TOUGH TYPING

Can You Pull Off A Starting Five? When Women Try to Date Like Men

2011-01-06T12:09:00.000-05:00

While recovering from an especially difficult breakup recently, I enlisted the ear of a friend and former classmate of mine. Fun and fabulous in many ways (and a little older and wiser than I) my friend listened as I shared with her the demise of my relationship.

“Honey, “ she sighed after hearing my story, an account she seemed to have heard many times, “what you need is a Starting Five.”

Starting who?

Starting Five. Noun. Definition: A steady roster of romantic partners. Synonyms: Dating like a man. Keeping a stable of potentials. Date. Dump. Repeat until you (hopefully) find The One.
Okay. Cool.

My friend’s Starting Five model is an interesting concept, an attractive option implemented mostly by men (we’re being honest, here). But like Nola Darling showed all women in She’s Gotta Have It, juggling multiple partners isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

I’m not here to provide you with the answer as to whether or not women are in fact capable of achieving a Starting Five successfully, but rather a couple of things every woman who’s thinking about attempting a Starting Five should consider.

First and foremost, Starting Fives require being honest and upfront from jump. You owe it to each of your partners to let him know that at this stage, they are one of many. If one of your partners bucks, ask him to think of it as a challenge: the best man wins (you).

Another word about this: it’s 2011 and for the record, I don’t condone sleeping with multiple people. But if you choose to, please, please, PLEASE use adequate protection. Every. Single. Time. Attempting a Starting Five—without getting burned (no pun intended) in the process—is the goal, here.

Starting Fives also necessitate a certain level of emotional dexterity. One romance between two individuals is hard. Compound feelings exponentially and all the feelings flying everywhere can leave a girl’s head spinning. If you find yourself generally overwhelmed with the duties associated with one partner, a Starting Five just.isn’t.for.you. Add to the mix the possibility of being labeled a certain pejorative (hint: it starts with an “h” and ends with an “o”) by those who may not understand your approach, and a Starting Five may not be in the cards for you.

Finally, an ability to keep emotions in check--jealously included—is also crucial if a Starting Five is something you feel you could pull off. Make no mistake about it: men are some jealous creatures, too. Realize as well the possibility of you yourself being a candidate in someone else’s Starting Five.

Admittedly, I’d be hard-pressed to find a woman who wants to seriously date multiple men at one time, anyway, Most times, and for most women; a halfway decent guy will do.

I'm Coming Back, y'all...

2010-06-16T10:04:00.001-04:00

That's all...

Let's Try This Again...

2009-10-15T19:23:00.005-04:00

Okay.

I've been negligent.

I have not blogged since MARCH and that just...negligent. Embarrassingly negligent. Every couple of days I'd get this nagging tug in my chest, reminding me that I used to write--pretty heavily--on this here blog. And I'd ignore it. I considered deading this blog and starting all over, but I just can't seem to do it. I just couldn't let go off the six people that read my blog, waiting with baited breath for my next post. So we're going to try to revv up this baby back up and keep it going. FOREVER! Bwahahahhaa!

Let today mark my return to the blogosphere. A lot has happened in the the seven months I've been "gone":

I moved out my mama's house to Brooklyn. Michael Vick went to prison. So did Bernie Madoff. But if it helps anything, the rapper Shyne was released from prision (So win?). Kanye West showed his behind with poor Taylor Swift caught in the crossfire at the Video Music Awards. Barack Obama was awarded the Nobel Prize (say what now? I know.). We're still losing wars, losing lives in Afghanistan. And sweet Lord in heaven, Michael Jackson died. I've developed a strange appetite for strawberry milkshakes and chicken nuggets from McDonald's that I'm trying to control. And did I mention my dude Michael Jackson died? Damn, it still hurts to think about sometime.

But anyway, I've been telling myself I had until October 15 to get it together and write something. So consider this that "something." From here on out, more posts, more video, more crap. Yay!

I'll be back. Promise.

The Kameelah List: Do You Have One?

2009-03-31T11:50:00.002-04:00

If you were born before 1990 and could afford cable television (or was resourceful enough to know how to steal it), then you probably were a Real World (or Road Rules) fan at one point in your life. You know, when MTV wasn't over-trough with reality television shows featuring crusty, aging rappers, big bootied ho's or spoiled rich white girls that become famous for just being famous, MTV actually put on some pretty kick-ass programming.

And if you were an OG MTV connoisseur like I was, you never missed a season of Real World--from the first season in New York (with Heather B and Kevin Powell) to this year's watered down Brooklyn season.

I had no business watching the crap I did and was actually forbidden to watch ANYTHING on MTV (you could add Beverly Hills, 90210 and Baywatch to the list as well), but with a mom that worked nights and a dad that slept pretty heavily at night, I was good money.

Looking back, the Real World has churned some memorable characters. And like every other black viewer, I always remember all the black cast members. Remember Tek? Syrus? Coral? Jacquese? Fine ass Kamaro--who later admitted to being gay? That one hurt. But one character in particular I remember--Kameelah, from Season 6 Real World in Boston. Lord, that broad was crazy.

Kameelah was the TBGH--The Black Girl of the House. I remember taking an initial interest in her because she went to one of my dream schools, Stanford (oh, how quickly young dreams die). She was an AKA, came from a rough home situation. Cute. Small. Sometimes annoying. Dramatic as hell.

But what I *really* remembered about this girl was a thing she introduced that I would become WELL acquainted with in later years: "The List."

Composed of over TWO HUNDRED items, Kameelah's list was her iron-clad index of requirements every man must meet if they wanted to date her. Things like: "must have more than one syllable in his name."--So, sorry Will (Smith), Sean (Penn), George (Clooney). Kameelah, just won't be dating your ass.

Or "must know how to dance."

Stupid stuff. Two hundred, though?? C'mon now.

Trolling the internet, I've found that in the last few years, Kameelah's index has gained a sort of notoriety, especially on a popular music website (which I will not name as I refuse to admit I frequent it as much as I do), aptly called named "The Kameelah-Ass List." The dudes on this website uses the phrase to define some often absurd requirements that their female counterparts push on the men in their life.

