The 2019 Bored Ambition Master Plan

It’s finally the end of 2018 and a few days before my 30th birthday, and as many of my ilk – the goal oriented yet jaded, underemployed super millenials- have done or are in the process of doing, I have devised my master plan for 2019, the list of hopefully attainable goals that I will achieve within the upcoming 365 days. Because I am such believer in sharing is caring, I am going to outline to you all what exactly those goals all, so that maybe you, my audience, can keep me accountable, because remember, these goals affect the trajectory that this site will go in.

Without further ado:

Continue reading “The 2019 Bored Ambition Master Plan”

I’m Sick of Nostalgia

Part of The Dirty 30

This post is going to be hypocritical, as I too have waxed poetic over the favorite things from my childhood. Power Rangers, Space Cases, the Fox Kids weekday and weekend lineup, Nickelodeon on Friday and Saturday nights, the beginnings of both Cartoon Network and the Disney Channel, BET, MTV’s Rock N Jock Baseball, Daria, you get the idea. The 1990s were a hell of a decade in human history, and those of us who lived as children in them are now approaching or are in our 30s.

We washed y’all.

What comes with age and the further progression of time is the tendency to look back fondly on those years; I happen to see those years with a golden aura around them. Considering the state that this country is in, the future is bleak and the present is complete bullshit; therefore, many of us, aided and abetted by like minds on social media are able to relive those moments from our childhood and reminisce about how good everything was back then and how we wish we could go back and have it all be so simple.

Fuck that.

I don’t want to go back and be a child in the 1990s. I don’t want to to it. I refuse.

For one thing, common sense says that shit was just as foul then as they are now. We just had a few radicalized white men send mail bombs and open fire in synagogue recently; in the 1990s, we had Waco, Ruby Ridge and the Oklahoma City Federal building bombing. The government fucked up the Middle East then just like they continue to do now. The nations of Africa were still struggling from the effects of colonization then and now and Black Americans people were no closer to being “there” that we are now. People were getting killed every fucking day. We just barely had a 24-hour news cycle reporting on it and grown folk didn’t allow us to be in their whack ass business.

Speaking of grown folks…listen. I know paying bills and being responsible sucks. I know. But if that’s what I have to do so that I don’t have to depend on grown folks to look out for my well-being, then so be it. I don’t want to go back to being a dependent. If that’s your MO, then by all means, go back and do it. I’m good luv, enjoy.

Finally, how much of the shit from the 90s did I actually enjoy and didn’t just watch because it was expected that I watch and enjoy them? I just recently revealed that I didn’t like Living Single. A show about a group of women living in a 90s kind of world and glad to have one another just didn’t mesh with me. That shit was on every week in my household though because it was a Black ass show. Maybe I’m simple. Even the stuff that I did enjoy, I’m not about to sit and watch that shit today. I’m not going out of my way to find or wait for The Splat on Teen Nick to air the Mega Diaper Babies episode of Rugrats. The reruns of Martin and The Wayans Bros. on MTV and BET were cool for all of five seconds. I stopped somewhere in the middle of Power Rangers Zeo on Netflix and haven’t been back yet. It’s not just a time thing, it’s a I don’t care to relive this shit thing and also a I just don’t enjoy consuming television and films like I used to* thing.

We get so wrapped up in the past and and remember things as being so much better than they actually were. That shit does not do you any favors and if you’re someone like me who is prone to bouts of depression, then you don’t need to linger on things that you cannot go back and experience again, or change. Again, I know the present sucks and it doesn’t look like there’s too much to look forward to. Truthfully, we’re kind of stuck in that regard. The past is gone, the present is a mess and the future is uncertain. For many of us, nostalgia is a salve, soothing over the current battle wounds, carrying us to relief in the future. Maybe I’m just a sucker for pain.




*How am I going to be a filmmaker without wanting to watch films and TV shows though?
Follow the photog on Instagram @bladvagacian



I Don’t Know What I Want to Do

Picture perfect, I paint a perfect picture*…

I live in the South now. Louisiana to be precise. It’s a long way away from the creative bubble that Los Angeles, my hometown, is. I thought I wanted to be part of that bubble and for some time, I worked to gain access to that bubble – I minored in film and television at UCLA, attended a trade program in new media production after college, spent countless hours, sacrificed numerous trees in writing down my ideas, moved around on the outskirts of Hollywood. Now those pages sit colleting dust, my Canon T4i that I received as part of my tuition package sits on a shelf, this blog even sits unattended to for nearly a year….


Continue reading “I Don’t Know What I Want to Do”

I Never Wanted to Be the Quirky Black Girl, but Here The Fuck I Am

Apologies for the expletive in the title. I know some of y’all still follow that raggedy sense of respectability and whatnot.

