Sent to you by moya via Google Reader:
Magic Genitals (Part 1: Erykah Badu)
(or: She'll Make You Change Gods!)
I am, to the untrained eye, a hippie-dippy, no-relaxer-wearing, Whole Foods shopping afro pixie faerie princess. I research traditional African spiritual practices, keep florida water and incense on hand, I bathe with Dr. Bronner's soaps, I eat vegetables some folks have never heard of (kale, daikon radishes, red leaf lettuce), and I don't shop at Wal-Mart unless it's a matter of a medical issue (it never is). By some standards, I am simply progressive and/ or bourgeois. By the standards of some other folks, I am Most Likely to Work A Root On You or Most Likely to Make You Watch a Documentary on Orgasmic Birth Despite Neither of Us Expecting a Baby (Or both. At the same time. So I can have a baby with you.) I suppose that drinking coconut milk kefir & wearing/ stringing strands of waistbeads make me more different than some folks can fuck with. Fine. Whatever. But, it wasn't until I was about 25 or 26 that I'd heard this from a paramour: "You gonna try to Badu me? Make me worship my ancestors or somethin'?" **record scratch** "Badu" him?