I mean, I know *I* don't have a Kameelah list. I'd like to think I'm a bit more realistic (I hope, at least) and understanding when it comes to my "requirements" for a male companion. But nevertheless, I do have a list.

I call those my "Non-Negotiables." For instance, I will not date a person that uses drugs. And as much as I love my gaydies, I'd really like it if the guys I date don't like guys as well. In a related vein, I'd REALLY appreciate it if you were born biologically male, too. I'm just saying. Oh--and I don't do midgets, either. Sorry.

But Kameelah's list is different and borders on the neurotic; at the very best it's polarizing and unrealistic.

And is a lot more common than us women would admit to.

It's true: a lot of women nowadays have their own Kameelah-Ass List. Not a regular, logical, flexible, working list, no. A lot of my fellow wimmens hold fast to long, unrealistic, and frankly unfair requirements for the men they meet. For instance, a friend of mine doesn't date guys that employ a liberal usage of mayonnaise in their food. With the exception of potato salad, no man she meets should use mayo in a sandwich, as she claims that only white people should like mayonnaise. Stupid? Yep. Racist, too.

A business acquaintance of mine will not consider dating a guy that does not--listen to this one, now-- frequent strip clubs, as she feels such a disinterest in such sexual proclivities suggest a suppression of some kind of homosexual urge. Her words, not mine.

Yes, it is quite silly. But it happens more often than you think. And the more women I meet at meetings and lunches and events, the more I notice how utterly ridiculous some women are. So dudes, I understand.

Make no mistake however: any respectable woman ought to have *a* list. A reasonable, considerate, logical list. If she doesn't, she's not worth her weight in salt. Or gold. Or however that phrase goes. I can't remember.

But for real: ladies, we gotta loosen the reins jusssst a little bit when dealing with the menfolk. You know they're a special breed. So what if he can't dance? Or can't swim? Does it really matter that he rather use a fork instead of chopsticks when y'all go out for sushi?

You very well could be passing up a very good thing as you deal with your nonsensical hangups.

We gotta work together, people.

McDonald's, Please Release Me from Your Clutches

2009-03-20T23:09:00.008-04:00

Well, I'll be: I think I want a Filet O' Fish right...about...now...

This revelation is especially weird, given I haven't eaten in a McDonald's in years. Matter of factly, the smell that emits from a McDonald's makes me a bit sick. Gone are the days I'd be able to scarf down two double-cheeseburgers, an order of mozzarella sticks and a disgustingly delicious vanilla shake off the Dollar Menu.

But seemingly, this commercial really makes me want a damn fish sammich. Peep the clip.

See what I mean? Don't YOU want a fish sandwich now, too?

Like, I get it. Well, not really.

There probably isn't anything to get, other than this commercial is utterly ridiculous. "Stupid-funny" is a term that seems more accurate. Every time I watch it on TV, I catch myself chuckling, then shaking my head in dismay at how easily humored I am.

I mean, Mickey D's has been around for a minute. Surely, they--more than anyone, in fact--understand the power of implicit target marketing. But why me? Just when I've cut out cheese and processed sugars and fried food from my diet. Why, Ray Kroc? Why?

I'd hate to think that I was weak-minded and have fallen victim to the evils of corporate advertising. Over a dang fish on a wall, for cryin' out loud. Has it really become that easy?

Just wanted to post up the video. I'm sure everyone has seen this commercial and has some reaction to it.

Did you want to run out and buy a fish sandwich after watching it (many times? I know, it's catchy as hell).

Man, I want those thirty seconds of my life back.

Garbage In, Garbage Out

2009-03-16T12:57:00.011-04:00

I eat too much crap.

And I try to act like I eat healthily, but honestly, I don't.

I am unapologetic for my love of bread. And rice. And anything that once had parents (except pork). I love my food fried, breaded, battered or slathered in a an oil-laden sauce of some sort. Let's not discuss my ability to straight PUNISH a good charcoaled-grill burger. Slathered in cheddar cheese and ketchup, of course. Yum-o!

But I've noticed that as I get older, I just can't get down like I used to. I wake up every morning looking like a R&B pop star did a number on my face. I'm blotchy. Bloated. And every...single...thing HURTS. Waaaah.

So, with the official birthday countdown now standing at T-minus 51 days, I'm resolving to take better care of myself in the hopes of looking like Halle Berry come May 6th *snicker*. But honestly, I want to have glowing, radiant skin that people will HATE me for. (LOL but not really)

Alas, desperate times call for desperate measures. It's time to shape up and be serious. I figure I should just jump right it and eliminate things cold turkey, no?

My soon-to-be adopted regimen (completely arbitrary, I might add) is as follows:

*A daily intake of eight glasses of water

*A daily supplement of flax seed oil

*The elimination of processed sugars (Good grief, this one's gonna be hard. Sometimes you just NEED a cupcake. Or three.)

...And what's gonna hurt me the most:

*I'm giving up cheese, y'all. Oh cheese.

Finally, I have to find a way to get eight hours of sleep in each night. I know it's really, really, REALLY important, but it always seems like there's too much to do (or put off doing). I don't even think I've had eight consecutive hours of sleep since kindergarten. For me, the night time's always been the right time (c) Ray Charles, but we shall see.

Pray that my lack of sugary subsistence doesn't turn me into a belligerent b-word.

Toodle-loo.

Justify My Snug(gie).

2009-03-14T21:54:00.006-04:00

I want a snuggie.

Don't judge me.

For real, y'all: how many times have you found yourself laying on the couch in front of the TV, constantly fighting with your blanket? Every thirty seconds, the sides of the blanket slide off your shoulders and you gotta throw the blanket edges back over your shoulders, all aggressive-like. But sometimes, I get a little too aggressive and end up pinning my arms tightly to my sides. So I just end of sitting there, bound and defeated and fall asleep. The whole TV watching experience is ruined. *pouts*

But alas, the other night, I saw this infomerical on this new innovative, um, invention affectionally known as the snuggie. Need a visual, you say? Well, here you go!

And I want one. I've got to have one.

