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The A-List: 02.21.03
Compiled by Africana Staff

This week on the A-List:

1. Fight On! Fight Off! Tattoo On! Nose Off!
When the A-List was a young lad, we spent many a Saturday night at the illegal, impromptu automobile and motorcycle drag races that waxed and waned in time to police patrols on the long stretches of desolate service road that ran parallel to the city's highways. Conspicuous consumption colored car culture in the days before 24's, street races and their admirers have since been recently immortalized by crap Hollywood (think the Fast & Furious pics, with a little Biker Boyz and Torque thrown in) as an adrenaline pumping, underground Shangri-la of masculine self-actualization, each race an epic confrontation between manchild and machine, when the truth is that it was all about the accidents. Sure, money changed hands, and pride and reputations were on the line, and girls in stretch-minis got stuck clambering in and out of rolled-down windows, but at the end of the day the secret dream of every spectator was to be on-site for one of the yearly fatal crack-ups, while the secret dream of every driver was to come thisclose to the edge as possible while still living to tell the tale.

The recent fracaso around the on-again, off-again heavyweight bout between a rusted Mike Tyson and yet another potentially dangerous no-name fighter reminds us of those races. At this late date, Tyson fights find themselves drained of all drama, leaving the possibility of disaster as their only legitimate allure. Finding its natural, low level early on, the build-up to this weekend's bout with Clifford "The Black Rhino" (?) Etienne was a series of increasingly bizarre sub-plots that had little to with the art/science of boxing, the usual pre-match excitements replaced with the kind of lurid sensations you find in the average episode of MTV's Celebrity Death-Match. From the cameo appearance of Tonya Harding on the under-card to speculation that Mike's new tattoo could burst like blood sausage if hit properly (Mike's Maori warrior glyph has been repeatedly mis-identified in the press as an "African tattoo"), this past week felt like the lead-in not to a bout but to the history-making, self-immolating disaster we've all been waiting for from Mike ever since he stopped entertaining us with the awesome destructiveness of his fists. In the aftermath of his surgical dismantling by Lenox Lewis last summer, there is no hope of a real comeback and nothing new for Mike Tyson to offer, except, of course, everything, which in the context of boxing basically boils down to dying, or (to flip the same coin) killing someone in the ring, and when one of those things happens, for every shout of horror or outrage that leaps up out of the audience watching at home there will be a sigh of relief. Finally, Mike! You kept us waiting so long!

Think the A-List is exaggerating when we say audiences are out for blood? Consider that last week the number one non-war related story in the universe was the Michael Jackson 20/20 interview, a media event which made its audience two very clear promises: You will get an up close and sustained view of Michael's ruined nose, and you will get a sneak peek of him actually abusing two children, i.e., the baby "Blanket," whom he nearly suffocates while trying to feed, and the young cancer survivor Michael admits to having in his bed and whom he clings to throughout like a life preserver. If you take seriously the notion that Michael Jackson is somehow bad for kids, than it should also occur to you that having those kids on television where their abuse can be recorded (or perhaps even elicited for the camera) can't exactly be a seen as a good or responsible thing either. Instead, the Jackson interview was television gold, while PPV pre-orders of the Tyson fight are looking good. We'd end by saying: "Black mothers! Don't name your boys Michael," but better advice might be, paradoxically, to just make sure they don't end up famous.

2. The Butchers of Clubland
The A-List extends sympathies and condolences to the friends and families of those who lost their lives in Chicago this week in the tragedy at E2. Having spent enough time in enough clubs in various states of sobriety, the horror and confusion of the Chicago tragedy hit us, if not quite where we live, than where we party. While the snow piled high like a mountain of blame, the A-List monitored the airwaves using our the giga-channel scanner, watching with rapt horror as Chi natives weighed in on the disaster. Nearly to a man and woman, Chicagoans had one question: Who was responsible? Was it the club's owners who knowingly exploited the patrons? City inspectors who turned a blind eye (or didn't push hard enough to enforce previous orders to close the club)? Police officers who did the same? Mace-happy security who couldn't stop two women from brawling with their bare hands? Patrons familiar with the club's consistent and dangerous habit of over-admitting? Tom Ridge for putting us on Orange Alert and making everyone ultra-paranoid? Jesse Jackson for swooping down wherever there's a camera, everyone's favorite ambulance chaser and last ditch activist rolled into one?

