He was also the monosyllable gawd in this movie too. He watched one of his project spots get bodied: “Hmm. Cute.” He got hit half a hundred times and thrown into a building: “Ow.” And you can’t do that without the gawdbody voice acting of Jensen Ackles, who you probably know as Dean from Supernatural. Or you don’t cuz I don’t know too many Black people that watch that Supernatural. But whatever. Point is, he murder death kills that role. Whether he’s insulting Batman, talking to himself, or using some callback humor on the Joker, he’s out here doing the Cowl’s work.
We can’t close this part without acknowledging one of the best-delivered lines in the movie after he done set up Nightwing and Batman for the Wu. Over the train, your boy yelled, “You haven’t lost your touch, Bruce.” Flipped the game all the way upside down and left our hero shook parts one and two.
Thought you’d be different ’bout it
Now I know you not it…
So let’s get on with it
—Kanye West, “Blood on the Leaves”
One of the most gangsta things about Red Hood is that the story flips back and forth until its climax, when you see what Jason really wanted. It ain’t about him taking over the drug trade and just being a criminal. It ain’t just about being a better Batman with more permanent solutions. Ain’t even about getting revenge on the Joker for himself. Nah, man, your boy Jason was on that Sinestro Corps shit. He was trying to show Batman that absolute force might be the answer. And then… after all the turns, that shit got mad sentimental.
He was mad at Batman for not doing away with the Joker and was legit hurt that he, Jason, wasn’t the last straw. “After he took me away from you…” Maaaaaan, I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready for that turn, yo. Jason been trying to act detached and business as usual about this shit, but your boy was mad hurt that he wasn’t avenged enough. And I ain’t even mad at him, yo.
We been asking the why on Joker’s life for a minute now, but this shit was the most personal. And when he couldn’t turn Batman, he was like, “Fuck it, we can all die, then,” as he had the place wired to explode (which led to that incredible Joker shit with “I’m the only one that’s going to get what he wants tonight!”).
Everyone who doubted me is askin’ for forgiveness
If you ain’t been a part of it, at least you got to witness
—Drake, “Forever”
Once a month, fam. I be all up in animated Gotham, memorizing lines, sculpting my mobility workouts around Jason’s flow, perfecting my one-line dialogue in case anybody ever try to move in my corners. Bring your best heroes, villains, it don’t matter. Jason is what the truth looks like. Red Hoodie Up.
If My Black Ass Was Enrolled in the X-Men’s School, Charles Xavier Would Have Been Fed Up
OMAR HOLMON, aka #1 Mutant Draft Pick on the FBI’s Most Wanted List
Mutatis mutandis (“Changing [only] those things which need to be changed”).
—Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters school motto
I GREW UP in an X-Men home, man. My sister’s favorite character was Beast. Pretty sure my brother was a big Cable fan. Mom rolled with Storm. Cyclops was my guy coming up. I always loved what the X-Men stood for. The X-Men debuted in comics back in 1963 and served as an allegory for the civil rights era. At its heart the series is about humans that happen to be born with mutations that give them powers or cause them to look a certain way. The people with these mutations got discriminated against because of them and became known as mutants (Homo superior if you nasty). [Quick sidenote: The original five X-Men used for this allegory for victims of racism and discrimination were all white. We don’t see more mutants of color till the 1975 X-Men roster. Funny how when it’s white characters as mutants who have powers that are discriminated against and hated, America can understand. I’m just saying, it would have been interesting to see how things would have gone down if some of the original X-Men were Black mutants to really drive home the point with art imitating life.] Anyway, y’all know the rest. Charles Xavier opened up his School for Gifted Youngsters to teach mutants to control their abilities and to adapt to the world by fighting for a better tomorrow.