Look at the featured picture* and tell me that’s not what you might think of when you hear the phrase “quirky Black girl.” I challenge you to give me another answer.

I resent that phrase and you want to know why? Not only is it another box that people try to put people in, but because once upon a time quirky wasn’t the word that people were using. Quirky is a cute word, not quite an Instagram model, but a girl next door. It conjures up images of birds and running in fields of grass and AfroPunk and pins and buttons and pink colored hair and interests that lay in the nerd realm or a carefree sense of being. Quirky is blue skies and dewdrops on grass and a fresh spring breeze. Quirky is summer in the city. It’s spending time “finding yourself” and tumblr accounts and blue checks on Twitter.

Fuck that.

Once upon a time, quirky was weird. Weird stinks. Weird is overbites and under bites and cystic acne. Weird is repulsive. Weird is thin, oily hair and wrestling t-shirts and nasal voices. Weird is surprisingly masculine. Weird is misunderstood. Weird doesn’t have too many friends. Weird grows up and has a constant chip on its shoulder and possibly seeks authority so that it can inflict the same pain and suffering onto those that once inflicted pain and suffering on it. Weird can’t relate. Weird is out of the loop. Weird is a damp basement with one light where a body might be buried in the concrete floor.

I was weird and I didn’t want to be that shit.

I wore that shit like a scarlet letter and I tried to wash it off as much as possible. I started cursing a lot, tried my hardest not to be a dweeb, tried avoiding dating fellow dweebs, and you know what? That shit don’t work. I couldn’t stop being weird. I was born in that shit, baptized in the waters of Lake Minneweirdo. Now I’m just a weird ass Black girl that curses a lot.

So when my sister called me quirky recently, I flinched. That shit hit me to the core because today’s quirky was yesterday’s weird and pre-29-year-old me still holds on to that stigma of being a weirdo and fuck you motherfuckers for celebrating the shit you used to shit on, where were you when I was running through the schoolyards pretending I was a Martian because they didn’t have one on Space Cases? Where you ass was at in 2003? You wasn’t with me shooting in the gym!

So if that’s what y’all want to call it now, I’ma be quirky. I’ma be weird. I can’t wash that shit away. No amount of dick weed booze self-hatred and denial is going to get rid of it, in fact, it makes it even more apparent. I can’t be anything else than what I am and as much as I have tried to be anything else, this is my lane, this is my niche. I don’t want to be anything but this. If you want to call it by a cute little name, then so be it. Just run me my blue check so I can start gatekeeping this shit while claiming to be for the culture.


*Follow the photographer here:

#InternetKilledtheRadioStar Vol. 7: Lose Control

This video felt like an event.

Missy was at the top of her game coming into her sixth album The Cookbook. Ciara was coming off an impressive debut season with her album Goodies. Fatman Scoop was still yelling over records from here to London.

Brings a tear to my eye how fast time passes.

This is when they still invested a ton of money into music videos. The production design, the concept, the dance sequence. I don’t know if we deserved Missy’s entire je ne sais quoi. She was a visionary. I feel kinship with Missy. She gets it.

The Mae Young Classic Classic Episodes 5-9

I finally watched the rest of this.

I’m taking that hiatus seriously.

I already tripped up and watched Monday Night RAW on Labor Day, but I wasn’t necessarily in control of the TV and it was fun to have my brother to shit on the product with.

This time around, spoilers weren’t so unavoidable, however the finals turned out exactly as I expected them to, and the winner was the woman I expected it to be, so was I really spoiled if I gave you prophecy on my first joint?

Let’s get with the opinions!

The Good

  •  Kairi Sane and Bianca BelAir was the match of episode 5. I can’t decide for episode 6 or 7. Kairi Sane versus Toni Storm takes it for episode 8.
  • Mercedes Martinez getting her due.
  • I’m surprised, but not too surprised, that Toni Storm won her semi-final match against Serena Deeb.
  • With that being said, the Strong Zero is a move. I’ll have to steal that for my fantasy wrestling move list. I looked up what it looks like outside the WWE and it’s a fucking piledriver.
  • Shayna Baszler vs. Mia Yim had a nice little sequence there after Shayna tweaked Mia’s ankle and started tossing her around.
  • That sleeper finish.
  • Dude yelling “Teach her how to wrestle!” to Mercedes during her match with Shayna Baszler.
  •  They cut Lilian Garcia a check?!

The Bad

  • Abbey Laith used that same move. I guess. I mean, it’s the second round, you gotta come harder.
  • I was also expecting Rachel Evans to win.
  • That they are already selling this Four Horsewomen MMA vs Four Horsewomen WWE. I’m just not that hype to see that. Really not very hyped to see Ronda Rousey in a full time capacity inside the wrestling ring.
  • Can we just sign Mia Yim?


