Abuse, actors, celebrities, celebrity worship, Fame, Hollywood, rape

Of Pedestals and Old Celebrities

Of Pedestals and Old Celebrities.

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behavior, black women, cultural awareness, cultural understanding, disrespect, Fame, hip hop, life lessons, radio, rap music, rape

I Think I’m Growing Up

I grew up in Detroit, my diet of music a combination of hip hop and R&B. The rise and fall of Tupac and Biggie was the era of music I belonged to.  While the two rappers were great story tellers of their time, like most rappers tend to do, some of their songs took on a negative slant concerning women. Tupac was good at that: uplifting women with one song and degrading us with another. I’d hear the misogynistic lyrics and just give it a pass, using the excuse that I’m not one of the hoochie mamas they’re talking about in the songs. I’d focus more on the beat and the music, as opposed to what was being said. For years I listened to rap music, without really listening, until recently. When you know better you do better I guess.

This new rap music doesn’t hold the same sway for me. Whether it was that way all along and I just ignored it, I don’t know, but some of the new stuff is atrocious. The other night I heard a song with some troll who probably looks like something found on the bottom of my shoe calling a woman ugly. Or the song where a rapper boasts about some woman who doesn’t like women “but a stack will make her kiss her”. Even Usher went that route with a song about some weak minded woman in the club seeking another woman so the three of them can have ‘fun’.  Most of what I hear from rappers is how they plan to use and abuse women for their enjoyment. They think that having money and fame gives them the right to treat women like objects to be discarded the next morning. Even Blurred Lines sounded a bit on the rapey side.

Maybe it’s because I know and work with women who are fools for men and get heartbroken and played all the time, but the music isn’t working for me. For the past few years, my taste in music has been evolving. If it sounds good, I’m there. Occasionally I’ve even strayed to the country channel. I absolutely love Billy Currington by the way.  I may not give up rap entirely, I’m not perfect and there are some good artists out there, but I’m more picky about what I actually take in.

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behavior, celebrity worship, daughters, disrespect, Fame, family, fathers, life lessons, morality, mothers, nudity, rape, self respect, teens, Uncategorized, values, women, youth