Yeaaaaah, I was thinking ’bout that shit, and the older I get the more I agree with Magneto’s advanced course in Muthafuckas (Homo sapiens) Never Loved Us and X-Men squad leader Storm’s Intro to Everybody Gettin’ Stabbed 101 class that she been teaching since the early ’80s. I already told y’all how my dad was with me growing up when it came to knowing history. I realize two things now: Dad was militant as fuck about African and African American history as well as the treatment of Indigenous folks, and I’ve gotten the baton passed from him (Mom was a different type of hands throwing). Plus, more and more as I grew older, I started to realize for myself that yeah, Magneto’s fireside chat mixtapes really resonated. If I’d attended the School for Gifted Youngsters, then my parents would have enrolled me during the late ’90s/early 2000s, so let’s say I hit puberty, discovered my powers, got transferred, and I spent my high school to college years at the school. Let’s imagine…
CHARLES XAVIER: Class, let’s welcome a new student, Omar Holmon. Omar, would you mind telling us what your mutant ability is?
ME: No problem… Jesus Christ himself has pleased me with many gifts. One of many is knocking people the ffffffuck out.
Yo, I would have had Charles Xavier fed the fuck up for real, for real. I know that shit from fucking jump. Maaaaaaan, listen, I woulda had questions as soon as I heard Xavier talking ’bout some…
CHARLES XAVIER: The X-Men are sworn to protect a world that fears and hates them.
*raising my hand*
XAVIER: Yes, Omar?
ME: So, we gotta protect oppressive-as-fuck nonmutants like them? *points out the window to a crowd gathered at the school’s front gate*
XAVIER: *hard sigh* Yes.
ME: Does that count toward our final grade, ’cause real talk, if not… I’m good.
Let’s say the original X-Men were my older classmates or teaching assistants, but obviously they’re always going on field missions. I’d be complaining my ass off if Jean was my TA. I’d be at her office hours like, “This BRB note been here for like a week. Jean Grey ain’t ever here, fam. She done died like fourteen times already and came back. The fuck, man? How she not teaching religion is beyond me. She and Jesus probably fucking got a web series together in heaven.”
I’d be all up in the cafeteria wylin’ out with discussions, man. It wouldn’t be all serious ’cause I’ma be joking round with roasting my friends like, “Jubilee, I know you ain’t ripping on me, girl. How long you been here again? When the fuck you gon’ graduate, my mutant? How many credits you missing, Bilee?!”
We’d be talking about X-Men’s past adventures from the comics, movies, and TV show ’cause I’d bring up the shit I gotta get off my chest like, “Aye, why can no one tell me how Darwin got knocked by Sebastian Shaw [X-Men: First Class]? His mutant ability was to be able to adapt to anything and he still got killed? How does that even work? I saw Darwin grow gills in swim class. I was trying to spar against him in the Danger Room and he beat my ass just by roasting me, man. He said, ‘What X-Man rocks glasses in the field? You Dexter’s Laboratory lookin’ ass, boi.’ He literally adapted to every situation and threat, but he got merked? And he doesn’t come back to life, but Jean Grey done died twelve times since last Thursday and—” *sees Jean Grey* “Shit! MS. GREY!” *runs toward her* “I NEED TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT THE GROUP PROJECT!”
It’d be all love with everyone, but every so often I know I’d be overhearing mutant conversations saying people that look like me are getting shot down in the streets and just have to retort with a high-pitched “Ehhhhhhh. You’re a telekinetic white dude… Don’t nobody know that shit unless you’re too lazy to get up and get the remote, homie.” Now, if it’s a mutant that looks like Beast or Nightcrawler saying that shit, that’s different. I could legit see having to explain how Black Lives Matter. “Y’all shouldn’t b
e rocking All Mutant Lives Matter shirts because the conversation happening now is to bring awareness to the Black lives being taken by police. Also, if we keeping it real, Black mutants are five times more likely to get killed than white mutants, so the shirts you made should say Black Mutant Lives Matter. What? It’s true. Fuck you mean ‘Why I always gotta bring race into it?’ Really, I’ma Black mutant, homie. That’s like two strikes. Look at Bling!, she’s a queer Black woman who’s a mutant, that’s straight up four strikes. We serious right now?”
Listen, they could put me in as many classes with Iceman that they want, I wouldn’t have any chill whatsoever. I’d have mad presentations on why Magneto was right in my social studies class. I’d be raw enough to rock a “Magneto Was Right” shirt while doing it too. Catch me up in Hank McCoy’s class and he’d be talking about the proper procedure for time travel.
