Subdivisions.

Axe Naomie Harris if she wants to be defined by her color.

Every once in a while, a random Twitter username pops up in my "Suggests," or someone has retweeted something someone said, and I'll see it. "@BlackGirlGeek or @BrownSugarHorrorChick" or some other moniker that says, "hey everyone, I'm a novelty, a black girl who likes horror, but please don't define me because I'm not just about being a black girl who likes horror, which is what I am. Follow me!"

And then like me, you take the bait. And if you're a woman like me (can I still be girl at 40? If I can, I'll take it), and black, and into horror, you get lumped into all these other bullshit tweets that generate into more and more "black girl horror fan / geek / nerd" types following you, or suggestions to follow more of the same. So, how to deal with that ...

Well, you follow, and then you engage, and then you quickly figure out that these bitches are #1- not true horror fans but posers, #2- keeping tabs on their "competition" (i.e., you), #3- using horror to promote themselves as some sort of novelty act, and #4- as stupid as ants marching into Borax, and as unbearable as a silent fart in a crowded elevator.

So, what started this rant (and I'm sorry, but I've had this shit on dock for ages)? An interaction with a Twit who I reached out to who could simply NOT TAKE THE GODDAMNED COMPLIMENT because she was either too stupid, or too full of herself. Uh, hello? I just gave you a #SO (shout-out) and likened you to one of the sexiest, iconic, most bad-assed sistas of horror in like EVER. I mean, how many have we fucking got? Um, Marsha Hunt, Pam Grier and Marki Bey. Boom.

What followed was a lengthy exchange that left me emotionally and physically exhausted. Does this idiot even KNOW that I'm giving her props? Because she's sure branding herself as someone who knows many shits and gives them when it comes to horror films. And when I feel like I have to explain things to you, that's when I pull the plug and finish the goddamned bath. Bishbegone.

Now, do I think I know everything? Well, yes. Yes I do. I'm kidding. No, I don't. But that's what I like about me, and that's what I seek in others. Authenticity. I'm not professing to be the queen of shit, and I sure as hell don't want to be defined by my COLOR. Not on any terms. Do I think other women in horror have the right to be the "queen" of this and that? Hell yeah. Elvira, Mistress of the Dark. Ivonna Cadaver, the Next Generation of Horror. Pam Grier, the queen who kept the lights on at AIP. Linnea Quigley, and so on and so forth. These women EARNED their titles, and no one's defining them by the color of their skin. Can you fucking imagine how stupid "Elvira, White Mistress of the Dark" would sound? Ugh, I just can't anymore. And yes, Pam Grier was in a film called Black Mama, White Mama, but she transcended Blaxploitation to become an award-nominated actress. That's the point. THE POINT. Rawr!

And let me go back to point number 3. Now, this one is important, because when someone in horror (and, let me add, sci-fi, also trending at the mo) builds their entire social media identity around their skin color, it's for one thing and one thing only: to point out the "specialness" of their novelty and exploit the shit out of it for their own personal Twitter fame. I HATE THIS. I grew up in the Seventies and Eighties. Being black was for real real back then, kids. Not for play play. But this is 2015. We are allowed to be black, white, etc. and not have it be stamped on our foreheads like some badge of exception. The first thing people see when they see me is my color, so why would I have to trot it out every mother-effing day when I shart out a tweet? My mom is white and Mexican; should I make every horror tweet about that, too? And there's something particularly un-Christ-like about turning every tweet about blacks and horror into a victimization I am quite confident these ladies enjoy perpetuating.

In conclusion, I just want eight hours of sleep. And for these idiots to leave me alone. Go forth and segregate, and get loads of followers based on your one act, and I'll just stay in my little corner of Twitter and lose friends and alienate people. This is how I feel. Which is more than the bullshit you're gonna get somewhere else.

Killer Mommy.

Hot mama.

I'll just get right to it. One of the reasons why I loved the late Betsy Palmer was because unlike other horror legends, or modern pretenders to the throne, she never acted as if she always loved being Mrs. Voorhees. I dig that kind of honesty, I do. Because she went on to embrace the character and the fans who came along with it, and you knew that shit was real by the time she passed.

Many of her contemporaries not only like to carry on as if they always loved being so-and-so in blankety-blank; they're horror "geeks" who came out as "fans" of their films once they got the news that it was cool to do so, and they could profit at the conventions.

Bleh. Give me Ms. Palmer any day of the week, the woman whose decision to play the original Serial Mom was apparently guided by the need for a new car; the feisty middle-aged broad who reminded me a lot like my dear Nana, another beautiful, feisty broad who passed away in 1992. Now, my Nana never killed anyone, but she could've, and she had a mouth on her like Betsy, and a bitchin' rattail and was never without a Corona in her hand. Those two ladies could be ki-ki-kickin' it in Heaven right now for all I know. Wouldn't that be rad?

Anyway, Ms. Palmer had a blazing filmography before the Jason films, and I'm sure that by the time F13 rolled around she was probably wondering where the hell that all went. But you know what makes us horror nuts so great? The fact that we love our heroes so goddamned much that we acknowledge what came before, and we honor that as much as we honor what we call "the good stuff." Didn't she turn down Freddy Vs. Jason because she thought she wasn't getting paid enough? See? The woman knew her worth. You go, mama. And we all know that film sucked donkeys anyway. Maybe she was clairvoyant as well.

So yeah, there you go. Not much of a tribute, I know, but it's how I feel. I'm so sad. I remember seeing Friday the 13th at the drive-in as a child, and she made a real impression. Who loved their son so much that they would track down and kill Annie the sweet, adorable camp cook even after she carried on about how much she loved kids? I mean, that's crazy love. But there you go. Like the inimitable Betsy Palmer, Mrs. Voorhees took her position early on, and when she died, we knew her devotion to us and the franchise was clear. Like crystal.