Quick. Share. Lying - Means to a Hysterical End.

Greetings, salutations and all that jazz. Today's Quick Share is an upcoming movie trailer that I happily stumbled upon while scanning the depths of the world wide web early this morning.

Movie Name: The Invention Of Lying (2009)


Movie Rating: PG-13

Notable Cast: Um the entire cast rocks. Rob Lowe (West Wing Alumni get top billing here at Riddle Wrapped), Ricky Gervais, Jennifer Gardner (I Heart Juno), Tina Faye, Jason Bateman, Jonah Hill, and Louis CK.

Premise: In a world where everyone tells the truth, one man discovers the concept of lying and uses it to a hilariously opportunistic end.

Why I'll be Seeing It: The enticing cast of comedic geniuses and the imaginary Utopian world in which people are as blunt as I'd like to be on a regular basis (without being stigmatized as antisocial) are definitely worthy of my time, consideration, and $11.50.


Check out the trailer:

Quick. Share.
Lying - Means to a Hysterical End.

Hate. It Happens. (Hate Pt 1)

For the purpose of this post, I attempted to find an accurate Slang to English translation for the commonly used urban idiom "hate" (as in "to hate on someone"). Unfortunately, I was unsuccessful in finding a truly authentic definition. UrbanDictionary.com has several lackluster expositions of the word, none coming remotely close to capturing it's true meaning.

Hate, as used in the urban vernacular, means an irrational, dislike for a person, place or thing. The dislike typically originates somewhere between the unconscious and subconscious levels of our brain. A perfect example - you see a woman on the street who, without meeting her, you instantly dislike. Your brain, being a machine dedicated to rationalization, begins to find fault in the innocent by stander (a popular rationale among female offenders: "She thinks she's cute"), and upon finding an adequate reason, you feel justified for your original "gut instinct".

There is a problem however and that of course is the fact that your brain can't always be trusted, specifically because it works on so many levels (obvious, stealth, and completely oblivious - for examples). Many times our inability to tap into our subconscious and unconscious lead us to believe that our "gut instincts" are legitimate and unbiased. More times than not, though, our "gut instincts" are dictated by some unrecognizable yet rational factor.

For instance - perhaps said woman on the street has some similar facial features as your old biology professor who gave you a B- instead of the A you felt you rightfully deserved. If you are only aware of such facial similarities on a subconscious or unconscious level, then your previous "instinctual" dislike for the woman is actually both premeditated and prejudiced.

Blog Prima Donna, Belle of A Belle in Brooklyn, wrote a nice post on the negative effects of hate within the social constructs of Black females. She speaks honestly about her own bouts with judgment from the perspective of both judge and judged. Many of her readers comment to make the point that "hate" can also be the manifestation of our own insecurities - an emotional defense mechanism to ward off our own feelings of inadequacy. Of course, this too is true, and our defense is also typically derived from our unconscious.

At the end of her blog, Belle asks her readers a question. Is it possible that we as woman can break the bad habit of hate? To be honest, I don't think we have that much control over our basic human functions. We must remember that we are only human - hostage to the best and worst of human nature; we all feel inadequacy, jealousy, anxiety, shame - and sometimes the triggers for such feelings can be just some random person on the street, or a friend. What we can do, however, is realize that "hate" is not as irrational as we like to think it is, and commit ourselves to think more critically about from where our hate possibly derives.

In the mean time, smile at the target of your hate and recognize that by doing so, you've made yourself a better person.

Hate happens...

Hate. Reason. Release.

Hate. It Happens. (Hate Pt 1)

Reining In Ridiculousness. Similar Individualists? Take it Back.

I had a late breakfast with Ans today. He posted a blog that inspired wide spread debate regarding the subject of Greek life (last check - 127 replies, my comment envy knows no bounds!). If you're not into Greek life and you want to laugh, go check it out. If you are an active member of Greek society, and want to put a heckler in his place, go check it out. If you couldn't care less...stay with me as I move on to more ridiculous thoughts.



