Is Jewish Rapper Drake Opening a Strip Club in Houston?

Drake

Tabletmag:

It’s good to be Drake. He’s apparently dating Rihanna, which is most of the reason it’s good to be Drake, but he’s also got lots of money and other stuff that probably makes him happy too, contrary to what is accepted among us plebeians.

Drake’s also on tour, and he stopped in Houston over Labor Day Weekend. Apparently, Drake has an annual “Houston Appreciation Weekend,” and he held an event in the city and used it as an opportunity to announce that he was opening a new nightclub there, called The Ballet. Said Drizzy, to a room full of people he probably didn’t know: “There’s a culture out there of dancing and it’s not about no strip club shit. It’s about these amazing women that we’ve got in one spot, the music that we’ve got, and the Houston culture that we got. I just wanna let you know that I’m going to bring it to you in the most honest and genuine way possible.”

Drake, who “is famously a huge fan of Houston’s strip club,” writes Stereogum, was also seen playing with stacks of bills while scantily-clad women danced and hung from silks, and the Juvenile classic “Back That Ass Up”, played in the background. (This feels like a far cry from Drake’s announcement of his new Toronto club, which was dedicated to his bubbe and zayde last year.) So, I guess Drake is opening a strip club in Houston?

But what really sticks out about Drake’s trip to Houston is the Instagram he posted yesterday that shows the rapper wearing a Houston Rockets t-shirt, with the team name written in Hebrew. (And really, what’s an Instagram if it isn’t a picture of oneself?) And even though I drink haterade on a daily basis, I have nothing ill to say about someone who wears their Jewish pride so publicly and cornily.

Nothing says Jewish pride like opening a strip club.

I wonder if Rihanna will be converting to Judaism? Bitch Better Have My Money.

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Forward: When Donald Trump Calls One Woman Fat and Ugly, He’s Insulting All of Us

Women seem to take things personally.

By Talia Liben Yarmush:

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Today, I’m not average weight. Sometimes I’m “curvy” and sometimes I’m “obese.” The more fat I am, the more vulnerable I feel; the harsher I am to myself, the more unforgiving. I sometimes look in the mirror and see that young girl dressed in a baseball cap and flannel shirt, and I think, “Damn, I’m so ugly.” My husband scolds me, telling me to stop being mean to his wife. But I have no control over that part of my brain.

Why is it that when I put on makeup and get my nails done, I instantly begin to feel better about myself? Who pounded that into my brain? Too many people, too many messages along the way from pre-pubescence to adulthood to pinpoint any one moment I decided my body wasn’t good enough, wasn’t beautiful enough.

I buy Spanx to hide a stomach that, frankly, cannot be hidden. It does not matter that I have had four abdominal surgeries: that does not quell the insecurities. It does not matter that I have grown two children. Or that my body has taken in countless medications, from birth control to ovary stimulating hormones; from anti-anxiety pills to anti-inflammatories. All of which list rapid weight gain as a major side effect. Knowing that some of it is out of my control does not help my self-esteem.

As I stare at myself in the mirror, baseball cap and flannel shirt staring back at me, I wonder how that girl turned into this woman. And in the background of my thoughts, emanating from the other room, the sounds of the TV blare, “You’re a fat pig! Look at that face. You’re disgusting.”

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Rocker Rocks New York

Joseph Sobran writes December 23, 1999:

John Rocker, ace relief pitcher and trash-talker of the Atlanta Braves, has made few friends in New York. Now he has incurred the wrath of the Bigot Squad.

Sports Illustrated quotes him as saying: “The biggest thing I don’t like about New York are [sic] the foreigners. I’m not a very big fan of foreigners. You can walk an entire block in Times Square and not hear anybody speaking English, Asians and Koreans and Vietnamese and Indians and Russians and Spanish people and everything up there. How the hell did they get into this country?”

He went on: “Imagine having to take the 7 train to the ballpark, looking like you’re [in] Beirut next to some kid with purple hair next to some queer with AIDS right next to some dude who just got out of jail for the fourth time right next to some 20-year-old mom with four kids. It’s depressing.”

