Keeping Up with the Jonzee

My Tee Tee

2009-02-20T10:20:00.002-05:00

I have not been inspired to write here as of late because I have been too busy writing here and here. But this morning, I was reading a post from my girl La and got inspired. (IOW, decided to jack her idea).

You see this Valentine's Day, I had this plan to do something special for Big T, the 60-minute massage, nice dinner out on the town, and breakfast in bed. Why? Because I know that I am special--and I don't mean like 'Aw, she's mad cool' special, I mean like 'pain in the ass' special. See, I make a huge deal about certain holidays-the gift giving holidays. Now before y'all kill me, I know better (I'm a brat. I am working on it). One should give because they want to give, not because they expect something in return. Hence, the reason I wanted to do something for him--'cause I know he be racking his brain trying to do something good and make me happy.

So, here, just in case he didn't know, is 10 things to know (and I love) about his bald-headed ass:

1. He is the most giving person I have ever known T will give you the shirt off his back even if he doesn't have it to give. It frustrates me sometimes, but I love that he believes in sharing.

2. He's sensitive He does not believe in hurting other peoples feelings and is tactful and empathetic when it comes to having to give someone the business but...

3. He ain't no punk He is very calm. He does not believe in flying off the handle and deals with conflict with a smooth hand. But if you push him? God be with you. You should see him when it comes to boys and his baby sister...I pray for whoever the boy is.

4. He's smarter than he thinks he is He tells folks that I am smarter than him. I would say I might be more knowledgeable about certain things...but smarter, nah.

5. He is meant to be a teacher One day he will figure that out.

6. Hands down, best lover ever No need to say more, but lets just say I am more satisfied than not...especially when he takes his time.

7. That man can burn My grandfather will be proud to know that I will be left in capable cooking hands. The lamb with the Dijon peppercorn sauce he made for Christmas dinner...slap somebodies mama!

8. He knows me...almost too well I don't if this is good or bad, but he is very perceptive. He can ask me what's wrong, I can say nothing, and then he, often times, can vocalize it. It's annoying. But I love it.

9. He's old school He believes that a man should take care of his woman--in some of the most old school ways, like walk on the outside near the curb, standing up when you leave the table, opening your door. But also, I know (he won't admit it) that he hates when I pay for stuff. (I didn't get to treat for V-day) I love it. Screw it. Some of y'all ladies will just have to give me the gas face for this one.

10. He makes me slow down Like that song "Green Light", I am always ready to go. I like change--sometimes to my detriment. He has shown me that sitting still( both literally and figuritively) sometimes is important and necessary. And I am grateful for it.

Come Tuesday

2009-01-17T00:32:00.001-05:00

I have listened time and time again to the stories from my grandparents (who are still alive and good health) being my age during the time of Jim Crow. My grandparents were among the "talented tenth" who went on to get not only a college education but a Masters. Their life was fascinating and some of the things they were able to accomplish, under what many would view as extreme duress, is impressive.

My grandmother was riveter like Rosie in WWII. She left the factory and moved to Atlanta--by herself--while my grandfather was at War to pursue her Master of Social Work. She is demure, my grandmother, and if you are familiar with the history of the black middle class--she may falsely appear more socialite than independent woman, and more wife and mother from the times of the "best generation", then capable equal partner. But perserverance is her middle name.

My grandfather was a talented print man, who because of his color, had limited opportunity to make a career in printing and instead taught it as a vocation in the public school system. Like many other black folks, teaching was one of the few ways to have a white collar job and secure a future staunchly in the middle class, running the printing press at the Call and Post in the evenings. He has a sharp-tongued wit at times. And from some of his stories, it seems his relative fair skin is what kept him from ending up in a tree somewhere.

It is from my grandparents purview of American history, that I see the world. It is from their vivid portrayl of the decline of the American dream--first begun in the demise of our urban centers at the precipise of "white flight" and "desegregation", and further solidified by deindustrialization, that I dedicate my personal and professional time to revitalizing communities. And it is from this purview, that the last 10 years have made me rethink this personal calling on many an occassion.

When a former community organizer first decided to run for US president, I thought him delusional. When he exceeded expectations in Iowa, I began to listen. And as I listened, he talked about the importance of our urban centers and creating a poilcy arm that would focus on urban policy. He seemed to understand that the health and wealth of this nation hinged in large part on addressing many of our failures in domestic issues--health care, encouraging small business, and revitalizing a viable manufacturing base that might actually allow blue collar folks who's mothers and fathers once were "company men" in factories like Westinghouse and GM an opportunity to use their skilled labor to reach the American dream. It is then that I began to work for him with "cautious optimism".

Then he won the primary.

Then he won the presidency.

And now, come Tuesday, the sun might cautiously shine again.

Life Isn't

2008-12-11T11:51:00.000-05:00

For over a month, me and many of my colleagues have been waiting around for the hatchet to drop. The lead up to actual D-day has been long and torturous. We were told back in November that it would be announced the first week in December. Of course, rumours abound. As did speculations, about who amongst us would get the ax.

My dad works for IBM, I have lived through many a reorg—and this was the worst handled one ever. Now, I understand why, as the company has never had to do this before—but really? About a week ago, I started getting sick of my friends and fam emailing and texting to find out if I still had a gig.

Well, the news is—I do. And I while I am blessed to have continuous income, I feel guilty as hell. Why? Because daily it becomes more apparent that I want to go home. And everybody here knows it.

So, not sure why I am still here and others who were just as talented and probably have greater technical skills aren’t beats me.

As usual, I’m waiting on the Creator to make it plain.

Facing Changes

2008-11-17T16:17:00.002-05:00

November 4th, Way too early in the morning...

I awoke at 4:30am-- bleary eyed and exhausted. I could not sleep the night before. I was anxious. I was nervous, and even though I truly believed that the change, I and millions of others had worked on, donated to, and prayed for, was on its way, the idea that we might lose would not let me sleep.

I sat on the edge of my bed and prayed. Then, I put on my objective election judge hat and walked in silence to the polling place—my polling place—to do my day long civic duty of working the polls. The silence was nearly deafening and I wanted to cry, but I did not. However, unbeknownst to me, this same feeling would return several times through out the day.

5:30 AM

I arrive on time, but it feels like I am late. There is a buzz about the place as the chief judge directs the technician, and other judges to set up certain stations to count and keep record of every single supply we have been given. She also reiterates the importance of the integrity of our polling place. All eyes are on us she says, more than anytime in the 7 years she has been a chief. Nervous looks abound, and back to business we go.

Although, the polls do not open until 7 am, and our 1400 people district in a neighborhood is one of the smallest in the city (and in a transitioning neighborhood on the edge of gentrification with historically low turnout at 30%), our first voter is already in the building, and had been since 5 am. She is a middle aged black woman who has arrived prepared to wait with a folding chair, newspaper, coffee, and breakfast in hand.

7:00 AM

My fears that people would stay home because they believed the election was already in the bag combined with the intermittent nasty rain falling outside, made for an interesting morning. As we were opening the doors—more than 100 people were already in line. My eyes swelled, but no tears.

8:00 AM

I am stationed at the provisional ballot station. Here, people who for one reason or another are not in the ballot book, or who registered within 7 days prior to the election, must fill out a paper ballot. My first “customers” are three black men—two of them, both middle aged, had never voted. Both of them were quite knowledgeable about how the election process worked and what their rights were. The other, was an older man, and a life long Republican. Each of them was proudly wearing a “change you can believe in” button—and none of them knew each other.

On the way out of the door, the two men who voted for the first time shared the news with the ballot desk—and a spontaneous cheer broke out. From that point forward, every first timer got a little cheer from the judges.

10:30 AM

An elderly woman walking gingerly with one hand on her cane and the other wrapped in the arms of a young woman in her 30’s. The elderly woman informs us that she is here to help her oldest grandchild vote for the first time. The grandmother has already voted on the other side of town.

A couple arrives right behind them—clearly high and drunk—barely able to communicate anything clearly—accept that they have arrived to vote.

12:00 PM

A young black family with three children under the age of 5 and one newborn arrive. Each parent brings two of the children up to the voting machine and explains the voting process. They even let them press the buttons.

2:00 PM

The line has stopped. Forty percent of our precinct has already voted, and we have 6 more hours left to remain open.

A young white family arrives—dressed in all of the Obama regalia they could find—including the dog. They tell us they just returned from early morning volunteering in Alexandria, VA. The wait when they left was 2.5 hours long.

3:45 PM

Several young men, who I often see hanging on the corner, and I have long suspected of (and have seen) selling drugs arrive in a group to vote. Nearly half of them have voted before. Two tell me they never miss an election—even if it’s just local. One apologizes for handling his business in front of my house.

I meet people I have never seen on my block before, and see folks I often see, but have never introduced myself too. Now, I know them all and they know me.

5:30 PM

Voting is now down to a trickle. Some of the judges are spending the downtime calling up relatives and friends making sure they went to vote. One judge in particular is harassing his 18 year old cousin who just arrived to vote. She is telling his cousin to go back home and get his friends—all who were personally registered by the judge. Fifty-eight percent of our precinct has voted.

7:57 PM

All day, we have braced ourselves for the call, which would inform us that our polling place had extended voting hours. Three minutes to go, and no call. As I prepare to break down the ballot booth station, a man clearly out of breath from running is walking as quickly as he can down the hall.

I tell him that he has gotten to me in the nick of time. However, he was in the wrong polling place, which means if he votes here, it will have to be on paper, and it may very well not count.

He says in return, “M’am, I just want to know that I filled in that circle. I took two buses and ran here to just get in the door. I can not vote—even if it may not amount to anything.”

This time, I cried!

No Doubt

2008-10-31T08:47:00.002-05:00

I grew up going to Church--even though often one or both of my parents often did not go. They would straight drop us off for Sunday school (which we looked forward to--it was really about hanging out...)

When I reached my hateful teenage years, I stopped believing. I was angry. IBM was laying off 10k people in my little 35k town. Parents--fighting like hell. Excuse my French, but I said the "heck with 'em".

Until, a summer in Alabama, in which my favorite cousin Erma watched her husband and youngest child drown in the river, while her oldest struggled back to shore. My family and I were late getting to 'bama...and me and my brother probably would have been in that water too.

The day before they were buried she found out she was pregnant. I will never forget watching my cousins and uncles and father carrying Erma out of that Church screaming, crying for God, repeatedly saying she knows He will protect her.

If she could hold on to that, even in a time of so much pain and anguish. How could I be so pissed off and angry and doubtful about some small stuff like the 'Rents not getting along?

I have been a believer ever since. And that belief--that every challenge is a blessing on the back end has never failed me.

D'Angelo, baby. Come home

2008-10-22T15:12:00.004-05:00

I been waiting for you. I know that naked photo shit really drove you off the deep end. All them fawning chicks (and dudes...but never mind) obsession with your Adonis-like figure made you, a sensitive introvert, incredibly uncomfortable.

Especially since you are such an incredibly gifted musician and want to be respected for that more than anything.

Now, let me be perfectly honest. I, too, stared gap-mouthed at that video on more than one occassion. And you looking all fine and chocolately was definetely a plus. But, honey, I and many chicks like me are straight audiophiles and it was definetely more because the ease of which that incredibly intimately composed, intricately layered song comes forth.

Matter of fact, after seeing the video three times, I never cared to watch it again. The master songwriting in someways, felt cheapened by the video.

Honestly, I could give a good got-damn if you ever looked like that again. No offense.

Where you at son? I find myself searching the archives of iTunes and Soul Sanctuary looking for songs with your voice on them. Like that Rh Factor song called I'll Stay, my man, is one beautifully written, way-down-deep in the soul song.

Look, Broheim, there are mad people in the world making bank right now writing bullshit and passing it off as some sort of musical craft. You always struck me as more of a Common-type dude--as in you did it your way and knew you were going to get paid. So come on, folks are feenin for real music('specially us over 30 types who are coming to grips with the fact that clubbing these days in generally at the over 30 joints.)

Maybe the video thing in the end felt like to much soul-selling for you. Don't know. But I do know one thing, that a God-fearing dude like you should remember. Nothing can happen that is too much for you to handle. So suck it up and get it together.

There is no excuse for wallowing in the liquor-fueled self-pity, Bruh. You got a gift to share.

If it will make you feel better, keep your damn clothes on this time.

Just a little tough love from one audiophile to another.

My Two Gay Uncles

2008-10-12T21:46:00.003-05:00

My grandparents have four children—three boys and a girl. One of the sons is my father, married for over 32 years one year to the day I was born. The other two sons were gay.

As a little girl, I guess I knew that my uncles were different. My oldest uncle (May he rest in peace) never had a girlfriend I can remember. He had a friend. Growing up with a middle class African American family from the Midwest, "friend" was always what someone you were dating was called. I never really thought about it one way or the other. And as my great granny would say, "it made me no never mind".

My family never made a big deal out of it. My uncle’s “friends”, were no different than my auntie’s “friends” of the opposite sex. His friends were treated like family. Even after one serious relationship ended amicably, the friend still often came to Sunday dinner. The “friends” called my grandparents "Mom and Pops" like they were their parents, and never missed a birthday or anniversary.

My uncle is gone now. My father lost his best friend and I lost my hero. But his closest friend will be at Thanksgiving dinner with some delicious dessert in hand.

Being out was not as, or at least as it appeared, simple for my younger uncle. He got married. Got cheated on badly and got a divorce all within a year. And then he found his voice. After that he entered into a serious relationship with a couple people, who were embraced as family just as well. The family of the man from his first serious relationship still sends letters and cards from Germany on holidays and birthdays. Just like his older brother he loves deeply and has a special place in his heart for his nieces and nephews.

Now, he is getting older, his embers have become a nice glow and he is with the man I think he will be with for the rest of his life. And Michael is family too. I hope one day, that I will get to see that commitment ceremony.

I am sure my grandfather and grandmother as well as my aunt and father struggled a great deal with the idea that both of my uncles were gay. But love was the key to dismissing any hard feelings or thoughts of putting them out of their lives. The strength it takes to not pay attention to what many in the world would say is a sickness, or the hatred and animosity the world may throw your way for having gay children is undeniably difficult. After all, my grandparents grew up in the Great Depression and raised a family during the height of the civil rights movement. To be a black man and make it through those times you had to be tough. But my grandparents raised three intellectually tough, free-spirited, big hearted men—two gay and one straight—and they love them all the same.

What I realized today, is that we have never differentiated my Uncles' pursuit of "finding the right one", from any of our straight family members. To this day, I don't think I have ever heard anyone make a differentiation between them being gay and us being straight. I don’t even think we think about it. It is what it is.

And in the end, what it is, is love.

This Moment

2008-10-10T14:09:00.003-05:00

We will never have to pay the price our ancestors had to pay. Never.

We won't have to live through the ex-facto version of slavery in the form of sharecropping.

We won't have to send our daughters to back room alley doctors to risk health and life for the right to chose.

We won't get spat upon marching for equal rights for all.

We won't have to feel that the only "white collar" job for you us was to be a teacher...as long as it was in a segregated school. Or be a cop because it was the only "good job" for a man from Ireland.

We will never feel nearly the sting of corporate racism as the first and second class of folks of color climbing the ladder at IBM, ATT and other Fortune 500's in the 1980's

No. That is a price that was long ago paid. It is a price that we can't even imagine today. If somehow, it became expected that any of the aforementioned events was something we would have to cope with, would sooner commence to trying to beat someone within an inch of his life, then let them try to desecrate our humanity in any such form.

And, it is price, that understandably none of us can relate to. Other than the vivid stories of our parents and grandparents, we have little related experience. We are so far removed from ever having to deal with this kind of treatment that many of us have looked at older folks--particularly those who were active in the civil rights movement like they are know-nothing relics of the past. We see our generations of X and Y as having crossed the post racial line in so many ways. Hip-Hop and other cultural aspects seemingly connected to "Youth" have been the great uniter.

That is until, in someways, right now.

History, once again, shows us that it still has plenty to teach us know-it-all young folks. Right now, as I type, Senator McCain and his runningmate are somewhere allowing crowds of suppoters to turn into angry seeting mobs on unfounded hatred for an opponent who is different. They are using coded language of racisim and hatred through such phrases as "dimish the prestige of the presidency", and insinuating terrorist connections to assassinate his character. Their silence about the not-so-coded language of terrorist and nigger used by their surrogates and supporters is driving the point home. No man of color. Not this time. Not ever.

And it is downright frightening. I know I have never seen anything like it. But those folks who paid the price? They have. They kept their eye on the prize. No matter what kind of hateful and beligerent behavior was constrantly thrown their way. We must do the same.

Change is on the horizon. I truly believe it.

This is our moment to stand up and say, "Never again". This is our time to be the morally compelling voice in the room. We must make sure our children never have to pay the price that we pay.

The Hip Hop Pass

2008-10-07T13:37:00.004-05:00

My man Ink jumped on the buzz about the Biggie movie with a link to P. Rosenburg's recent posting of the entire 4-hour Mr. Cee's Big Mix. And then Ink said two of the best things he has ever said. Big was not the Goat but he was gifted as hell.

I agree. Somewhat.

Someone already threatened to take my Negro card when I said I neither enjoy cornbread nor collard greens. But I got my AARBG (American Association of Retired B-Girls) card well hidden, so back the hell up.(My NY card, on the other hand? I might not be able to keep that one.) Back in the day, no one could question my allegiance to East Coast Hip-Hop. If you got in the whip with me on the way to school and tried to pop Black Moon out the deck for Master P or Eightball and MJG, not only were you getting put the hell out but you might have lost a digit on the way. And Biggie was King.

So clearly, back then, if you had asked me the hip-hop head password of yesteryear "Pac or Big", I would have said Big. Admittedly, it was partly because I because of the East Coast allegiance, and partly because I was living in Cleveland--where real hip-hop could go die and never be found. And you can add to that, the fact that I started every morning with a little Big with my Breakfast. (But it was mostly because I couldn't stomach that wack shit that passed for hip-hop on the North Coast.)

Now? The answer is different. The answer is Pac. And you know what? I shoulda said Pac then. As I have gotten older, I have actually paid alot more attention to Pac then I did in my early hip-hop listening days. He is prolific, conflicted, poetic, and often reaches down into a vat of emotions few people in any genre of music can. Shallow party shit. Crime drama. Heartfelt what-the-fucks. All of it. Brilliantly laced together.

Now before you start calling me unpatriotic to the hip-hop head nation or some sort of hip-hop terrorist, let me say there is still no doubt that Big was incredibly talented. There is no doubt that Big had an incredible lyrical gift. There is no doubt that he has spit some of the most amazing verses in hip-hop. Ever. Point blank. Period. I mean, I used to go home and practice the man's rhymes so I could spit it like I wrote the bars myself. But in my old age it seems to me so much of Big's flow is shallow. Its about shallow-ass shit. If you go back and listen to both of his first two albums most of the material is a precursor, perhaps treasure map to the road to riches via the unadulterated hood-rich, bling-bling, me and my 55 bitches and 4 video ho's hip-hop that we is rammed down our throats daily on a Radio Won station near you. Big was the King of Hood-rich and on down the hill it keeps going.

When I listen to Big now, I can so clearly hear that he had yet to tap into his best game. He was resting on his laurels. To me, he was a lot like Jay has been his whole career. Big could KILL you with his lyrical flow whenever he wanted, and every once in awhile drops a verse to remind you, but he didn't have to in order to be viewed as King shit. He only gave us the good flow cause it sells just as well. Money was the motivation. And while, of course Pac rapped about much of the same shit--seems to me he dug deeper. Perhaps that is why he was so conflicted.

Maybe I've gotten to hip-hop righteous in my old age. But I always need you to say more to me. Big chose not to do it. Perhaps he knew he was so talented but saw it more as a hustle he was good at then something he wanted to wreck shop at. Perhaps, it stopped being a challenge. Who knows. But I need more in my hip-hop, particularly as the world gets more complicated and simple all at the same time.

...Now, if you are looking for me, I will be in a witness protection program or hiding out at Gitmo. And my NY card has been stored in a country where I have immunity from US intrusion.

I'm thinking

2008-09-23T10:15:00.002-05:00

...It might not actually bother me so much if the markets keep going deeper into shit and I get laid off. I already have a plan that involves, bum rushing someones couch for a few months, putting on a uniform and slinging some burgers and beer.

Sometimes I miss the camraderie and free flowing schedule of it all.

...I really don't want to be a homeowner right now (its besides the point that debt and possible job loss make it a kinda awful idea.) I have been talking about buying a house for what seems like forever as others get married or rush into buying something that either takes a lot of work or is way too expensive. I don't even know where home is right now--and when I buy I want to feel like I ain't going nowhere no time soon.

...Baltimore is the Broke Man's Brooklyn. Its still got ethnic flavor, distinct neighborhoods, and strange slow moving gentrification that makes it welcoming. I like it...a lot. But the people? Particularly, my people? Man, they suck. And nothing can replace the actual Brooklyn.

...Dating at my age blows. I feel like the only people left out here are brothers with way too many babies and not enough jobs, want to be pimps, and people who either aint got the sense God gave them, or have turned into Bitter Brother Women haters. I think I am going back to celibacy 'fo I end up stabbing some dude.