Pimping Yourself For Fame

The opinions in this post is mine and mine alone. Agree, disagree I don’t care. I just felt it had to be said.
I saw a picture posted by a barely 18 year old on a news story on the internet, and when I say barely 18 I mean she’s not even a month into supposed adulthood. Kendall Jenner made news this week with a picture of her in a black fishnet type shirt with no bra and leaving nothing to the imagination. It was extremely see thru much to the delight I’m sure of many males both young and old.
kendall
Now I’m not a prude, I am not above writing the love story that gets physical, but the books we write are for grown adults not YA. My issue with the picture of Kendall Jenner’s nips is this. She wasted no time in sexualizing herself the minute she turned 18 and it’s now reported that her father, Bruce Jenner, is supporting her decision to instagram this picture to 7 million followers and now millions more thanks to the power of the internet. She might as well get it over with and make the sex tape and post the completely nude photo announcing her new found self depreciation and degradation into an object to be lusted over.
Where is the self respect? Yes she is technically an adult and in this country can do what she wants, but the fact that she did it so quickly after turning the magic adult number tells me that she has been thinking about this for a while way before she turned that magic age. Face it she didn’t wake up from innocence the morning of her birthday and convert to sluthood that same day, she had role models.
I understand the Kardashian/Jenner motive is to strictly whore yourself out for money. What is nonsense is the man who is supposed to be her moral compass,  her protector, her father, basically gave his tramp stamp of approval and has solidified her place in the Kardashian world of being slutty equals money. This approval by her father and no doubt her mother who’s every move is about the almighty dollar, sends a dangerous message to the followers of this young lady that dressing like anything goes is OK and consequences be damned.
Till something goes horribly wrong.
Normal everyday girls do not have Kardashian/Jenner money to protect them when things go wrong.  We read stories several times a week where there is a rape, gang rape, abuse, molestation and incest of women and young girls, some are so young they are barely out of diapers. We are shocked and appalled when this happens and before you scream at me, I’m in no way defending the men or boys or even saying the girls deserved it, but I am railing at the collective lack of consciousness that allows the celebrity to be our moral compass and give way to the anything goes attitude. How can we cry foul when the image of the willing wanton slut is shoved in our faces on a regular daily basis. When we individually or as a society, applaud, imitate and condone the behavior of the wannabe celebrity or musician that ‘twerks’ onstage provocatively and glorifies the use of drugs and sex. The message is clear, all women if they are showing it off or not are fair game.
Justin Bieber was just reported as having a party where strippers were hired to be naked at this party. The comment continued that the other women or girls at this party felt ‘out of place’ and pressured into also disrobing and parading nude for the enjoyment of many male celebrities that attended. The lure of being able to say you partied with the male celebs and had money rain down on you overrode any modesty and moral decency, allowing the girls collective debasement and lack of self respect to take hold. Partygoers were made to sign confidentiality agreements that they would not disclose anything that happened while attending said party or face a fine of 5 million dollars. Yes, I said 5 million.  Now who is that for? It doesn’t take a genius (or maybe it does) to know it was for the further intimidation of the girls, especially if something untoward was actually done to them while in their state of disrobement. To protect the male celebrity against being charged with whatever illegal activity happened whether it was sex she didn’t consent to or the slew of illicit drugs that were consumed that night.  May I also remind my readers who say it was The Bieb’s right to throw such a debauched party that he is not yet even 21.
Where are the parents? Where is dad to drag his daughter away and say I love you too much to let you debase yourself like this, or is dad to busy ogling young Kendall Jenner on his laptop or phone.
Where dad to teach his son that objectifying and disrespecting women and girls is wrong. Where are Bieber’s parents to reign in this kid and help him stop his path of self destruction we see happening to so many young celebs these days?
 Where are the mothers to advise and counsel their daughters on being self respecting, strong young ladies that don’t need to parade her nakedness to get attention. That the kind of attention she gets by putting it all out there is not the loving attention she is actually seeking.
We’ve all seen pictures of very young girls trying to be older than they are, wanting to show skin and appear sexy way before their time. We rail against this holding our hands up decrying the situation while we are buying her the Halloween costume of the slutty celebrity she emulates and call it cute. We enter her in the beauty contest shoving her little feet into high heels and have her practice her smile and call it investing in her confidence.
All because society and celebrity told us this is the way to be accepted.
There is some truth in the statement “little girls marry their fathers.” What she grows up with and see’s she will carry with her into adulthood and pass on to her own daughter in an endless cycle. It is proven that a girl who witnesses abuse by men in her home will more than likely end up with an abuser at some point before hopefully the cycle is broken.  If she is brought up with low self esteem and little respect, she will not magically obtain it when she turns 18.
A final thought. If we wouldn’t want our own young daughters, granddaughters, nieces to be emblazoned on instagram in a see thru top showing her nips to the world, or would die of shame to know our precious girls paraded around at a party butt naked to be used, objectified and reduced to the level of sex toy, then we need to stand up and let our objections be heard. We need to talk to and educate our boys on respect for women and how to be proper gentlemen. We need to educate and promote self respect and self esteem with our girls. We need to kill this celebrity worship and stop rewarding bad behavior.
If we don’t we all must look in the mirror and wag a finger at ourselves the next time we are shocked and appalled when our girls and women suffer with our indifference at the hands of bad men.

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Actresses, Fame, Hollywood, Murder

Femme Fatale

Enjoy this short story!

The leggy blond sauntered down the long staircase one carefully measured  step at a time. Angelique Leone the iconic bombshell with the curvaceous silhouette and come hither pout that adorned many soldiers walls, was  in her third day of shooting.  She was headlining in her second motion  picture for Sandstone pictures of a four movie deal contract. The studio had pumped a ton of money into the flick and even more money into her  glamorization makeover.  Angelique Leone’s name on her birth certificate which was stashed discreetly away in her father’s safe in Texas, was Jane Lenny;  not exactly a top billing box office name. 

She arrived in Hollywood at twenty years of age with ten dollars in her  pocket and a prayer to land any kind of studio contract until a friend  in the business revealed to her the real game. It was a hard lesson and  one Jane wasn’t happy to learn. Crying alone in her small rundown  apartment after losing her virginity to a fat balding casting director  on the proverbial casting couch, she contemplated suicide. Returning  home would only garner her shame for her actions. 