Triple H The WWE did good with this tournament. I actually do hopes this becomes a yearly thing. I know there’s tons of female talent out there, newbies, veterans and everything in between and it would be nice to see them get even more shine by being seen on WWE, even if it’s just for a tournament. SHIMMER, Shine, Stardom and the various other promotions out there have been holding it down in women’s wrestling for quite a while, so for the WWE it’s more of a better late than never situation, and trust me, I lived through the Divas years. However, they’re trying. Granted, much of that is to attract a female audience because they have tremendous buying power I can give them just an iota of credit for that.


If you haven’t watched the inaugural Mae Young Classic yet, you can watch it for $9.99 per month on the WWE Network, who is not paying me for this advertising.   

In the Shadows of Performance

I’ve made it no secret that my mind can be my own worst enemy. Ever since I was a child I wanted my stream of consciousness to be quiet; I even asked my father of all people if it was something that I could shut off and his answer, to make a short story shorter, was no. So ever since that time, I have had to listen to myself and myself is the goddamn devil sometimes.  Continue reading “In the Shadows of Performance”

A Not Quite Defense of Inconsideration

Earlier this year, yet again, iconic musician Ms. Lauryn Hill as she insists on being called was late to a show. Two hours to be precise. This time, she left us with a reason, and that reason was, as it was posted on Facebook, as follows:

I don’t show up late to shows because I don’t care. And I have nothing but Love and respect for my fans. The challenge is aligning my energy with the time, taking something that isn’t easily classified or contained, and trying to make it available for others. I don’t have an on/off switch. I am at my best when I am open, rested, sensitive and liberated to express myself as truthfully as possible. For every performance that I’ve arrived to late, there have been countless others where I’ve performed in excess of two hours, beyond what I am contracted to do, pouring everything out on the stage.

Because I care so deeply about the artistic process, I scrutinize, have perfectionist tendencies, and want space made for spontaneity, which is not an easy process, with the many moving parts on the road. Some days we are more successful than others re time.

Now, many people, including myself initially, called bullshit. And it is bullshit because you don’t have people pay to come to see you and you disrespect their time and money by being two hours late. As a consumer, I consider both of those things to be valuable (one much more than the other) and to have them both be wasted is the best way to secure my everlasting dislike of you.

However, because I was thinking of it like a consumer, I didn’t think of it as an artist, as a creative. I didn’t emphasize with her from the point of view of a person who needs to be constantly recharged, especially in a world that seeks to drain every last bit from you. Like her, I am at my best when certain conditions are met. I’m my best at night, when the distractions of the world are minimal. I am my best when I am rested, fully charged. I could rarely get a charge with the type of work I did and due to that I self-medicate(d) a lot just to get through. Even now, even still, I often find myself lacking the energy to be creative, even though I am no longer under the stress I put myself under, because even the distractions are draining (yet I refuse to put them down, but that’s another post for another day).

So what I’m saying is that I understand where Ms. Lauryn Hill as she insits on being called is coming from. Sometimes I can’t be creative right on the spot, on command. For me it’s different because my creativity so far does not require me to be in front of a lot of people, so I can use the excuse. I understand having to be in the right place mentally, emotionally, even spiritually and if that’s what Ms. Lauryn Hill as she insists on being called needs to do in order to perform then I support it, because I get it.

Still, you should not leave people waiting for you for two hours and then come out so late that the venue has to cut the mic because of curfew. When it is time for me to perform to higher expectations that come with running a television show, writing novels or delivering a finished cinematic product, I, knowing how I am, have to do what I can to work within, around and in spite of those character quirks. If I know I have to be in a particular head space to perform, to operate, to let the creativity flow freely through my body, then I will do what I can to get into that space long before it’s time for me to go on. If my office has to be right, my home life, my work life, what ever it is. I will fight the attempts, I will resist the attempts to get me into the zone, but when such a responsibility rests on your shoulders, maybe it’s just me, but I know that I have to rise to the occasion. I could be simplifying it. I’m not 100% in the industry right now, and the only pressure I have is myself, whereas she probably has tons more pressure on her.

Overall though, I can’t condone keeping people waiting, especially when they paid to see me. I can be an inconsiderate person at times, but that’s just downright rude. I’m glad she knows herself, as do I. But because we know ourselves, we have to be prepared and that doesn’t mean getting prepared two hours into a show. No amount of making it up to fans can get them that time nor money back.

P.S. A perfect example of me having to be in the right head space: Ms. Lauryn Hill as she insists on being called committed this faux pas back in May and I’ve just now, in July, had the mind to even write about this subject.

P.P.S. The featured picture is courtesy of Ms. Lauryn Hill’s Facebook page, which you can access here: Ms. Lauryn Hill on Facebook