spike lee, don't let me catch you in the street

spike lee will never work in this town again. that is, if i can find a means to buy up everything in hollywood for the sole purpose of being able to tell him a hearty "you're fired. so fired." i juggled my schedule around tonight so i could get my locks retwisted. however, the featured film that my hairdresser homegirl rented to occupy two-hours was she hate me, a pseudo-soft-porn-romp with a plot. i really like kerry washington, but she lost 5 points for starring in this piece of trash. it was one of those films where i wanted to take a shower soon as i got away from the screen. in it, an out of work ex-corporate solves his cash flow problem by farming himself out in a niche market: impregnating lesbian women for $10,000 per conception.

"hated it!" - damon wayans and david alan grier
from their in living color sketch routine "men on film".

ideally, what i should have done was politely excused myself from the room so i wouldn't have been subjected to the bevy of sordid sex scenes and lewd language, but i really wanted to get my hair done and i didn't want to have to do it myself again. so i sat through about an hour and a half of this by reverting to the juvenile practice of covering my eyes with my index fingers while closing my ears with my thumbs. unfortunately, i also reverted to the juvenile practice of peeking anyway and for all of my moral failing for the night, i think i'm gonna call it a wash and start over tomorrow morning as according to the Bible, that's when God's mercies get their daily renewal, right?

whatever the case, spike lee is the worst. everyday. don't let me catch him in the street. amen.