Luckily, I will be asking for birthday gifts this year. After all, what's life without an obsession with material goods? I mean, really now. If I'm gonna make this happen, I gotta ask for the good stuff. Besides world peace, what else could I possibly ask for besides the Snuggie?

Whoever thought of this is a genius. I want to shake his or her hand. And thank them for changing my life for the better. Forever.

I Watched Too Much TV as a Child...

2009-03-09T23:30:00.006-04:00

No, I don't really want to talk about Biggie today, on the twelfth anniversary of his death (R.I.P.).

And I'm not especially pressed to add to the "Chrianna" fiasco that's been spilling all over the internets. I'll have to do that later.

Ordinarily, today I'd write about something more astute--maybe applaud Attorney General Holder for his bold admission that America is a country full of race cowards or shun Michael Steele for his ignorance, but right now, my energy level is a negative-8 and steady dwindling...

Thusly, in the interest of submitting some reading material (and making for an easy cop-out) to you, I submit the following quiz of Coming to America trivia.

Yes, I do feel the world would be a better place if we all took the time to sit, relax and watch Eddie Murphy at his professional apex, before he thought donning fat suits and making movies for the kiddies were good ideas (Actually, those were two really good ideas, but damn if I don't miss Raw, crass Eddie of yesteryear).

Anywhoo, Coming to America is my favorite, favorite comedy. Of like, all time. I'll watch it whenever it's on television (TBS, holla!), will quote it randomly, and will look at you sideways if you tell me you've never seen it.

Admittedly, some of these are real stumpers. I think I got all but two. I thought it was fun. But I'm warning you, these questions are not for the fair weather fans that claim they know everything about CTA. No, sir...

I don't even know why I'm posting this up--no one's gonna get these...

But whatevs. Enjoy, yo.

Answers tomorrow. Or whenever lol.

1. What is Akeem’s full name?

2. “My name is Peaches…” what is her sister’s name?

3. Who is Dottie?

4. Who falls down the stairs and farts?

5. In the Miss Black Awareness Pageant, how many women are wearing a thong bikini?

6. Who directed Coming to America?

7. What year and month did Coming to America hit the theaters?

8. “It’s got one window facing a brick wall. I used to rent it to a blind man” How is this later contradicted?

9. How does the king punish Semmi?

10. What is the name of Randy Watson’s band?

11. What is the big difference between the Big Mic and the Big Mac?

12. What is the address to McDowells?

13. Who plays Mrs. McDowell?

14. How does Akeem really know Mortimer and Randolph?

15. Besides Martin Luther King, who does Mr. Clarence claimed to have met?

16. What is the name of Akeem’s pet elephant?

17. What is the name of the Jackie Wilson song Akeem sings?

18. How many characters do Eddie Murphy and Arsenio Hall play in the movie?

19. Who does Semmi end up falling in love with?

20. What famous South African chorus sings the opening sequence of the movie?

21. Why can’t Darryl help stop the robbery at Mc Dowells?

22. What airline do Akeem and Semmi fly to America?

23. What university does Akeem claim he attends?

24. James Earl Jones and Madge Sinclair, also play King and Queen in what other famous movie?

25. What famous singer choreographed the African dance leading to Imani’s reveal?

26. In what part of the movie does John Landis make his director’s cameo?

27. What is Imani’s favorite food?

28. Who originally came up with the fictional name Zamunda?

29. How old was Joe Louis when he fought Rocky Marcianno according to Mr. Clarence?

30. How much did Akeem spend on the Ruby earrings for Lisa?

With just a lil' swipe...

2009-03-06T23:09:00.004-05:00

I know it's pretty late, but I felt I had to write about this before tomorrow.

Earlier this week, I read an article in the Daily News about little Jasmina Anema, a six-year old with leukemia from Greenwich Village. She suffers from a rare form of leukemia and was just diagnosed in January. It's been said they said she doesn't have much longer--unless she finds a bone marrow donor.

Well, tomorrow is the donor drive (info below) and I've been spreading the word, in the hopes of doing what little I can to possibly save this beautiful child's life.

So here's my appeal to you--all three of you who read my blog!--to try to make it down there tomorrow (or at least, spread the word). All you gotta do is let them take a quick swab of your cheek. Five seconds, tops.

In the interest of full disclosure, I must caution that the actual procedure of extracting the marrow from the donor is quite painful. But what's a little discomfort if it means possibly giving life to another human being?

I plan on being there tomorrow, willing mouth on hand and hope for a phenomenal and ultimately successful turnout.

Jasmina's donor drive will be held tomorrow, Saturday, March 7th at P.S. 41 (116 W. 11th Street) from 10AM to 2PM. For more information, contact DKMS, a nonprofit marrow donor center: 866-340-3567

Peace always,

New Developments

2009-03-01T12:09:00.012-05:00

Homegirl's been busy.

In the span of two weeks, I've garnered a promotion at work (no stunt-0), started a new freelance writing gig, have begun writing a screenplay (tryna get my Slumdog Millionaire on) and have set a (very) tentative groundwork for this community venture that my sister and I are undertaking.

This grown-up business is no joke. And me not sure me likey.

As of late, I've been overcome with this paranoia of to-do-ness. And since my forte is undertaking twenty things--none of which I ever seem to finish--all at one time, this is just typical me. On steroids, though.

I don't know if I harbor an actually love of being busy (I highly doubt this), or if it's my fear of being perceived as lazy (this seems a lot more plausible), but whatever it is, it had me up at SIX-THIRTY this morning with a hefty laundry load of a list already running through my head. Calls and emails I just haven't been returning, check-ups on friends I've been concerned about, writing a letter of recommendation for a former colleague, helping Mama put over two thousand of her pictures into photo albums, following up on my speed-date matches (pause)...the list goes on and on.

Oh, and did I tell you I just put my application for Big Brothers/Big Sisters of America yesterday? Add 'must write a new blog post today' to the list, and welp, here I am.

So as I sit here, listening to Hal Jackson's "Sunday Classics" radio segment on WBLS (my weekly Sunday morning indulgence), my fingers gliding over the keys of my sexy little black Macbook, I wonder if I am in fact, doing too much.