WARNING: THE FOLLOWING POST IS A TRUE LIFE RIDDLE WRAPPED ENIGMA RIDICULOUS MOMENT. THE CONTENTS OF THIS POST ARE BOTH TRUE AND RIDICULOUS.

I am, above all else, a rugged individualist. Well, at least I like to think so.


Okay, so I don't run around in "look at me" outfits. Nor do I spend time researching obscure designers to ensure that my look is unique. I do, however, make it a point to try and shop off the beaten path whenever possible, AND I willingly admit to consciously coveting my own unique sense of style - sexy, confident, original. I hate to see things I'm wearing adorned by other people. On the VERY rare occasion that I see a RWE outfit component duplicated in real time, I am mortified - some would say ridiculously so...but I DO NOT CARE.

I know from where my complex on fashion individuality derives. My mother, a young woman blessed with three girls and a tight budget, thought dressing her daughters alike was the ultimate display of childhood cuteness. She was wrong and the (horrible) experience has shaped my sense of style ever sense. These days, my sisters and I all have terribly different styles - the youngest is hood chic, the middle is punky funky, and I, the eldest, am typically neutral girlie (I like ruffles and army fatique). We almost never wear the same thing, and when we do, we make it look vastly different. So no problems there.

As a matter of fact (or a matter of delusion) I rarely if ever run into someone whose style is so similar to mine that it makes me take notice. However, on occasion, the accidental comment by an innocent instigator might bring the style similarities between me, and other rugged fashion individualist to light. Case in point, an exchange from today's late breakfast with Ans:

Him: My friend recognized you at the party last week, but couldn't place your face.
Me: Oh yeah?
Him: Yeah, she said, "who's the girl with X's haircut? I recognize her but can't place from where"
Me: ***stopped paying attention after the word haircut***
(Note: In this conversation equation, X = a mutual friend of Ans and mine)

ME cast as the mimic of someone else???? It is enough to make me shave my head completely bald in protest. Ok, so perhaps it is true that X cut her floppy top to a Cesar last year (or was it the year before), but she was no more the creator of the design etched cut than I was of back length locs. How dare someone reduce me to a fashion follower, a coiffure copier, a mane mocker? I wanted to scream a narcissistic rant defending my own unparagoned fashion flyness. I wanted to list outfits, show pictures, recite praise like a curriculum vitae of fashion forwardness. I wanted...I wanted...I wanted her, this lady who didn't know me from Adam, to take it back. :-(

And that's about when I got a grip on my ridiculousness, reined in my ego, and shifted my attention back to what Ans was saying.

Me: So she recognized me from your bday dinner? Yeah, it's gonna take some people awhile to get used to me without the locs...

*eyes sparkling* Besides, anything you can wear, I can wear better. In what you wear I look better than you!! Or at least we should all believe this about ourselves! (See 2:17 below! )

Reigning in ridiculousness. A Riddle Wrapped Enigma Pastime.

Reining In Ridiculousness.
Similar Individualists? Take it Back.

Lars. Real Girl. Real Friendship.

I love quirky movies - especially quirky movies that expose the best aspects of human nature. Lars and the Real Girl is a simple (and subtly humorous) story of how the best facets of human nature - kindness, empathy, and nurturing - can vastly improve the reality of someone close to you.

Lars Lindsrtrom has some issues. He is emotionally stunted; he is painfully socially-awkward; he is - delusional. At age 27 he leads a severely sheltered lifestyle - residing in the garage of his childhood home where he tries to evade his family, working in an office where he tries to avoid his coworkers, and attending church where he abstains from general interaction with the rest of the congregation. In short, Lars exists, but does not truly live life. That is until he "meets" Bianca.

Bianca is a quiet Brunette with whom Lars develops a heart warming (though eccentric) emotionally-intimate relationship. She is perfect for Lars. She is quiet, understanding, fiercely devoted, and best of all she makes Lars feel safe in a way he has never previously known. She is also inanimate - as all anatomically correct, life sized dolls are, though Lars is totally oblivious to this fact.

