(H)afrocentric is a comic featuring four disgruntled undergrads of color and their adventures at Ronald Reagan University.

I was 14, just starting high school at an all-boys public school in the Bronx, when I began to feel a strong physical attraction to other boys. I was quiet and observant, and I didn’t yet know if I should, or could, act on those emotions.

D’Angelo’s “Untitled” is on BET, your forehead pressed against the screen trying to look down, praying there’s a few more inches of TV. you don’t know what drives you to press your skin to the screen filled with his skin but you let yourself be driven, be hungry, be whatever this is when no one is around. you don’t know what a faggot is but you know a faggot would probably be doing this. you don’t know what a faggot is but you know you might be one. You don’t know what you are but you know you shouldn’t be. but you know that when D’Angelo sings how he sings looking how he looks, inside you something breaks open & then that odd flood of yes, a storm you can’t call a storm but the wind sounds like your name.

The first friend I made in Elizabeth, New Jersey was a white kid named Billy. As a New York transplant my Dominicano look wasn’t too popular with Jersey folk. I had an afro, wore dress pants, a collared shirt, and black leather shoes with little gold buckles. Most of the kids just wanted to know what my thing was. Billy and I couldn’t have been more different, but we got close pretty quickly. Despite the fact that Billy’s parents wouldn’t allow him over my house, my grandmother allowed me over his. She took one look at Billy’s blonde hair and blue eyes, and at his mother’s middle class American manners, and pronounced their household safe. “Where are you from?” Billy’s mother asked, referring to my grandmother’s heavy accent. “I thought you were black.” On that day I couldn’t have imagined how many times I’d have to answer that question in my lifetime. “We’re Dominican.”

I first applied in 1997 with an application filled out in chalk on the sidewalk of East 128th Street in East Cleveland. I don’t remember exactly what I wrote in my personal essay, but it involved a game with squares and a basketball.

According to TMZ, Rachel Dolezal—the former Spokane, Wash. NAACP leader who lied for years about being black—is a frequent customer at Spokane’s Palm Beach Tan, where she gets spray tans to darken her skin. Well, of course. TMZ’s source says Dolezal prefers the “medium” shade of the Mystic Tan brand.

There has been much ado about the newfound notion of “black gay privilege.” In numerous tweets, blogs, and a certain Huffington Post article, it has been articulated as a special benefit enjoyed by black gay men. This “privilege”— produced by white anxiety and white supremacy—supposedly enables us to evade the traditional economic struggles experienced by straight black men.

Three months ago, I sat in my bed frustrated with myself. I was upset at all the life choices I'd made up until this point. Physically and mentally exhausted, I ran out to get an energy drink; I'd needed a caffeine-enriched charge to help meet a deadline. And then it happened: later, rushing to the bathroom, I tripped and went hip-first into my desk, knocking the energy drink onto my laptop, its red liquid bleeding into my keyboard.

He would have been my first, I suppose—a Korean student at some other school in Beijing's Wudaokou university district.

There are three things you should know.

A month ago, Tilda Swinton was sleeping in a box at MoMa, where she turned napping into a commentary on stardom as specimen.

In the New York Times today, Somini Sengupta explores the widespread epidemic of people posting things on Facebook that are not true. Yes—we're as shocked as you. False identities flourish on Facebook's lawless frontier. Thankfully, at least one fraudulent perpetrator may now be brought to justice.

Holy Mount Zion, a soccer team in England's all-Jewish Maccabi Southern Football League, has been suspended from league play for, it seems, fielding non-Jewish players and pretending they were Jews. The team had apparently been under suspicion for some time, and was asked by the league to "provide proof" that all its players were, in fact Jewish; they were ultimately done in by a Facebook photo in which supposed Jews "Danny Potter" and "Simon Laub" were tagged as—and revealed as—"Mariusz Mielniczuk, a Polish-born personal trainer, and Javier Guevara, a banker who had previously studied and worked in Bogota." (A referee had previously suspected something was up when players called "Danny" "Mariusz" on field, and also when "Danny" didn't know his own birthday.) The manager has admitted to the ruse, but questions remain, The Jewish Chronicle reports:

As any good drug mule/terrorist knows, Puerto Rican birth certificates are perfect for obtaining fraudulent U.S. passports. What's the government solution? Render all Puerto Ricans retroactively nonexistent by invalidating all birth certificates on July 1, 2010. This will go well.

Stephanie Madoff, the wife of Bernie Madoff's son Mark, wants to change her last name to "Morgan," for obvious reasons. So if you come across a "Stephanie Morgan," you know...we're sure she's nice and all. [WSJ. Pic via]

• We went to Bellevue!