Weeds and White women

It is the aspect of labor that truly makes the criminal endeavor worthwhile. I’ve known this from my early days of selling burn bags in Washington Square Park up until today utilizing technology to pilfer programming designed for nothing more than selling me and mine products we truly have no desire for. And while I laugh at Chuck Palunchuick(Sp) for his self congratulatory “You are not your Ikea Furniture’ I find myself reveling, not unlike the harem meat in its fetid anally sadistic dwelling, in my mechanicized ability to pilfer. Still, this is secondary to my main point.

I am interloper of the Showtime program “Weeds”, that is to say it is appropriated by an acquaintance of mine and I peruse it at my leisure weekly. Given that the show is about illicit activity I find a sort of kinship with the characters in that my perusal of it is also clandestine. But it struck me one recent evening night how hypocritical the show is. Advance along this thought path with me as I try to elucidate my point.

The theme song, “Little Boxes” tongue in cheek berates the mediocrity of suburban living, pointing out the types of individuals that live in these unintentional, intentional communities. Though they’ve chosen a new band each week to cover the song this season, the images of the same people doing the same thing to the searing edge of cloning. This is the intro to the show about a suburban woman selling “weed”, originally procured from the most authentic black weed selling family on TV, to her suburban counterpoints.

Now the deviants in each of the cloning sequences in the intro have not escaped me, nor am I dense enough to miss that they represent the diversity that truly exist amongst all humanity, and as a result should be assumed exist in Suburbia; this is not my issue. My issue is the source of the deviance, the originality, the break from the mind numbing monotonies that is unintentional living, once again comes form blackness. Is this not the Dave Brubeck of Jazz, the Emniem of Hip-Hop, the Beats of black radical poetry in the fifties and sixties. “Hark, aging negro scholar, Do you purport to claim negritude holds an exclusive claim on the business of marijuana?” “To assume so would be asinine. But what does it mean, I ask rhetorically, when the only show on television regarding a person living and functioning relatively well dealing drugs, has a white woman as the main character?” I would write more but I have a novel to complete and miles to go before I sleep.