...I really want a dog. A little dog. I always wanted to buy an English bulldog and name it Otis. But I'm thinking a pug or puggle name Rufus might work too!

...I need to go out and dance more. I went out on Saturday (and was home by midnight...what kind of fuckery?!) and felt like I couldn't find the groove. I used to be THE KING SHIT on the floor--I felt like a bum.

...twenty more pounds and I might attract that white dude my cousins have been waiting to hear I'm marrying. Of course, I don't know who that dude is, but perhaps its worth a try.

...I need to come up with better shit to say on this blog.

Blessed and I know it

2008-09-11T12:43:00.003-05:00

Over the last few years, I have generally tried to act as though this time of year on my calendar effects me no more than any other. Usually, I just forget about it.

Until I turn on the radio.

This morning proceeded just as the other 200-odd work days have proceeded. Shut off alarm. Go back to sleep. (Oversleep lately) Convince myself that, no, I have no legitimate excuse for not going to work (except for the dread part lately). Commence moving like Speedy to get to work "relatively" on time.

Then I turned on the radio.

One station was rehashing how jacked up life has become since that day.

Another station was lamenting about Osama.

On another station, a woman was telling a story about her mother. A woman who was never, ever late for work. But messed around that day and missed her bus to the Pentagon. A bus load of her co-workers were lost that day.

I turned it off. In silence, I rode.

See, I missed meeting my maker not once but twice. About a month and a half before 9-11 I started hiking it from the Staten Island Ferry to the Trade--the transfer from the local to the express to look longer if I got on the train at the ferry then it did with me walking it to the stop. Pretty much, every week day at 10 minutes to 8, I was in the building. (The incentive to be on time was the free doughnut a couple times a week from my boy Shawn at the Krispy Creme.) But a week before 9-11 I moved to DC unexpectedly for a housing consulting gig.

On September 11, 2001, I was preparing to meet a military official at the Pentagon to discuss military housing logistics. At 6:45 am, he called and canceled the meeting because of a family emergency. If the meeting was not rescheduled, one or both of us might not be here to tell the story.

As much as I wish it was just another day, it is not. For me and others--no matter how far we get from that actual date--it will not be just another day. The pain may lessen...but the same never.

Yet, here we stand, on the verge of voting into office a Bobbye twin version of the man who fueled extreme irrationality in the living rooms of so many Americans and has left the world more chaotic then he found it.

This day, will never be just another day--particularly if we all don't wake the hell up.

Half Make-Up

2008-09-10T14:54:00.005-05:00

Someone tell me why half-make up (it sounds so much better than half break-up) sex is so the BOMB!? I mean, really?! What kind of fuckery is that?

Why do I call it half-make up? Well, see what had happened was a couple of weeks ago the semi-sorta ex came down. And what we came away with seemed very clear. He gets space.

(Bruh's got 90 days and no guarantees. And if he is smart he will get it together before some other dude grabs his cookies and runs off screaming "Mine, mine, mine!" But I digress.)

But we also agreed that before "space" became officially offical that we would kick it through the Labor Day holiday weekend/my girl's wedding in Va. Beach--and then let the space begin.

Since I ain't trying to have a repeat of the on-going foolishness I had with the Bunch (so 'nother story, 'nother time, ' and maybe a little drunkeness required). I knew in my head that I had to get it in as much as possible by the time last weekend came. Cause after that...

No cookies for you!

But Yo! why he been hitting it out the park. Um, like, I'm sort of insatiable now...and um this weekend he looked good enough to eat and shit.

How pissed am I that now I can't have none...out of principalities...???

...This is some ole bullshit.

He could get it

2008-09-04T09:00:00.002-05:00

So, after teaching my first English as a Second Language (ESL) class, I needed to watch some mindless dribble on the Tele. As much bullcrappy dribble that was coming out of the Moosburger eaters mouth, I needed something that did not also make me want to throw up.

And what should appear, but the movie my mother watched every day for the entire year of 1993? The Bodyguard.

And I'm sorry but, to this day...K Cos could get it. I have a penchant for men of color...but I ain't blind.

Lets See, who else:

Sean Connery (have to make sure his pacemaker is working, though)

Harry Connick Jr.

Al Pachino (yes, another pacemaker check)

Simon Baker

Mark Walhberg (Used to be Donnie...during my NKOTB fanatic days)

Christian Bale (he's just so badass as Batman)

Who falls outside of who your would normally date--that could definetely get it?

Done Deal

2008-08-25T14:13:00.002-05:00

Last night I got shot at. Well, not exactly at...but two drunk 'ignant muufuccas were drunk in the street, carrying on, as I was on the passenger side of my car. (Getting another square--'cause I am stressed and turning into chain smoking Joan Crawford--minus the wire hangers and shit.) And one idiot decided to shoot at the other idiot. I dropped down on the ground and crawled up my stoop so fast, I don't even know how I did it.

Shook up? To say the least. Clearly, I didn't sleep well.

The foolishness exacerbated my normal Monday morning blues. Same shit times 10. Dreading the 40 minute commute. Feeling lonely as hell. Sitting in the 10 AM team meeting thinking about how I so am not interested in how much fee (i.e. how much bonus my boss is going to earn) the deals in the pipeline might garner--and I am so not in the right job long term. Longing for a hug and kiss on the forehead, and a "baby, its going to be alright." in whispered in a deep tenor in my ear.

Its time for me to go home. And home is where Big Baby is.

The latest epiphany.

Pride is what got me here in the first place. Do I think moving was a mistake--not necessarily--but long term it won't work. The Big Baby encouraged me to move because he wants me to have what I want. He didn't want me to feel like I was sacrificing for him. When folks were asking me "what about Big Baby?". I looked at them like "What about him?" and dismissed it. And so I went--because I have been doing me so long it never really occurred to me to think about it any other way. Partially, because I got something to prove about not giving up a career for a man (mama baggage). Partially, cause the dollars were shining and outweighed other things. And largly because I was afraid to take the risk of staying.

Now its time for me to take a risk. A big one. In January, I'm leaving. I figure I really have nothing to lose. Bmore is cool. The house is very cool. But...

My personal happiness is finally starting to outweigh my need to over-achieve.

In the end, everything always works out for the best anyhoo. And I know that from plenty of experience.

Cootie Brown

2008-08-21T09:05:00.003-05:00

...drunk as. That is me. It is 10 AM...and I'm not quite sober. Yet, at my desk/pod/fishbowl on a conference call I sit.

I'm too old for this shit.

Last night, Line Sista 54 (now and forever more called LS Fi-Fo)came by. We were going to be grown. Have a little dinner, maybe a drink or two. What it turned into was a 6 hour, 2/3rd bottle of Sailor Jerry (yo! check out the Sailor--it is so YUMMY!) Spiced Rum drinking, drunk dialing to the sorta semi-not quite--ex by the ls, good ass time.

But now here I sit. Still. Not. Quite. Sober. 7.5 hours of sleep. Still. Not. Quite Sober.

And it will probably take my ass two days to recover--because I'm what? Too old for this shit.

Oh. And now here comes the hang over.

Toys [ain't] Us...no more

2008-08-11T15:12:00.005-05:00

This grown folks shit is for the birds. Bills. Responsibilities. Appointments. Mortgages and crap. Who signed me up for this? I mean really. I want my money back...

Since I turned 4 nearly two weeks ago,(that is 3+1 for you simple muuufuuccas)the "wow, I'm really grown and shit", has really been on my mind. I mean, just a couple of weeks ago I was in the ATL taking a young woman on her college tours, and I found myself acting like mama--making sure she asked the good questions, that she got to see the most important people, finding out about the money factor. I gave her advice whilst trying to be very conscious of the lecture tone (GAWD knows I hated that shit when I was teen.)

And I swear I hear a damn clock ticking--though just a month and half ago I was in Chucky Cheese ready to hide under a table from all those little monsters running amok. Thanks to my LS--who made it painfully clear that our difference in age afforded her the time to putz about on the kid thing. Sheeit--I ain't birthin' no babies till their is a ring (ahem...a wedding ring on my finger.) But the clock is messing with me and lets just say ain't no suitors lurking about so I better put some eggs on ice or something.

I can't even kick it late on the reg anymore. Bedtime for me is all early and crap. I had my PJ's on at 11:30 and was asleep by midnight (with the added help of the "liquid painkiller"--Navy Sailor 92 proof--good lookin' Wise). I mean, on my damn b-day, the celebration was over by 10--I was in bed by 11:30--on a Saturday. What kind of fuckery is that nonsense?!?

But the worst thing, is that my fool ass finally decided to apply to law school and stop bullshittin'. Average age of a fool in the law programs I am interested in? How about like 23.75--what in THE hell? Guess, this old poodle's gonna have to dust off those Beer Pong skills and skill the hootchies on mack mastering...(now where the hell is my cane?!)

So, I lied

2008-08-06T09:18:00.002-05:00

I said I was going to not talk about it. But its weighing so heavy on my mind. I am passed the sad phase, and I am almost passed the "conjecture/guessing" phase. But now I am entering the "mad as hell phase".

You want to know why I'm mad? Let me tell you why I am mad?

See, this the thing, long distance has in no way been easy on me. I have never been faithful. Ever. Every dude I ever dated, when they started to get on my nerves, or I was getting bored, or I simply didn't feel like being bothered(but didn't want to be alone either), I always had someone on the side--an ex, a bootie call, a friend who I knew was trying to get it.

But not him. I even turned down the advances of the "sort-of-ex 7 years of bullshit" dude. Not once but twice. So, see I made progress in the name of love.

I live 200 miles away and could do whatever the hell I want and he would be none the wiser. But I have not.

I have thought about ending it on many occassions. Not because I don't love him, but because long distance is a bitch. But, I was never afraid to talk about it. I was never afraid to say this sucks big time.

But you don't just get to shut down cause you can't deal. That, right there is bullshit. Especially after all we have done with and for each other. Its bullshit.

Perhaps, it could have been fixed. Perhaps, it could have been more visits not less. Shit, Bmore and Jersey aint that far. But it can't be when you think you have the right to stop communicating.

I deserve more. I deserve the conversation. From what I have known from him, he is a man of his word. But then again maybe I don't--and this conversation will never actually occur.

But like I said before, the game ain't changed and the 80/20 rule still applies. So, I hope whoever the chick is she is doing it for him better than I clearly could.

Now. There. I am done.

Dusting off

2008-08-04T11:06:00.002-05:00

I have decided not to talk about it anymore.

I have dissected it. Talked about it analyzed it. I even asked my damn Daddy what he thinks.

I won't know until the conversation is had. And at this point, I don't think that will be anytime soon.

Maybe time and space is good. Maybe its not. Maybe the loss will be permanent. Maybe it won't. We'll see.

But what I do know, is the game ain't changed. And most muufuccas still playing the game at my age are trying to fill the void with bullshit.

And it took the void to slap me in the face to recognize that life without was not nearly as good as life with.

So until the day of reckoning comes, I'll be running, hiking, lifting, and writing my way toward some peace in my heart. But no more will I talk about this shit out loud.

Have a Little Help from Your Friends

2008-07-31T10:00:00.002-05:00

I am blessed in many ways. But one of the most important ways to me is the many wonderful and supportive friends I have collected over the years.

And God knows I need them now.

So, this a shout out for all my friends who have called me twice a day for the last couple of days to check up on me, make me laugh, or just in general send some encouragement my way.

I love you!

A Rock is Missing Two Johns

2008-07-25T07:58:00.004-05:00

For the past two nights, I have watched the Black in America Series on CNN. I was not surprised by the content. But I was significantly disappointed by the way it was presented and what it reported.

I could go into the whole thing about how I think black women got played. The overarching theme about black women ither promiscuous baby making machines or hard- driving-ball-busting career women. Nothing about income disparity in earnings between black women in the workplace and male counterparts either white or black and how that disparity effect largely female head-of-household families. And what about the great gloss-over of the effects of misogynistic images of black women and how that effects our relationships with men and our view of ourselves (which has a lot to do with why so many young black women choose to have children--often without a pot to piss in)? And don't tell me that 8 seconds last night counts as any sorts of coverage.

And most importantly nothing about what the lack of a father in a woman's life does to her. As usual, the lack of a father is most prevalently identified with black manhood.

But like I said. I'm not going there.

My biggest issue is with that Cosby Show has-been dude John Phillips. WTF?? His simplistic, pedestrian analysis that "they shouldn't sell crack", "they should go to school because that is how you achieve.", and lastly his attempt to lambaste Spike Lee regarding Lee's statements about Hollywood studio level racism when it comes to funding black films(even though the fact that the studios set a benchmark of $100mm and he blew it out the water more than once--he's still got his hat in has hand for most projects) just reiterated the dumb simplistic shit people say about the pervasive nature of poverty and discrimination.

It's easy to say all that shit if you have role models who "show you" the value of an education at work or who demonstrate to you that dreaming and achieving is possible. "Keep Hope Alive" slogans are not enough. If you were raised in a family or a neighborhood where education is not valued, and most folks are standing on the corner and succeed at not following in those footsteps--you are an exception not the rule.

And then their is this man--with his black people have no work ethic and aren't smart enough to learn. Guess that whole white kids and black kids are educationally on par till 4th grade missed him.

Bump you! Pay Me!

2008-07-24T15:47:00.002-05:00

So, Dr. Fryer is paying children to learn and folks are up in arms.

Not surprised.

But its not such a far out radical idea. Dr. Freyer just had the balls to say it straight up. "Pay them to learn".

Its no different than a kid getting a new book (like I did) or a special dinner when they bring home a great report card. Or how about programs like Upward Bound or College STEP? As a STEP alum, I got a $5,000 stipend every year I was in the program and did what I was supposed to do. I don't hear anyone hollering about that--and Upward Bound is probably one of the greatest experiences a teenager could have.

All examples of incentivized learning.

I get why so many are like "we are teaching children materialism", we are "using money as a means to an end", etc. But lets step down off our high-minded idealism about education and be real. Children are surrounded by materialism and the need to "get money" long before they walk in the classroom door--particularly if you are a poor child. Over my years of mentoring, I have listened to many a child talk about money. To my kids, money, or the lack of it, is the reason they don't have, can't get, can't have. The link between "getting money" and education is not tangible to them. To my mentees its been more like 'show me why I should' not tell me.

But showing and not just telling takes people who can demonstrate that education can get you further than you ever imagined. People talk alot of shit. But don's show up to do this "showing".

Until we get more folks doing by volunteering and mentoring rather than "running the yap" about what should be done, Dr. Freyers plan for a small sample of children will be that motivation.

WHATEVER IT TAKES.

Unless of course we are about to start a new movement of successful people of color volunteering for one-on-one...

*crickets*

Thought so. Talk shit amongst yourselves.

Failing

2008-07-21T13:25:00.002-05:00

I am struggling with this long-distance love. It is progressively getting worse. Every time I leave him I feel like my heart is having the life squeezed out of it. When he leaves, it feels like someone has just left my home forever. The silence.

This was my choice. I chose to take a position that was essentially lateral, for a better company, with significantly better pay. And he encouraged me to take the job. Too bad I know the job is not for me in the long run. As a matter of fact, the best thing about my choice, is that I live an easier life in a nice house in a city of which I have always been curious.

Today, the admin told me that the NY office is finally hiring for the same position I occupy here in MD. Too bad when I originally interviewed to be the NY version of me, the position was on freeze.

Too bad.

But I'd leave tomorrow if he asked.

A Serious Affair

2008-07-16T09:46:00.007-05:00

And as the AKA Centennial Celebration week winds its way to the end, I thought I would reflect on just how in the world this chick who said she would never do it, went ahead and did.

But, alas, I was born an AKA. Though I didn't fully realize it until later in life than I would have liked.

Although, I grew up in a church full of AKA women (80% of the church ladies), and my grandmother has been a card carrying dues paying member since the late 1930's, I never bought into it. Honestly, I didn't get it, and based on my run-ins with some of the church ladies, I thought they were mean as hell.

During my high school years, my anathema to joining a social organization waned. Me and my closest girl were all about wearing the Crimson and Cream. Shoot, everyone who knew me growing up said I acted like a Delta--whatever that is supposed to mean. I was even...well I can't tell you that, my Sorors might kill me.

But two things happened that steered my right on back to where I belong. One, was an incident with one of my best friend's mother. Upon hearing that I might have to move to Cleveland with one year of high school left, she and some of her sisters (who were also good friends of my family) wanted to see if they could help me stay in my home high school so that I could finish my last year with friends. After much begging on my part, my father asked her and her sorors, If I could live with them when school was in session. You should have seen how fast "no" came flying out of their mouths. But another young woman who I had only become friends with during high school (whose Mom was an AKA) offered easily without me asking--and even had drawn up a plan of the rules and responsibilities that would be involved. Even though in the end I still had to go. Just the gesture stayed with me for a long time.

The second, was right around my Senior year of high school. I wanted to do a documentary on the decline of Shaw Senior High, a once prominent public high school in East Cleveland. I didn't have any money for the project. And I was new to the area. I didn't really know anyone, other than the folks at church who work like grandparents and aunts and uncles to me. The ladys of AKA heard about my dilema from my father, and out of the woodwork came donations and connections. Someone lent me a great camera, another lady helped me find someone to edit it (for free), and other helped me connect with the administration at Shaw and the EC board of Ed. The ladies who went to Shaw signed up to be interviewed, shared year books, etc. Many of the AKA's in Cleveland are teachers and they gave their perspective on public school education and suggested ideas on how to fix the system. They helped me make my project an award winner.

Perhaps these things seem small to you, but these are only two of countless examples of ways in which I watched ladies in pink and green not only talk the talk and walk the walk of a "lifetime of service" not only to Alpha Kappa Alpha but to the world in which they live. There are countless other folks I know who have been helped, prodded, even chastised when they needed it by these ladies. They run soup kitchens, bible school, tutoring sessions, and mentor young women in some of the most abject poverty you could imagine, all while managing their own families.

If you know nothing else about me from this blog, you should know that I believe reaching back and up to empower minority folks, especially black folks to empower themselves. So many of the ladies of AKA embody that spirit and they do it in their own way, with their own voice, and they are unapologetic about it.

Don't get me wrong there are plenty of women who joined just so they could don the pink and green and do the strolling and party hopping. As well as plenty who take the AKA stereotype to the Nth level. But for every 1 of them there are at least two who are trying to figure out how to create programs to educate folks about Diabetes, managing money, or some other community service initiative.

Happy 100th b-day AKA!!!

I got that feeling...that Pre-Teen Feeling..

2008-07-10T13:18:00.003-05:00

Growing up, I had New Edition on wall, and these dudes on the other.

I had the buttons. The Tee-shirt. Every copy of Tiger Beat, Teen Beat, and even Right On with them on the cover. (Yeah, Right On...remember that???)

But, a chick was like 12 then. So...why the hell do I heart their new joint???

New Kids on the Block - Summertime Music Video

Perhaps, it's because it reminds me of when I discovered as my great grandmother would say, those nasty boys. :)

Did we Come this Far by Faith--or is Bling the King?

2008-06-30T12:48:00.005-05:00

I had an interesting convo with my girl this weekend. I was dismayed by my visit to a Sunday service at a church that is quite popular here in Baltimore. Since over the years, she I have commiserated about the woes of trying to find a new church home in a new city on many an occasion, I figured she would be the best person to vent to.

Let's just say this is the second time this year I have been floored by the an answer I wasn't expecting. She didn't get my dismay over what I saw was a lack of committment to the history of activism in the black church. As a matter of fact, she told me that in all her years (and she is a bit older than me), she has never attended a church that gave a hoot about what was going on outside the wall of the church--in the community.

I have grown up in the exact opposite world. Working to alleviate poverty and to help people gain both spiritual and socio-economic betterment has been part and parcel of every church I have ever been a member--including my childhood home. All done, of course, to bring more folk into the Kingdom.

These days it seems its more about keeping up with the "Dollars and Olsteens" of the world, thanworking to do good through Christian fellowship. Screw the neighborhood.

And the church I visited was the epitome of church looking to reach Mega status by looking out only for its parishioners. Screw the neighborhood.

Even though this church is located on what looks to be a relatively new "mini-campus" on top of a hill across from several acres of boarded up former multi-family/public housing units, it has decided to unapologetically move out to the county to create a 21 acre campus, like these folks.

The church has been in Baltimore for more than 100 years, yet it has decided to build a 14 acre campus out in the the County (aka the Baltimore) suburbs.Instead of trying to impact the current community in which it resides, it instead sat on hill making sure you knew it was special staring down on delapidation carving out the backyards of many owner-occupied homes.

During announcements not one mention of outreach, not one ministry was listed as doing anything outside the walls of the church. And of course the offering was all about the capital campaign for the church building fund.

Do you feel me yet?

Don't get my wrong, I have no issue with church growth or expansion. I wax time and time again about how non-profits need to run with economic sufficiency and business like strategies--and churches should too. Churches need parishioners to survive. Managing a big church is a big job and the Pastor has the right to be compensated for it (how much and how lavish---that is another debate)They need enthusiastic membership to move its agenda forward. But what I do have a problem with is this seemingly continuous migration away from the black church working to help the communities in which is located not only spiritually but in the alleviation of poverty and the physical and socio-economic betterment of not only its parishioner but its neighbors. Of course, with the ultimate goal of converting more souls. I have a HUGE problem with this "if you ain't mega, you ain't wit' it" sort of business. I think you can be relevant, successful, growing AND progressive. There has to be a delicate balance between growing and doing what is morally right for the community in which you are located and the resources you take from that community.

