Show on 103.3. He talks about being an educator, columnist and blogger. Enjoy! 

The XChange features Oscar Michaeux

This was a package developed under the creative direction of Associate Professor Lea Anderson. I am featured as talent. Lea Anderson designed and created the visual effects that make this such a thrilling promo.

This was done as a tribute and part of the Black History program created by The Xchange. Great work guys! 

The XChange: Season 6 Episode 7

The Xchange was an initiative I first introduced to The Art Institute of Charlotte's Web Design students who were primarily interested in digital production. I wanted to bring a similar experience that my students enjoyed while I taught at Clark-Atlanta University and Barber-Scotia College. 

The Xchange is a cross between Talk Soup and The Daily Show. The show is now housed in DFVP (Digital Filmmaking and Video Production Program) and produced in the DFP 210 Studio Production class.

This is an episode that talks about the origin of the show.  The show has grown and developed under the expert creative direction and leadership of Associate Professor Lea Anderson.  

In the battle of the bulge, I'm losing the war By Professor Locs – July 13, 2011

Editor's Note: Professor Locs, aka Charles Easley, is an educator who explores race, class, gender, sexuality, media and popular culture with humor and insight. His column is published here each Wednesday. Opinions expressed are solely his own. Click here to read his blog.

***

I went to a deli for lunch and was pleasantly surprised to see one of my favorite cooks had returned. She is a friendly, older sister who always greets me with a big smile and a loud “Hey, Dreads.”

Since it had been a few months since we last saw one another, she came from behind the counter and gave me a big hug. After our joyful embrace she backed up and said, “You gained some weight.” (Insert extreme close up and film scream)

The last time I saw my grandmother she said I looked “stout.” That is rural slang for “guess who is getting overalls for Christmas.”

This was becoming a pattern.

When I was younger, I was a waif. I recklessly enjoyed the pleasure of eating whatever I wanted without regard for dieting or even working out. I know, I hate my younger self, even as I write this now…lol.

My freakish metabolism allowed me to grow up in the south and negotiate the culinary creations of all the Southern cooks in my family without turning into a Type-2 diabetic kid. Fried food was not only part of the basic food group, it topped the pyramid.

My first gym experience was awkward, to say the least.

When I was an undergraduate, I had to take two classes to complete my PE credits. I decided to take weightlifting and aerobics. Ok, remember it was the ’80s. I was skinny in my youth, so I was determined to use the weightlifting class and turn myself into a beefed-out, muscle-bound, behemoth.

I tried to copy the other guys in class. My eyes bulged as I panted, growled, sweat, spit and snarled, trying to bench press my pitiful 30 pounds. I looked like a spastic Chihuahua in spandex and sweatbands. My antics finally caught the attention of our PE instructor, and she asked me what do the men in my family look like. I said they were all tall and lean. She looked down at my pubescent, scrawny, heaving chest and in the saddest tone said, “You will never be big like the other guys due to your genetics.”

I was like, “Damn! Way to crush my young hopes and dreams.” I think she went on to become a motivational speaker…lol.

When I was younger I always wanted to be bigger. Be careful what you ask for because it might come true.

I guess that is why my Deli Diva’s statement totally wrecked my fragile ego.

I first noticed that my body was slowing turning on me when I was in my late 30’s.

You start going up a few pants sizes but just chalk it up to winter weight. This helps you for a few months until you realize that the winter weight is still with you on Independence Day.

You pick a fight with the dry cleaner, accusing him and his solution of shrinking your clothes. You are brought back to reality when he presents you with the pack of Burger King coupons found in your pants pocket.

I recently ran across a picture of my friends and me years ago at the lake one summer, and I was sporting a yellow Speedo. The only way I could wear that Speedo now would be as an eye patch.

You would think my doctor’s urging and family history of diabetes and stroke would motivate me toward better physical fitness. No, what finally motivated me to get to the gym at six the next morning was just plain, old-fashioned vanity.

I know I am not the only one to struggle with body image, so I offer Professor Locs’ Top Five signs you may need a fitness plan:

5. You panic one evening when you are home alone and hear strange scratching sounds. You are just about to call the police when you realize it s your thighs rubbing together.

4. You order and consume the 10-piece chicken meal just because it’s on sale.

3. You are a guy lounging shirtless at the neighborhood pool and become embarrassed when one of the young toddlers approaches you and attempts to nurse.

2. You slip the church usher a 10 spot to seat you immediately because you have become winded on the way to the front pews.

1. Your kids keep interrupting your football game because they cannot find their pet cat. Hours later you finally get up from the couch and hear yelling as you and the kids make a morbid discovery that Mr. Whiskers is plastered in a silent scream to your backside.

I know I am not the only one trying to beat the bulge, so I challenge you to submit your own signs…smile.

Last week's election has me seeing red By Professor Locs – November 9, 2010

I got up early on election day and did my research on certain candidates. Like many of you, I was excited to exercise my right to vote.

I still had memories of the incredible energy this country experienced when President Obama was elected. So imagine my surprise when I arrived to my polling center and found what looked like the lobby of a Vanilla Ice concert. (Insert cricket noise).

My usual neighbors were all there volunteering. I caught the morning rush of all the elderly folks, slowly but proudly casting their ballots. I was disappointed to see only one African-American in line. (More on that later).

I cast my vote and left feeling triumphant that I had done my part for democracy. I got to the door and this elderly white man said, "Congratulations."

I responded: "Congratulations to you, too."

He then proceeds to tell me that the whole voting thing was all for nothing since our country was being ruled by several hundred "ass holes,' including the President.

My first inclination was to bum rush this crazy old fool, but since I was raised right, I had to take in the situation. Then it hit me: This was one of those Tea Party people I had heard about.

It was like an episode of Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom, and I had come nose-to-nose with a great white Kodiak Tea Party member in his own habitat.

I resisted the urge to shoot, drug, weigh him and tag his ear for future scientific research. I responded only by saying: "Well, to continue your metaphor, everyone has an asshole and an opinion, I guess. Have a good day."

I got through my day and went home to watch election results, and I was beginning to see red, and not entirely because of the electoral map. The rhetoric of the Tea Party folks and the other more extreme organizations that align themselves with the movement was working my nerves. Showing up to rallies and painting the president as Hitler. Shouting slogans about how they wanted to take the country back.

Let's break that down, shall we.

Who are they taking back the country back from? And what are they taking back? And if they want it, they have to take it all -- the war effort, high unemployment, an economy in recession, bank foreclosures, unaffordable healthcare, another season of “Dancing With the Stars.” The list could go on.

The President apologized the next day for the election results, but he was not to blame. The lack of community support is what turned that tide.
Where were all the people who got him elected? For Tuesday’s poor showing, that demographic needed a virtual open-hand slap to the mouth, circa 70’s The Mack style.

I walked away from the polls that day seeing only one other African-American. This was in stark contrast to the sea of faces, young and old, that I saw for the 2008 election. Maybe if we offered free Lil Wayne concert tickets, a discount weave or Red Lobster coupons, maybe we could get a better turnout.

We have got to get away from the Messiah ideology of politics. We cannot think that one man can do it all. We have an African-American president and an African-American mayor, yet the local school board is closing minority schools.

Our leaders need our help. Working to accomplish an historical moment is not enough, especially when history can be impacted daily.