For our intelligence warns us that he intends to steal your Overthruster. If he should attempt this, we will have no choice but to disrupt world-wide electronic communications, and fire a particle beam weapon from your airspace to Smolensk, in the Union of the Soviet Socialist Republics.
Amazing how quickly films become dated. Ok, not that quickly, I guess; The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension was released way the hell back in 1984. . .
I think I shall refrain from cyberstalking either of them henceforth, as looking at it in those terms makes me feel icky.
Mentioned a while back that I was going to make more connections to the African-American community online. Yes, I did. No, I don't have a link handy, but if you can't trust me, who can you tru-- Fine. I give you my word as a Negro. If you're quite finished. . .
Based on a report in The Washington Post that Cosby mocked the language of poor blacks and blamed them for dragging down the rest of society, I chided Cosby for his harsh views and even called him a "curmudgeon."
So when the phone rang and it was none other than Cosby on the other end of the line, frankly, I was pretty intimidated.
That didn't last long.
"Mr. Kane? First, what I want to say is this is not an argument, this is a discussion."
For the next hour, I had a wide-ranging discussion with one of the most famous and successful entertainers in America.
And towards the end:
But I do think my column Thursday did a disservice to Cosby by not presenting all of his comments in context.
The lack of rancor and Negro infighting would be astonishing (X-Men! By Joss Whedon and Planetary artist John Cassaday! Shipping this week!), if everything you know about Black folk you learned watching Good Times, which is why I've been avoiding the right-wing response to Cosby's statements.
I also, perhaps foolishly, changed my membership to actually receive email from the Afrofuturism group, as opposed to stopping by every few months, desperately trying to play catch-up, failing, and forgetting the place exists. Lather, rinse, repeat.
And I'd stumbled upon (not using Stumble Upon, don't even have the toolbar installed in Firefox at the mo') a fairly intelligent, interesting discussion thread on a blog I'd never heard of before a few weeks back, and which I'd meant to bookmark, and of course forgot about completely. So I may be doing another guided tour of black blogs in the near future, this time trying to keep in mind that these are actual people I'm reading and possibly writing about, who may see any comments I make, positive or (far more likely) negative, and try to comport myself accordingly.
Perhaps I'll also find someone to cyberstalk without feeling icky about the entire process, although I suppose that "stalk" bit at the end of the word indicates that a certain degree of ickyness is inherent to the. . . why the fuck am I writing like this?