Perhaps that means you don't grow to 20,000 members as fast as you would like. Perhaps, you forgo the fancy newest dais for Pastor and instead build a community center, donate a bunch of books to your local library, or sponsor an all-day bible camp. Don't know. But I know I definetely don't think that things like adding a bookstore, movie theatre, christian nightclub, etc should be your primary focus. This ain't Disney. Or did we forget?

Too many black churches have been propping up the ego maniacal dreams of the Pastor than the needs of their own communities. No wonder some them have last names like Dollar and Price.

Maybe my visit was God's way of reminding me about that the church I did chose is that right one for me--because the woman sitting next to me informed my that my church divested from her church about 20 years ago.

After these messages...We'll be right back.

2008-06-25T11:30:00.003-05:00

Remember, the Saturday cartoons back in the day? I think the title of this post came from the intermission announcement for ABC's (It had to be ABC or maybe NBC, because CBS cartoons were wack--except for Pee Wees Playhouse, LOL) Saturday afternoon line up.

Anyway. I'm burnt. Writing on two blogs--the other which requires hours of prep--is beating me up write now.

In the meantime, in between time, I'm sure someone else will entertain you.

Don't worry. Won't be away long.

Never, Would he Ever be a Rolling Stone

2008-06-13T15:25:00.004-05:00

So, Sunday is Father's Day. I was hoping to be home...but a sista finally put herself on a real budget and it just wasn't in the cards. Plus, I'd like to have a couple extra days so I'm waiting for the next three day.

Of course, this is like the most stereotypical time of year to write a post about Pop, but since I have been sitting in wonder of how are relationship went from fabulous to not so fabulous to downright uncomfortable, and back to fabulous over the last 16 years, it is also the perfect time. See, I'm ready to admit I'm daddy's little girl out loud. These days, I even randomly pick up the phone and talk to him for more than two minutes.

Why is that a milestone? Because for a long time our conversations were filled with "Hey pop. Where's Mom?" and that was about it. Every once in awhile, Dad would force me to talk to him. Every once in awhile he would call me out of the blue, drop the great one liner about some issue my mother must have told him about (or he overheard). Solve it for me in less than 15 seconds. Then say 'love you' and goodbye.' Never to be discussed again. That was about the extent of bonding.

Thank God, I have matured substantially. Honestly, I could not have dreamed of a better man to be my father. Yeah, Pop's got some stuff with him. Just like I sit on the crux of generation X and Y, Pop sits on the crux of Baby-Booming Strong-Silent-Bring-Home-the-Bacon and Sandwhich-generation-Obamarama-co-parent. And that made for some Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde-ish moments. Sometimes he was the nurturer. Oft times he was the General.

But regardless, among men his age, especially black men, my Pop has had one of the most progressive approaches to fatherhood. He did more than as C.Rock would say, "[kept] his daughter off the pole." He chose to be involved in everything. He probably could be running that corporate Big House he has made himself invaluable to (Pop dodged more "down sizing", "right sizing" than a fool running through Compton dodging bullets) But he decided long ago that the sacrifice was not worth his family. He was apart of so much of the nuturing that we got as kids. More so than any other dad I know.

He never missed a Chorus concert

He never missed a Soccer Game.

He never missed a dance recital.

He never missed a parent-teacher conference.

As a matter of fact, my father only missed one event in my childhood--and that was because he was sick as a dog. And even then he was willing to come. My father used to fly around the universe in a day if he had to participate in the activities, and practices, and homework problems. He would be exhausted. But it didn't matter. He did what he had to.

When my brother was failing Spanish. My father took the time to go sit in the classroom and observe. When my mother was freaking me out everytime she took me out for a driving lesson--pop stepped in, and even though he was straight up the General about it, I am as a good of a driver as I am today because of it (he was the General when it came to math too and I hated it--but now all I do is math and I'm type good at it!).

But he wasn't only good at the teaching tasks and skills. My father taught us about being good active citizens, the importance of family, and told us--even more than my mother--that we should be whatever we want to be and it doesn't have to be corporate America and it doesn't even mean you have to go to college as long as you have a plan.

I pray that the father of my children is even half the man that my father continues to be.

And if you are reading, Pop. Happy Fathers Day. I love you more than you could know!

And yes, they are with me

2008-06-13T09:04:00.003-05:00

My 'brother from another mother', Ink, waxed philosophical about his lack of friends of the paler persuassion and why. I get where he's coming from. Absolutely. I have had white friends over the years who were my friends 'for that moment'(college class, table waiting), but looked at me like I was a foriegn creature after the moment was over. It was like they were slumming it or something.

For instance, one of the young women I considered to by my closest friend in grade and middle school, one day was just like, 'we don't have anything in common.' based on the fact that the popular crew didn't do black folks. Next.

Then there was college. My half-asian friend and I were thick as thieves. I helped her lose her 'bowl' haircut and coke bottle glasses, navigate the Big Bad City, and tried to help her find a man. Then a couple years ago, when leaving DC to return to NYC, she told a mutual friend that I was simply not at her level(community developer, harlem living, natural hair sporting, etc). She was too busy trying to look the part of 'Sex in the City' Manhattanite, and trying to keep up with another schoolmate who married rich and was apart of the Donald Trump crowd. Funny thing though. This crowd of friends she so thought I was 'too black' for dissed her and invited me and a few others to the Donald's Christmas party. Next.

So, admittedly, over the years I have grown weary of making white friends. Sometimes it has felt as though being the 'black friend' is 'entertainment purposes only'...like I'm the sassy black girl on the sitcom. In the past, with some folks it seems like they are looking for me to be the Jaun Williams of their Fox Friends Network.

But, I have three white women in my life who are straight up 'my nuccas'. No doubt. They like me for the content of my character. They approach our culturally and social differences with open arms. They often humbly approach trying to understand my experience as a black woman compared to their own. They don't approach the subject of race relations with the 'Don't you think...? Now tell me what I want to hear.' that often crops up in mixed company. I am not a novelty. I am a confidant and a shoulder to cry on. Someone to get stoopidly drunk with and flirt with the fellas. They are not looking for me to roll my neck or nothing. And they don't for seem to believe that because I am a 'sista' I can fight or some foolishness.

Its a mutual decision to take the road less traveled. We invokes the inevitable stares when we go to the 'black happy hour', or when we meet at the the Irish pub on the whitest side of town, or my 'white friend' comes home to Thanksgiving or I get invited to their cousin's Bat Mitzvah. My 'white' homies, try understand how I feel when someone says something 'ignorant' about black folks. Sometimes they chose to break it down to said person in a way that 'can forever and consistently be broke'--just cause they have had just about enough of the crap just like me. My 'White' friend may not understand my experience and will sometimes debate me about it or present a different view. But its always out of love.

At the end of the day, my kids will probably by calling my white friends 'Auntie' or 'Uncle' just like 'Nee 'Nee and 'dem. And that is the way it should be.

Grillin' and Chillin'

2008-06-12T12:10:00.003-05:00

So, finally, I'm going to join the summertime ritual of sitting outside over some hot-ass fire all for the love a charbroiled piece of meat. Saturday, me and the big dude are going to purchase my first real grill. And then it will be all about the ribs. I think big T might be more excited than me. That fool loves of all things grilled and feels the need to always be the one grilling--even at someone else's crib (now, if we could just get him to always remember to ease up off the lighter fluid!)

I been looking and reading reviews, so now I am ready. Won't be no gas around these parts. I already got a gas stove--so what's the diff? Plus, you gotta use that fake 'liquid smoke' crap to give it the barbeque-ee goodness. I'd rather not. I'll take my carbon monoxide the normal way.

Hmmm...a few ribs, a little grilled corn...and a whole lot of cold beverages for those over the age of 21. Yeah, boy-eeeeee! Its summer fo' sho!

Gas--How many of Us can Afford it

2008-06-09T14:04:00.003-05:00

I've been bitching about the price of gas just like everyone else. It is especially a shocker for me. Less than a year ago, I was filling up my car every two and half weeks. Now I fill it up every five and a half days. I was taking some sort of public transportation nearly 6 days a week. Now I take none.

You see I moved to 'Mura-lin' for a better paying job. At the time, I predicted that not only would I make more money, I would have more money in my pocket because the cost of living would be less.

I chose to live in Baltimore City--even though I work in Columbia because 1)I am morally opposed to living in super-suburbs where walking is not an option unless its to walk your dog, your cat, or your kid. 2) Baltimore is a hell of a lot more affordable. I assumed that the commuter bus would work out okay and while I might pay a little more in gas, I'd be good.

If you bet on my plan like I bet on my plan, you'd be ready to whoop my ass. Because it is all going to shit.

I been crying about the money I spend on gas since I got here. But back then the reason was more about the fact that I found out I hated the drive. It severely curtailed my reading habits and raised my damned blood pressure. But as the price started to creep up, my issue with gas became that much larger. I currently spend about $402 a month on gas--not including trips to NYC to see boo--(which is now down to about once a month from twice a month--an additional $68) There is no way to get to Columbia from Baltimore on a commuter vehicle unless you have 3.1 hours to spare for a 22 mile commute. Now I sneak in reading the headlines at the light or when no one is looking--on the job.

But, I don't have to bear the costs. I could move back to NY, find a job in Baltimore City or DC. But these folks here, are worse off than any of us sitting around crying.

So, while I have enjoyed the commiserating about it. I'm stopping. Why? Because I could more easily than many, change what I do or where I live. I might very well have too.

And I will honor all of those who cannot by possibly slapping the next fool who crys about gas but lives in a place with a plethora of public transportation options.

Extending the Olive Branch to Mama

2008-06-05T09:58:00.002-05:00

It's time for me to stop feeling incredulous about my mother's view of Barack Obama's campaign for president. I didn't understand her support of Hillary--and I admit, in many ways, I still don't. Just three years ago, she was buying his books, thought wonderfully about his political prospects--but I digress.

If you've been keeping up, and reading the comments, you know Mom dukes and I have been battling over this whole thing. It got kind of tit for tat. So I just stopped blogging about it and briefly regretted the whole sharing access thing.

But, Tuesday, as I sat on my couch in my PJ's eating freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, not only did I reflect on the historic nature of this journey for the candidate I support, but I reflected on the 'rough side of the mountain', that both Senators Clinton and Obama climbed.

And I all the sudden understood where my mother was coming from. My mom identified with Senator Clinton's womanhood, I think. But I also get that she felt like people were dismissing the energy and intelligence that has been garnered from years of experience as a baby boomer woman in particular. I think my mom is keenly aware of the sexism that is not acknowledged in the black community--and perhaps felt like Senator Obama's rise amongst black folks was predicated upon or lack of acknowledgement that we have some pretty serious issues surrounding gender and the 'pimp versus hoe' mem that so many of us seem to embrace.

But I think, in this instance, the latter is not the case. I understand now. At least I think I do.

I hope she sees this momement and in some way feels proud--even if it was not Senator Clinton who is one her way to the nomination. I hope she watched his speech in Minnesota and really listened to it. I hope she just as I, put aside the emotion she feels for Hillary as I have the emotion I feel for Obama, and thought about what a thing we have accomplished on either side of the primary fence and smiled.

I think I better make that call.

His and Her-story

2008-06-04T10:42:00.007-05:00

Yesterday was it. The day I and so many others have been waiting for. The day Senator Barack H. Obama crossed the delegate threshold. And, yet I didn't shed a tear.

I expected to boo hoo like a baby. After all, it, for many of us, is one of those moments in history that you will never forget where you were. I watched this man of African decsendant give, what I thought, in many ways, was one of his best and most gracious speeches yet. Instead I was just in awe.

I wish I was in a room full of other Obama supporters. I wish I had a bottle of champagne to pop open. But alas, I was sitting on my couch in my PJ's eating a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie.

I wanted to write a post for my blog. But my internet was down.

I wanted to call all my fellow Obama supporters but my cell phone and house phone batteries were dead.

For once, all I could do was sit still and think. Think about what this means. Wonder what is next. All I could do was listen to Donnie Hathaway in the background singing "Someday we'll all be free" and smile.

But what came out of my moment of not being able to multi-task was that this whole campaign for democratic nomination whether an Obama supporter or Clinton supporter is, in many ways, something to be hugely proud of. The level of engagement on either side of the fence is mind-boggling. The future is so bright, if we can keep this momentum going, that I might need some new shades.

I thought about all the folks who 'don't vote' who don't 'do politics' who decided to not only vote, but volunteer, donate money, and talk about the issues with their friends (and their foe's). I thought about the record turnout in so many states. I thought about the fact that, regardless of motivation, so many people chose to 'do something' rather than be apathetic and solely tied to consumerism.

As I later replayed Senator Clinton's speech to better understand her. I have to say, I agreed with her on one thing. It is because she decided to stay in this race that millions of folks who might not have otherwise had a chance to make an impact on the results, were able to do so. And whether you view it as self-serving or not, many folks who have in the past felt like their voice didn't matter, no longer feel this way.

And today, no matter what happens in November, I couldn't be prouder, at this very moment, of this place we call home.

In Need of More

2008-05-28T20:42:00.002-05:00

I took a few days off from blogging. I had to. Between obsessing over new posts in my reader and trying to think of something talk about to distract me from my obsessing over the outcome of this ding dang never ending primary, my brain needed a much needed holiday. It was nice to be away. A few days in the Town of Disney--without all the actual Disney stuff (Okay, so I was a little disappointed...after all last week, I was doing the "going to Disney" chair dance, and didn't even go.)

The weather was beautiful. Hung out with one of my closest girlfriends and her new man (home girl is a junior cougar--he's a youngin', but a good one.) And I found out that my tail is old--cause I screamed like I have never screamed on all the roller coasters at Universal. Now I see how my Pops got to a certain age and bowed out on all that fun.

But, I need more. Four days was not enough. I need like a week. A week of doing nothing. After last year's 10 day vacation in Jamaica, I can see why the S.O is so emphatic about wanting to take a "do nothing" vacation like that every year.

So, tell me. Where are your favorite "do nothing" vacation spots, cause I'm still in need of a vacay.

Kelly Goes to Court...Finally

2008-05-21T11:10:00.003-05:00

You know, its been more than six years. All the politcal manuvering to keep it off the court docket has run out. In my opinion...thank GOD.

And what this trial and all the ridiculous posturing about whether the child was "fast-tailed" or "knew what she was getting into", breaks my heart. I am really disturbed by my own community's wanton dismisal of the importance of the virtue of young women's sexuality not only in this instance but in so many others.

I call it the normalization of inappropriate sexual behavior. For example, a 14 year old girl has a sexual relationship with a 20 year old man, and you can best believe there will be a lot of folks talking about how the girl is fast...not that the man is disgusting and vile and a sexual predator.

I don't know how many sisters I have met that have been subjected to inappropriate male behavior in childhood. By cousins, brothers, fathers--and have been told to suck it up and move on. And when theygrow up to be sexually promiscuous, and feeling like it is their fault.

In my own personal life, I have noticed that men and boys get the benefit of the doubt. They get coddled and nutured. And young black woman get raised to "do for self. Ain't nobody gonna want to take care of you." I have seen mother's be so hard on their girl children and come up with every reason in the book to keep supporting a grown ass son who should no better.

Black girls get raised, in many instances. Black boys get loved. Ain't that the truth.

When, as a community, are we going to defend the virtue of our girl children instead of making excuses for men who act inappropriately???

Hate to Tell You, but I am not Voting for Barack just because he is Black

2008-05-20T14:23:00.002-05:00

*crossposted at Dailykos*

No, that's right folks. This black woman and many more just like me are not voting for Barack, based mostly on his color.

Yeah, that's right. Many are actually voting for him because he is the best candidate running for the job.

No. Really.

Contrary to the blanket statements made by folks around these parts these days that black people are voting for Barack mostly because he is black. A great number of us might actually be voting for him because he's a visionary, capable leader as demonstrated by his campaign managment, his grassroots movement, and his recognition and belief that "big government" rarely means "efficient" or fair any more than the Republican vision of small government and has to be reorganized in a way that is both fair and efficient. Perhaps we are as aggravated about the old-school politics and partisan free-for-all inside the Beltway as everyone else.

At first, I took this whole issue in stride. Identity politics, after all, is alive and well. People will always identify with other folks based on common cultural characteristics. And even in this "racial transcendent" moment that Barack is trying to live in--the purponderance of identity politics is clearly not going to die in the mind of pundits, or online forums or blogs for that matter, or folks who do not see this election as an opportuntity to change course in a significant and promising new direction.

But, I have had just about enough of this dismissal of African American voters as monolithic group who are voting for Barack more on identity than on anything else. It steps on our legacy as loyal Democrats and on the possibility that black people are making an educated and informed decision about folks running for president.

I have had my share of foolishness and it would be easy to pin these comments on Senator Clinton supporters since the relationship between Obama supporters and Clinton supporters is so cantankerous around here these days. But Obama-holics that is not the case.

For example, about 2 months ago, I was standing in the grocery store and a woman heard me talking about my plans to head to Pennsylvania and canvass, and the reasons I thought he was the superior candidate. The woman decided to join the conversation and told me that I should admit that the only reason I was supporting him was because he was "apart of the black race." Instead of losing it, I assumed she had been brainwashed by Faux News. I calmly dismissed her argument, and told her to have a nice day in the nicest nasty tone I could muster.

A week ago, a fellow Kos reader and ardent Obama supporter told me that "black people always look out for other black people, so of course they would vote for the black candidate. And why shouldn't they?"

Two days ago, another Obama supporter, called me an idiot because I mentioned that black folks have been loyally Democrat and pointed to general election data and primary data at the senate and congress level. In addition, I also stated that prior to January 31 many African Americans were firmly for Hillary and that in July 2007, as much as 72% of African Americans were for Hillary. And lastly, that the same reasons other folks were moving to the Barack side of life. His problem was with my assertion seems to be that I think black people might be making an educated voting decision on something more than color.

Yesterday, a self-labeled "old-white guy" made the argument that he spoke to a black politcal blogger and from that conversation had determined that the biggest reason black people were voting for Barack en masse was because of his color--especially since that political blogger had admitted as much.

I've got a couple more, but I think you get the picture.

Yet, I can come up with at a least a few instances where "the blacks" did not support some appointment to an office or cabinent or a the candidacy of a fellow "black". Clarence Thomas is black. Last time I checked, lots of us were not fans. And still aren't.

Michael Steele ran for senate in Maryland and black voters helped send him home.

I firmly believe we have every right to be proud of the fact that Barack might be the first man of color in the White House. However, while his color is a significant history-making moment, particularly if he gets elected, his run for office is just as significant, if not more, for so many of the reasons that are discussed ad nauseum in this forum everyday and that I have already mentioned.

No, numbers don't lie. But the qualitative data behind them is just as important. Maybe, we should start looking a little closer at both.

Calling Governor Wallace...George Wallace to the Podium Please

2008-05-14T16:45:00.003-05:00

In the name of the greatest people that have ever trod this earth, I draw the line in the dust and toss the gauntlet before the feet of tyranny, and I say Segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever.

Now take out George Wallace and insert Bill Clinton and think about his role in his wife, the esteemed Senator's campaign. Can you see him standing in the doorway of the University of Alabama?

Uncanny, ain't it?

Now, wait. Before you Clinton supporters start hurling things at me because you think I am saying that Mr. Bill is a good ole' boy segregationist...WHICH I AM NOT.

Read this.

And what about Governor Wallace's rise to politcal power and his later redemption?

Uh, huh. Now put the chair down.

It is quite clear to me that President and Senator Clinton are both astute students of history. As well as in the advance class for taking advantage of opportunities.

The slowing escalating sound of "working class white folk won't vote for a black man." has always been hinted at--but now its late in the game. Why not go old school?

Am I saying the Clinton's are racist. No--but there is a certain opportunism that is very much like the opportunism Governor Wallace used in his own rise to political power.

Old school worked for Bush. Harp on the peoples fears. Use the wedge issues to divide and conquer. And watch the bullets fly.

And here we are 8 years later.

But the fear mongering on war and terrorism has been overplayed. So why not reach way down deep and appeal to the basest nature of folks who still believe black folks are to blame for job loss, growing poverty, and the largest proportion of incarcerated individuals in the world.

It worked for Governor Wallace--even if it was more for political gain than anything else. And no one has topped how he did it.

Except for possibly now--in snippets.

I'm just saying.

I'll Always Love My Mama

2008-05-11T16:58:00.005-05:00

...she's my baby girl...You only get one, yeah.

I started this strange tradition when I first went away to undergrad. I was admittedly homesick though I couldn't wait to leave Cleveland and go back to NY. So, at first, it was just to get me through those times when it was really rough. And later, so that I would actually remember to call home sometimes But, whenever this song came on, I would drop what I was doing and pick up the phone.