What does that mean, "too much"? Like, what would have to happen to me to realize that I, in fact, have attempted too much? Would I have to lose like, a body part? I think so.

I guess one good thing that has come out of packing my schedule chockfull would be the lack of time I've had for peripheral friends. It's actually quite great, as it's something I've been trying to figure out how to eliminate from my life. Admittedly, it's a initially a little sad to let go of these friends, some of with whom I was very close, but ultimately, I'm proud of myself--letting go shows growth. So I'm growing, y'all. I'm growing!

Anyway, I guess with all the stuff I've been doing, updating this blog more frequently has gone to the wayside. And I am really sorry about that. But blogging is hard. I'll try harder. If I can ever find the time...

Twitter Me, Twatter Me?

2009-02-24T00:05:00.000-05:00

So I broke down yesterday and got myself a Twitter account.

And I simply do not get it. Like, I understand the point, but for real, y'all: is it really that serious?

Apparently, I thought it was serious enough when I signed up. But now I'm starting to feel a kind of way about it. What does it say about me? Am I really *that* starved for attention that I've gotta let everyone know every.single.minute.of.the.day what I'm doing?

Sometimes, I do feel I live a charmed life. Other times, eh, not so much. But I still don't see why I must report a play-by-play-by-play of my world.

Facebook is enough--sometimes even too much. I'm already a crackberry addict and borderline OCD, so I really don't need Twitter. I would just hate to think that I would be missing out on a potentially great networking tool. So I guess we shall see.

Adventures in Speed Dating

2009-02-23T19:50:00.002-05:00

Sooooo, I went speed dating last week.

...and actually had a lot of fun.

I don't think I've actually met a person that has speed dated before. In fact, I thought only white people speed dated. This was obviously not true, as the lounge I went to last night was packed to the hilt with people of all colors last night.

Okay, so anyone who knows anything about me knows that I'm mad awkward with the whole dating thing, so it follows that signing up for not one, not two, but EIGHT dates in ONE night is something I just.don't.do.

So you can imagine my surprise when I actually found myself considering it. Hey, I said to myself, it's 2009. A black man's the leader of the free world, what the hey?

For the uninitiated, you get three minutes each to well, "date" a different person. Each participant, male and female, gets an evaulation sheet at the beginning of the round; you write each date's name, and check off the boxes listed "good conversation," "attractive," "funny," etc. The final two boxes are, without question, the most important parts-- you either pick, "No Thanks" or "I'd Like to See Again."

Okay, I guess in my excitement to try something new, I just wasn't paying attention. Like, that's always been my thing--I don't know how to follow directions. And so, I checked "I'd Like to See Again" for most of the guys I met. Insert frown face here. For shame.

Well, needless to say, at the end of the night, I had quite a few matches. A few of them I didn't particularly care for. The one guy I DID want to meet, I forgot to write his name and therefore couldn't get matched. *shaking my head*

Anyway, the night I went, the guys did the rotating; the women remained seated as each guy went from table-to-table. I have to say, I did like the arrangement--treating guys like pieces of mean was, well...fun. The participants who remained seated definitely had an advantage. I could sense the strained, nervous smiles a mile away. Some of the guys were really nervous. I can only imagine how flustered I'd be, having to move from table to table. My head would have been spinning.

It was a decent bunch: there were two burly firefighters (ooh la la!) from Brooklyn, a med student, a pharmaceutical rep that was studying for the GMATS and a few others I can't remember, all under 30. Yes! [TT's note: That's another thing. I realize I'm getting old when I can consider dating thirty-year olds without batting an eye. I remember when dating an 18 year old was like, what every freshman girl aspired to do. Lordy.] And there was the token wack dude---the overly pushy one that couldn't understand why I wouldn't give him my phone number.

"So how am I gonna contact you?" he said when I refused.

"That's what our emails are for [We submitted our emails at the beginning of the night]. If there's a mutual connection [I made sure I stressed the word mutual], the matchmaker will provide your match's email."

"But can I have your number anyway?"

"Nope, sorry."

"Why?"

Beep. NEXT!

But it was a nice experience, all and all. Speed dating is a great opportunity for character analysis, both of the self and of others. Peep the following...

1. I'm a lot more shallow that I thought I was. A lot.

Actually, I take that back. I mean, we *did* only have three minutes. So my first filter was one based on physical attraction. I was judgmental as all hell. But when I thought about it some more on my train ride back home, I realized that I probably do this under normal circumstances a whole lot too. I'd hate to think I had "a type" and was instead the equal-opportunity sort of gal, but I don't think that's exactly accurate when I interact in the "real" world.

2. Some mid-twenty year old males really do lack in substantive conversation-making. Maybe it was nerves or the pressure of having only three minutes to determine whether you liked someone or not, but dang. It was such a turnoff to speak to someone that couldn't think of ANYTHING to talk about for three minutes. I'll never forget that one dude I spoke, or rather, didn't speak to. Wasn't even trying. NEXT!

3. Looks go a long way but conversation goes a lot further. And it can't be talk about nothing--we only had three minutes so we had to make the most of it. So I did find myself kinda connecting (well, connecting as much as three minutes would allow) with the dudes that really knew how to make the most of the three minutes, looks notwithstanding. Like, physical attractiveness was almost a non-issue. Almost.

4. As much as Tyra Banks likes to claim the contrary, there *are* available Black men in New York. Whether they're worth it--I don't know. I only had three minutes!

5. I feel like I owe my first adventure in speed dating to Barack H. Obama. Since his election, I've been really carpe diem on a whole lotta ish. Not that I've stopped caring--far from it, as I think I care about a lot more now--but I guess I've stopped being so neurotic about things. There's no harm in trying new things (among the exceptions to this rule would be drug use, bungee jumping and sex with midgets) and pushing the boundaries you've set for yourself, provided, like I said, they're all within reason. And reason is something I have in abundance.

