Head-less

Merry Christmas!

Despite all of the gift-giving and merry making of the day, for some reason, it doesn't feel like Christmas right now. It could be that after a long day of family time - including a mean game of DDR that got my heart rate up higher than it's been in a minute - I received the best gift of all - nearly three hours of mostly peaceful silence so I could read. It broke up the merriment a little, all that silence.

I hardly ever get to read anymore. Not only because of a lack of time. But as a writer, I find myself over analyzing nearly everything I read. It's just not as enjoyable anymore.

Still, I asked for and received "Confessions of a Video Vixen," a hip hop "tell all" by Karrine "Superhead" Staffans. I thought it would be an interesting read. Most importantly, I figured I wouldn't spend half the book analyzing her voice and POV etc... So when the kiddies conked out and the hubby tuned to football, I opened my book and settled in for a good read.

Okay, well first of all, when you "tell all," shouldn't you tell ALL?!

Immediately, several paragraphs into the book she cops out by saying despite the fact that she's had sex with some of the most "insatiable" men in the world she wouldn't call this book a tell all, because there are many details she would rather keep to herself as to not embarrass people close to her.

But being a ho' most of her life and revealing that fact over and over by dropping a few names....well, that's okay. Right?

Warning: Rant to follow....

You know what? Writing is a serious business. Writers who dedicate their entire career to creating great fiction or painstakingly researching for non-fiction can sometimes barely get an advance on their work. But drop dime on a couple people you've given a bj to and man, you're getting six figure advances and have a best seller.

Yes, I'm hating!

Because it's bad enough when someone capitalizes on their dirt. It's worse when they claim to do it in the name of "saving" some other poor innocent waif from the same fate. And it's just plain annoying when the dirt ends up being shrouded in this noble secrecy for the sake of people who already are well aware of your past not so indiscretions!

There were a few times, in reading, where I felt for the author. She had an abusive past and seemingly no love in her life, whatsoever.

Yet, you get the feeling that she only felt sorry for herself when she was down, out and broke. Then she'd be genuinely surprised when the men she blew for the perks of celebrity glam and financial gain blew her off without a care. She never seemed that upset with her lifestyle when she was whisked off for a weekend by a celeb, getting paid for her favors or furthering her career using sex.

So she's not a totally sympathetic individual.

Another really annoying thing is how she glosses over facts while dwelling too much on others. She'd casually mention that she'd met such and such star "some time ago," then proceed to describe this man like he was the absolute love of her life. It was a constant contradiction.

I couldn't tell the difference between who she had a real relationship vs. someone who was just a long string of booty calls.

Another realllllllyyyyy annoying factor were the skewed dates. In the last chapters she talks about meeting Usher in 2004. Then a few graphs in mentions that they hung out while he was recording 8701. Then it goes right back to 2004. It was confusing.

Usher didn't record 8701 in 2004. The CD's title stands for August 7, 2001, its release date.

But there were other time blurs like that. I was dizzy trying to keep up with what happened when. I really felt like she did it on purpose to maybe blur when she really had some of these encounters.

Not sure why. The damage is done since it's out there.

And while she failed to reveal who "Papa" was because she respected him so. She had no problem making Ja Rule seem like a little bitch the first time she blew his mind -literally and figuratively! The part about him grabbing his ankles. Priceless!

Irv Gotti didn't come off looking much better. The reference to him running into the bathroom to hide from her because of her sexual power. Another gold moment.

But other than that, the book reinforced my disdain for where the publishing world stands. Just like with music, publishers are looking for the hot ticket of the moment - get a quick million or more sales in and who cares if the person ever picks up a pen again. Or sits at a PC...whatever their writing weapon.

I expected her story to rival a good fiction book. Because here's someone whose been on the right side of the velvet rope. Give us the dirt.

But her accounts are dry and not all that insightful. Most fiction writers can fantasize better about life on the glam side.

Oh well. A salute to all real writers.

We can't all give super head to get ahead.

Paula