A lot of the times, the conversations were painful. Honestly, I thought myself too cool to have anything to share with Mom. There were often a lot of "So...how's the weather?" moments and she asked a lot of questions to try to get me to share. I admit, I acted like a petulant child--feigning annoyance and trying to rush off the phone.

Admittedly, I still do it sometimes to this day and undergrad was quite a bit ago.

Maybe, its because sometimes I mistake her caring and concern for being nosey. And I should know better. Reality is I miss her just as much as she missed me--and I try to play tough for no good reason. For the record, I miss her terribly quite often. Sometimes I wish I lived closer- I've lived more than 300 miles away all of my adult life. Sometimes, I wish she would come visit me or that I could go home more frequently.

Lately, I've been missing the million questions with the same answers that we have discussed over and over, her Forgetful Jones-ness, and her convenient ability to feign like she can't hear but seems to know exactly what you said when you are talking under your breath.

Call it Ma's idiocicracies, I guess. Or just call it Ma.

But most of all, I miss feeling the love that radiates from her heart when you are in a room with her. Through out my life it has shone through her sacrifices for me and my brother. My mom has given so much of her time, her personal aspirations, her advice, and even her cash (the secret $20, $40, $50 she slips in your pocket on the way out the door because she knows you need it even if you won't ask) because of the love she feels for her children. My mom wants to see her children succeed beyond her wildest dreams and is not afraid to tell you how proud she is or that you are jacking up your potential--both said out of unending and forever enduring love.

Ma sacrificed her own career to be home with my brother and I after school. She worked third shift for several years (and still can't sleep at a regular hour to this day) so that we could go to soccer, and basketball, and tap and jazz--you name it. She lost a lot of sleep--going over homework, making sure I wasn't sitting on the phone with boys all night long, and making sure we had a hot meal.

She along with my Pop showed us the importance of family. Dream, she said, but be practical. My mantra to this day.

These days the phone is how all of this is communicated-- sometimes through torturous silences and painful discussions because she uncannily knows when I am feeling discouraged, sad, or feel like I am failing. And sometimes, the best times, when we chat away like two old girlfriends hanging out on the porch sipping lemonade.

I don't know what I'd do if she wasn't who she is, didn't love the way she does, or didn't have the Ma-dar to know when something is wrong.

You only get one , for sure.

No...I cannot hold my nose

2008-05-08T22:01:00.002-05:00

And I briefly thought I could do it, should she be the nominee. After this here?

No...not never.

Drinko De Mayo

2008-05-07T09:08:00.003-05:00

I'm 30, son. Not 21. May 5th reminded me of that. Loud and clear.

See, I was going to go home and lay on the couch since the Monday's after a Big T are always blah. But my buddy Wise, cajoled me into coming out to celebrate.

Shoot! Since, I'm all about any holiday that encourages drinking, (I get very much in touch with my Irish ancestor (yeah--ancestor as in 1) on Patty's Day) and I really did not need to go home and mope, I figured, "why not poor a little tequila out for my Mexican bred'ren?".

Oh, because I am 30, son. Not 21. And I can't do it like I used to.

But what had happened was, the neighborhood joint (my new bar close enough to home to stumble home if necessary) had the bomb special. $2.50 Cervezas, $2 Jose, and $5 Patron. Um, rack 'em. And Wise's partner in crime was on a mission. And the regulars where such a blast. Talking and drinking were moving along at a steady pace.

Perhaps I should have taken Wise's que, who is 31 by the way(on front street, my dear :), and recoginized her age and her limits. Because she is indeed 31 and not 21. Not me. 1 shot of Jose, 2 shots of Patron, 2 cervezas, a margarita, and this deadly drink called the CK special--and that was all she wrote.

Drinking was done early and I still had a banging headache when I woke up--even with 9 hours of sleep.

...Maybe next time, I just won't mix drinks.

The Tipping Point

2008-04-30T16:51:00.003-05:00

Yesterday, your girl here almost lost it. I was seething with anger. I probably left trails of it all over the blogosphere. The Dr. Wright drama had me angry. Obama's response to it made me sad. At first, I felt like the esteemed Senator threw his pastor under the bus. And in some way's he may well have. But what I realized is that he was hurt. And so is Dr. Wright. And both of them need some healing.

Clearly, Dr. Wright is most comfortable in front of the Southside nation> His repsonses in Q and A were clearly that of man who is sick and tired of having to explain himself to White folks and that some of that he lays squarely on the Senator's shoulder--which was wrong and unbecoming.

I'm with him on the sick and tired part. It's gotten too personal and too political for me. I guess I let myself return to naivety to think the "transcendence" would not have to face old realities.

Clearly, I need a break, so I won't be around these parts for a few days. But, you can still catch me over at the krib.

Dr. Wright Decides to Keep on Living! Whatever shall we do!?

2008-04-29T09:12:00.003-05:00

There is a lot of gnashing of teeth and rendering of garments going on among the Obamaholics these days. And now there is all this crying about why Dr. Wright is making the rounds.

Hate to bear the news, but just as my boy Ink says, "the sun does not rise or set" on the esteemed Senator's campaign.

Dr. Wright makes his living being invited to speak across the country and has for 30 years. He has and will continue to be one of the most sought after theologians in the country. Lets face it, whether he decided to start doing his thing now or in the fall, all of y'all would be crying anyway. Its not his job to stop doing what he feels he has been called to do. Just like it wasn't Ceasar Chavez, or Dr King, or Sojourner Truth's job.

Get over it. The more you talk about it. The more you analyze it, disect it, pull apart this whole "OMG, Dr. Wright came outside--Gotcha" mentality that is running rampant in the media, the more license it has. I, for one, am moving on. Dr. Wright aint running for office. This whole media push to get Barack to "denounce anybody who questions America" is a double standard. Its not new news. Please stop.

As for me, I'm going to make my bi-weekly campaign donation so I can get my tee-shirt. And, I will also be in the front pew when Dr. Wright comes my way, as I have been for years.

A Terrible Thing to Waste

2008-04-28T09:32:00.005-05:00

Saturday, I had the pleasure of having a potluck with my line sister and some of her friends. I, admittedly, was a little resigned about hanging out with a group of strangers on one of my few free weekends in B'more. But I am glad I went. It is rare, that I get to to be in a room full of fun, engaging, driven folks sitting around drinking, talking loud, and eating good food.

Plus, it gave me plenty of fodder for here and over at the crib.

*Smile*

As usual, when you get a bunch of educated and motivated black folks in the room, the topic of the value of an HBCU education versus that of a "mainstream" university comes up. And, as usual, the conversation can be somewhat contentious.

Lots of the pro-HBCU arguments centered on the perceived "support" a black student gets at a black school--curfews, rules, etc. Most of the "anti-HBCU" argument focused on the "real-world" and "facility issues" at HBCU's. Same argument I have heard a million times. And though I am usually good at bringing up some salient, fact based points in most debates, the HBCU conversation always gets my emotion to shut my "persuasive argument button" off.

I stand by my conviction that HBCU's are necessary, important and valuable. And this comes from a woman who went to a majority, expensive-ass "elite" school.

And it was a question posed to me by the host of the potluck that got me thinking about why I was so pro-HBCU--on a less emotional level. We had similar times at school and both of us felt no real allegiance or connection to the school or the folks we went to undergrad with. That is when it dawned on me. It simply comes down to "the content of [her character], and not the color of [her] skin"--that is what all of the pro-HBCU arguments really center on. Why? Because black students at a black school simply get to be students—not black students, bearing the “blackness” flag at a majority institution, and are probably better for it.

We can simply look at the data and extrapolate the value of black schools in graduating students from their doors versus majority schools. It seems a misnomer to believe that students who attend HBCU's are "unprepared" and that they "live in a fantasy world." Study after study has shown that HBCU's graduate a greater proportion of successful science-based students. The greatest number of African-American PhD's, engineers, and medial doctors come out of HBCU's. Schools like North Carolina A and T and Florida A and M have stellar reputation when it comes to graduating students in complicated fields as complicated as rocket science (literally). For example, a study by the ETS (those folks who brought you the SAT that you sweated bullets over) has clearly demonstrated the relevance of the HBCU in graduating successful black candidate.

And lets look at diversity recruitment efforts. Companies like Ford, Chrysler, Honda, Kraft, Proctor and Gamble, DuPont, and others, heavily recruit at black universities for both grad level science students and undergrad interns. They are looking for the cream of the crop--and a lot of that crop is at a black school. As a matter of fact, I have 16 black friends who are all engineers (don’t ask me how that happened)—most at the senior project manager level. They all went to HBCU's. Every. Single. One. I have three physician friends who attended HBCU’s—two who did both undergrad and med school at an HBCU.

And lets look at students who go beyond 5 year science programs and onto other professional degree programs. During my MBA tour to 8 top-tier schools across the country, I noticed that approximately 60-70% of black students I met went to HBCU’s as undergrads. Yes, that includes THE Elite University(Haaaavaaarrd). What’s that tell you? And no, they cannot all be exceptions to the rule.

I find it interesting that folks make the "real world" argument about attending HBCU's versus majority schools, and always couch it in terms of the fact that “the world is not all black”. This is quite true. But there is more than enough time through out life for young black folks to combat prejudice and institutional racism for the rest of their lives. Why not go some place where you can simply be a student?

Lets look even further into the experience black students have at majority schools. While I was in school there was significant amount of "self-segregation", for lack of a better term. Me and my cohorts have often lamented about the daily "invisibility" that occurred on respective majority campuses. Unless, some “black issue” comes up, we were all but ignored in the classroom. I don’t know how many times, I and others like me sat in a classroom and have either been asked or felt the need to answer for the “black race”. Its tiring and exhausting. Self-segregation becomes a means to find the space to be yourself--a space that is not often found in the larger university context.

I had the rare opportunity of seeing life as a student at both a majority school and an HBCU. Through, my schools HBCU exchange, I had a chance to go to Bennett College in Greensboro, NC. It was the most influential and positive experience I had as an undergrad. It was such a breath of fresh air not to be the "black girl" in the room. There I was carefree in a way that I was not ever at my “elite” school. I enjoyed being a student. I enjoyed learning. I enjoyed the fact that I was not running to seek the solace of the “black student center”, after feeling the effects of supremacy in the majority class room all day.

When I returned to my school, The difference between the students who were on HBCU exchange and those who had been fighting the good fight at “Elite U” for there entire four years was quite noticeable. The HBCU students had an excellent sense of self and self-worth compared to my cohort. To this day, I have connections with the folks I went to Bennett with and I was only there for a semester. I cannot say the same for any of us who went to Elite or my friends who went to other “Elite’s” (Unless were apart of the “Divine 9”.)

At the end of the day, it really comes down to this for me--self-sufficiency and self worth. Black colleges where of great importance during the abandonment of reconstruction and the years of Jim Crow and are now. They address the “don’t bother us, do it yourself.” mantra conservatives are always purporting and give a student whether from the suburbs or an all black university an opportunity to simply be a student. Black students often slip through the cracks at majority schools—just like in grade schools across the country.

As usual, anything "black" is construed as worth less. When are we going to decide to support institutions that have always supported us. Black schools graduate high numbers of successful African-Americans--theologians, influential politcal leaders, doctors, lawyers, you name it. Yet, so many of us sit around and say they are not "legitmate" If it is good enough for Dr. King, its good enough for me.

And for all of these reasons, I will put my money where my mouth is.

I'ma need y'all to come down off the ledge

2008-04-23T15:29:00.001-05:00

Okay. I think you need to take a break. Seriously. All of y'all walking around whoa is me about Barack's loss last night.

And, he lost. Yeah, so. Even he didn't expect to win. I know y'all were hoping for the big upset, but the prudent look said it wouldn't happen.

Lookie, here. The fact is that there was no way he was going to win every state--let alone a state that has nearly the same demographic characteristics of Ohio. Two states that are more like each other than any other state in the union--except for other states in the Appalacia region. And nobody, including the Obama campaign thought that PA would go in the win column. The ideas was to close the gap--which they did reducing it by more than 13 points.

This right here is chess, not checkers and we have to be patient enough to get to the end--whatever it takes.

Lastly, so what he lost two in a row? After his 12 wins in a row--she won two in a row. Basically the same state--with a narrower win this time 'round.

She has branding and name recognition and whether we like it or not, alot of Americans just don't pay attention to the detail. If you expected her to lay down and die, or not big up this win like she just got the entire nation to vote for her and no one else, well, you might want to find out if you are coming down with something.

If we supporters of Obama give up, when the going gets tough. Well, Clinton will in fact, be right when she says we are a bunch of wimps. Won't she?

Now, go drink some tea, put in a movie and relax. We still got time.

Come on Over to My Crib

2008-04-20T12:18:00.004-05:00

I finally decided to do something constructive with all of my experience in housing and community development.

This Monday, come on over , and discuss, debate, and delight in all things housing and housing-related!

The Great 'Keeping-It-Real-Around-Your Way' Hustle

2008-04-14T13:31:00.003-05:00

Identity politics is what this presidential race has largely come down to. Yes, it seems obvious. And it is. But it's deeper meaning, in many context flies under the radar in many ways, especially as it pertains to us thinking critically about the message and messenger, as they "keep it real" with us.

Identity politics is one of the greatest political hustles known to man. In our major cities, a number of mayors have one election on the "keeping it real" ticket. In cities like Detroit, Newark, Memphis, and New Orleans (to some extent), current mayors have campaigned on the "I'm one of you, I'm from 'round the way, I keeps it real." sort of bent. They have lambasted those with solid policy ideals, vision, and the ability to build coalitions as "elitists", and have appealed to our need to "feel like we know them...like they are our friends." Hence a fool like G Dub can win office not only once but twice largely because many of us felt in our core that we could "have a beer" with him. And when people start identifying elitism with your choice of orange juice over coffee or a Coke over a beer? Well, then we all need to check our biases and our sheer and utter lack of ability "...of thinking of better shit to do with[our]time."

All any of this type of discourse does is distract us from what we really want to feel like we can expect from our political leaders--competence, vision, and ability to push forward an agenda that benefits our needs both economically and socially.

And this is particularly worrisome in this game-changing presidential election season. More so, because this time the identity politics is playing on a national stage in terms of some of the most pervasive hot buttons in the country--Race, Gender, and Economic Status--and if nothing else the candidates have made it so that we have no choice but to face it.

Whether in positively building coalition across percieved interest groups or using the aforemention constructs to pull our biases out to cloud our better judgement.

As one of the writers for Jack and Jill Politics put it:

Hillary and McCain's attempts to cast Obama as "elite" is a classic example of what Taylor Branch called the "inversion of history," wherein the privileged become the oppressed. Obama was raised in a single parent working class home and despite his recent success, you don't get much more elite than earning 16 million a year from making speeches and a family of high level military officials.

The way this works on a racial level cannot be ignored. Hillary's supporters have worked for months to cast Obama as the recipient of some magical form of affirmative action, through proclaiming that his only appeal comes from his blackness and that Hillary "should be winning." These further invoke the myth of the unqualified black masses stealing jobs from hardworking whites. The twist of the knife is in the subtext, which is simply, "this black guy thinks he's better than you." Whether this is deliberate or not is irrelevant, this is the emotional level at which this argument resonates.

All of this resentment serves to obscure the obvious: That we want our presidents to be elite. We want them to be extraordinary, not ordinary, and Obama shouldn't have to apologize for being "elite" any more than any black kid should have to apologize for getting good grades.

Senator Obama's remarks in San Francisco put the already glaring issue of the pervasive nature of the division of class in an even larger spotlight--even if he could have said it better. The response shows the embitteredness we are all feeling about how politicians pander and patronize us--and then use the construct of race and gender to distract us.

Go Outside in the Rain

2008-03-31T10:21:00.003-05:00

Someone please tell me how to make this whole long distance relationship thing easier? Everytime he gets ready to go I feel like my heart is breaking.

Sad, moppy, teary...a freaking girl.

I swear I even googled how to make an LDR work. The suggestions run the gammut from phone dates to wake up calls to a drop-dead date for the LD to end. And still it gets harder.

A number of my colleagues have survived the plight of an LDR (Long Distance Relationship) and lived to tell about it. My boss married his wife after 15 months of long distance--80% of their relationship. The guy who shares the cube wall with me? He picked up his crap and moved to DC after nearly a year of LD. He's getting married in the fall.

The stories keep me encouraged. But what they also tell me is that its just going to get worse.

Guess that cancels out the encouragement.

We talk on the phone at twice a day--even if not for long. We see each other on average--every 8 days. And we even have a plan for when LD will end. But as time goes on, this is getting more difficult.

But I feel bad for feeling bad. Other people have much more difficult LDR's then I do. My close friend's fiancee is in Kuwait--and has been since they got engaged. She is planning a wedding--and though he chimes in from a distance--thats got to be a lot of weight. Compared to that, a 200 mile trip from B'more to NYC is nothing.

Still, I miss my man. And it would be nice to be able to sleep on those 8 days when we aren't together.

Someone take her tactics out to the woodshed

2008-03-25T10:38:00.002-05:00

Now, the honorable Senator Clinton of the great state of New York has decided to go after the pledged delegates.

Latest greatest attempt to get the nomination? Clinton says, Pledge delegates are like superdelgates and can vote how they want.

While this may be true, why did she bother to say it? Perhaps, because this is her latest attempt to put a wrench in the plan and get to the nomination.

Im sick of it. Once again, Senator Clinton, you cannot ever count my vote again.

Now, someone go get me a switch.

Okay, so I lied (but only a little one)

2008-03-23T15:01:00.002-05:00

If you thought the wing-nuts over at Fox were simply rampant conservatives with their heads up their respective butts, well, all they want is an apology for black people being so mean and unfair to them.

After all, black people should be thankful for all white people have done for them. Geesh!

Enough, Already!

2008-03-21T09:57:00.002-05:00

Okay, before my head spins off and rolls down the table somewhere, I have decided to take a 'ranting on politics holiday'. Even I am sick of talking about it thinking about it now.

So, now what do I do?

Stay tuned.

Tell Me Again How You Think I Should Feel?

2008-03-19T08:56:00.002-05:00

Generally, I like Maureen Dowd...generally.

Except in most of her commentaries that come anywhere close to discussing race and/or ethnicity. Generally, she starts off objectively, recognizes the nuance of the situation, and comes through with an interesting take on the issue.

When it comes to discussions of racial and/or ethnic discourse, lately, she's been missing the mark.

This op-ed on Obama's speech yesterday, is one of those when I think she not only misses the mark, but insults the experiences of people of color, period. Yes, she says it was a remarkable speech, but what she also does is allude to how a person of color should feel or react to the complicated station they occupy in American history.

Such talk is patriarchial at best.

In order to have a true conversation about race and ethnicity in this country not only do we have to be mindful of our history, but we also have to be willing to put on the hat of empathy and try our best to understand where others are coming from--whether the preconcieved notions of others are real or not.

Until you hear me and others of color, and chose not to dismiss how we feel about our relationship to the larger American milieu, then the resentment will continue to build.

Perhaps, Ms. Dowd should go back and listen to the Senator's speech again.

It Ain't Over till WE THE PEOPLE say so!

2008-03-18T10:17:00.003-05:00

This morning, I was upset, angry, and pretty frigging hopeless about the future in politics. This morning I woke up and listened to the incessant loop about Dr. Jeremiah Wright's incendiary remarks and the upcoming speech about the issue from Senator Obama, and couldn't help feeling like "See, all of this hope for nothing."

Then I woke up and drank some more "kool-aid".

S.O has dodged, with courage and conviction so many bullets that could have undone him -- that could have turned him into the "black candidate", the "angry black man" candidate, "the sexist making deals with all the boys in the back room candidate". I forgot that every time I get a little nervous about the whole thing, he makes me more proud than ever that I have given quite a bit of money to his campaign, volunteer time going forward, and have helped others become politically active, regardless of their individual leanings.

Clearly, if this makes me nervous, I don't need to run for national office.

Whether the speech he gave to day quashes the various tomfoolery about him or those who who have been brandishing his racial, ethnic, or spiritual heritage like its a dirty rag, I am proud. And if "It is almost like white America is daring him to brandish his ghetto pass in front of the whole world.", then he did it DAMN well in my opinion.

Just like Your Favorite Old Uncle

2008-03-14T09:10:00.005-05:00

Dr. Jeremiah A. Wright is in the news again. And if you have been a minority in this country of any nationality or race--there is some truth to it. I would say if you were born of the majority, it would be nearly impossible to identify, as the experience cannot be.

Funny. He is everywhere--and the story is a rehash from the same story Sean Hannity over at Fox has been spouting for months.

Guess we don't want to pick on poor former Senator Ferraro's racist behind any more. Its just not fair the way the "Obama campaign is attacking [her]."

Senator Obama compares his relationship with Dr. Wright to that of an old uncle you love very much--but every once in awhile says some outrageous stuff you just shake you head at.

And there are a bunch of us who relate to that comparison. And, seems to me its pretty accurate description.

Like my relationship with Ms. Juanita next door. Love the lady--she's like that stern "play grandma" in church. She keeps you on the right path--put every once in awhile her politics make you look at her like she's crazy. Like when she told me "I'm sorry but I don't give no black folks my business...I go straight to a white man." I was about to say something, but just like imagine BO doing with Dr. Wright, I just took it in and moved on.