Looking back on my experience, I still can't believe I speed dated. Like, it's one notch on my belt, one more thing I can check off my list of Things to Do. It was so out of character, yet strangely liberating. I still can't believe I did it. In hindsight, I realize that I wasn't expecting anything to become of it, I just wanted to be able to say I did it.

I'm actually considering going again next week. Who knows who I might meet? LordpleaseletitbeDenzel.

Toodle-loo

Apologies are in order, my friends...

2009-02-15T20:48:00.004-05:00

Umm, why have I not written in my blog for a month??

I have no less than fifteen posts that are in various stages of completion and will post up shortly.

So as I watch the All Star Game, I'll be uploading my posts in an effort to avoid seeming like a non-committal blogger.

But bear with me--watching Lebron James AND Kevin Garnett is a bit...umm...distracting.

It's the Grammys, Baby!

2009-02-09T11:34:00.036-05:00

Okay, I know I've been MIA something redunkulous as of late, but I COULD NOT let a day go by without talking about the best Grammys event we've had for a while. [TT Note: Apparently, I could, as I'm publishing this point a week later. Silly me...]Let's just jump right it with the highlights....

1. Chris Brown Beating on Rihanna.

I guess these two overshadowed the event. And they weren't even there. [TT Note: more on this later]

Okay. This is sad. And supposedly, Chris used to see him mom get beat up by his father. His mother must be going through it--what mother wants to see her son continue the cycle of domestic violence?

Rihanna and Chris Breezy worth a lot of money and in 2009 really were R&B's rising star couple. The way all the facts were released make me believe that the two camps probably sat down and tried to figure out the best way to spin this as positively as possible for both of them.

Rihanna ought to press charges , but I'd feel sad for Chris too. Nineteen year-olds shouldn't be facing fed charges. Chris is too pretty for jail.

2. Nine-Months Preggers M.I.A Performing 'Swagga Like Us' with Jay-Z, T.I. and Lil' Wayne.

I've always been feeling M.I.A. because she really doesn't give an eff about anything. And apparently, tonight was no different. Mama was really up there rockin' it out with her belly all out. A mess, but I loves it. I 'd like to think I'd do the same.

3a. Smokey Robinson, Jamie Foxx, and Others. Smokey's still old. Jamie could get it. Ne-yo's uber talented, but dang--that Adebisi hat style has gotta go! Wait--no! Reminded by that infamous mug shot of his, maybe he should keep his hat on.

3b. Jennifer Hudson. The ultimate class act. I love everything about her and can't even imagine what she's going through. Consummate professional. God bless her.

4. RADIOHEAD! Should have opened up. Instead we had U2 (Inauguration definitely had something to do with that) who was great, but if I remember correctly, was nominated for nary a thing that night.

Radiohead was effin awesome. Finally, they're getting some prime time shine.

5. Coldplay. St. Pepper inspired costumes. Chris Martin rocking out. Good enough for moi, jacked up teeth and all.

6. Weezy F. Baby. Umm, did any other black rappers win besides Lil' Wayne last night? I don't think so. I was, however, preparing for some ignorance from Wayne, but had to give to it him with his NOLA tribute. It was touching, albeit a bit anachronistic to me.

Seeing Terrence Blanchard was an unexpected surprise. Seeing him was great.

7. The Absence of Beyonce Knowles. Thank you, Lord. Only thing worse for the Grammys I think, would have had Solange perform in her stead.

8. Neil Diamond. LOL. Just typing this makes me laugh. I know maybe, one song from this man. It was just so odd, but whatevs.

9. The "WTH?" Moment of the Night

I'm sure everyone experienced when Robert Plant and Alison Krauss won for Album of the Year.

10. Finally Realizing Who Adele Is.

My sister has been talking about Adele for like, forever. But I've never seen an image or heard a song from this British songbird. Since seeing her at the Grammys, I've downloaded her album, but can't stop listening to 'Chasing Pavements.' Like her and her voice a lot, although Amy Winehouse did it first and did it better.

10b) Who Knew Country Had Soul? Sugarland--and their duet with Adele--was so beautiful too.

Somebody Get This Girl a Xanax! (written 2/3/09)

2009-02-03T20:06:00.010-05:00

I feel stuck. Stuck like a pig. A big, fat, squealing pig.

I don't know what I'm going through is called, but I think I need someone to hold me by the shoulders--firmly--and give me a good shake.

And I love Obama as much as the next young American, but damn if the man doesn't make me even more frustrated with myself. I remember how I felt on Inauguration Day as I stood in the cold, just wanting to do everything and anything: I wanted to write more, to mentor more, to run for *some* kind of political office. I wanted to go back to school, take that bikram yoga class I'd been eyeing, and take that weekend dance class. I wanted to knit again, highlight my hair again, travel. I wanted to write my councilwoman and see what could be done about putting an extra streetlight on my block.

Campaign Obama really got me going.

But that's a good thing...right?

I so understand what Beyonce meant about wanting to be smarter after witnessing Obama's inauguration, yo. I mean, I want more.

Working in the publishing industry doesn't make things easier There's always gonna be that smartass asking me what my favorite book is (better not be To Kill A Mockingbird) or the last book I've read once they find out what I do. If I don't come up with some obscure, high-brow piece of literature....

But like I said earlier, I'm feeling stuck. And I'm not sure how to un-stuck myself. It's frustrating.

Maybe I'm just in a mood because Kobe really dropped a cool 61 on the Knicks last night [TT Note: this post was originally written on February 3rd]. That guy is unbelievable. Still can't stand him though.

I'm Gonna Live in Jamaica. Think I'm Playing?

2009-01-28T20:40:00.021-05:00

Okay, I think it's high time I talk about my trip to JA. It has been almost three weeks since I've been back, so.... I guess with the whole inauguration thing, I've been putting off writing my Jamaica post.

Long story short: Jamaica was the best vacation I've ever had. Hands down.

Long story long: I flew on Air Jamaica and friggin loved it. I had stewed chicken and rice and Champagne on my way there. It was my first time in business class and I swear, I'm never flying coach again (okay, that's a lie). Sitting next to me was this handsome older gentleman who was great company during the flight. We talked about our professional lives--he's the founder of CIN, Caribbean International Television, a station my uncle watches religiously. He was telling me about all the challenges of running a network and whatnot but I didn't realize that I had seen his programs back home until talking to my aunt about him afterwards. We exchanged cards; I should really contact him. I googled him when I got home and apparently, he's big time. And I *do* need a sugar daddy, so...