The New York Post, not usually an oracle of political correctness, headlined these as “racist remarks,” quoting denunciations of Rocker by spokesmen for Korean, South Asian, Russian Jewish, Puerto Rican, Catholic, and homosexual groups, and for good measure a hairdresser who specializes in purple hair. One columnist accused Rocker of “hate”; another, exemplifying the tolerance that makes New York so endearing, called the Georgia native a “cracker boy.”

Needless to say, this story ended the way all such stories end: with the ritual grovel. Rocker quickly apologized for his “unacceptable” remarks, while protesting that “I am not a racist.”

What he should have said in the first place, of course, was that, as Bill Clinton likes to say, “diversity is our greatest strength.” Not just ethnic diversity, but diversity of behavior: crime, illegitimacy, homosexuality, and purple hair, all of which are bountiful in New York. When you’re crowded into a dirty subway car with such diversity pressing against you, it can make you a mite uneasy. But you mustn’t say so. You must keep repeating the official mantra: “Diversity is our greatest strength.”

The Rocker story is one more reminder that white Americans aren’t even allowed to have their own perspective anymore. We live under the sort of tyranny of propaganda you might expect in wartime, where everyone is expected to adopt a uniform attitude or face charges of disloyalty.

Everyone in the crowded subway car is likewise expected to savor the “diversity” of the experience. But there is to be no diversity of sensation or reaction. Just paste a smile on your face and pretend you enjoy every moment of it. Ignore your gut response and talk like a cheery social scientist who thinks immigration — even the illegal immigration of new hordes of ruthless gangsters — is an unalloyed blessing.

Why shouldn’t a man like Rocker experience the New York streets and subway as he did — feeling surrounded by the alien, the bizarre, the sinister? Even native New Yorkers no longer pretend that Gotham is “Fun City.” Crime has dipped sharply, but nobody speaks of New York as a pinnacle of civilization, as we did when you could go there without fear to enjoy symphonies, museums, and the latest Cole Porter musical.

Last year I watched the old movie Miracle on 34th Street again. The miracle that struck me was not the Santa Claus story: it was the backdrop of a New York City we can barely remember — a city where ordinary people were well-dressed, polite, and civilized. More to the point, it was a city where these qualities were taken for granted, and where any exception would have stood out. We assumed that New York would always be our cultural mecca. What is now commonplace was once inconceivable.

Now that the old standards have vanished, we’re supposed to adopt new standards to make decline appear as “progress.” Obviously Rocker has somehow escaped the mass brainwashing process. He still notices the things you’re not supposed to notice. His much-maligned brain (he is also accused of “knot-headedness”) still operates independently of the Universal Propaganda Network into which all enlightened brains are wired.

It’s no longer permissible even to be provincial. All the provinces seem to have been annexed by a single empire of the mind, with no residue of private space. No room in this world for cracker boys.

JOSEPH SOBRAN writes February 3, 2000:

“How can you defend an oaf like John Rocker?” a friend asked me recently. “I don’t disagree with you, but when you take up his cause you’re just begging to be called a racist yourself.”

Well, being smeared as a “racist” is just part of the game these days. Thanks to the U.S. Supreme Court’s evisceration of libel law in the name of the First Amendment, you can’t do much about it. But the worst thing you can do is to accept the role of defendant and let yourself be intimidated by the ethos of laissez-faire libel.

Rocker, the Atlanta Braves’ star relief pitcher, has now been fined and suspended for the early part of the coming season by Major League Baseball’s commissioner, Bud Selig. The sentence also includes “sensitivity training,” on top of the psychological examination Rocker has already submitted to. Selig said that Rocker’s unflattering remarks about New York “offended practically every element of society and brought dishonor to himself, the Atlanta Braves, and Major League Baseball.”

Personally, I disliked Rocker from the first time I saw him pitch. He’s an abrasive man, like a lot of athletes nowadays. But that doesn’t justify New York’s fans in spitting on him, pouring beer on him, and throwing batteries at him. Neither do his opinions about New York justify Selig in punishing him and, particularly, humiliating him as a thought-criminal in need of a Soviet-style “cure.”

If Rocker had broken some well-defined rule, it would be one thing. But Major League Baseball, as far as I know, has no speech code. Selig himself has brought dishonor on the sport by trying, in a totally arbitrary manner, to impose taboos on the expression of opinion — taboos that didn’t apply to Ted Turner’s crude jokes about Catholics, the Pope, and Poles. (Turner, the Braves’ owner, has apologized; but so has Rocker, unavailingly.)

