I have had it. Enough is enough. What is this world coming to? We are beginning to sound like a bunch of three-year-olds. I am a grown ass woman, damn it! I've earned my right to speak as such.
What has prompted this most recent rant? An article from the New York Times style section, sent to me by an equally disgruntled friend. Written by Stephanie Rosenbloom, "What Did You Call It?" waxes endlessly and unnecessarily about the use of the nouveau word "vajayjay" as a euphemism for vagina. "Vajayjay" was introduced on an episode of the ABC show, Grey's Anatomy. Then Oprah got a hold of it, and now you have every middle-aged woman talking about her vajayjay.
I am not a conspiracy theorist, but this vajayjay seems like another attempt to sanitize, with the result infantilizing, the American lexicon.
Those Parts Down There
Ma and Pa Thompson kept it real, sometimes too real. Alongside my parents, I watched violent R-rated movies. No cinema was too bloody or graphic for their little boos, I mean children. The exposure did not lead me to kill, maim, or destroy – just on occasion yell, scream, or curse a few people out. But I digress. In the spirit of keeping it real, we, the family Thompson, called genitalia by their proper names:penis and vagina – not George and Nancy.
In stark contrast, I had a female friend with three small children who created the names "heehee" and "whowho" for said body parts. All I have to say is whywhy? Imagine the confusion when they have their first sexual experience.
"Baby, I want to (blank) your heehee."
"Heehee? What the hell are you laughing at?"
Where are my N-words?
I was listening to a Kat Williams comedy special this weekend on Comedy Central. It was damn near refreshing to hear an adult speak so freely and use harsh language, including the N-word, to express thoughtful ideas. By the way Al, Jesse, et. al, banning the N-word hasn't stopped teens, especially black teens, from using the word excessively. (For the record, hearing the N-word bandied about by not always so literate youngsters drives me out of my damn, not darn, mind.)
In an interview with the Pittsburgh Post Gazette, comedian D.L. Hughley said, “"I think it's dumb. Richard Pryor and Martin Luther King existed around the same time but Martin Luther King never called Richard Pryor and said, 'Could you stop using the N-word? It's making our struggle that much harder.' And that's because Martin Luther King was trying to affect real change, significant change for the benefit of a people. Not esoteric change that really wouldn't change anything… More black people die from not exercising and eating fried food than ever died from the N-word. You don't go to the doctor and he says, 'Your cholesterol is down. Have you been using the N-word lately?'"
There is the f-word, and thanks to former Grey's Anatomy's star Isaiah Washington's rant against gay cast member T. R. Knight (what's up with that show?), there is another f-word not to be uttered publicly regardless of the context. Before you know it, there will be yet another f-word we won't be able to utter: fat. Are we going to start calling fat people, "calorically challenged"? Or are we going to create another euphemism like "fataytay." Oh Bertha is not as big as a house; she's just fatatay.
I Am A Person, Not A Crayola Crayon
Hang in there. I am almost done.
Most mainstream media avoid racially charged topics like they are… the word… "vagina", but when they do attempt to address them, it's often awkward and painful to watch, especially when the anchors/pundits/talking heads make an attempt to use the least offensive words to describe an ethnic or racial group.
My least favorite of these monikers is "people of color" – the use of which chaps my black ass. I've heard Joe Scarborough of MSNBC's Morning Joe use this term with relative frequency. I'd like to ask him one simple question: Who the hell are you talking about? Blacks? Latinos? Asians? Biracials? Martians? The statement belies the assumption that whites are not included among those "of color" and makes the rest of us sounds like some mushy mess.
Homeboy, last time I checked, white people come in various hues — dare I say colors — such as pink, various shades of olive, and light brown in the summer. If you see a "white" person coming towards you, run like a mofo because that s.o.b. is probably an escapee from a local cemetery.
Oh, I know what some of you pitiful PC folks are thinking. "Personally, I don't see color." Quit your lying. I dare you to say that to the police officer when he pulls you over for running a red light. I could go on forever, but I won't. You've got things to do and so do I. (If you are waiting for a cheap vajayjay joke, it ain't coming – yet.)
Does It Ever End?
Now, the Tyra Banks Show is having its own version of the Vagina Dialogues. (No, I didn't make a mistake, this is how it is billed. With Tyra, it has to be a two-way conversation.). Called, “What's Up Down There?” (original broadcast: Monday, November 5), the show promises to provide women with the answers "to all the questions they were afraid to ask."
I am sure that after this show, the vagina will need some throat spray and a sabbatical.