If you need me to provide some sort of hint as to what kind of writing to expect here at OneInfinite, take this post – my grand (that’s right) return back to blogging after a two-and-a-half month hiatus – as an inclination.


The style bloggers from BleachBlack just came out with a new nail polish color; this comes after their acclaimed “Dickweed” hue. It’s a glossy, pearlescent, milky-white joy called “Jizz.”

Yup. Jizz.

Whores, no need to work as hard (pun intended) as you once used to. Feel right at home, all day/everyday, with a simple base coat-top coat-repeat. Only difference is, in this instance, sticky fingers would only occur if you don’t know what you’re doing.


So folks, that’s the type of pomp and class you’ll find here.

Come again.




Some people really know how to ruin a good time. Like Andre Dimino.

Who?, you ask.

He’s the guy trying to ruin my Thursday nights.

As the President of UNICO, the national Italian-American service organization, he’s asked MTV to pull their new show “Jersey Shore” off the air because it’s offensive and contributes to stereotypes and [add more bad things here]. But, per the press materials, all the network is really trying to do is lift the veil off “one of the Tri-state area’s most misunderstood species … the guido.” And I think that’s necessary. And not at all out of the ordinary. I mean, if “True Life: ‘I’m A Girlfriend'” (no, really) can get past execs and onto our tv screens, then, damnit, so can this. I mean, there are sooo many stigmas of being a girlfriend, it was only fair that the young ladies, so complex, so silenced, so misunderstood, got the opportunity to tell their story and debunk the myths! And so the guidos (and guidettes?) deserve a fair chance to speak their minds, as well. Because when I hear that term, that godawful term, I think of Oompa-Loompa tans, blow-outs, rave parties, sunglasses while indoors, french manicures, fist-pumping, and well, these gems. And I’m ready to be proven wrong.

(Couldn’t upload the episode because MTV runs shit and there are copyright laws, so watch it here.)

And, LOL @ Dereon being the “hottest” heel (:28). Who knew? Seeeee, learning things already.

9. Because she can rock shades made of razor blades.

8. Because she’s using that Mac Photobooth “Bulge” effect in all seriousness. Cartoon-y eyed bitch.

7. Because she can chug Ukranian vodka straight and not gag.

6. Because she’s managed to merge The Twist with The Monster Mash and make it modern.

5. Because I can’t remember the last time I crawled toward any man and gave him a lap dance in front of all his friends so confidently.

4. Because her shoe game is sick, and I’d need an instructional video, picture-only pamphlet, and color-by-number worksheet explaining how one could ever walk in them.

3. Because for months I’ve been trying to train my pet polar bear to follow me everywhere, and I have yet to figure it out.

2. Because she’s apparently immune to fire.

1. Because I’m pretty sure there is absolutely nothing she fears and won’t at least try.

*Learning a thing or two.

Kanye vs. 50

There’s one thing that Kanye West is very very good at. Other than the whole creative genius/rapping thing. And that’s pissing people off.

And now it’s being reported that Vince McMahon and the WWE have offered Kanye close to $10 million to show up at 3 events. Not that he needs the money, but if he accepts the offer, he would have to do some “light wrestling.” I’m not sure what that means – is that when you use your thumb? – but regardless, here are some of opponents I’d like to see the Louie Vuitton Don get in the ring with.

VIBE MAGAZINE: Um, we all know what happened to them. So, by default
Winner: Yeezy.

TAYLOR SWIFT: She’s a classy southern belle who, clearly, doesn’t fight dirty – we saw this at the VMAs – so she’ll Jedi-mindtrick his ass by using her words, and not her weight. i.e. She’ll sing him that country love song she won Best Female Video for over and over until he willingly walks out the ring.
Winner: T.S.!

50 CENT: a.k.a. Battle of the Jaw. Literally. (But also, figuratively. As in, who can talk the most trash without ever really doing…much of anything else?)
Winner: Stalemate.

ANY PAPARAZZI CAMERA MAN: Amber Rose is always available because she has nothing else to do. The cameras love her and she loves them back. So, using her lifeless, Barbie-shaped self as a diversion, Kanye can sneak away without ever having to throw a punch.
Winner: ‘Ye.

GEORGE W. BUSH: Dubya shocks the nation. As usual. Shoots Kanye accidentally, while claiming he was hunting quail. Runs around chanting: “They misunderestimated me!”
Winner: Baby Bush.

Put Ya Lighters Up.

May 21, 2009

I don’t smoke. I’ve expressed this, no? But these damn things are so effing adorable, I’m considering taking up the habit.


Not really, but wouldn’t it be ill if artistry could be that powerful? Plussss, I got an unjustifiable whiff of a Black & Mild today while walking from the bus to my car and, because that smell tops my favorites chart along with honeysuckle and burning leaves, I decided I’ll probably purchase all 4 of these and set them atop a shelf or something in a perfect line. And then I’ll get irrationally angry if one of my smoker friends grabs one on their way out to a stoop because they think its some ordinary Zippo. Psh. Can’t they recognize a good thing when it’s right in front of them? You know, like a lung. *Zing.*

Anyway, NYC-based artist Darcel’s trademark illustration is apparently this egg-shaped eyeball thing that rocks dope (as in, I’d wear them in real life) wooden-framed glasses. The egg’s hilarious and sardonic and, if reflective of Darcel himself, we could really be friends. The collection of Mini Bic lighters are designed exclusively for Colette – a Parisian boutique I hear about all the time, but will probably never visit – and each depicts a “sucky” situtation.