What would you do to help someone in need? That is the major theme behind the story of Lars and his lifeless love. Do you ostracize, ridicule, and further damage your fellow broken man, or do you humble yourself and ask what can I do to help? Do you avoid what you do not understand, or do your recognize that even our simplest interactions with others can be seen as opportunities for valuable contribution? These are the thought provoking questions the film asks of its viewers.

Without spoiling too much of the plot, I will say that Lars is fortunate in having an understanding community of generous spirit surrounding him, and it makes a big difference in his life. As I witnessed the evolution of both Lars and those who loved him, I questioned what I'd be willing to do to help a loved one, and what my so called friends would do to help me. Would I invite a doll to work for me? Allow a doll to "read" to my children? Dress a doll for a ball? Yeah, I think I would. Would you?

Unwrap yourself with a movie that makes you think. About who you are. About real friendship. About real generosity.

Lars. Real Girl. Real Friendship.

Decadent. Desired. Outta My Price Range.

Rue-La-La is having a Valentino Boutique. Beautiful clothes, steep reductions; I still can't afford them. But a girl can dream...

My favorite pick can be found below. It's called the Roma Lace Blouse, from the Valentino Roma Collection. It's on sale for $399.00. Sounds expensive until you see the original price - $1,750 (I know people in the hood who have bought vehicles for less money). That said, those cars were not nearly as sexy as this top is!!

I drool...and digress. Rue-La-La is one of my favorite shopping secrets. The Valentino Boutique ends in a little over 21 hours, so if your inner shopping voyeur is interested, click the link for an invitation!

Browse. Oogle. Dream.

Unwrap a bargain and enjoy!

Decadent. Desired. Outta My Price Range.

Bippity. Boppity. Bacon.

Meet Jim Gaffigan.

Observer Extraordinaire. Comedian. Avid Bacon Lover.

I was informally introduced to Mr. Gaffigan while listening to Raw Dog Uncensored Comedy on XM Radio, one of the only stations that allows The Man and I to coexist peacefully while in a moving vehicle.

Jim Gaffigan is a funny guy. He's observant, yet slightly off center in how he perceives things. He's clean - as in his routines are generally absent gratuitous profanity. He's funny, that is to say he will make you snicker, if not laugh out loud (depending on the dormant nature of your sense of humor). Personally I find him (and especially "the inside voice" that he uses to make fun of his own jokes) both charming and truly entertaining. I also like that I can listen to his entire CD with my Nana in the car.

Here's a bit Gaffigan does on bacon. Yes, bacon. He's a hoot who enjoys his pork salted, sizzling, and whenever possible - as a condiment. He's also a Cancer (July 7, 1966), so my admiration for him might be slightly biased (as we Cancers have a blind intuitive appreciation for each other).

Watch. Laugh. Enjoy.

Bippity. Boppity. Bacon.

Puzzle Game. Time Waster. New Obsession.

I puzzle games.

Previous obsessions have included Tetris (via Gameboy), Columns (via Sega Genesis), Puzzle Fighter (via Sony Playstation), and Bejeweled (via my very first Nextel phone). I come by my puzzle obsession naturally. My family routinely bonded over puzzle games. As a child it was not uncommon to find my mom hording my gameboy in a corner try to immortalize herself on the Top Score board, nor was it uncommon for family guests to be sucked into our weekend Column challenges that pit parent against child, sister against sister. These days it is The Man and I who routinely meet for head to head battle, in fact, our romance was secured over nightly games of Puzzle Fighter and with advent of peer to peer gaming I can now be in Brooklyn and kick his butt while he plays me from Timbuktu.