And you know what, I know there have been more than a couple times, when I was sitting in church on Sunday and didn't agree with something in the sermon. So what? Does every Bush supporter agree with everything that comes out that fools mouth? Probably not.

So, WTF, does that mean?

How about we show this video.

Guess it wouldn't fit Sean Hannity's purpose--or spin.

Stuck

2008-03-11T15:23:00.003-05:00

I know I am supposed to be doing something more important to me right now.

Something.

I know what it is not. It is not corporate America--per se. It is not work on the federal or state level.

Its on the street. Its local. It effects folks lives everyday.

Its something.

Its something that will drive me to work hours a day on it--and not take notice of day turning into night -instead of noticing that the clock seems to move slower every day.

Its something that navigates its way through beauracracy to insight a riot of change--with those most effected leading the way.

It builds things--tangibly, physical things, that vastly improve peoples interface with their environment.

Its not this.

Its urban to its core--and not in that "new" definition of urban purported by the media near you.

Its not this.

But, I am sitting here. Patiently sitting here. Waiting.

In due time.

Tired of these "Love" songs

2008-03-10T08:50:00.003-05:00

I woke up this morning tired as hell...with a big cheeseball grin.

Threw Big Tee Tee a b-day shindig to welcome him to the dirty thirties. And boy was a time had. So, no 5 am gym for me today--just couldn't find the energy (*Cheese*).

Thanks to Ms. Erykah's new joints got me out the door and to the job this AM. Calling folk to action!

Now, hold up, let me warn you, if you are looking for straight up R and B love songs about things like "let me see you naked." or "girl clap that", or songs about baby daddiesmamasmamas drama--this ain't for you.

Sorry--maybe on the next learning curve.

No. Not I.

2008-03-05T09:50:00.003-05:00

I am appalled. We knew he wouldn't win Ohio--and that Texas would be close--and the results did not lie. Of course, he was down by nearly 20 points in each state nearly two weeks ago, and even though the margin was much smaller, a loss is a loss--especially to HRC.

Now she is claiming states that don't count--Michigan and Florida. She is talking about him being her VP--like all the sudden she swept 14 states or some shit. And she keeps trying to invoke the fears of the American folk-particularly families.

But I will not vote for her. Ever. I voted for her in the senatorial election, even though it did not sit right with me that the only reason she and her Husband moved to NY was so that she could run for this office. She's been a decent senator, though she has largely not done what she promised to do for upstate NY. And honestly, her second win was because there was not one viable candidate to run against her.

But I will never vote for her. I will not support her. I have had enough of this fear-mongering, under the radar race-baiting that HRC seems to be so proud of.

She has stooped so low, that she might as well ask Karl Rove to be her running mate.

And is she delusional? Does she really think, BO will accept a VP post with her? Like he's some puppy dog that needs a new owner! Um, he might be diplomatic and gracious--but he ain't no fool.

I don't know what I am going to do, but I know one thing. I will not cast my vote in November for her. Period.

My Mama Ain't Speaking to Me

2008-02-28T22:40:00.009-05:00

I got in a BIG fight with my mom. Over Barrack. That's right. I got in a fight with my mama over Barrack and she went all Joan Crawford on me.

See, Im voting for Barrack. And, to my surprise (Well, now that I think about it, not really.) Mi Madre is all about Hil. And what set this ball in motion was an email I sent. Clearly she shouldn't have been on the list. Clearly, I forgot who she was.

It all started when she brought up the email I sent concerning Tavis' Smiley's rant about Barrack not coming to his forum in Louisiana.

In a nutshell, my mother's thoughts about the issue and more broadly, Barrack, was this:

He should have gone. He's been avoiding black political social circles--to show he's not black--shoot even Bush went to the NAACP last year. Black folks always drinking the koolaid. The Clinton's have done so much for black folk and now we turn our backs on them-after professing love for so long. The man is short on experience and he voted present more times then he actually voted. He was not doing his job."

She talked over me the whole time--like we was on Jerry Springer. As far as she was concerned, I didn't know what the hell I was (trying) to talk about.

She's my mama. And I love her to death. But, um, that whole argument was flawed to put it nicely. And she ain't about to let you ever suggest that someone else's view might make some sense too.

She actually said I was drinking the koolaid, and one thing I don't do is drink a muuufuuca's koolaid. Im bright enough and savvy enough to do the research to make an educated opinion. I ain't fainting at nobody's rallies. And surely ain't hitching to no bandwagons without feeling comfortable with the driver

So, I'ma go ahead and pick it apart like I did that ign'ant women in the store who looked me in my face yesterday and told me I was voting for Barrack because he's "a brother." And admittedly, partially to make sure I still am who I say I am (and only a mother could make you question that, lol)

Lets start with Tavis. The brother's cool sometimes, but lately he needs to bring it down about 10 notches. You cannot single Barrack out, but not say one word about the fact that the other three candidates you invited said no. Tavis should know just as well as anyone born in black skin that if you want to win a national election in a country where race still very much matters--doing anything that the media can construe as making you "the black candidate", means "Don Pardo, please tell our guests about his consolation prize."

Second, that koolaid shit might fly, if Barrack hadn't achieved broad based support. If folks who never voted, never donated to a campaign, never volunteered hadn't decided to be civically active in this arena. We ain't talking just about bumper stickers and signs here. We are talking about volunteering precious free time. Calling folks who may very well hang up on you. And giving away money that could buy your kid another pair of shoes or put gas in your car so you can get to work. I'd say, in this apathetic ass country, it would take a whole lot a koolaid--the red kind.

Third, (now remember what I said, I love my mama. Lord knows I do, but sometimes her passion throws reason out the window--particularly if you don't agree with her.) er', um, she clearly don't know much about the Hill or the Hil (and might be drinking some koolaid her self--the carpetbagger kind) There are so many issues that get voted on and reviewed that it would be nearly impossible to vote with some knowledge on every nitpicky bill or motion that popped. Senator Clinton had quite a few "present" votes as well. Second, um, the bills that Senator Obama co sponsored--a number across the aisle with other Republican Senators--significantly outnumber Senator Clinton's. So what you saying?

Lastly, what does experience have to do with this? Experience, has put us where we are right now. And if I remember correctly, JFK is somebody my mother admired greatly. He didn't have a whole rack of experience before he ran and successfully captured the presidency. And as Pop said, (He who recently got lambasted by her as well) this country was built by a bunch of men with no governing experience. They kicked Britain's behind and declared themselves an independent nation. Seems to me, drive, vision, and the ability to lead, might be able to get a lot more than a policy wonk with a history of being divisive ever could in the highest national office.

And don't get me started on that "What the Clinton's did for Black folk" bull. That's a whole 'nother post.

Now I'm risking homemade Ziti and sour cream pound cake on the next visit, but so be it...

If wanting to see someone who works to appeal to the common needs of all folks in this country, who believes the only way to effect change is to reach across the aisle to those who we are supposed to hate, who brings a message of Hope to the masses, and has developed one of the biggest bottom up campaigns in the history of this country is drinking the koolaid, then in the immortal words of Senator Clay Davis...

SHEEEEEEEEIIIIITTTTTT, Gimme a Bigger Cup! cause I'ma go ahead and wear the red koolaid stain on my shirt like it belongs there, dammit.

Dear Ohio...

2008-02-28T11:10:00.003-05:00

I was born of you and from you. And even though I grew up on the east coast--my Midwest roots color everything I do. I chose my career path because my grandfather told many stories of your greatness--prior to the decline of manufacturing--and of your greatness--largely ignored during the worst of times. I spend alot of energy defending your virtue against the naysayers--of which you know there are alot.

We pull ourselves up by our bootstraps and keep it moving. When we don't have bootstraps we push as hard as we can through the heels of our worn to the bone shoes and stand up straight and keep it moving.

We don't give up.
We are weary and cautious about folks from either coast who always seem to talk like they know us--though have never been, visited, or lived where we reside. Nor do they care to be aware of how much we have accomplished with so little--despite foreclosure, massive job loss, failing school systems, and if you were born in Northeast Ohio like me, miserable ass weather in the winter.

But lately, I am worried about you. Your drive is waning. Your faith is weary.

I say to you even though you are weary of slick suited fools from east and west coast megalopolis's--don't believe the hype. Don't let these same fools--carpetbaggers, folks who say they know better whats good for you better than you know.

Don't let us down this time. So many of us of have put our money and energy into this thing--many who never would have before. Don't discount that. Don't let some folks tell you that hoping and faith and the belief that we can all work together for the greater good is foolish.

Please. Feel free to hope this time. Think about all that has come your way via Washington, D.C. over the years. Job loss, foreclosure, corruption, no child left behind--that has left your children behind, sending your children disproportionately to Iraq. That's what experience has gotten you.

Perhaps you should be willing to try something else.

You guys have always had hope. Proceeded ahead despite of the bad times. You guys need hope again. You need to believe.

I hope you show your hope on March 4th.

Even if you don't, I love you anyway.

Tavis? Could you hush for like 5 minutes?

2008-02-25T13:39:00.003-05:00

This whole thing about Tavis Smiley calling out Barrack Obama for his declination to attend the State of the Black Union this week in New Orleans, is making me hot under the collar.

Sometimes, Tavis needs to put his agenda aside and be reasonable. Then again. He is supporting Senator Clinton.

Barrack has declined twice. Perhaps, it because the date this meeting is held has had bad timing two times. The first time it was when Senator Obama announced his candidacy. This time, it is a time when what is critical to Barrack's success is winning Ohio and Texas.

Tavis says Barrack is ignoring us and our issues. But every time I read about "our issues" concerning this country--the big ones are the same as everyone else's--Iraq, health care, the economy, and access to education. He is running for national office--not city council person. Plus, he was just in Louisiana for the primary there. Not his fault the meeting is held at a critical juncture in the campaign in which he needs to focus his energy elsewhere.

Perhaps, the compromise could have been attending briefly via satellite and sending my favorite Michelle in person? I don't know.

What I do know is that Tavis needs to back off.

A lot of the time, me and Mr. Smiley are on the same page. But I agree with Roland Martin this time.

When in Newark, don't leave your car on the street.

2008-02-22T11:23:00.004-05:00

Earlier this week, my car was nearly stolen from in front of the Pentecostal Church down the block from my S.O's house in Newark, NJ. Did I mention, that it was in broad daylight?

I am the 5th victim of this crime within 6 degrees of separation. My boyfriend's car was stolen within 10 minutes of him being in the Bodega. They found it a week later--half of it that is. The engine was gone, as were the front seats, the headlights, the radio--and my snow boots. Two days later, a friend of ours was badly injured when the driver of a stolen car ran a red light and slammed into her totalling her car. Neighbor's car stolen and recovered twice. Another friend, stolen, totalled, and during the theft a pedestrian was seriously injured.

Newark is unsaveable.

And its not because I got my car stolen. And its not because city also has a high murder rate, unemployment rate, and drop out rate amongst other challenges just like most large urban environments. Sheeeeeit, Bawduhmore has a heron problem and I live there and love it.

Its unsaveable because of its unnerving sense of apathy. I have never seen so much apathy, selfishness, and unfathomable belief that in order for Newark to "keep it real", its gotta "keep it Gangsta" in my life. In every city I have ever lived there is still a critical mass of folks give a shit. They move fast enough and loud enough to mute the apathy. Not so here. who Al you gotta do is sit in a beauty salon, barber shop or stand in line at the grocery to know that for every citizen who is sick of the crime and dirt, there is at least three times as much apathy apathy about trying to do something about it.

I believe that cities like Baltimore, Cleveland and Philly-- hard hit by riots, the dispersion of manufacturing jobs, and the decline of the school system--can still be rebuilt, reinvented, and reinvigorated. Though it has not been wholesale, there are large pockets of thoughtful planning and development going on all over these towns.

Not so much in Newark. A couple big luxury towers next door to Penn Station does that not make especially compared to the monstrous three family brick structures going up everywhere--thanks to former Mayor James' land give away to those who he favored.

What about Cory Booker--young, bright, full of energy, and beat the pants off a mayor who tried every dirty trick in the book to keep him from office? Well, folks are ready to set him out to pasture. His honesty about the budget, his attempts to bring in some young vibrant talent to overhaul city hall, his block by block approach to drug dealing and drug related murders, have not been good enough for the masses. They thought he would change it overnight--or at least build some more community centers or other public works named after the former mayor.

At one time, I believed that Newark was just like Cleveland--and it is in someways. After Mayor Booker got elected I badly wanted to work for him. I got offered a job working for the Deputy Mayor for Economic and Community Development. And after thinking about it I just couldn't do it. After really deciphering how the woman who was heading the department felt about the task, it seemed like a suicide mission.

Perhaps, I am just as bad.

Giving it Up

2008-02-14T12:24:00.012-05:00

My mama is Baptist. My daddy is Methodist. I learned how to sing in the Baptist church. I learned the classical versions of Negro spirituals in the Methodist Church. I questioned the validity of all those ladies hopping about at Baptist revival, and wondered why the Methodist Church had so many traditions similar to that of the Catholic Church--the lighting of certain candles, the ceremonious end to service in addition to the uncanny ability to sometimes put you to sleep during Sunday service.

All of that adds up to me being a Baptist with a penchant for Methodist traditions. Hence, the reason I try to practice Lent.

For Lent, the idea is sacrifice. In Catholicism you are to give up something for the lenten season--it is a very big part of it. In the Methodist Church it is more like encouraged--in the form of the Lenten Offering--an increasing sum of cash from Ash Wedenesday to Holy Friday (starting off at a $.25) and obligatory giving up of meat on Fridays. (It might be Grandfathers fried Catfish and Snapper that really makes me try.)

I try to practice it. Enevitably I forget. Like last year, I gave up French Fries and a week in someone gave me a GC to Pomme Fritte in NYC LES. A terrible moment of weakness.

Yeah, didn't last.

But this year, I am giving up the Holy Grail of all foods to me. Making up for years of half-stepping. The one food I will never turn down if offered. The hamburger.

Some would say I have a mild obsession. And recently , I realized that is probably wholly accurate. So Im giving it up...

After dinner at the Prime Rib tonight.

The Ice Princess Cometh

2008-02-12T21:59:00.004-05:00

There is only so long the Senator could continue to hold together that Joker like grin before the angry competitor begins to show.

"The courtesy of conceding a primary or caucus loss — and then congratulating your opponent — is by no means required. But it has become standard practice during campaign season." (courtesy:CNN) She gives the finger from across the field.

Way to go, sport.

There's More to Life than Hip-Hop and R & B Joints

2008-02-11T17:00:00.000-05:00

Every once and awhile the Grammy voters make me proud. Last night, they didn't pick the normal pop, rock, or R and B most popularly played on the radio record. They did something different.

Hence, Mr. Hancock's win.

Its only the second time in Grammy history that a "jazz" album (more pop compilation with Jazz roots then jazz) has won this prestigious award.

So in honore of BHM,Jazz music, and a "Jazz" album win in the Best Album category, check out These 8 Chicago Brothers (7 blood 1 not)

These cats have been on my list of "never take out of the changer" since 2006. And if you live in NYC and pass through Union Square you might get lucky and hear their funk, hip-hop inspired music. If you are so lucky, buy a record while you are at it--'cause you can't get it at the store.

And if not, check out their myspace page, where you can order one.

Keep dancin'.

Got Credit?

2008-02-08T16:16:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, it became apparent to me, that as much as I would like to say my "credit crisis" is over it is not. I financed part of my college education on credit cards. I got medical bills that seem to randomly keep popping up--years after they were incurred and presumably paid in the most part by insurance. And it frustrates me.

Digging all the way out seems impossible.

I have paid off a lot of stuff--and I was never one of those people with 15, 20. 30k in debt. But the little bit I have had, thanks to moving and 911 and contracts being canceled, has put me on the roller coaster of decent credit/ damn its about to get ugly credit.

I'm tired. And it depresses me. And it doesn't help that I hear other folks talk about their own credit and it reminds me that though I have come along, the hole is still their and my one foot is still in it.

My plan was to be debt free(except student loans--Imma have them puppies till Im damn near dead.) by Spring. Naw sucha thang.

Try my next January.

Film at 11

2008-02-08T10:44:00.000-05:00

So, my defacto life coach wrote this post today regard Richard Corliss' article in Time Magazine about what he believes to be the top 25 most influential movies on Race.

Like my Coach, maybe he should have taken a poll or something first. Possibly asked around a bit. Maybe consulted black friends. (Okay, that was a little low.)

Rather than jack my homeboy's idea. Well, I am biting a little... I'ma give you a few that I think should be on the list--not in any particular order

Here ya go:

Claudine

The Color Purple

Jungle Fever

Do the Right Thing

A Time to Kill

Rosewood

Glory

Hollywood Shuffle

And please, tell me what you think should (for that matter) should not, be on the list

Calm Down, Killa

2008-02-06T16:19:00.000-05:00

This Long Distance relationship shit plays tricks on your mind and your self-esteem. If I was still living in NYC, the sick-to-my-stomach, nervous feeling I just got would not have happened.

If he called me up and told me that a woman we both know worked in the same building and they had lunch, I woulda been like "Word. That's hot.", but when he told me today, that heifer named"Jealousy" jumped up and punched me dead in the gut.

I kicked her where the sun don't shine and managed not to send the snippy response I wanted to send. But who knows what'll happen next time. Pray for me, y'all.

Translation

2008-02-05T09:35:00.000-05:00

Lately, no matter what I say or how I say it, it doesn't seem to be coming out right. Confusion bordering on anger is what I seem to get in return. I don't know how to fix it. And I am not very good at leaving things be.

It seems my communication skills are on the blink. I would say the same for the reciever. Lately, whatever I say comes out incomprehensible. And the responses seem as foriegn to me as sanskrit. Like we are no longer who we say we are and have been replaced.

And its a problem. So much a problem, that over the last three weeks, it seems like like we are on the verge of a big fallout. Like the ones you can't recover from--at least not in the immediate future.

A couple of times. We have stepped away, limited communication, and on the rebound, it all makes sense.

I'm hoping it works that way this time around.

Keeping Things Correct

2008-01-23T17:11:00.000-05:00

This is my blog. For all intents and purposes, though I try to make things titillating for the few special souls who read it, first and foremost its for me to say whats on my mind. As you can imagine, I have a lot to say. And from what I can tell, the same is true for most of the people I have become acquainted, in some cases, growing friends with.

But after I wrote this post, I been holding back on saying what I want to say. Funny thing is, I would put this post up there with one of my better joints. But the man who was the subject of the post? Well, he felt otherwise. We had some beef for a minute over this one. Particularly, after an email he sent in response.

But at the end of the day, its my blog and I feel I should be able to express myself in a free (and responsible) way.

So here goes. I'm pretty pissed right now. OK, perhaps pissed is not the right word. More like resigned and don't really care about talking to him--my significant other that is. We live a good distance from each other now, and after this past weekend, I really don't have much to say. Hadn't seen him in more than 2 weeks. I knew he was tired so I expected after chilling and sleeping all day on Saturday, we would have some quality time on Sunday. Nope. Got dissed. Monday, got a little lunch and then homeboy slept 3/4's of our last couple hours together.

Maybe I am wrong. Maybe I am overreacting. I get that whole being in the same place with someone is spending time--in some instances. And no I didn't sit around moping cause the muuufuuca was sleep (but he got the evil eye and the nearly silent treatment by time Sunday evening rolled around) Yes, I went about my business. I went to see the Reverend Dr. Jeremiah Wright at Rankin Chapel. I went to my sorority meeting. I went and had lunch with a friend. But at the end of the weekend--of which he sat on the couch( or the chair; or the bed; or the chaise) damn near the whole time, I can't help but ask an incendiary question...

WHAT THE HELL PURPOSE WAS IT TO COME DOWN TO "see me" IF ALL HE WANTED TO DO WAS SLEEP?!!

Scoring a Teacher

2008-01-22T14:00:00.000-05:00

At the beginning of the New York City Public School academic year, NYC Ed implemented a complicated satistical analysis system to rate the worth of a teacher based on a student's performance on standardized tests.

When are the purveyors of these policies both locally and the federal level, going to recognize that making good teaching be measured by standardized score results is more like comparing apples and monkeys than apples and apples?

America falls further and further behind in educational achievement and attainment across the board--from middle to poor. Learning how to repeat and memorize information does not nurture critical thinking--the bedrock for innovative approaches to problem solving. Our ideas keep being more efficiently duplicated and improved upon abroad rather than here. LBJ had it right with the Westinghouse scholarships and other programs to encourage youth to pursue science and math. W

Why don't they just tell us that they want to flush the public education system down the toliet and stop playing with our emotions over continuously stupid initiatives that cannot and will not address the bigger macro problems with the public education system (including my favorite issue--eroding parental involvement and increasing responsibilities for teachers to play babysitter and disciplinarian.)

Argh! And my daddy wants to retire and be a school teacher. What in the hell was he thinking!?

Fuggin' it Up

2008-01-14T22:41:00.000-05:00

I love the emotionally unavailable man. Brothers with all the goods--but none of the ability to be emotionally available. They are usually smart, witty, good looking, gainfully employed with good credit, love they mamas--and have abandonment issues of one sort or another.