HANK MCCOY: Time is fluid. I know everyone wants to go back and kill Hitler but—
ME: *high-pitched* Ehhhhhhh. I could name some people that would go back and stop the transatlantic slave trade instead.
MCCOY: As tempting as that would be, the fragility of ti—
ME: You can keep talking, Mr. McCoy, and I’ma listen to you keep talking, but I’m letting you know now if we ever go back in time and you don’t see me… you’ll know why. Also Rust Cohle the gawd told us “time is a flat circle” so you wouldn’t have to.
There’d come a time where I’d be called into the field for my first mission to see if I’d want to become an X-Man upon graduation. We’d be up against Mystique, Cyclops would be talking about our attack plan, and Xavier would be telling us the situation via telepathy as we land on-site.
CYCLOPS: X-Men, move ou—
ME: Hold up, Sunglass Hut Sensei. Xavier, what exactly did Mystique do again?
XAVIER: She’s attacking anti-mutant protestors and holding them hostage.
ME:… Yeah. So, what’s the problem? ’Cause I’m not… Seeing. One.
Now, the way I see the days before my graduation plays out like this. Cyclops calling me into his office and hitting me with the real talk about my future and shit. If I wanna just go into society or stay on as an X-Man.
CYCLOPS: Let’s talk about what do you wanna do after gradu—
ME: Hypothetically speaking, X-Force was the black-ops squad of the X-Men that merked threats before they happened, right?
CYCLOPS:… Hypothetically speaking *gets up out of seat and closes the blinds* that would be the ideal goal for a black-ops division consisting of mutants. However, said division would be unassociated with the X-Men, operating without their knowledge or protection.
ME: Hypothetically, when can I start?
CYCLOPS:… You should take the Blackbird out for a ride at about 1300.
ME: ’Nuff said. *leaves office*
CYCLOPS: *does Birdman hand rub* My mutant.
Yo, put me up in X-Force and lemme run through these anti-mutant oppressors with my woes. I’m sorry but sometimes muthafuckas gots to go. I’d be with that shit, man. Tired of Xavier talking ’bout “protecting a world that fears and hates us.” Fer real? Do you not see those big-ass Sentinels they send after our asses? These cats hate us so much they went out of their way and made a literal large-ass system of oppression in giant robot form. Fuck that noise, man. Why don’t these anti-mutant humans get these Sentinels to help them out when they in a jam, then? Fuck, I gotta get jet lag for and help people in a different time zone when they got the Iron Giant walking around? Also, I got so many questions about Sentinels too. Who funded these shits? How are these shits allowed to just roam around, they not dropping property value? Who gave them this red-and-purple-candy paint job? I mean the X-Men’s school is based in New York, so at least paint them in Yankees or Mets colors. The city officials really spent millions of taxpayers’ money for these Sentinels? They really said, “Fuck the education fund, fuck the housing fund, and fuck all that. What we really need to do is fund these giant robots to harass mutants minding their own business. That’s where it’s at”?
I can’t have that on me, man. I’m not having it. Fox Studios out here making horrible-ass movies about us and we let that shit stand? Naaaaah, man. No. They. Gots. To. Go. If my file from my time on X-Force ever became public record, I’d have Xavier calling me up and putting Magneto on the phone so he could tell me, “Yo, chiiiiill. You wylin’,” but I’d tell them both, “All I’m saying is, the Homo sapiens ain’t got no love for Magneto and Professor X? The Homo sapiens ain’t got no love for Magneto and Professor X and the X-Men? We saved y’all asses how many times and y’all don’t love us? Y’all don’t love us? Well, let it be known, then!”
Go On: An Evergreen Comedic Series That Helped Me Navigate Loss
OMAR HOLMON, aka I’m Mr. Cry on the Inside
HUMOR IS A beautiful lock-pick set, the perfect tool for any situation. Humor can open people up, it can get you out of trouble, it can even be a defense mechanism to protect you. However, these things usually stop short when death is involved. When dealing with the loss of someone, humor often becomes a tool without a “right time” to be used. To me though, humor is a way of making death, this infinite unavoidable circumstance… somehow a bit smaller.
