Celebrating the 4th of July with Censorship

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I have a YouTube channel. If two videos constitute a channel.

It's under an alias. You know, to protect the innocent. Trust, there's no national security breaches going on here. Just outstanding professional quality concert footage, compliments of my husband, his Canon point and shoot and a newly discovered talent for video production. 

I'd rather keep it all on the down low, because I'm not sure how recording artists feel about having their live performances broadcast from unofficial sources. But in my mind, at least, we're doing a service, as are others who share the live experience. It's a chance to share the vibe of an in person experience and promote unsung talent.

To appreciate and celebrate. Period. 

Initially, the love was flowing through to the comment section as well: 'What a song those harmony's so tasteful'. And:  'I'm really in love with whoever posted this video. That show was amazing!!'

But as the views increased, a bit of negativity started to creep in:  'Come on bro, what are you wearing? Still love this song. Very good quality video. plus one-ing'. 

While this made me a bit uncomfortable, bottom line is that I'm a journalist. Supporter of free speech and all that. I don't censor.

Or do I?

I was pretty confident in my stance until this showed up:  'i'm praying that he does not get fat again'. 

Okay, let's review. The artist in question has struggled for the past decade plus, with serious life or death issues: drugs, alcohol, the media, pressures of fame. Real fans should know this, celebrate whatever victories he's rocked out, because in my opinion, there are many and just stop the hate. 

But apparently, there's a whole lot of people who are more than comfortable, under the anonymity of cyberspace, to snowball the negativity, without even showing their own faces. This reply, to the comment in question, came a few days later: 'This damn music industry f's up people's mind! He looks like he's in heaven and hell at the same time.'
 
Indeed. I'm with 'ya. Or I was until the same person followed up with: 'Please lose some weight. You are 5'6 I know it's a lot of pressure to live up to How does it feel video....us sistas need something to look at! Please! We love you too much! Also be free but get a stylist you are so fine when u put it all together.'

Seriously? Hold up a minute girlfriend--it's not wholly the industry's fault. Equal blame lies with the public. With you. Are you listening to yourself? The mere fact that someone chooses to share their talents with the world, and is living in the public eye, does not give you the right to critique their personal struggles. Please. 

I hold no illusions that the artist will even see our video, but stranger things have happened. Plus, I'm all about the positivity and comments like that don't reflect my life philosophy. So adios comment section. I've gone all Communist censor and disabled them, so we can get back to what's important.

The music.

 

Paula Deen. Keep Talking About Race

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May I be the first to thank you Ms. Paula Deen.

Not for your boneheaded racial slurs. But for reminding us, as Americans, that our world is far from colorblind. And just because we're not publicly lynching people in the town square, doesn't mean things have gotten a whole lot better.

Take a recent Thursday night in my world. While you were attempting to put out your public relations fires, my husband and I spent an evening at a major department store, being racially profiled. You know, because even though I'm a tall white blonde woman, when I'm with my 'scary' dark-skinned husband, there's an element of guilt by association.

Our 'crime', of the moment--trust, it wasn't the first, and surely won't be the last--was returning two huge boxes of apparel, purchased via the web, to a shopping plaza in suburban Rhode Island. As we're entering the store, the security alarm goes off. 

Andre turns to me and said, "Well, I just triggered the black alarm." 

It'd be funny if it wasn't true.

Apparently, if you purchase something on-line from Kohl's, the distribution center doesn't de-activate the security mechanism. No biggie. But if free returns for on-line purchases are standard, then such an activity should not only be commonplace, but not require an immediate tail by a floor clerk, who basically escorted us to the service desk.

In case you were wondering, the racial make- up of Greenville, RI, about ten minutes north of my house in Providence, according to the 2010 census, stands at 97.1 percent white. The black population? A whopping .8 percent. 

Why is this important? Because if you have absolutely no personal interaction with someone other than your own race, ever, there's an outstandingly good possibility you've got some deep set assumptions going down that you may, or may not, be acknowledging, that are indeed, racist.

Like you, ignoramus managerial type, who made it a point to stop by and ask the service desk clerk, "Those guys returning something?", even though she was clearly mid-transaction, scanning clothing in plastic bags, each bearing mail order bar codes, that interestingly enough match the receipts.

And blatantly turning around to and get a full on look in our faces? Nice touch.

So, Ms. Paula Deen. Now that you've managed to open a conversation on race, even if that wasn't your intent, maybe you can see how important it is to continue it.

 

Presenting The Funky Photog

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Meet the awesome talent that is Andre M. Brown. AKA The Funky Photog.

Okay, we might be married (fourteen years and a day, holler), but by no means is this a paid endorsement. (That is, technically, no money has exchanged hands. I can be, and may have been, bribed with grilled salmon. )

As you'll see when you mosey over to his on-line portfolio (of which he'd be happy to sell you a print or two), Andre shoots for the soul. Both his own, because, duh, it's his passion, and on a continued creative quest to uncover the essence of his subject matter.

Enjoy his vision.

 

 

 

 

Phishing. From Far Away.

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Hello?" I said.

No answer--but I could vaguely hear something. 

One more try. "Hello?"

"I need to talk to Andre Brown," he said, sounding like an Indian Queen. 

That's gay pride. Not royalty.

"What?"

"I need to talk to Ms. Andre Brown," he said, slightly more whiney than before.

Seeing that there was no Ms. Andre Brown, my fraud alert kicked in. Seemed like a telemarketer. From a far away land. He had clearly been instructed to sound urgent. But instead, he was sounding like a little bitch. 

I was amused.

 "It's not Ms. It's Mr. He's not home. Can I take a message?"

"Yes. I'm calling because your computer sent out a signal that there's a problem."

Here we go. Snicker.

"Why are you laughing ma'am?!"

Wait. Did he just say what I thought he said? He couldn't have. So I asked, "What?"

"Why are you laughing ma'am?!!"

Oh, no he didn't. This dude who just cold called me, in a clear attempt to rob me of something, is now verbally reprimanding me? That can't be. Can it? So I asked again.

Naturally.

"Why am I laughing?"

"Yes. Why are you laughing ma'am. This is a serious matter. Your computer is in danger."

Couple of things buddy. I'm laughing because you're clearly an international hoser. Your acting skills suck, as well as your choice of profession.

You've also called the East Coast. We're skeptics by nature. As well as street wise. You will not be receiving any personal data by me. In fact. I'm going to taunt you. I've decided my goal now is to make you hang up first.

"Really? How did you figure that out?" I asked.

"Through the internet. If you just give me a minute ma'am. I can show you."

Seriously dude. Clearly you didn't pick up on the sarcasm in my tone. Do you really think that I'm believing your story. Any piece of it?

All lost in translation. 

And now you're insulting my intelligence. Which you shouldn't do. Because this will come out of my mouth, and I will quickly become the loser at my own game. "Don't ever call here again or I will report your number to the authorities," I said. 

No worries chap. If you were a good student, you would have come away with a little somethin' somethin'. But it was a bit more subtle than my social security number, so I doubt you picked up on it.

That inflection in my voice, right before I hung up? 

That was the tone you were looking for in the first place.