Unfortunately, sometimes it is necessary for one to game alone and that brings me to my newest puzzle obsession Ice Breakers on AOL games. It is 35 rounds of pure puzzle paradise! Ice Breakers takes the premise of Bejeweled and raises the stakes. Like Bejeweled, you are given a certain amount of time to match color swatches in groups of three or more (vertically or horizontally). However, unlike Bejeweled, you are challenged to make a precise number of matches in each color to complete the round. To make it even more difficult, if you fail to complete a level, you get demoted one level back.

As of now, I have yet to complete the game without being demoted (level 34 gets me every single time). I do encourage those of you who do enjoy a good puzzle game to check it out (don't forget to read the instructions - I wasn't able to beat the game until I did). Don't be afraid to share your inner nerd either. Please suggest other puzzle games I might enjoy or post your Ice Breaker high scores in the comment section (honestly I really love comments; they complete me...). I reached my highest score yesterday, but unfortunately did not jot it down - made it to level 34 without losing a round!! **Challllllllll- anje!!** (See bonus Cosby Show clip that will make you smile below.)

Play. Waste Time. Obsess.

And my inner nerd is out.


Game Tip: The Menu button on the left side of the screen is where you will find the game instructions and the ability to turn off the music!!!
Free Online Games | Ice Breakers | Games.com

Puzzle Game. Time Waster. New Obsession.

Water Slide. Physics. Fun.

See more funny videos and TBT Videos at Today's Big Thing.

It might be nonsensical if the physics weren't so impressive...
Nah, my inner Peter Pan says, "Dope."

Water Slide. Physics. Fun.

Pretty Wings. Beautiful. Bullshit.

INSTRUCTIONS:
You know the drill.
Play this:

Maxwell - New Music - More Music Videos

Read this:
Maxwell makes me swoon. My reaction to his voice is actually uncontrollable. His falsetto flows throw me. His soulfulness makes me quiver. His lyricism makes me ache. He is, for me, the embodiment of true artistic talent. He is. Pure. Seduction.

My latest fling with the crooning catalyst of my sweetest wet dreams began a few weeks ago with the release of his single, "Pretty Wings." It seems our romance was bound to pick up where it left off. I am still left breathless at the sound of his voice melding harmoniously with instruments of strings, percussion, and wind. I am still left helpless, seduced until spent in the rare delightful moment where an unpretentious rhythm is met with the passion of blues and the honesty of soul. I am an undiscovered addict. The song is played at every opportunity. It is the first song I want to hear in the morning and the last song I want to hear when I fall asleep. It is the song that I play as I drive, as I write, as I soap my body in the morning. I fell hard for this song and its masterful proprietor.

It wasn't until my addiction was discovered that the superficiality of my love affair became exposed. One day, The Man, upon hearing me replay the song countless times, asked me to explain the premise of the song. I was caught and he knew it. Though I had heard the songs upwards of 100 times that week alone, I had to admit that I literally got lost in Maxwell's voice. Not once had I REALLY heard the lyrics, not once had I processed the song beyond the alluring magic of the voice. I knew the song had something to do with letting go of a relationship, but the details were fuzzy.

Embarrassed and ashamed at how easily I seemed to succumb to Maxwell's trance inducing voice, I challenged myself to truly listen, digest, and comprehend the lyrics. For two days I tried to process the song lyrics and for two days I failed miserably. I would start off strong singing along: "Time will bring the real end of our trial, one day they'll be no remnants no trace, no residual, feelings within ya. One day you won't remember me," and right there is where I would begin to fade, slowly bewitched by his tone, left dazed until the chorus: "Pretty wings your pretty wings around"

On day three I finally gave up. I searched the songs lyrics and read them while I listened to the song:

Time will bring the real end of our trial
One day there'll be no remnants no trace
No residual feelings within ya
One day you won't remember me.

Your face will be the reason I smile
But I will not see what I cannot have forever
I'll always love ya
I hope you feel the same.

Oh, you played me dirty, your game was so bad
You toyed with my affliction
Had to fill out my prescription
Found the remedy
I had to set you free.

Away from me
To see clearly
The way that love can be when you are not with me
I had to leave
I had to live
I had to lead
I had to live.......