The A-List says all of the above, and here's why: E2 has a posted maximum capacity of 375 on the first floor and an unsafe second floor space, of which Chicago Fire Commissioner James Joyce said "the owner knows damn well that he is not to open the second-floor facility." There was a police station only a matter of blocks from said facility, which makes the city's claims of ignorance implausible. And while the patrons are in no way at fault for just trying to have fun, a little less "go-for-self" pushing and shoving at key points in the room might have saved some lives, although in the age of chemical terror, you can't blame folks for being scared to death of airborne irritants. The one thing the A-List knows for sure is that everyone involved except the patrons knew certain parts of E2 were supposed to be shut, city officials included. And everyone should pay, city officials included.

3. Quota exceeded for suits filed against Bush in affirmative action case!
Proving once again that the Bush administration is out of step with at least some major portions of the electorate (which didn't, after all, elect it), a new crop of briefs have been filed against the administration's side in the affirmative action fight. Lining up with the University of Michigan --and against the right-wing funded white plaintiffs and their friends in the White House --are Harvard, Yale and three other Ivy League universities; another collegiate consortium consisting of Stanford, MIT and others; and Persian Gulf War hero "Stormin'" Norman Schwarzkopf. (Stormin' Norman must be out to get his old aide de camp, Secretary of State Powell, as the ailing retired general also recently came out against an invasion of Iraq.) The recent flood of pro-affirmative action filings comes after a brief cosigned by some of the nation's largest corporations. So, what do all these successful, intellectually rich organizations know that Bush et al don't? Perhaps that diversity is a goal worth working for, or more simply, that our nation's motto is correct, and even instructive: e pluribus unum only works when we acknowledge and celebrate just how plural we really are.

4. Say it ain't so, Frenchie! And if it is, send us .jpegs!
How on earth will we ever teach our children about fairness when the TV is filled with travesties like the NFL playoffs, Election 2000, and now, American Idol? We almost thought we had a good object lesson in the show, sitting down with little Junior and Sis, in order to watch Simon, Randy and Paula mete out harsh but fair justice, separating the worthy from the unworthy in a weekly display of entertainment-world Darwinism. But now! How the show has let us down. By ditching Frenchie, the thick (and we don't mean Alan) singer who tore up "And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going" --and who also apparently lent her brick house loveliness to the framesets of various underage girlie sites --AI has abdicated any claim to moral superiority, or even clarity. The diss looks even worse when stacked up against the forgiveness shown by other reality shows when confronted with other girls with...uhm, pasts. Joe Millionaire kept a bondage queen tied up in emotional knots for weeks, while last year's AI featured at least one pole-dancing ex-stripper. These girls, the A-List is saddened to point out, weren't just ho's, they were white. So what're we gonna tell Junior and Sis? Beyond demanding they turn off FOX and pick up The Autobiography of Malcolm X, just the usual: be careful what dirt you do, as the penalties for youthful indiscretion are neither meted out nor created equal.

5. Zimbabwe's Mugabe feeling a little "Frenchie" himself
Like a hormone-addled adolescent, France is acting up, so intent on pissing off Britain, America and the rest of its allies that it invited Zimbabwe's President Robert Mugabe --a pariah throughout the EU --over for a visit this week. Dogged by protestors objecting to his regime's violent oppression of gays, as well as opposition forces within his own country (who scoffed that inviting Mugabe to Europe was like inviting Saddam Hussein to a G8 summit), Mugabe seemed to welcome the opportunity to snub his enemies at home and abroad while enjoying some excellent Bordeaux. His official newspaper celebrated the visit, declaring that 2003 would be Mugabe's year to "arise and shine" --but don't call it a comeback, he's been there for annes.

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That's it for this week. Check back next week for more A-List!

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