The call came that evening just moments before she was ready to swallow a  handful of pills with the joyous news of a studio contract. Apparently  the casting director liked her ‘audition’ and recommended her for a  small role in a new movie. If the camera agreed with her she would be  considered for a larger role in the next one.  The meeting she had with  the movie’s director the next morning would change her life forever,  1940 was going to be her year.  The first thing he did was give her a  new name, a name that would soon be synonymous with sultry sensuality  and unbridled sex, a name that went before a team of studio execs to be  decided upon and a name she was not allowed to have a choice in  deciding. 

“Cut!”  the grumpy red faced director Ronald Sizemore yelled. “Damn it! Who’s  to dumb fuck that put this stupid plant at the bottom of the stairs? Get it out of here.” He kicked the fake potted plants over. “Everybody take five!”

Angelique threw her hands up in the air and marched down the stairs. “How many  times are we going to do this? My feet are tired!” She flipped her long  platinum blond hair from her shoulders. 

The 6’2” stoutly director glared at her. “You’ll do it as many times as I want you to. Don’t forget your place!”

Her place was becoming one of more influence thanks to her overnight  meteoric rise in celebrity and he knew it. He hated the idea that this  shy little Texan girl was learning how to wrestle control in a male  dominated industry. 

“I’m going to lie down. I’ll be in my dressing room alone.” She emphasized loudly. 

“Lay off the pills today.” He barked back. His brown eyes angrily dared her to disobey.

She turned on her heel sashaying off the set and into the early afternoon  sun. Donning her sunglasses she made her way across the studio lot and  hopped on a golf cart heading to her private oasis, the dressing room she  demanded without hesitation as her star power started to shine. It was a dangerous game of wills and she knew it. The studio machine had the  power to make or break her if she didn’t play her cards right, a heady  position for a twenty two year old who gained a lifetime of wisdom in  the eighteen months since that fateful audition.

Her dressing room was decorated in all pinks, every shade available was represented. From the deep pink special ordered carpeting to the  bubblegum lampshades. She hated pink. Angelique was simply sticking it  to the studio for what she considered rape by the fat, nasty smelling  casting director. The temporary dressing room cost about as much as a  new car to redecorate. Ironically the more she misbehaved the more her  star power grew. 

The public loved her. Young ladies longed to be her. Men self fulfilled  their sexual fantasies against the backdrop of her half naked pinups.  The attention her small role in that first movie garnered her was a  Hollywood dream.  A well placed one liner catch phrase with fantastic  lighting of her pouty full lips and she became America’s new sweetheart. It had even taken the studio execs by surprise. No one was more  surprised than the demanding narcissistic director Ronald Sizemore who  had hoped she would be another young girl in his stable of bevy beauties he could call upon for licentious scenery and behind the scenes sex. He assumed she was an innocent kitten he could use and abuse till she was  washed up. 

Angelique proved to be tougher than she looked given in part to her hard scrabble upbringing in the vast expanse of her father’s Texas ranch.  Not to mention his  liberal use of a belt for discipline. Her brothers fared worse under  his tutelage of hard farm work and beatings, both boys leaving his tyranny as soon as they came of age. She was the only one left at home when his second wife also  made an escape. Frightened to stay knowing she would be an easy target  for his drunken anger, she boarded a bus and headed to L.A. with a  promise of fame and easy fortune.

Frantic knocking on her dressing room door woke her from her slumber. Wrapping  her silk dressing gown around her she opened the door to reveal two LAPD officers. 

“Sorry to disturb you ma’am.  We need you to come with us.” The tall uniformed officer said.

“What is the meaning of this?” She demanded. 

Officer Brady responded. “Ronald Sizemore is dead. Please get dressed and come  with us or we will be forced to take you like this.” The officer looked  her up and down lecherously grinning.

She stumbled back and fell into her lounge chair. “Dead? But how?” 

“That’s what we want you to tell us.” 

The squad car pulled up in front of the station with its siren blaring,  someone had already tipped off the newspapers and fan rags as light  bulbs flashed incessantly blinding her even with her sunglasses on.   Officer Brady roughly grabbed her arm from the back of the black and  white dragging her away from the throng of cameras and reporters calling out her name. 

She was seated in a hard wooden chair in a lonely room, her silk scarf still wrapped  around her head and neck. She pulled a cigarette and holder from her  purse. “Can I please get a light?” She yelled, aware that they were  watching her from behind the two way mirror. Detective Jarden entered  with his lighter in hand. Sitting himself across from her he lit her  cigarette as she crossed her legs allowing her skirt to rise up enough  to tantalize him. It didn’t go unnoticed. 