I landed in Jamaica about six pm--in my sweats and hoodie. Meanwhile all the other women are in tank tops and bootie shorts. And don brightly-dyed, asymmetrical haircuts. Okay, for real, I'm not lying. Jamaicans are very liberal with their style choices and color combinations.

So, I collect my bag from the carousel (by the way, this is the first time my luggage has ever arrived with me--I so LOVE Air Jamaica), go out the airport and the first thing I notice is the air. My goodness! It was so friggin clean! It was so breezy and relaxing...the epitome of Caribbean chill. You never know how nasty New York air is until you go somewhere else. I could smell the water too. I almost cried.

I stayed in St. Catherine parish in Hellshire Heights. Visiting Ocho Rios, Montego Bay and Fern Gully (SON--did you know that Fern Gully is a real place?? I thought it was just a Disney movie!) was nice, but Hellshire Heights really is where it's at. It's quiet as hell and kind of secluded. It's still very much an open secret. I'm love to build a house there and look at the ocean every day. Mark my words.

Each morning I woke up at 6 AM and was in the water by 6:30. I know what you're thinking: Damn girl, you're on vacation. Why are you up at the crack of dawn? But I'm telling you, 6 AM looks like 10 AM--the sun is already in the middle of the sky, it's warm, and everyone's up and about. I could see the water from by bedroom; if I closed my eyes and turned off the ceiling fan, I could hear it too. I could tumble out of my bed, out the front door and into the beach. Literally.

The water was always warm and clear and blue. Sometimes I saw little fishes swimming around my feet and told them to chill; I don't swim with animals. I got a different tan line every day from the bathing suits I wore--it was looking crazy, but I didn't care. I was in Jamaica!

I really traveled all over the island. Visited the Bob Marley house that was made into a museum by his wife Rita (a real O.G., by the way). I learned about him getting shot and that concert he had when he reunited opposing Jamaican politicians, his kids, the Wailers and the I-Threes, his love for ganja, the simplicity of his life and his untimely death. It was some deep stuff. I cried. I guess I was just caught up in the moment; it was there I realized, wow, I really am in Jamaica.

Went to Ocho Rios and climbed Dunn's River Falls, this mammoth waterfall slash beach resort. That place was wild. I felt like McGyver, climbing those rocks. Thought I was gonna bust my head clean open, but it was a great workout.

Chilled at Kingston and ate jerk chicken and goat's head soup (OMG, the best thing in life) every day--right on the dingiest, most random roads. I could feel my mom's disapproval all the way from New York, chastising me for eating off the street--and without washing my hands first. But that mess was good.

Went to Spanish Town. Apparently, Spanish Town has a bad rep--it's a kinda tough little town, a bit hood, but honestly, it will forever hold a special place in my heart. There was always something popping off. I loved their crowded market, their nightlife, the...liveliness of it all. My aunt thinks it's too ghetto, but I love Spanish Town--the good and the bad---and can't wait to go back.

I went to May Pen and bought 50 dozen pieces of ackee, had our car break down--on Christmas Day--in dark, hilly, no-guardrails-on-the-mountains, country-ass Clarendon, almost got into a physical altercation over my chicken patties at Tastees in Kingston (please don't ask), had sky water in Spanish Town, almost Got Served by a whining, crazy girl from JAPAN (of all places) who could dance her tail off, and just had a really good time. I consider myself blessed beyond measure.

There were quite a few things I've learned/noticed during my time in Jamaica. Let's review them, shall we? Okay:

1. Jamaicans Do Not Like Gays. At ALL.

I've always heard of Jamaicans' and their disdain for all things homosexual; any one who listens to the lyrics of certain dancehall artists knows that much. But yo. Son. It's really real out there in Jamaica. Never in my life have I heard such disgust for gays (seemingly, lesbians catch a little less flack, but gay men? Don't even.) I'd thought I'd heard it all, but nope, Jamaicans take it to a whole 'notha level. It's hardcore: some people really feel justified in taking the life of a gay person--and see absolutely nothing wrong with it. The collective negative attitude is something discussed openly in newspapers and on the radio and TV. I heard a sad story about a dude that killed himself after being sexually assaulted by another man. He was so ashamed that he couldn't face life anymore. It's sad to think about.

Jamaica's anti-gay stance also got me thinking about the popular notion amongst certain circles here in the US that suggests that a hate for homosexuals is indicative of the hater's suppressed homosexuality. In Jamaica, I don't think it's that. It truly is a cultural thing that is taught, perpetuated and inadvertently supported. And it makes me sad that there's nothing I can do about it.

2. Jamaicans Know How To Party. Hard.

Any real Jamaican knows about the annual concert held at the end of the year called Sting. I'd never heard of it, 'cause, well, I ain't Jamaican, but apparently, it's *the* concert to attend. All of reggae's and dancehall's biggest names come out and perform for a night of stunting, dancing and of course, music. The day of the concert, that's all everyone--young and old--talked about, Sting this, Sting that. That night, I found myself with no plans and said, what the hell, I'll go to Sting.

Well, how come NO ONE told me that Sting was NINE friggin' hours long? What the hell, mon? Never in my life will I do something like that again. We (my sexy Jamaican uh... escort, my cousin and I) got there around 11PM and returned home around 9. In the morning. Nope, never again.

Oh, and did I mention the stampede? I didn't? Well yeaaaah, I definitely almost lost my life that night. Overzealous Jamaicans, mad at being shut out of the concert, bumrushed the gate, flooding an already-packed stadium. It was madness. Never have I felt such terror in my heart. Never. First thing you hear is the stampede of feet. Then you see the frightened faces and hundreds of people running madly towards you. Utter terror. And that happened twice. Never again.