 Can’t get much more self-deprecating than this:




  I love it.


I don’t claim to have endured the “tragic mulatto” childhood that Mariah Carey so pathetically cries about (while drying her tears with diamonds), but I will say that being of mixed race gave my parents an awful lot of excuses to go above and beyond in explaining cultural differences. But only in really odd shallow ways. My father was ecstatic once my sister and I learned to exclaim “Dad!” with fervor, so as to disprove all the New York passersby’s assumptions (inferred with evil stares) that his dark-skinned self was not, in fact, kidnapping us, as we were of a considerably lighter shade. Our color came in increments, and once he felt we had acquired enough tan, he began with the pseudo-schooling. First, the only song he encouraged us to learn on our brand new Christmas-gift Casio keyboards was Bill Withers’ “Lean on Me,” because, you know, it was about brotherhood and stuff. And he did his very best to remember to light candles for Kwanzaa, but my sister and I successfully trivialized that holiday into being one about saying “Kujichagulia” a lot and giggling afterwards. And who needs Cornflower-, Thistle-, and Periwinkle-colored crayons when all you’ve got are Color Me Brown books? Not I. But, if nothing else, I can say with conviction that out of this bombardment of blackness came my exposure to one of the best damn movies of all time: The Wiz. Because, no – as taught – the original was not iconic enough!

But now I hear Ashanti is reprising the role of Dorothy. On stage, nonetheless. A role previously owned by Stephanie Mills and Diana Ross (seen above). This bothers me. Pops would be so proud to see how worldly I’ve become per his instruction. And I feel Ashanti is trying to revoke me of my well-deserved certificate of culture by maybepossiblydefinitely ruining a truly significant sliver of my childhood. After all, something tells me she won’t be able to pull it off.

Until then, a completely unrelated scene of Michael Jackson as The Scarecrow (YouTube is slacking):



March 26, 2009


let me gather my thoughts.

what the hell is this? ray-j couldn’t knock tigerlily up with a 15 minutes o’ fame warranty baby, so now he’s back to music? and with a soundtrack to a reality show? (of which i’m sure 80% of the songs have the word ‘sexy’ in or him speaking in third person.) seriously, i would have rathered they’d had the kid. i’m willing to wait the 20 years it’ll take for the little one to come out with a tell-all book detailing his homelife with those two. i can see it now: cheetahface went all lisa bonet in “angel heart” and ray-j is bobby brown: “i’m still the king of r&b!” what i am not willing to do is watch this again. but for the sake of the post, i digress.

first things first: my apologies, must’ve missed that album release party (:04). but kudos to the usage of the fedora and cigar, because we’ve never seen that before in a modern music video, and you swallow like a pro (pause) (:12). not really a fan of the shout-out to God (:26). you know, the one that precedes the bling and champagne bucket shot, but i wasn’t directing this trash, so more power to inconsistencies. and p.s. you’re a keeper, for real, but the only girl who was ever “ready to do what you say” (:40) was kim kardashian. and now she’s dating reggie bush. zing.

moving along…that joke about ‘caviar’ (1:06) was funny…like yesterday.

no comment on a single thing from 1:25 – 1:35. just more silent head shakes and tsk tsk’s and prayers you don’t try to get into acting (but realizations that ‘chardonnay’ probably will). wait…LOL at 2:05: “i know she wants to dirty up my mattress…” you get half-point for creativity. seriously though, pointing out everything that is wrong with this? i don’t do free labor.


It’s Christmas…

December 25, 2008


…Love each other.

Christmas Gift: Coal > This

December 24, 2008

This should never be.
So real. So scarily real.


No one likes a realistic doll. People think they do, but they don’t. That’s why the Bratz are such a big hit, because the doe-eyed tramps (really remniscient of those Steve Madden ads, no?) would never really be seen walking residential streets. If anyone ever saw a human bobble head (i.e.: striking imbalance to flimsy neck) with a coiffure as ludicrous in length (past knee caps) as that of Chloe & Co., they’d be ignored. Or made fun of. Everyone loves a winged eye, but not a creature-like scrawl. And people appreciate a shapely brow, but not an intense overpluck. And nobody, I mean nobody, enjoys a frosted lip.

Yasmin, Chloe, Sasha, Jade. Class.

Yasmin, Chloe, Sasha, Jade. PETA's next victims.

Dolls are supposed to be fantastical. Which is why I do not understand the holiday favorite that is Baby Alive. Her stomach, like a well-loved, but slightly loose-ended (pun intended) grandparent, does not agree with green beans. So, despite the fact that the $59.99 animatronic comes with said faux food, it tends to give her the runs. Literally.

“Sniff sniff,” she chirps in a singsong voice. “I made a stinky!”

And “Be careful,” reads the Hasbro doll’s promotional literature, “just like real life, sometimes she can hold it until she gets to the ‘potty’ and sometimes she can’t!”

This is wrong on so many levels. Gross, being one. But it also completely negates the original selling point of a doll – that it’s f*ing pretend.

A warning on the back of the box reads: “May stain some surfaces.”

I’ve heard enough. But I am a little curious to how far the implementation of reality will go. If I neglect feedings in order to avoid the mess, and instead choose to spend my motherhood stroking her hair, will DYFUS show up at my door?

Merry Christmas, folks.