If I can't have you
Let love set you free
To flap your pretty wings around.

Pretty wings, your pretty wings, your
Pretty wings. Pretty wings around.

I came wrong you were right
Transformed your love into like
Baby believe me I'm sorry I told you lies

I turned day into night
Sleep till I die a thousand times
I should have showed you better nights, better times, better days
And I miss you more and more

If I can't have you
Let love set you free
To flap your pretty wings around

Pretty wings, your pretty wings, your
Pretty wings, your Pretty wings around

So Pretty wings, your pretty wings, your
Pretty wings, your Pretty wings around

Say Pretty wings, pretty wings,
Pretty wings yeah, Pretty wings around

After reading the lyrics while listening I finally got the gist of the song - I can't be with you, but I'll always have love for you. Somehow his voice makes what would otherwise sound like bullshit, heart wrenchingly endearing. Yet just as I was about to swoon again, I had a sobering thought: fantasizing aside, dating Maxwell would probably be rather annoying in real life. I mean if this man can make me swoon like a silly school girl while he sings about broken promises and unrequited love, I'd never have it in me to make him do the dishes. He'd sing one line and soapy dish water would be replaced by the making of love.
(^That has the making of a hilarious SNL sketch)

If life could only be as wonderful as Maxwell makes it sound. :-)

FREE STUFF ALERT:

A Maxwell Throwback Mix
(For those of you who also love the trance...)

Pretty Wings. Beautiful. Bullshit.

Hair. Today. Gone.

Instructions
Play this:



While reading this:
I've been in hiding since April.

As I admitted earlier, circumstances surrounding my health during this past April caused me to feel as if I was losing the very essence of who I was. My body was beginning to fail me, diagnosis of the problem was slow and uncertain, and I was confronted with my own mortal limitations - realizing that my body, this object which I had previously used and abused in whatever fashion that I liked, was no longer mine to control. I was terrified of my mortality, yet not the thought of dying, but instead living or dying on terms that were in no way my own. Scared, incapacitated by my health, and intimately aware of my own humanness, I did what any young woman struggling with the feeling of powerlessness does - I cut my hair.

I suppose I could have kept my dreads. While the doctor was concerned with both the strain that the extra weight would have on my neck post surgery and the possibility that my company's recent MRSA scare could be evident in my naps (though he phrased it with much more tact), I was never explicitly directed to dispence with my locs. Yet when faced with three mandatory hair baths of prescription strength antibacterial solution several hours before my surgery, a little voice in my head reminded me that I had a choice.

I sat in a room surrounded by my most best of friends. My mom, my two sisters, and three friends who have been with me through my best and worst times. I asked the nurse for the scissors. T. volunteered to snip the first loc off. Seven years of growth - each tight ringlet of knotted curls witness to an era of hard won maturity through failure and triumph. My sister warned that I was too emotional to make the decision. T. made eye contact with me and said, "B, if you're ready, I'm ready." I smiled, and shook my head. I closed my eyes and paid close attention to the sound of the two blades crossing each other. When I opened, history laid on my lap. My sister teared up and left the room with one of our friends, both feeling the weight of the impending surgery more now than they had just 60 seconds previously. Before it was all over, my mom joined my conspiracy for control, aiding and abetting with her own pair of sheers. All in all, it took about 20 minutes for me to lose my hair and regain a minuscule but powerful measure of self.

I looked awful, but I felt great.

Thankfully (to my knowledge) no pictures were taken of me while I was in the hospital and The Man is finally finished mourning for the loss of the locs he once ran his fingers through. He says the new look has grown on him. With the help of my two favorite barbers (both of which I fantasize about - don't worry, that blog is coming soon) the look has grown on me too...(even with the bald spots (from the surgery clamps)).

India sings "I am not my hair." I say you are not your hair until you need to be. Let it out, let it loose, let it go; let it help you be whatever you need to be.

Before...

And After...



Wait til you see me.

Hair. Today. Gone.