Death is a joke you don’t make
once it’s in the room
—Thuli Zuma
My first best friend in this world was my mother—she was my tag-team partner, my first audience, my first roommate. She died on September 9, 2011. Since that day it has not stopped being September 9, 2011. On the best days, I’m at her bedside still trying to make her laugh. On the worst days, it’s the voicemail saying that she is gone, or my first step into the loud silence of her hospital room. She once told me, “It was always you and me against the world,” and when my teammate needed me, I wasn’t there. The last word I heard her say to me was “Go,” assuring me I could go to a job interview and come back. But for the first time in my life, I was too late. My way of dealing with not being there when she died was not talking about it. The weight of it would pop up sometimes in strange places…
“Yeah, lemme get the strawberry ice cream with Reese’s Pieces…
[Oh god, she’s really gone.]
*tears running down face but still wanting ice cream*
…Lemme get some sprinkles on that too…”
…but I’d push it down and keep it moving. I didn’t consciously deal with it until I was watching NBC’s show Go On about a radio talk show host named Ryan King (played by Matthew Perry).
After losing his wife, Ryan goes right back to work as if nothing has happened. Worried about him, his boss and best friend, Steven, forces him to attend a support group. Under threat of losing his job, Ryan agrees, but doesn’t take it seriously. While Lauren, the group counselor, is running late one day, Ryan invents a game for the group to determine once and for all who has the most tragic story. It’s a tournament dubbed “March Sadness” by Owen, a kid that has been coming to counseling for months and remained quiet up to that point. It was the hilarity of this scene that got me hooked on the show’s handling of loss and humor.
Lauren warns Ryan that if he doesn’t deal with what’s happened, he’s going to explode. After learning the hard way that she is right, Ryan reveals to the group (and us) that his wife died texting him while driving. “She needed to tell me to buy a bag of coffee, so at least it was important… I don’t know how to do this.”
It’s weird how my real-life loss connected me with this group of fictional characters: Anne, who lost her wife; Owen, whose brother was in a coma; Fausta, whose children and husband were deported, as well as others dealing with their different issues.
In one episode, Ryan thinks he’s going crazy as he begins to see his dead wife, Janie, around the house. I’d had a similar experience. I was sleeping, but I could swear someone was sitting beside me petting my hair. It felt like my mother beside me, and we were back in our old house. I knew it couldn’t be real, but that familiarity of home reson
ated so strongly that I needed it to be. I was in that state where you aren’t sleeping anymore but can’t immediately open your eyes. I finally forced myself to wake up, sat upright, and called out, “Mom?” This was the first time I had said her name aloud in an empty room in a year. When Ryan brings this up, fellow griever Anne assures him that it’s normal. I began to feel relief as well.
Go On was never preachy in its approach to navigating through loss, it was always sincere and honest, which is what draws me back to rewatching it every so often. I related most to Owen. He only opened up to Ryan about his brother being in a coma organically through their mutual love of video games. Owen hadn’t been able to bring himself to visit his brother, so Ryan volunteers to go into the room for him, to talk to Owen’s brother and sing to him, as Owen said it was something they always did for each other…
It turns out to be a prank—Owen sends Ryan to a stranger’s room—the way he and his brother used to mess with each other. In doing that with Ryan, he gets the push he needs to finally go and see his actual brother. Ryan gets him back beautifully with a prank that makes Owen believe he broke the vase holding Janie’s ashes. It’s this playfulness within the group as everyone grows closer that kept drawing me in.
I felt like I had found a shortcut to talking about everything I needed to unpack by watching these characters do it for me. This show was my group where I didn’t have to speak but still processed everything internally. And right when I thought this defense I had been developing through this loss was helping me out, the show goes and calls me out on relying on it too heavily. For me, my mother dying was the worst thing that could happen. Now that it’s happened, there’s nothing left to be afraid of. This mentality changed my personality. I became way more blunt in how I gave advice/opinions, indifferent to good or bad things that happened to me (how do I phrase this without sounding like a sociopath?), and far more comfortable talking with people about grief and loss. It’s hard to put this into specific words, but the defense I’m talking about is a shift in how I’ve come to engage with emotions and people. Even when using humor.
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