“Am I under arrest?” she asked.

“No.” he replied.

“Do I need a lawyer?” 

“Depends, did you shoot him?” He licked his lips as she adjusted the hem on her knee.

She raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at him. “Up until now I didn’t even know how he died, how could have I shot him?” 

Detective  Jarden snickered pushing an ashtray her way. “You were seen having  words with Mr. Sizemore before he died and it’s been rumored you had a  beef with him. Do you own a gun Ms. Leone?”

“Of course, a single girl has to protect herself in this big bad city, but that doesn’t make me a killer.” 

“You’re right, but what about the argument? You had words with him and then  disappeared.” He lit his own cigarette and placed his fedora on the  table next to his notebook. 

“Ronald was a hard man to work for detective. He made many questionable demands and berated the staff constantly, doesn’t mean I wanted him dead. He  had enough enemies for that.” 

“But he is dead. Can you account for your whereabouts after one o’clock?” 

Angelique sighed. She knew where this was headed. She had verbally threatened to  shoot Ronald if he ever touched her again several weeks before. He  didn’t like to be told no so he had punched her in the face daring her  to complain, promising to ruin her if she didn’t comply with his  demands. The bruises took days to disappear putting the movie shoot  seriously behind schedule. The studio attributed it to the press as Ms.  Leone’s ongoing bought with the flu. 

“I was in my dressing room napping.” She advised curtly.

Sitting back in his chair unbuttoning his suit coat, Detective Jarden gave her a sly smile. “Napping? Was there anyone with you?”

She glowered in contempt. “No, I was alone the whole time.”

“Too bad, no one to corroborate your story.”  He said tapping his ash in the tray.

“You also have no proof it was me. I know my rights detective, I demand you let me leave.”  

Detective  Jarden snapped his fingers and the two officers who brought her in  appeared. “Take Ms. Leone home please.” He told them. “I’ll be in touch.” He said as she walked away.

Angelique took her constantly ringing phone off the hook, dressed herself in a  silk floral nightgown and poured herself a drink. It  had gone as planned. That jackass would never force himself on her  again. The back alley abortion he had forced her to have that nearly killed  her was listed as another bout of illness by the studio. Her son had laid in pieces on a crude table next to the coat hanger used to destroy him and  she vowed then to kill the man who did this to her.  She held the evening’s  paper in her hands reading the headline. ANGELIQUE LEONE QUESTIONED IN DIRECTORS DEATH! Even bad publicity was good publicity. 

She closed her eyes reliving her day. He had appeared in her dressing room  ready for another romp. The whole scene on the set of overturned flowers and anger at the staff to call a break was planned by him so he could  get her alone. They had done this dance before and she knew her steps  well, he had seen to that with his repeated threats and punishments. He  showed up to her dressing room fifteen minutes after her departure as to not arouse suspicion. Three knocks on the door was his signal it was  him. She opened the door holding a handkerchief as a sign to the  unseen men hovering around the corner hallway. George and John Lenny,  her older brothers, gagged and bound Ronald dragging him to a waiting  car behind her dressing room taking him back to the empty set. The  always punctual catering truck took care of any set crew that lingered  behind. The studio paid free food was always a sure fire guarantee to  draw a crowd. 

Her brothers had slipped him in the back entrance unnoticed amid the props and  various scenery’s. Unbinding their victim and removing his gag, she gave him only one command.“Run.” She said as she raised her hand pulling the  trigger.  No one would have paid attention to the shot thanks to the  noisy western they were filming in the next sound stage. Her aim was as  good as any man’s her father had made sure of that. It was after all a necessary  skill if you lived on a Texas ranch.

The bullet landed squarely in the back of Ronald’s head and exited out the  front taking half his skull with it. Her brothers stealthily slipped her back to her dressing room and in mere minutes were driving out of town  with the fired pistol.  

“Ms. Leone, Ms. Leone, how does it feel to be cleared of all murder  charges?” the hapless reporter pestered her on her way to the red carpet premiere of her new movie ‘Femme Fatale’.

She stopped and turned in her red dress designed just for her movie  premiere placing her hand on her ample hip with a big toothy smile. “Darlings, was there ever any doubt!”

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