I thought I was pretty up on my dancehall artists, but apparently not. Out of like, thirty friggin acts that night, I'd only heard of like, six. There was this whole Mavado/Vybyz Kartel beef thing going on that I just wasn't understanding, but whatever.

Beenie Man was GREAT, and Patra--'member her? "Pull Up to My Bumper, Baby." Yeah, that's her. And she is most definitely on cougar status. That woman looks good!

3. The Jamaican Spirit Is Awesome.

In fact, I'm thinking I can say this about any non-American collective. But for real, Jamaican are just some laid back, easy-going mofos. Until you try to cheat them. Then all bets are off and prepare yourself to meet a cutlass. Think I'm playing...

4. Jamaicans Can't Drive.

Actually, I kinda take this back. I think Jamaicans are EXTREMELY defensive drivers.A good thing, right? No.

Everyone speeds and is uber aggressive. People overtake recklessly, don't use their signals and demonstrate a consistent lack of common courtesy. Seeing someone weaving in and out of traffic, coming thisclose from causing fatal accidents, happens endlessly. Stop signs mean nothing. Some places didn't have a streetlight for miles. I constantly found myself holding my breath and closing my eyes, bracing myself for the impact of an oncoming car and a very swift death for me.

So you know I had to drive, right?

Tell me why I took me almost ten minutes to get out the roundabout, though??? Mercy. No one would let me over! But overall, I thought I did pretty good. The adrenaline was pumping and I felt I could hang with the other Nascar wannabes driving the streets of JA.

5. The Violence in Urban Jamaica Is Very Real and Out of Control.

A couple nights during my stay, a few of my cousin's friends would come over and they'd talk about stuff-- you know, everyday ish about living in Jamaica. They're all fairly young dudes in their mid/late twenties. Between endless bottles of Red Stripe, Guinness/Red Bull combos and various Wray and Nephew concoctions, we talked about anything and everything. The most common topic through was always about some whutlessness going down in the city: so and so holding up a store, another person getting shaken down by the police, this teenager getting gunned down in the middle of the day. Every night was a different story. From what I understand, Jamaica's crime problem stems from three factors: the easy accessibility of guns, police corruption and political unaccountability. It's an endless cycle of craziness that goes down and a lot of people get caught up. A lot of young, impressionable children, especially.

6. Tastee Patties Sons All Other Types of Patties. Period.

Never will I lust for a Golden Krust patty ever again. Every day I pass by one in the city, I hold my nose. I've always felt sketchy about GK, but since post-JA, I look down on that establishment with such disdain. *shakes my head*

7. "Just Down The Road" Really Means a Long-Ass Way.

When you ask someone in Jamaica for directions and they point and say, "Such and such is right down the road." or "just around the corner," it's a lie. A boldface, terrible lie. "Just around the corner" oftentimes mean an hour away. Two hours away. A day's drive away. Everything is "just around the corner." I learned this the hard way :(

8. Jamaica Needs Sprint. Or Verizon. Or T-Mobile.

Jamaica has an interesting cellular phone system. They buy their minutes in 'credits' not minutes. When they run out of credits, they buy some more. Sounds simple but it's quite easy to steal someone else's credits, and I was always advised to never let people use my phone. Never had I ever been so grateful for Verizon's free nights and weekends plan until I took my tail to Jamaica.

9. Now I Know Why Stella Went to Jamaica to Get Her Groove Back.

There are some real beautiful men in Jamaica. That's really all I have to say about that.

10. Every Jamaica Male's Name Ends In "-Roy"

Speaking of Jamaican men, it seems that every male in the country is either named something ending in -roy (ie Fitzroy, Leroy, Elroy, Trenroy, etc) or is named Trevor. I'm exaggerating of course, but gee whiz. I have never met so many Elroys and Fitzroys and Alroys in my life! I don't know what the explanation is for that one, but I'm thinking it had something to do with British influence on the island.

Okay, I'm tired of writing. Check, check, check some of my pics below. I'll add more later.

A little boy who sold fruits out of a van with his father. I had my mango and pineapple from them every morning. He's such a handsome young dude. I hope I see him again.

National hero Usain Bolt. This boy is everywhere.

Ackee and saltfish. I punished this.

I almost killed myself climbing Dunn's River Falls.

Yum-o! I love their chicken patties.

Montego Bay

Sting concert around hour... what, seven?

Jamaica has a speeding problem apparently.

Do you not see how blue the water is?? Amazing.

The market at Spanish Town.

It Is Done... And We Did It

2009-01-21T22:17:00.019-05:00

I was a part of history yesterday.

I'm still numb. And it has nothing to do with the seventeen-degree temperature I suffered through.

I can't believe it. The cold. The waiting. The walking. The not being able to feel my hands, my feet, my ears.

COMPLETELY WORTH IT.

That being said, I'm never doing that ish again. The only way I'd trek all the way to Washington to an inauguration was if I was marrying the dude being sworn in. You think I'm playing...

But for real ya'll. I was a part of history. On some mega, life-changing, mind-blowing, telling-your-grandkids-about-this ish. Like Beyonce, I'm very embarassed at how inarticulate I'm sounding right now, but damn it, I don't care (I feel you, Bey).

Never, ever, ever will I forget watching Barack Obama walk through the Capitol doors to the dais, his head high, his arms firmly at his sides, his walk confident and so effin' cool. I was proud as hell and I've NEVER felt that way about someone that wasn't family.

I do know I couldn't stop screaming. At the top of my lungs. God bless the people standing around me, 'cause I was a mess. I didn't get one dirty look, or a hiss or a mumble.

I teared up. I hugged people. I did that embarrassing dance of mine that I do when I'm so happy all I can do is dance (albeit poorly).

People were mad friendly; we were just all happy--blacks and whites--to witness this together.

Hearing that man take that oath...When that Justice asked Obama if he was ready, dude said, "I am." Like, friggin' Charlton Heston in the Ten Commandments. Maaaaaaaaaaaan.

Chills. Down. My. Spine.

I'll never forget it.