Rocker has been roundly condemned as a “racist” even though he never mentioned race. But liberal invective is routinely accepted as free speech.

The episode throws a lot of light on the prevailing thought-crime code. Thought-crimes differ from ordinary crimes in several respects.

First, they aren’t defined. Nobody knows exactly what “racism” is; it can mean anything the accuser wants it to mean. And it rarely refers to overt acts; usually it refers to the alleged thoughts or attitudes of the accused.

Second, nothing has to be proved — and since the word has no clear definition, nothing can be proved. So the accuser bears no burden of proof, as he would in cases of ordinary crimes. The accused is presumed guilty as long as the accusation is sufficiently strident. And, given the vagueness of the charge, he can’t prove he isn’t racist.

Third, and most important, nobody ever has to pay a price for making a false or reckless accusation. Nobody is ruined or disgraced for making loose charges of “racism.” Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton continue to thrive after making far more wild charges than Joe McCarthy.

You don’t have to worry about being falsely accused of murder, because everyone knows what murder is, there are clear procedures for testing the charge, and anyone who makes a false accusation against you can be sued or even jailed. But everyone has to worry about being accused of “racism,” because these safeguards don’t exist when that poisonous charge is leveled.

If you really think racism is a serious matter, you want the word to mean something definite and you want to make sure that innocent people are safe from false charges of it. Otherwise, the word merely becomes a weapon that can be picked up and wielded by opportunists and tyrants to create a climate of intimidation.

Which course describes the methods of those who profess to oppose racism in America today? The answer is obvious. Charges of racism are made so promiscuously that everyone has to walk on eggs to avoid incurring them. And no accuser has to worry about any penalty for damaging an innocent man’s good name.

Such a situation can only breed such thought-police as Jackson and Sharpton, paving the way for tyranny. It may not frighten the Ku Klux Klan, but other people will learn to speak guardedly in multicultural America.

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Campus PC: It’s the Dumb Students

Robert Weissberg writes: The Social Justice Warriors and thin-skinned “communities of color” among others will continue to throttle lively classroom conversations and any professor who insists that matters have improved, still risks his career.

The reason for this dismal prognosis is that frank, often disconcerting exchanges celebrated by Chicago’s Dean of Students are mentally beyond many students and ideas that professors consider “thought-provoking” will be deemed “hateful” for the simple reason that countless students cannot grasp them or just garble the professor’s point. That students are perplexed by intellectually demanding discussions is hardly new; what is new is that their bewilderment, misperceiving black as white, is now taken seriously by boot-licking administrators. Take my word for it—even at decent schools innumerable students lack the intellectual agility and knack for abstraction necessary for free-wheeling, enthusiastic debates. Faced with these students, a savvy professor will continue to avoid anything that might, however unlikely, be misinterpreted as “hate.” Even if everything is explicitly hypothetical and the lecture’s purpose is just to explore possibilities, why risk student outrage?

Keep in mind that it takes only a single student to complain to the Dean to launch a time-consuming investigation and even if cleared, this investigation itself will remain a blot on one’s academic record in a world where even a suspicion of insensitivity can be costly. And the odds of having one such hyper-sensitive student unable to grasp subtle arguments can only grow as universities diversify their recruitment pool to those who would normally fail to make the academic cut. If American higher education all resembled the high-IQ University of Chicago, and no admission exceptions were made for the doltish, the PC pox would vanish.

In an environment where even the slightest misstep can be a micro-aggression, forget about playing Devil’s Advocate to stimulate re-thinking a seemingly settled orthodoxy. Woe to the professor who to get the intellectual juices flowing, said, “Just for the sake of argument, let me suggest that most of today’s former colonies, nations such as India, Nigeria and Kenya, would be economically prosperous, less violent and enjoy a better standard of living if they lived under colonial rule. Does anybody here disagree?”

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How Was Your Weekend?

I ask the secretary: “How was your weekend?”

She replies: “What do you want?”

Ahh, she knows me well.

Thesokorus: “You just need more levels of duplicity is all. You can do it!”

Miriam: “Yup! That is the common reply to your out of character-nice greetings. I get a chill down my back when you greet normal people (aka not female models) in a nice way.”

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