The last one I let take me on a 7 year roller coaster. I said I would never write about it. But after the "Slish"ster asked me about my tendency to undo a good thing especially as it relates to my current s.o, I thought I might as well do it.

**wavy dream scene takes you back to Spring 1999**

I was standing on the Fulton Street subway platform, with my big ass head phones listen to the Love Jones soundtrack after anothe back breaking day earning tution slinging pizzas and beer on the Seaport, when it happened. I knew he was the one. Dude had this goofy but sweet country ass way about him. We worked together. But I had never really said more than a couple of sentences to him. Wasn't my type. At least at the time. I was all about Brooklyn boys. He was the whitest frat boy black man I had ever laid eyes on. But standing on that platform that night, trading my Love Jones for his Aquemini, we bonded.

After that meeting of the minds, I started hanging with the restaurant crew--which means I was a part of a living breathing daily soap opera--full of who's sleeping with who, who passed out on the ferry and didn't make it home till five, who was so and so's real baby daddy. Drinking after work. Having a blast.

Drunkeness led to loose lips one night and some chick told Country that I wanted to "blow his back out." And cool flirting turned to damn near unbearable sexual tension. Summer rolled on. And the rule became that we were "just kicking it, she's not my girlfriend or nothing." (wonder what movie that's from?) His roommates became my boys. Debauchery in full swing.

Summer ended with three weeks till my new fellowship and new place would be ready. He said come stay with him until my place was ready. The new place was pretty much a closet in an insane asylum. Temporary became damn near permanent.

Let the games begin.

For two years we lived together. But were never together. We had two damn near knock down fights over chicks he was fucking, dudes he thought I was fucking (was not), and the "come close now go far away" crap that he used to pull. Whenever we got too close he pushed me as hard as he could, including the one time he said to me regarding the possibility of the death of my first love, that "everybody dies get over it." which turned into people's shit getting put in plastic bags and put on the street in a snow storm.

Eventually, we both moved...to D.C. I said I was going and the next thing I knew he was going to, of course telling everyone including his Mama that I was following him.

Another 3 years of "kicking it". Always the same. I would move on to an emotionally available (actually needy was more like it) man during one of our many hiatus' and he would come back and I would fall for the ...hook line and sinker.

The day I decided to cut that shit out, he comes with the "lets do this...as a three month trial." and I fell for it.

One car wreck that damn near killed me and a fat white girl later, we stopped talking. I went on the celibacy road for nearly two years. And lots of shit became clear as day. Including the fact that I must have been crazy as cat shit. Boy, my friends must love me, cause they listened to me pine away about it forever.

NYC saved me. Going back to school saved me. Not being able to reach out and touch that fool saved me. Growing the hell up saved me. I stopped falling for the traps--though I did fall in once or twice right before the decision to be celibate.

See, I got clarity. And the moment after it my mind and sense so clear I met Big T.

And I been trying to fuck it up ever since. He's cute, strong, witty, sensitive, ambitious, damn good in bed and guess what? Emotionally available as hell and patient with a slightly type A personality like me.

So what's the problem? Fear and lack of control.That's what its always been.

I'm working on it.

Mr. Johnson? Please shut up.

2008-01-13T22:20:00.000-05:00

I immensely dislike you, Bob Johnson. I mean don't get me wrong. I respect your business savvy, after all you created BET. And back in the day, your station connected me to hip hop and black culture in away I could not get in my 95% exurban community--particularly when rabbit ears were having hard time picking up 98.7 Kiss down in the City.

But over the years BET became a cess pool of 'ignant shit. You've been a cheap bastard when it comes to making your NBA franchise some contenders. And after meeting and speaking with your wife on a panel regarding philanthropy in the 21st Century, and the stupid shit she said about saving children and giving her money to the poor, unfortunate children in Fairfax and Loudon County VA, two of the most well off public school systems in the nation, my dislike for you makes me wonder where your real motivation lies.

Personally, I think your more Clay Davis and less Stan O'Neill. Its all about them dollars.

And now here you come with this foolishness...

The controversy over what Ms. Clinton meant by her remark regarding Dr. King and John F. Kennedy were not taken out of context. She simply didn't think through how it was said. The whole thing has been fanned into flames by the media. Not Mr. Obama's camp. Many heard the remarks, including Donna Brazille, former campaign advisor to the Clinton administration, and in Ms. Brazille's words "it's unfortunate...I'm disheartened." to put it nicely. The way it came out may not be the way she meant it, but once things are said sometimes its hard to rescind and get folks to forget.

And speaking of people saying stupid shit that offends you, Mr. Johnson, it was you who said something about "...while he was down in the neighborhood doing whatever he did.", which was then construed to be a direct attack on Mr. Obama's admittance to some small experimental drug use when he was in college, when you were down in SC talking about how "appalled" you were.

Thanks for using you black card again--how convenient.

Bob Johnson, you ain't Oprah. Perhaps, people ooh and ahh at you once in awhile, but Oprah you aint. And your lack of elegance shone through brightly while speaking on behalf of Mrs. Clinton. Im glad you got your latest 15 minutes.

But Like I said. You aint no Oprah

I'm voting for Obama, dammit!

2008-01-10T10:44:00.000-05:00

Okay, so at the beginning of this whole thing I was one of those "I don't know who I am voting for." folks. I initially felt like after one term in the US Senate that Mr. Obama was going to be in over his head. I thought to myself, Hil has legacy, she has been a relatively great Senator for the state of NY, and lawd knows the woman is smart as hell. But then I remembered the Democratic convention speech that Mr. Obama delivered. And how it moved me in such a way that I started calling all of my friends around the country and blathering on about hope and saving the nation. I sent video versions of the damn thing everywhere. It brought me back to a time when I was obsessed with the history of US politics--begging my grandfather and father to tell me about hearing John F. Kennedy deliver his inaugural speech. Or my great grandmother talking about FDR during the Great Depression. I felt nothing but inspiration from the stories they told. Obama invoked the same.

To me the greatest leaders have been visionaries--not necessarily super detail orientated. They have the fresh ideas and an understanding at a macro level of what said ideas mean and there consequences. They surround themselves with smart, engaged , detail orientated people who can implement them. One just need to look at local politics in certain US cities to see what a strong visionary can do. Patrick O'Malley of Baltimore, Richard Daley of Chicago, Mr. Bloomberg of the great city of NY (now if he were running, I might have to...) Yes, there were forces that helped them in their missions, but they have showed strong leadership, significant intelligence, and have surrounded themselves with the best and the brightest, and have inspired millions to stay in the city, reinvest, and in many cases rebuild. I believe that Mr. Obama can do the same for a nation.

To me Hilary is showing that she is simply apart of the political machine that has run politics for what seems like forever. After all that crap about fair competition and not stooping to the level of negative retorts she went straight Karl Rove. I think Americans are tired of that crap.

The world as we know it has been so doom and gloom since 911. Its time to stop rolling out the dead bodies to keep us so fearful of everything and everybody so that we give up all of the freedoms we have been blessed with as Americans.

And please stop rolling out these old civil rights leaders who have not adapted their approach to fighting the good fight since 1971. I WILL NOT be scared into voting for someone just because the other might lose--shit Hilary's got her own set of enemies across this country and they might outnumber those against Mr. Obama. Then what?

I'm keeping hope alive and believing in Obama.

Committed

2008-01-04T14:53:00.000-05:00

So I did it. I been rocking "le puff" for more than five years. And now it is on its way to locking. I been on the fence about it for 2 years, but upon the big move to B'more I decided fuck it.

The hair tour has been an interesting one. Shoot, I remember the day I decided to let my perm go like it was yesterday. Hair crisis #4081 on the morning of a little hookie event with my big headed brother from another mother, DP. I had just moved to the District, and had finally moved up off my cousin's couch out in "planned community", VA. No money to set the hair straight. Particularly weary of spending my last few dollars on them chicks who made my hair way too poofy (thats the way when you got so much hair, they want to charge you extra.) So I tried to blow dry it, pin it, plait it. A mess.

I came out the bathroom in tears. Hair washed for the third time, and big D, doing that shifting from one foot to the other thing, was lecturing me about time or something. I explain the crisis and he simply looks at me and says, "why don't you wear it like that?" Simple. Plain. Goes back to watch the tele. I look in the mirror at the semi-wavy curly thing and say, "fuck it". Thats all she wrote.

I guess locing is my latest "fuck it" moment. Honestly, all of my moments have worked our well, so I'm not worried. Its gonna be a minute, the wavy straightness on the edges and the thickness in the middle means I gotta go get it palm rolled every two weeks or its starts to unravel and we have hot mess time. But I must say, Im digging my new profile.

I do miss the fro', but Lawd knows it was hard to comb!

How's that Working Out for You?

2008-01-03T09:38:00.000-05:00

People been asking me alot lately how I like my new gig. My response to the question has shocked and surprised me. I think I am finally a grown up.

I knew when I took this gig that in someways it would be a lateral move--not money wise but title/duty wise. I know its only been a month--and the technical savvy that I continue to hone will be useful--I need to manage people, projects, and travel a bit. But the good thing I can say is that I am not in panic to roll out this time. With it being just a job, if gives me time to put into my own shit. I just know that by mid-2009 I gotta be moving on to the next opportunity. Its time for me to do me.

So, I guess this post will also serve as my annual "What I'm going to get done" this year post. In doing so, that means I gotta look back on the list of what I was supposed to do in 07. How convenient.

1) I'm still going to go to law school. For some reason, folks think I have been in school for ever. Maybe because for 8 years I talked about going back to grad. But just to set the record straight, I have not been in school forever--I took an 8 year break, damn it.

Why law school? More choices. Having a legal background, if you want to be a developer can do nothing but help. And if I become lazy, I'm going settlement attorney--9-5 and a good 6 figs a year. (and do my own development on the side)

2) Get my finances in great working order so I can buy some real estate.

My favorite white man suggested I make my own living quarters my first project. My objective is to buy a boarded up 2 or three unit--and rehab the hell out of it. That shouldn't be a problem finding in B'more.

3) Lose at least 15lbs.

I swear, for the last two years I have had this goal. Was doing pretty good while in school--but then the stress of life with idiot roommates, crappy paying jobs, compounded with the daily dose of living in NY metro--I plateued.

4) Be a better girlfriend.

Um, I'm mean and evil. I get it from--well you know. I don't know why, but I just feel this need to pick on him sometimes. Im vying to not do that shit this year. Cause as sweet, and kind, and teddy bearish as he is, he is also no punk--and I am sure I will get the cuss out if I keep it up. Why crap on a good thing, ya' know?

Tis' The Season

2007-12-28T10:25:00.000-05:00

...to have a muuufuucin heart attack if you are a Browns fan. The Cardiac Kids ride again. All they had to do was win. I knew when Derek Anderson wasn't smiling that we were in trouble. But even in the end we still had a chance after being down by nearly 2 touchdowns the whole game. Now a whole confluence of crap has to happen--like Tennessee losing--and we still have to win against my man's 9'ers (they got nothing to live for so I imagine they will be gunning for us)

But tis' also the season, to start thinking about goals and crap for 08'...

I'll get back to you.

And Here's to You Too

2007-12-21T10:44:00.000-05:00

You saved my life. DP helped me identify the dream, but you homie, you saved my life. It was a dark time for me. And it was your constant demand that I get up, that saved me. But it was very difficult for me to know that you would ever think that I would play you for the bending over backwards you did for me. But I get it, because I get you. You feel me?

Our friendship is a spiritual one. Our friendship is one that teeters on the edge of going too far. It is a rare type of friendship that is hard to find...kinda like true love. I think it happens once--maybe twice. And if and when it does, you gotta have the patience and the drive to make it keep working. That is us. From our first conversation on the front stoop of my first apartment by myself, I knew we would be friends for a lifetime. I don't see that changing. I didn't even see it changing, when were both angry and resentful of the other.

All I can really say, is I am glad that in 2007 are wits came about us. Here we are again, having meaningful conversations. Understanding whats going on in the head of the other just because we are that connected.

In the end we both know that too far--might be just that. But I value you more than you can ever know. And I look forward to the day when you find the one for you--the one you can trust with all of your heart. The one who is not only your road dawg, but the love your life. I'm looking forward to couple dinners and watching our respective rugrats play together. And I am especially looking forward to continuing to be friends the way we were before.

Ain't No Mistakin'

2007-12-17T09:34:00.000-05:00

I vehemently defend it. I get upset whenever someone says that stupid "mistake by the lake" crap--though not as angry as I used to. I have learned to count to 10 before I respond. And as a Cleveland Browns fan, I have learned to take the gut punches from NY sports fans in particular, with a stoic rather than "ready to whoop some ass" face.

Somebody owes my ass $150.

I bet that the Browns would go at least 8-8. Those fuckers are 9-5! What! Who thought it could be possible. I mean after they traded Charlie Frye within 24 hours of the first game and named Derek Anderson the starter--a man who started 5 games last year and threw way more interceptions than touchdowns--I was ready to renounce my birth city and go NY sports all the way.

But alas--he got out there and looked like he was tossing around the pigskin in the front yard. Even still, playoff dreams seemed a long way off.

But here we are. The defense has been iffy and Mr. Anderson has not been consistent at some stages, but yet here we are on the cusp of the playoffs. And if the stars weren't already aligned enough--The Steelers lost to the Jags. Perhaps, one of God's right hand angels, is a Browns fan?

But, I'm hopeful. Not stupid. We still have a ways to go--and one of those ways is through the Steelers. And all Brownies fans know what happened last time we went up against them in the playoffs.

But seeing is "Believe-land".

Grateful

2007-12-07T11:56:00.000-05:00

God puts people in your life, your way, your line of sight for a reason. I know this in my heart and soul. I have documented the many times in my head that it has happened, and been amazed at the opportunities that have arisen in some seemingly stressful moments. And in my case some seemingly over-analytical moments.

Last night, I met the OG-my good friends closest girlfriend coming up--from pacifers to PBR. I have heard many a story about the woman over the years and watched the far away look in my girl's eyes everytime she started to wonder why one day OG straight walked out of her life. Being the type that doesn't let folks back in, I was happy to hear that she and the OG were kicking it again.

After I met her, I could see why they were so close. It's hard to sit around and listen to stories about old times that are way funnier to those who where there than to you, the newbie to the group. But, as I listened I completely understood there bond and became endeared with the OG (she deemed me the New G so there it is)who point-blank told me that "we are girls now, like it or not." and it didn't even bother me. She has a big loving heart. Freely admits her errors in judgement, and I think has enough love to help my girl dissipate the hard shell of bitterness that is engulfing her spirit.

While I am happy about all of that, what I am grateful for is that last night, she was the person, who knowing me only for a couple hours over Bourbon and Beer, told me all of what I needed to hear and be reminded of.

Of what she said, what she told me about love was the most daunting. It brought me full circle to a conversation I had with SoWise on Monday. The need to let go of my ultimate defense mechanism. She took my hand, looked me in the eye and said, "T is a good, supportive man, who absolutely and totally believes and has faith in you. But, your doubts and nitpicking will destroy it."

When she said that, it jolted the memory of how it felt when he was here last weekend. Boy, don't you know when that man left my house and went back up top, I couldn't sleep, I cried, and I listened to all the sad joints on Alicia Key's latest record. I knew then that I don't ever want him to go. It was the first time that I realized how mean and evil I could be, and how at some point he might just say "to hell with it". But when the OG put it like that, it confirmed for me that I need to "cut the bullshit, ASAP".

In the end, she said much of what I already knew, but the way she put it jolted a need for action. So, we'll see how I play without my defense.

Sick

2007-11-19T11:30:00.000-05:00

So, I picked Bmore. I spent a couple weekends driving around, as I did with much curiosity when I lived in DC 5 years ago. I was curious then and now because it is admittedly an interesting site on the 95 ascent back up North to NYC. Only 30-45 minute north of DC is a place so different that it almost seems like another planet. In Charm City, the people are more down to earth as well as is the cost of living. And though I could have moved back to DC, the ideas was to not have to pay an arm to live alone--with only a little more space than I had in my room and a half in NYC metro. So, no time like the present to turn that curiosity into full blown exploration.

It also helps that the pay offer at the new gig is substantially larger than what I was making up top.

But, Lawd knows I have many moments when I want to go home. My first day of work, I damn near cried in the parking lot. An 18 mile commute that took 48 minutes. A three floor house with just me in it and is making hard to sleep at night--after a week of having a house full of folk there to help me with my transisition. The $3.27/gallon gas that my new car takes. I been ready for the funny farm on and off for the last couple of weeks.

Then add in the great Mommy Soliloquy. The conversations my mother forces me to have with her when something is clearly wrong with me. They always happen when all I want to do is crawl up on the couch(floor) and be left alone. And it always ends with her saying something that is surprising and/or true. This time, my mother says to me, after I have packed my little bit of shit, and driven up and down 95 4 times to a) find a place and b) move my little bit of shit, that NYC is the best fit for me. Thanks Ma.

Don't get me wrong. I love my crib. Its so nice to not have roommates and lots of space for once. I love my neighborhood. Its gritty, kitchy, hipster, and convenient all at the same time. But NYC it aint.

And I should stop my bitching--because it is basically what I prayed for.
No roommates, no crappy "unique/quaint" (straight dumps) real estate digs in odd parts of town, much more money.

I been trying to say that I miss the ability to take public trans, cop a pattie from a million spots around town, buy pashmina in 10,000 colors on any Manhattan street corner, but what really blows is the absence of my "Lover"

Good Goodness, I miss my man damn it. See I can admit it.

Soul Brotha #1

2007-11-02T22:39:00.000-05:00

Last night, I watched it. The most anticipated movie as of late. American Gangsta. And I was actually more interested in the commentary of the people I watched it with then the actually movie itself. Don't get me wrong. I did watch the movie. I enjoyed the 70's movement of the caracters with the Mid 90's thrill of gangster flicks like my personal favorite, Goodfellas. But more than likely I am going to have to watch it again --and pay more attention.

I watched the film in a sneek preview.(See one of the greatest things about NYC is knowing somebody, who knows somebody in the film business.) Much more intimate than the first showing of a flick at a regular theatre. And what you overhear could makes its own drama. And for overanalytic me, a documentary.

The cats watching the film with me clearly had lived their lives looking up to dudes like Mr. Lucas. They named off the different characters--the high rollers and what "market" they functioned/ruled. They alluded to minor yet similarly comparable experiences in the streets around their way.

I never idolized gangstas growing up. I mean my father, Grandfather, and Uncles and various and a sundry older male cousins talked about them but in the context of how much more accomplised and successful they could have been if they had the opportunity--if Vietnam and the riots of the 60's didn't come on the near exaspiration of hope for the souls and success of black folks post slavery. To them, the life of gangsta was built two dyametrically opposed tenents--the hope of financial freedom and respect, and the idea that their lives will be short and dangerous.

To these cats, I am as foriegn as a young woman speaking to them in Farsi. I grew up in the suburbs. I always knew I would go to college. I always knew I would have a career. And I am a little too overanalytical for my own good. When we talk, I feel like I am speaking a foriegn language. And I wonder how so many young black men I know look at me just the same.

And once again, I look at integration compared to segregation and wonder how we got so far from the dream.

The Sky is Falling

2007-10-23T13:01:00.000-05:00

"So, is the landlord finally taking the drop ceiling down? Or did the sky just fall?" "Huh? I know he's supposed to do it. But not until this weekend." " Well there is a big pile of rubble on the floor and its all over your clothes."

Um...what!!!!! So I went home, with baited breath both to assess whether my roommate, who has a penchant for the over dramatic was, indeed, being over dramatic, or if the ceiling had indeed collapsed all over my meager belongings. I also needed to pack for my impending vacation.

And to my dismay/surprise, the drop ceiling tiles had partially collapsed on the floor and were exposing the sub floor of the apartment above me, and also exposed to me that the idiot who previously owned the house was a cheap and untalented handyman who put up the ceiling rather than hire someone to fix the damn plaster.

I climbed over the pile and went into the bedroom and collapsed on the bed and sobbed. Its bad enough my roommates are a pain but now this.

I picked myself up. Called the landlord. Gathered some stuff that I hope matched, and marched out the door.

Oh, Vacation, thank God for you!

Here's to You

2007-10-21T04:00:00.000-05:00

I met you again the other day. I was trying my hand at teaching a college level course...and there you were in the back of the class. Of course, it was not you. As a matter of fact, I have not actually laid eyes on you in at least three years. Though thanks to the wonders of the Internet--we connect. I run my fears by you and my ideas. I look for the shoring up of my ego that only you can provide in a big brother, tough love sort of way. Yes. We were together together once, but I think only long enough so we could be as close friends as we are now. But I digress. You. In the back of my class.

It was a night college class for non-traditional students. Adult learners, I think, is the term these days. It was a Hodgepodge of different kinds of students. Some very young and perhaps would feel more engaged in day classroom with younger students. Some were retirement age. All, however, were clearly trying to make it through college most of them for the first time and unsure if they could make it through to the end. You didn't fit the crowd. You clearly had been in college before. You probably went the first time not thinking about the job afterward as so many in college do these days. You went for the old school reason. The reason folks went on to higher learning back in the 60's --for the pursuit of knowledge and ideas.

