As usual, I've got medium-well ... uh, make that medium ... beef with the recently released Hot 100 list from Maxim magazine.
I know not to expect much from magazines that aren't Ebony or Jet (or Latina, for that matter) in this regard. Mostly because it's hard to argue seriously - and earnestly - about things like tastes in food, music or, and especially, members of the opposite sex.
How can I tell you, in all seriousness, that Gwyneth Paltrow can't hold a candle to Taral Hicks? That Audrina Patridge is more of a dime than Padma Lakamishi? (*as an aside, I once had a long-running argument with a friend about whether En Vogue looked better, collectively, than TLC. It got ugly).
People can't really help their preferences, you know? It's the reason I really don't have much to say about Dirk Nowitzki's girlfriend other than, eh, God bless and g'luck.
But alas, here we are.
All too often, for publications like Maxim or the now defunct FHM, their choices among women of color are so clueless that I can't help but think color-blind is a euphemism for people who can't see anything other than alabaster and blonde.
Now, I'm not going to go through the hassle of coming up with my own list. I'm going to save myself from the futility and frustration. And if I'm being honest with myself, I would have to admit that pre-First Lady, none of these 100 ladies would have been kicked out of my hot tub.