Like I said. I know it wasn't you, but it was.

He reminded me of the conversations we used to have about school. About Harvard and Yale and how things sort of fell apart and you did not get to go. He reminded me of the slightly downtrodden and misty way you used to talk about not finishing. He also reminded me of the way you used to say you were going back but not with as much egoism as you said everything else--like you didn't quite think you would ever go. I remember thinking to myself "My. How smart he is? There is no reason for him to feel down on himself...he will go eventually and it will be the right time."

But it was not about your or his academic career that made me think about you/him in a wistful sort of way that evening. It was what you taught me about me. I learned so much with you back in the days when we were both fighting bouts of depression. You balancing precariously the family life which was irrevocably changed by your decision to be happy while also working to be the best father you could be. Me, attempting to break away from the past with a fresh start and accept my life in a new city. You taught me that I deserved more than the man I loved for so long in such a toxic way. You reminded me, in your tough love sort of way, that it is okay to expect the door to be opened for me, to let a man be a man, and to not feel like it is my job to fix what is clearly broken in the lives' of some of the men I had dated. We had fun. We did stuff. We did interesting, new, mentally, physically, and spiritually stimulating stuff. Not just drinking at the bar or at the crib. You taught me to demand more of others and myself. And then it self-destructed. But just as it was supposed to.

As I sat at the desk, while the class jotted down some ideas about their next assignment and shared the thoughts with fellow classmates, I thought about you and what a blessing you were back then and still are today. You never knew it, but you kept me off the ledge even as your ledge was crumbling.

Today we are thousands of miles away from then and in physical distance. But I remember and it was good. Today, you are in school, doing your thang. Earning credits for life experience. You are in a wonderful relationship with a wonderful lady. You are finally writing that book. You have come a long way. I have come a long way. We have come a long way.

Thanks in more ways than I can ever count.

Like We Couldn't See It Coming

2007-10-10T11:43:00.000-05:00

I lived in DC for nearly five years. And while I am no expert on DC life, as an outsider with a certain expertise on community development initiatives and a bent for urban living, I think I can rightfully say, that it is no surprise that African Americans in DC are losing influence as this article purports. Three top black brass have been removed? That's not a surprise. And I expect more of this type of thing to come. Of course question still remains how effective were these folks prior to their removal of course. After all DC's old school patronage system wreaks of corruption and perhaps this is an attempt to correct more of it. But there is some truth to the fear that native residents--particularly the black ones are losing out much like Harlem.

No doubt DC is still Chocolate City--but much less so. Before you know it, the District will have to change those "Taxation Without Representation" quotes on the license plates because the new clearly majority folks are not gonna have it. I get why so many black folks want to move to the suburbs. I imagine that growing up in the District when shit was rough--high crime rate, low to no property appreciation, city broke as hell--would make anyone want to move. But how can folks be mad about it, when in some ways folks just gave it up. Perhaps its the fact that when gentrification happens, the gentrifiers start looking at the native residents like they are the ones in foreign territory. Perhaps, the value of the city escapes them. I don't know. But in someways, the loss of African American influence can be attributed to the fact that the black middle class, in large part, chose to relocate.

In other ways, it is purely District government's lack of planning means by which the upending of social balance might play out. Under Anthony Williams, the District did a reprehensible job in terms of community development efforts to correct the social balances that gentrification can have in terms of displacing residents. NYC has many financing programs and has wielded its influence in development by creating legislation to make sure there is some balance to the economic changes that occur--to try to maintain some semblence of mixed income. The District has simply maintained the attitude "Let PG take as many folks as they want." Other than piece meal home ownership programs, the District has provided little assistance in terms of developing low and moderate income housing. The Fenty administration is too late to stem the tide in that respect.

Suffice to say, sooner than later Chocolate City will at the best be French Vanilla City.

Chose Your Own Adventure

2007-10-10T10:22:00.001-05:00

Monday, I was moving to Baltimore. Wednesday? I might be moving to the 'Nolia. You? Perplexed. Me? Seriously confused.

It all started when I started looking for jobs in community development finance outside of NYC. It has become apparent in my old age that my quality of life in NYC sucks--and probably always will. I want to be a home owner not an apartment owner. And here, as is probably pretty obvious, nothing short of 6 figures, or marriage to someone earning six figures, or accepting the fact that you will have roommates if you are single for the rest of your natural born life (okay maybe a little exaggeration here--but not much) will make your life easier.

I already left once before and went through 3 years of withdrawal. But then again DC is not an easy place to get used to--particularly since there is the ever looming ego and largess of its transplanted residents as well as the native born--because it is the home of the roots of US cockiness--the American Government. But I been back for two years and realize the relative ease (even with my past penchant for attracting drama) of life in the District spoiled me. And though I am doing NY better second time around--gotta go. I guess I won't get to live in Brooklyn after all.

I got offered a position for a financial intermediary half way between DC and B'more. Then I got offered the chance to be Director of Real Estate here in NYC for a non-profit. After getting over the prestige of the title of the last job and pondering the quality of life that I would have wearing 30 hats and commuting from JC to damn near the Bronx, I was ready to chose the job in MD. Even if it was a lateral move (and one should try to avoid those), it pays much better, I could live in B'more and next year buy a house (and a bulldog named Otis)and be close to the BF and my friends.

But then the night before I was to say yes, an email showed up from the same company--but on the non-profit side for a position I really wanted down South. And the confusion begins again. Definitely not a lateral move. We talking moving up to the East side on this one here.

No I have not officially been offered the 'Nolia job. Yes, I am worrying in advance. Its my way. Right now, the non-profit side is negotiating with the for-profit side to buy me sometime to finish the interview process and to make a decision on the for-profit position. The non-profit SVP called me at nearly 11 PM to ask me about speaking to HR today, and she told me they would have an answer for me by the end of the day.

Um, I guess its nice to be wanted.

Man! Get out my house!

2007-10-04T14:38:00.000-05:00

Okay, so listen. I love my chocolate people. I really do. But as my very good and sometimes sadiddy girlfriend says..."some of my people make me feel like I just cleaned my house from top to bottom and they came by and messed it up. Like family--you get mad but you can't do nothing about 'em."

Maaaaaan! Did that come across my mind this A.M?! I strolled into my local underground deli/liqour store on my way down into the train to grab a toasted bagel with egg and cheese and a little OJ to jump start the day. As usual, I have to tell the lady about 4 times that I would like my bagel toasted before she hears me. But no mind, its a hot Fall day, and by now I am used to it. Its always chaotic behind the register--and as a former restaurant "professionale" I feel her pain. This older brother is leaning up against the counter. Quite distinguished. Clearly works for NYC other finest--the MTA (we'd be screwed for real without 'em) and he is cha-chillin waiting for his sandwhich. He looks my way as I am gently trying to remind the lady that I would like my bagel toasted and smiles. I smile back and make a gesture like "what can you do?" Which he totally misreads. And all the sudden the man who appeared to be professional and courteous becomes the dirty old man.

He looks at me again and he says, "What's up? Why you looking at me that way?" "What way? I was just smiling.", I say, and I start to look away. Before I can fully turn my head, he says "Well, you never know. There is a possibility. Now you got me looking--more than I was before. You just let me know." Eeew.

Minding mine.

I walk up to the counter to pay for my purchase--and notice the big ass wedding ring on his finger as I overhear him say something to the woman behind me that is even more inappropriate. Double eew.

But then he becomes the crazy ass inappropriately angry dirty old brother.

The woman across the counter attempts to give the man his change from his order. She give's him back $1.50. And bruh man flips out. At first, its just with unneccessary impatience that he tell her he gave her a $10 and not a $5. So the woman asks the manager to run the tape and count the drawer. After this is done. The money is right. The lady tries very nicely to offer to recount--but now bruh man is hollering. " I didn't give you know $5 all I had was 3 $10's and $100 bill. I want my money." Screaming. Got his hand in the lady's face. The he starts using all kinds of muuhfuccka's at her. Called the woman a bitch. And she is steady trying to calm dude down. Then he flips the coffee that was on the window off on to the floor and splashes it on a police officer--nearly.

Now, bruh man calms down...somewhat. And the cop tells him to get over the $4.50 and get on his bus and go on. Now this dumb ass in the cops face.

As they hand me my bagel and OJ, I can't help but feel more angry then I should have at his behavior. Embarrassed like he was some kin to me or something. I wanted to cuss his tail out. That is what I wanted to do.

I simply walked the other way.

He

WTF?

2007-09-13T09:30:00.000-05:00

I woke in a fairly sunshiny mood this morning. And no one would ever say that I am a morning person. In general, my response to shiny "good mornings" is a series of gutteral grunts or complete silence. I was still reeling happily in the memory of yesterday. Had a little a make-up afternoon delight yesterday, met up with a girlfriend in the borough of Brooklyn for dinner and drinks, copped a new CD.
This morning started out well. Even though at 1 AM I was scurring trying to set up a conference call that no one seemed to want to tell me who should be on the call and at what time until after the close of business.

Up and out the door early, coffee and heart-to-heart with my favorite retired banker, mentor, and surrogate grandmother. Then it hit me that I would need to deal with that 1 AM email again.

And then the day started to unravel. First, my admin was MIA. So the request to set up the conference call had not been fullfilled at 9:25 this morning. I spent 22 minutes trying to figure out who in the office could either set the call up or give me the information. What time did I get the info? 10:13. What time did the call need to be set up? 10 AM.

To make matters worse the lawyer dude for my company who works out of headquarters in the midwesst somewhere sends me this email that basically rips me a new one because a) the call was at 10 AM eastern and he is in the central time zone though the client, the sponsor, and the other 4 people who needed to be on the call are on the East coast and nobody in the midwest office ever bothers to delineate what time they mean b) I didn't get the email until after business hours--from neither the client nor him--who sent his email at 6:50 eastern. c) I am not a fucking admin! And if at nearly 7 PM eastern he saw that no one had responded to neither me nor him, he could have set the call up his damn self--with his own personal secretaty.

So, now, I am wholly pissed off. I already feel like this job is not the one for me, and I really want to go home.

Ah, but at least I have happy hour to look forward to. Bourbon anyone?

Southern Hospitality

2007-09-11T09:44:00.000-05:00

My father's side of the family is quite open. At least as far as I can tell. About who was the mean aunt and why. How certain parts of the family ended up in certain parts of the country. About how people met, why they got married, why they stayed, and even why they got divorced. My mother's side has always been a secret. My father won't dare ask--he would rather not feel the wrath. And I won't either, because she will start saying crap about and how it is none of our business. In my mind, I have played detective. My favorite cousin and I often put together the things we remember from childhood and bits and pieces of what older relatives have said when we should not have been listening.

Don't get me wrong. While Pop's side may be open about history and geography of the family and where the fam fit in reconstruction, civil rights, and education. They are secretive about people's illnesses--particularly if they are terminal. But mom's side is shrouded in the "Daddy not daddy." Color Purple type stuff (Minus Mister). The mystery of what life was like in Alabama was for the most part a mystery.

But the death of Big Ma aka Muh Dear and Aunt Vic opened the door to conversations about my mother and the cousins she grew up with like brothers and sisters. Big Ma, was one tough lady who loved "Master Jesus." She was stern as I don't know what. But she had a smile that was with her whether in pain or in joy. She counseled, sometimes lectured, always remembered your b-day, graduation, etc--even though she had 14 grand-children; 18 great grands; and two great great grands, and me who was like a grandchild. I never got to talk to her about alot of the history. But memories of her good old souther hospitality sparked conversations about history I just assumed I would never hear.

The network, the web of protection, the village to raise a child concept is what I was exposed to. A number of cousins were raised by aunts or uncles--who in some instance became mom and dad and in others a constant reminder that you were a cousin and not a daughter or son. Or great aunts who became grandmothers in order to qualify as next of kin, when mothers died or were just to young. Older cousins, grandmothers, uncles, and friends of family took over parenting and comforting wheather from a distance or close by whenever necessary.

I see why some of the history is left unspoken. It is painful and heartbreaking. And perhaps now that folks have gotten older--and the events seem miles away from who they are now, they are willing to share. If for no other reason then the edification of young parents. And those who have yet to go down that road.

The death of the Matriarch, brought together the youngest generation of parents and created a sense of love and belonging. Healed some old wounds. And provided closure for some of us.

Thanks, Muh Dear, your hospitality is duly noted and appreciated.

First Time was the Worst Time

2007-08-29T14:07:00.000-05:00

I'm now firmly planted in my 30's. Which means that I am at my proverbial "sexual peak". Let my boyfriend tell it, I'm insatiable. Honestly, I could do something sexually related everyday, and not get tired. But see, he's nearly 30 and his peak was going on during college--just like the books in health class said.

Ain't that a bitch.

I have been trying to be empathetic. I'm trying to think back to pre-peak. And the best way to do that was to go back to time number one.

*******FLASHBACK--1995********

Most of my girls had been lost their virginity by Senior year. I took a lot of pride in the fact that I had not. I hadn't figured out how to master the pressure cooker that dating this one guy had become, but I was managing to avoid the "deflating of the cherry"--though he was pissed every time we ended a make out session. This made much easier by the fact that I had moved to Cleveland and he still lived in NY.

But see, even though I was a virgin, I also had my playa card firmly planted in my wallet. Or at least I thought. Then the summer before college hit. I had yet to give it up to the boyfriend. But I wasn't totally stupid then (maybe a little naive) and I ain't totally stupid now. There is no way in hell that the Center on the basketball team and the Principal's son wasn't getting his loving somewhere else--of course to spare me. LOL.

I appeared to be the attentive, dutiful girlfriend. Sending the love notes and racking up the charges on my grandmother's phone bill with calls back to NY. But by the summer, with the appearance still in tact, my hormones were raging. Plus my pop and I were not getting along and were having a long standing beef about me going to NYU. What better way to give my hormones something to chew on and really piss my pop off than to start kicking it with the the 'ignant wanna be thug, suburban boy from next door. With his tall, lanky, light skinned curly haired, light eyed self (back when light skinned was still in--and for the record it is not making a comeback) Hmmm. Anyhoo.

Much to my father's dismay and my hormone's joy I found someone to keep me occupied. So much so that though I never had a curfew, my Pop tried to institute it the summer before college.

The bad boy next door made it his business to try and take my cherry away. He gave the full court press on giving that thang up. I turned him down---over and over and over again. Sheeeit, I still had a man, and if someone was going to take it, it would be him. Summer wore on. I went away to school. And then that boyfriend of mine screwed up---the girlfriend and the girl on the side met. Game over.

Pissed, I returned home that summer. All of my girls had by now, been lost their virginity. So on my 19th b-day, I said screw it. I called up the boy next door and told him I was finally going to give it up.

And I did. I snuck across the driveway avoiding the heat-sensored lights, and laid my virginity down. After it was done. In my head, I thought, "That's it?" And all summer I kept doing it thinking it would get better. And it simply got worse. It was whack. It was boring. He was a lazy lover.

And I wish I had waited. While I have been fortunate to have a couple of boyfriends who did there thing. It still didn't interest me that much. I was kind of like Ms Celie "I just let him lay on top uh me and do his business." So, I guess I'm making up for lost time at 30.

They don't Dance No More--But this'll do

2007-08-25T09:55:00.001-05:00

I was in 'Bama at the family reunion. And I am sorry but after I saw my little cousins, who aint so little, do this? I was hooked. So, Im'a need a pass on this one.

If I stabbed him, I'd be Wrong. Right?

2007-08-25T09:24:00.000-05:00

My situation is not unusual. I am 30 years old and I have two roommates. Perhaps it is unusual for folks in other places, but those who live in the megalopolis corridor (Boston to DC), and particularly those who live in NYC know, that when the average one bedroom within 6 miles of the center of Manhattan is nearly $1500 (1800 in Manhattan), roommates sound like the best idea in the world.

That is. Until one day you wake up and realize you could stab a muufuuca.

I have two male roommates. And that has actually never failed me before. Yes, I have had to be the mother hen in some cases. But because we have been friends or friends of friends--and all of the them liked to entertain--keeping things relatively clean was not a big deal. Of course, there were a few times I had to be like "I'm not Hazel" but I'm sure there were a few for them as well.

But my current roommates are in a whole different category. The one roommate is never, ever here. He's always with his S.O. When he is he always does the big projects. Like clean out the basement. Mow the lawn. Scrub some other shit that needs to be cleaned. Sweet. Do you.

The other one? He gone make me stab him and help him move in with Jimmy over in East Rutherford by the stadium. He is a slovenly and lazy, and if it weren't for me, we had have baked on caked on dirt and God knows what else in this house. And now that I am rarely home, it pisses me off that I still have to clean after him.

Cooks? Washes the dishes, leaves the crumbs and shit on the counter. Takes a shower? Leave huge clumps of black hair in the drain. So tired I am of throwing it out, that now I stick the shit to the mirror. Do you think he has a gotten a clue? Naw. Trash? I used to collect all the trash on the first level and take it out because it is always full. Then I started collecting the trash, bagging it up, and putting it by the front door so someone could take it to the bin on their way out in the morning. Now, right now. The trash is overflowing and his...whew. He decided to just make a new trash bag right next to it.

Oh and lets not forget the rest of the bathroom. I was away for 10 days. I came back the bathtub was so dirty I almost threw up. And lastly there is the yard. I have taken care of it all summer. I have asked, directed, and initiated a cleaning charge. He said he would do it. The shit looked like "Where the Wild Things are". So what does this numskull do? He goes and gets the neighborhood crack head with a weedwacker to clean the yard, who promptly commences to whacking down the two rose bushes.

I've never met a more lazy motherfucker in my life. All he does on the weekends is sit in his room, play some stupid war game, and watch his plasma. Its not like he has a difficult job. I mean at one point I was in school full-time, working full-time, had a new relationship, and was trying to write my thesis, and still kept my shit together.

I'm too old for this shit right here. This muufuuca gots to go.

Breaking up is easy to do

2007-08-23T13:50:00.000-05:00

Man. I sometimes I think don't want no stinking boyfriend. For real. To keep a good relationship thriving feels like too much work sometimes. I've been in a relationship for 6 months now. Now that the novelty of having someone to cuddle with, and take to various and a sundry family and friend events has worn off, I'm starting to mourn the life I had mastered. The single life. I am not a commitment type. Though I have purported through out my four years of not having an official-type boyfriend, and two years of self-inflicted no-nookie rules, that it would be so great to have a mate.

But there are moments when I think...Whatever.

I mean really. I know he is a great catch and if the chicks out there knew what I knew, I'd have to beat many a girls' ass (just jokes). My friends fawn over him. My mother acts like he's her new son. He's smart (well not as smart as me, LOL), but smart nevertheless. He's cute. He puts it down in the... anyway. He's gainfully employed and his color and gender will put to bed the familial rumors that I am a) a lesbian b) gonna be with a white man (which is funny, because other than a few sexual mishaps, I have never dated a white dude) He's also pretty thoughtful, communicates well, and really wants to make me happy. And is willing to move if some fabulous opportunity happens to pop up for me. And for all I can tell, he loves me a great deal.

But he's still a royal pain in my ass sometimes. He's stubborn as hell--sometimes to his detriment. Refuses to make any effort to dress like a grown-man and not a perpetual college frat boy and will barely admit that the clothes I bought garnered lots of compliments. He's A real man's man--which means when I try to describe how I feel sometimes he looks at me like I am a) crazy b) some silly emotional chick. Also, I'm not sure he has any clue how to be romantic--unless it was shown on SportsCenter or some other iteration of ESPN programming.

Sometimes it feels like it would be so easy to break up. I was pretty good at being single. I know how to flirt (well I had to relearn it last year--but I digress), I think I can get a date, and living in NYC has helped me get my sense of style back so that I can look good while getting said date. I don't have to be responsible to anyone but me. And NYC is full of fine ass men--from across the globe. Who needs one? When one could date many, right?

Sheeeeiiit, breaking up would help avoid all the bullshit that in the past has been bound to go down. I been a playa (well not so much the last couple years--but I still got my card) for a minute. I know how it works.

Breaking up could be soooo easy. So why is my fool ass trying to do the hard thing. I can do the single thing in my sleep. This requires something I am not used to particularly if it is going to remain as good as it has been. Not breaking up is hard. I have to work on being communicative, and a liiiiittttlllle less difficult and demanding. I'm working on being giving. But some days I don't want to. I want to take the easy way out.

But alas, the easy shit, if I rememeber correctly, just isn't as fun.

What's the purpose?

2007-08-22T14:39:00.000-05:00

I have been trying to write a post for this blog for over a week. After sparking a debate in one of the yahoo! groups I am in regarding Michael Vick and various and a sundry other professional black athletes, I decided I would blog about it.

That post is still a draft. And it has changed direction, content, and points each time I visited it to try to finish it.

See, I really don't want to write. When things are pretty good--or at least normal blogging about whatever seems easy. I try to follow the "no planned posts" rule that a number of my blogger friends live by. For the most part I have lived by that rule as well. But lately, even the unplanned posts, seem to have absconded with my ability to post something remotely interesting.

Things are not necessarily so good now. I know some would say I should feel otherwise. I am quite well aware of my blessings, my achievements, and my journey to be where I am today. But I cannot help, as of late, to feel anything more than a great sense of misdirected failure.

I am thinking its time to see someone--of the professional vein. Maybe I am just to hard on myself. But it is making it quite hard for me to focus. What I do know is this:

1) My job is not challenging at all. I sit here most of the time. It'll look good on my res and the schedule is pretty flexible, but otherwise I'm just an analyst too far away from the community development aspects of the deal who barely has anything to do. (Oh and I did I mention, I am not paid that well either)

2) I need and want to move. I really, really, really want to move to Atlanta. Always wanted to live there. DC is my default because via reflection I have come to accept that DC was home--very much so.

3) I am applying to law school now, right now. My professors have asked me why I want to go? What do I think that I will get out of it? They are my favorites and they think it is a waste. I don't. Law school has always been a very personal goal for me. I want it. I want the flexibility the degree allows. I want to be able to do many things that a JD makes possible. I'ma stop listening to what others think and apply. Shit, I can always defer. Or even not go. But I'd rather have the option than not.

4) Clearly, it is easier to make my points in bullet. I'm going to try to cut that shit out.

Back to seriousness.

I still think, even though I have made it around to figuring that much out, that I need to go see someone. I remember when folks of color would dismiss the value of a mental health professional. And I have had my reservations too. But honestly, I can't keep having panic attacks. I can't keep breaking out in hives or not being able to motivate myself to leave the house. Professional help and prayer and I think I can figure it all out and be myself--on a regular basis again.

So, there is a such thing as celebrating too much?

2007-08-08T16:46:00.000-05:00

This year, I said I was going to celebrate 30 three times. So what did I do?

Celebration 1 : Five days at an unnamed resort in Jamaica; and a jaunt to a currently embargoed nation in the Eastern Caribbean

Celebration 2: BBQ in DC for my DC homies. They flaked a little. But the one's who showed up made it all worth while. Oh and the after party in NE--getting my go-go on!

Celebration 3: Drinks and appetizers at a cute little Cuban joint in LES. With homemade bomb-ass brownies for desert.

See this where the problem arises:

Celebration 4: Surprise party thrown by my wonderful boyfriend and three other friends.

See, by celebration 4. I just wanted to go sit somewhere. I didn't sleep that well the night before. And then my fool ass had the nerve to go with one of my girl's all the way to Philly at 1PM when I had to be home by 7--back in damn near Manhattan.

I was excited about the surprise. But at the same time, I just wanted some quiet time. My girl threw me off from what I thought was a surprise party by telling me that she and he could not agree on location and theme. So, I was like "hmmm".

When Saturday rolled around, I was so tired I was hoping for "laid-back" not raucous. I was good for the first two-three hours. Then some haters showed up, and my artificially propped up energy went south.

I am so damn glad my b-day is over--until labor day.

Jamaica, Jamaica

2007-07-30T09:13:00.000-05:00

I was going to wax philosophical about the plight of the darker nation through out the African Diaspora--as I have been to Trinidad, Tobago, Jamaica, and Cuba this year, but today (particularly since I am re-reading The Emperor of Ocean Park) I'm a little down in the dumps about the state of my fellow folks of colour, the fact that I am 30 and feel like I am way behind, and its to hot to think that hard. Instead, I decided to reflect on the trip with two of my closest home girl, who, until we sat down in a foreign nation had never met in person.

I have to admit, I was quite worried about the trip. The planning of the trip was a grand monumental disaster. 45 Negroes expressed interest, and as I expected, most of them could neither get their money right or commit to a party in paradise. No mind, though. I was determined to go, hell or high water, celebrate the Durty 30 in Paradise. Two of my home girls felt the same. One is my ride or die partner in mischief. The other, a soldier in reaching the goals she set for herself when we were children--regardless of divorce, poverty, and raising two kids on her own.

I have been on extended vacations with folks in the past who by the end of the trip you can't stand them. I was pleasantly surprised by the fact that I love these two women more after the trip than I did before. Even though, during the trip I wanted to kill Ms. Road Dawg and wanted to put a muffle on Ms. Achiever.

Why? Because, regardless of the fact that I have not lived near Ms. Achiever since we were 16--and often go months (though not in the last couple years) without catching up, and that Ms. Road Dawg and I parted as roommates on strained terms 6 years ago, they probably know me best, support me the most, and always show up.

They are such positive women, who know how to have a good time. None of that we have to go everywhere in a group, agree on every activity, and eat at the same time. We did things together. We did things separately. We had a brief moment of beef that we promptly worked out--when Ms. Road Dawg left the resort without telling us where she was going and came back late morning the next day.

I am surprised to say, that I can't wait to go on a vacation with them again--God willing--this time next year to celebrate Ms. Achiever's arrival in old age.

Same Noose;New Millinium

2007-07-18T10:12:00.000-05:00

I heard about this story a few weeks ago. And its sad that something like this is just picking up steam, while that stupid chick Paris gets front page coverage from every rag-pretending-to-be-newspaper in this country. But I will go ahead and say what many of us (except those who prefer to wear rose-colored glasses and keep there proverbial heads in the sand) already know, racism is a pervasive evil that has not gone away but changed forms and in far to many places remains exactly the same (minus the plantation).

This story reminded me that I often find myself asking myself--do I wear a racial chip on my shoulder> Many things to me have both ethnic and racial connotations, and as much as I try not to look at everything through that lens, when you where my color (not so much my ethnicity unless I tell you) its hard not to take note of the differences I notice. Some, with the rosy glasses, and some who may not be as over-analytical as I tend to be, might say its racial paranoia. Others might just nod there head because they to have taken notice and though these actions are not deplorable--they are definetly, in my opinion racially motivated.

For example, when ever I board the train in the morning, if I have a seat to my self--with two open seats, I have noticed that people will cram themselves in the handicapped seat or somewhere eles uncomfortable. Although it is a good thing to have the seat to yourself--its sort of like being the last one picked on the kickball team in elementary school.

Or how about boarding an elevator. I don't know how many times a man has stood to the side to let the women on first and then straight stepped in front of me like I am invisible.

Or the fact that some of my favorite majority membered co-workers look for empathy from me about some of the dumb assumptions they make about people of the coloured persuassion as in "you are a perfectly reasonable black woman, don't you think all black men have a chip on there shoulder?" Huh, what? Why me?

But these things are more pervasive straight ignorance and to some degree probably based in some horrible interaction that went arwy. I don't think they are purposely done. In most cases, I think its not even conscious.

But, honey, hanging a noose from a tree in the South, where the history of Jim Crow is not too far gone and the racial tensions in many Southern towns are couched under the guise of knowing your roll and the practice of good Southern hospitality, is clearly a conscious decision to which was meant to extend harm.

That Strange Fruit never dissappears does it?

These are just little things. But definetely noticeable things.

But I digress, it is a shame that racism is still so blatant in some places. Particularly in the South. When are they going to get over the fact that they lost the damn war for goodness sake!

The 14 days -5 hours-and- 10-minutes Blues

2007-07-17T08:18:00.000-05:00

I woke up on the funky side of the bed this morning, with a sinking feeling that something ill is getting ready to go down. In exactly 14 days give or take some hours (hence the title of the post) I will be 30. I have been looking forward to thirty since I was 28. I figured, since my plan to have my shit together by 25 went horribly awry, and I instead said hello to quarter-life crisis, that surely by 30 I would look back on my twenties, like "you poor, stupid, stupid child." Instead, today, thanks in part to the icky feeling and also to the fact that I am not nearly as close as I was hoping to be where I want at damn near thirty.

What is pushing that this morning? Well, how much time you got?

1) I expected to be in a position where I would have finally corrected my bad money mistakes I made in undergrad--trying to ball till I fall on Citi, Chase, Bloomie's. But alas, I am not. I have made progess--significant progress. But yet and still, it seems like everytime I can see the top of the hole, something comes along and says, "oh remember that dumb shit you did with your credit in 1998 and forgot about? Well, you gots to come up off some cash." Its frustrating and I know it takes time to correct--particularly when 911 had a profound effect on gainful employment for me, but still. I'm thirty, damnit and I want to be done.

2)Ooh! Let me tell you about my job. Many in my field say its great training to be on the equity side of housing finance. Its a unique skill and folks say that Equity people are thought to be smarter than debt people--even though it takes the same skill set. But then I tell them how much I make, and even those who have been housing finance look at me and say, "Damn, girl! They pay you what? You need to get a new job." The thing that frustrates me the most, is that I now have more skill and know-how then I did before I got to school and now make way less money then I did (particularly if one was to factor in inflation.) and I am treated like an over-paid senior admin. I am ready to roll...but alas I am still here.

3) I still have two roommates...one who is slightly off his rocker. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I live in NYC metro, why am I bitching? Well, lets see, having roommates is a pain in the ass. I play mother hen so its like having two grown children. And if you have been reading this blog, you know that I have had a total of 18 roommates (including folks just staying for awhile till they get their shit together) since I was 18. Can a sista get her own spot? Or what. The S.O says to stop my whining, since I am always at his place. But damn, it would be nice to go home every once in awhile and not deal with other peoples mess, attitude, late bill/rent payments.

My horoscope says great things about this month. And the good Lord continues to be great. I'll get over my blues. I just thought I would share.

Jury? What Say You?

2007-07-16T15:48:00.000-05:00

The Verdict. Unanimous. The Man Friend has passed the smell test from the most difficult to the easiest folks in my life. I took him home to the Cleve for my grandparents' 60th anniversary, and even the stern older AKA church ladies (who are like my Defensive line of grandmothers) gave that fool approval. And had the Reverend make an announcement in church on Sunday that I not only graduated with honors but that I had a new boyfriend they approved of.

And I am scared out of my mind. I know, I know, I know, I asked God for this and he has been preparing me. But...who knew a healthy relationship would be so much damn work. And who knew that you would know the man you want to spend the rest of your life with the moment you talked to him for more than 15 minutes. That is some scarey ass shit.

See, I think there is some residual scar tissue from other "love" battles that is taking some time to get rid of. My mom, this weekend, recognized it. And told me, to "be nice" to him. Because she knows the biggest scar and the way I protect, is to try to push you until you leave. Funny, someone I used to love did that to me for years, and I was unwilling to go. So now, why would I turn around and do the same? Who knows?

I am working on not being afraid of him...but he really is everything in the notebook.And it freaks me out everytime I ask Him for something. I work on it. He sends me challenges and opportunities to prepare me for it and then it happens. Maybe it is the amazement of how He works that scares me and not the relationship. More than likely it is both.

The Teacher was simply a fine-ass sports car mirage. But this brother is a good-looking sturdy German Automobile with my best in mind at all times, with no fear of checking me sometimes and letting me have my way others (I am spoiled--clearly)He not only believes in God, but has a clear relationship with Him. And he makes this high-octane, over-overachiever stop and smell the roses.

I need to stop being so over analytical about where this is going and enjoy the ride. I am working on it. I really am. I am working on being nice. I am working on expressing myself in a healthy way. And I am working on not being scared of a good man who is willing to work on it with me.

She be a Big Girl

2007-07-13T07:52:00.000-05:00

A lot of big girls I know have been losing weight lately. I myself have had a net loss of 8 pounds (lost 18 gained 10 back when I got a man...ROFLMAO) And though I have waivered between obstinent (Im a healthy big girl--low cholesterol, healthly blood sugar levels and was an athlete through high school and college) and tearfully unhappy with my weight to the point of sometimes being depressed, I have generally been okay with it. Now, however its time to get moving on it for real.

I have always been careful about how I dress and my hygiene (uh I hope everybody regardless of size is on their job with this one) because I remember the mean and hurtful comments I got through out grade school mostly from scrawny little white boys. I was 5'4 in the 3rd grade and by time I hit 6th grade I was 5'8" and shopping in the junior section and was very concious of every move made. I was also keenly aware of the stereotype surrounding larger folks--that we are slovenly and over emotional. Unwittingly, my mother further contributed to my self-conciousness by remarking how I needed to lose weight if I wanted to get a good looking boyfriend. My father on the other hand continuously told me that the women in his family had always been sturdy tall woman--and that each and every one of them was healthy. And I have always struggled with the fact that I was an active child--I played travel soccer for 8 years and briefly in college, played basketball (albeit not that well) and ran the 1600 meter in high school--and yet and still I am a big girl. And perhaps it is these conflicting views that have me moving between "And so what, I'm a good looking big girl." and "Damn, I'm fat and should be ashamed of myself."

Take all of that combined and you come up with me. A very smart, pretty cute, fragile ego'd woman with a love of the finer things in life, who has become so concious of her weight (particularly since coming north again) that she walks down the street comparing her self with the size of other women.

And the conflicted view has spilled over into my romantic life. I have never had a problem getting a man. And all of them have been fine. But all of them were also idiots. And I realize it was my waivering self-esteem that made me keep them around because at least I could run them. They were lucky to have me. And I was happy to have a piece of eye candy. And it wasn't until I moved back to NYC without a man and a safety net (you know a rack of fools in your rolodex in case the one you with breaks fool.) that I had to come to terms with that. Two years after that realization--and little bit more happiness with myself and I am in a wonderful healthy relationship. But, my current lover has his work cut out for him. And sometimes I wonder if the reason I am most comfortable with him is because he's a big dude.

For years, my male friends--my other brothers-- have propped up my ego with the "you on the small end of the big girl scale" comments--particularly when I am feeling down about my size. But now that I have begun to lose a few pounds and have gained some pretty nice muscle definition in some areas, it is less my uncomfortablness with my current Size 16 (14 in a dress) 5'8 1/2" inch frame that bothers me, but the "damn girl, you look good comments." that I don't know how to handle from people I haven't seen in awhile. It begs the question, was I a mess before? And just like many other woman I know who have lost weight, dudes who wouldn't have said two words before now want to holla--but personality and style wise I aint no different than I was before.

But it remains apparent that I need to lose this weight. And not because of how others perceive me but because I want to lose it for myself. I continually here about black folks I know developing diabetes, heart conditions, high blood pressure--all attributed to their weight and many of them stubbornly refuse to change their lifestlye. They are losing mobility, having strokes, and groing into old age at a young age on what is essentially a suicide mission.

My grandparents--who will be married 60 years on the 23rd--have lived into their mid-80's because they have done what needs to be done to stay around. When the doc told my grandfather that he had heart disease and to lose 50lbs or shorten his life--he lost 65. I want to live and if for no other reason its time to kiss size 16 goodbye.

Transitioning out of Transition-Part Deux!

2007-06-13T13:24:00.000-05:00

At the beginning of each new year, I, as do many others, review my year in the life of me. This year, I started by choosing 7 goals to accomplish in 07--my 31st year of life. After all, this is the year I turn 30 and rather than freak out I decided to take Jay's lead. 30 is definetely my new 20--but with a lot more sense then when I was actually 20. All that being said, I think it is time for a mid-year review to see how I am faring.

Goal 1: Making something happen with "The Teacher"--I think he is the one and I need to be patient to see that through

Unless this is the first post you have read here, you already know that this goal went horribly aray after I wrote it down. Is that a good thing? Prolly so. I am instead in a relationship with a man I am horribly in love with...horribly. The man makes this control freak give up control--and not in a bad way. He is the sweetest, most caring and thoughtful man I have ever met--for that matter ever dated. Oh and if you wondering about the sex...good lawd he puts it down in that department so well that I...

Okay, is it hot in here or is it just me???

Oh, yeah and he's handsome, well-spoken and gainfully employed too.

Goal 2:Graduating with Honors and deferring law school.

Accomplished. I graduated with a 3.7 GPA (probably a 3.65 cause I went ahead and sacrificed one class for the sake of sanity) and as far as law school is concerned, I just might go ahead and apply and then defer.

Goal 3:significantly reducing the amount of cursing I do--NYC brings the worse out of me.

Uh, thats not really working out. I'm saying if the world--and NYC in particular, wasn't so full of fools...Hey, look its better than me hauling off and hitting muuufuuca's.

Goal 4:Continuing and completing my goal to be fitter, finer, and foxier before Trinidad in March--18 lbs to go and perhaps I will comfortably rock a bathing suit

Ok, this goal is a little convoluted. Back when I posted, I had lost 8 lbs. I have made a net loss in weight since then of a whole 2 lbs. But after my first vacation in years with a bunch of nudists--I can say I more comfortable in my bathing AND birthday suit.

Goal 5:Getting a job in Cleveland. Cleveland is where my passion lies and I have to get past the glitter and popularity of my last two residences in DC and NYC.

The statement imbedded in this goal is still true. Cleveland has potential. But I'm still having a hard time getting past the reputation of the place and no it has nothing to do with the new man. That fool said he'd move. But I do have an interview for a once in a life time gig there, so I'll keep you posted.

Goal 6: Living by myself with my own stuff and not having to deal with collecting rent from others

Working on it. But I have a shitty paying job--so that is a dreamed deferred. Until then I will keep mowing the lawn, triming the hedges and taking out the trash--all shit my lazy ass male roommates won't do unless I holler like I'm somebody's mama.

Goal 7 : Getting my finances back on track so that WHEN I am back in Cleveland--I can buy a house in 08

This one is going as planned...I'm cooking with an electric stove rather than gas---but I have paid off three credit cards, a couple collections, and have significantly lowered my debt load.

I'm feeling alright about where I am. Yes, I have my control freak freakout moments--particularly about career and money, but if I have not learned anything after 6 years of difficult transitions including unemployment, big breakups, and about with depression...the Man upstairs has a plan and all you can do is keep walking...it all works out the way its supposed to. Can't wait to see what happens next. Popcorn anyone?

The Demise of a Romance That Never Existed

2007-06-07T13:21:00.000-05:00

Last year this time ( give or take a few weeks), I was in the throws of being intrigued by a teacher. A man who currently teaches at the high school I loathed, but coaches my favorite sport(football), so the loathing was put aside. By the end of the summer, I determined that I was more than intrigued, I was excited about the possibility of exploring a relationship with a person who, on the surface, appeared to be everything I had written down in my prayer notebook (which I have since lost). Though, there was this little issue called distance that needed to be worked out--since I live in NYC and he lives in CLE--but you know nothing worth having is ever easy.

The first few times we hung out, the first few minutes of the dates were awkward, but after the intial warm-up, everything was gravy. I came back to NYC in the fall and we kept up, and since I was considering relocating the possiblity of a future serious relationship was possible.

Then just as I was getting the "come over and let me make dinner" invitiation--a big step since we had never more than kissed in the 6 months we talked--it all went to hell. The ex-girl moved back home--and even though she was selfish and cheated his heart was still there--and he told me he needed to figure out if that is where he should be. I respected that honesty immensely.

But Damn. Was I meant to still be single at 30???

...then what the hell you have kids for???

2007-05-10T18:22:00.000-05:00

I am a maternalistic fool. My line name wasn't grand Mah ma KJ for nothing. I have always had an uncanny raport with children. My sisters kids, who she deems unruly think I am the coolest mo fo on the block and they know I don't take no stuff. Jonzee just loves the kiddies (as long as they ain't mine).

So my love for the kiddies (and perhaps that damn clock ticking now that I am officially about to graduate) has made me want to hang out with other people's children more often. But, see, I picked the kid who's parents are fucking her up for life (excuse my francais).

So here is the story. I started dating a guy who is acquaintances with this couple who have a 3 year old little girl. She can barely communicate and most of the time they are two busy "entertaining" and smoking the cheeb to pay any attention to her other than to yell at her. Every weekend they are on the road to go hang out with various friends in their social group. EVERY WEEKEND. Unless the money is funny. And if they ain't on the road they at home throwing a party or having folks over. On top of that, because they like to kick it, they will damn near hand their child off to anyone willing to take her. With them, she screams alot, runs, breaks stuff. A terror.

Needless to say, the mother in me suggested to the Beau that we offer to take the child out with another friend of our's child--the exact opposite of the neglected girl so that she might have some exposure to children her age (oh did I forget to mention that the daddy is home all day while mama works with the child--no preschool for her) For she is clearly a smart child--who probably has not had access and clearly has a speech issue. The other child is 4, smart as a whip, perceptive, and has a flair for the dramatic. Her parents have taken a serious interest in everything she is exposed to in life. They endured the crazy NYC public school lottery to get her into the best kindegarten that was in a diverse school with lots of programs. They take her on regular cultural and educational outings to enrich her, and have created a disciplined and very smart little person.

We took her to the zoo. She was timid around the other children. We went to play in Prospect Park. She was shy at first and then discovered the slide. She finally got used to the other children who readily tried to engage her and she did somewhat, though she was clearly used to being alone.

And guess what, she was no terror. She was an angel. And now I have a spot in my heart for her. I know she is not my kid. And I do not purport to even attempting to get her parents to do right by her. But I have time and a little bit of cash to spend on the child. Plus they'll give her away whenever.

The question is if you don't want to be bothered. Why bother. The daddy got 4 sons...elsewhere. And the mama had a baby REAALLLY young. And they don't do any different with them. Did it seem like a cute idea to have another one, and that got old fast. And they got the nerve to want more.

My question is, is it okay for me to continue to engage the child as long as I don't try to change the status quo at home. Or should I watch her whither away from across the driveway????