Yet, when everything died down, I couldn't help but feel a little melancholy. I was telling my homegirl last night on the phone that following Obama all this time, then seeing the end goal finally manifest itself is such a high. But coming down from that high makes your heart feel just...heavy when you realize what lies ahead. When the doubt and second-guessing comes in. I told my friend that it's kinda analogous to the very moment you realize that your child, despite you knowing his potential for greatness, could still after every effort to prevent such, fail. It's something that I don't like to think about often, but que sera sera, no?

It's a tough, long road. An unbelievable tough road. And my heart aches when I think of all the work that lies ahead for this man who, at the end of the day is just that: a man. But anyway, I just want to see this man do the damn thing. So bad. But I know things may not turn out the way so many of us hope, you know?

Back to the ceremony. Aretha was really great. Sounded wonderful. Rev. Lowry was a highlight of the inauguration. Dang, I loved that dude's benediction. Chief Justice Roberts fudged the oath (of COURSE, right?!?), but my dude held it together and was even gracious to allow Justice Roberts to correct himself.

Elizabeth Alexander. Sigh.

Okay. I was really eager to hear her speak, as I'd studied her in college and had her mother as one of my professors. I ain't gonna lie, though. I dogged that poem. Even before she finished it.

I think it was her cadence and lack of an enthusiastic delivery that really turned people off. I mean, how you gonna give an 'alright' poem after Barack, excuse me, President Obama, just gave his friggin' inaugural address? C'mon dude! And given how dynamic the whole Obama campaign from start to finish was, the poem rendered a kind of anti-climatic reaction that a lot of people, seeking something just as dynamic was turned off by.

Still, I thought I'd give her another try when I got home. And upon a second and third reading, it wasn't quite as bad as I thought it was when I heard it delivered. Oh well. Sucks to be her. Majorly.

I was going to write about Michelle, but given my love for the woman, she deserves her own post. My WONDERFUL trip to Jamaica recap will also have to until next time, as there is NO way in hell I'm gonna be writing or thinking about anything else other than what I witnessed in person yesterday.

D.C. was STUNTASTIC, though. Like Howard Homecoming times 10--just with a little more attractive black professional men. It was true: D.C. was THE place to be last weekend. Cute men and whatnot. Me and my digressions. Moving on...

But today, I understand all those old white guys who are always so quick to show their unyielding support to and pride for their county. Before, they've always seems so foolish and oblivious to how this country could really get down. But right now, I get the way they feel 'cause I feel it too. I mean, I ain't about to sign up for the National Guard or anything, but I hope you understand what I mean.

Being an American doesn't feel too shabby today. Never thought I'd say that, but it's true. Yo, my dumb ass country FINALLY did something right! Finally.

On: Handwritten Letters

2008-12-18T00:26:00.008-05:00

I can't remember the last time I received a handwritten letter.

Actually, that's a fib. I do remember. Almost five years ago, I received a letter from one of my favorite Vacamas campers, Tammy. Such a sweetheart.

It wasn't too long a letter, maybe just three-quarters of one page. It was in big black bubble letters, the standard insignia of every urban girl her age. I remember it saying that she was going to miss me when she returned back home to Queens and that she'd never forget me. She said I shouldn't forget her either and that was unsure if she would return to camp again, but she'd try. :(

Now Tammy and I had a tough time initially. We just didn't take to each other during our first days of meeting each other. I remember a lot of eye-rolling and foot-stomping and a whole lotta venting on my part to other counselors. There was mad talk-back from Tammy too; homegirl just never knew when to quit! Looking back, I don't even know why I was stressing because Tammy had the same kind of mouth I did--the kind my mother would often WHOOP. MY. ASS. for.

Anyway, after a while, we began to warm to each other. Spending practically every waking minute of the day in the middle of West Milford, Friggin' New Jersey together, you kinda had to. Tammy, I, and about seven other girls ate, swam, camped out, hiked and talked smack---always together. I became Mother Bear and the girls--Tammy included--became my babies. I gave them the benefit of the doubt even when their actions demonstrated otherwise, always called them first to do activity or volunteer to lead in song-- just straight-up, unabashed camp nepotism. Tammy especially learned REAL quick that I was a good person to kiss up to when we were hungry and cold in the wilderness and I was only one of two people there that could start a fire without matches.

So it was just a matter of time before little Tammy became my ace. It's a great feeling, having a kid mention you in her "highs" and not in her "lows" as she usually did lol. (Every day, right before lights out it was routine for the girls to tell the rest of the bunk her high points of her day and her not so high points of the day. For a solid week, homegirl had me on her sh*t list something lovely).

But anywaaaay, back to the letter thing. I haven't lost Tammy's letter, per se--it's somewhere in this hoarder's paradise that I call my room. I'm sure if given a few hours, I'd find it wedged between two books on my shelf or in my 'miscellaneous' drawer. I know it's here somewhere.

Along a slightly related parallel, I had a conversation with a friend earlier today about wanting to be written letters to. With emails, and texts and IMs and now--oh good grief--Twitter, it's kinda made me sad to think that no one takes time to write. Like, really take time. No one takes time to do anything anymore.

I realized I'd love a handwritten letter. I'd love to GIVE a handwritten letter. So in the spirit of saving a dying art form and as a tribute to dear Tammy from Queens and her lovely letter, I'm gonna attempt to write a letter a week to whomever would like one.

You in?

Today, I went to Red Lobster

2008-12-17T22:30:00.011-05:00

...for the first time. I will relinquish my black card, but I'm sure I'll do or say something really black soon and get it back.

Well, Red Lobster was utterly delightful--everything I dreamed it would be and so much more! When asked where I wanted to go last week, Red Lobster was the first place I thought of (insert sad face here) simply because I'd never been.

So I'm my excitement, I told EVERYONE that I'd be going to RL. They in turn all told me the same thing: make sure you try the cheese biscuits.

So I did. And all y'all were lying!

I wasn't too fond of the biscuits. Well, I've never been a biscuit person to begin with (I guess if I were in possession of my black card, it would be taken from me here), but it was just...dough. I ain't even taste the cheese!

But everything else was good. I had some fruity mangoey drink, skipped the salad (what else is new?) and went straight for the skrimps--fried and coconut fried! I think I remember ordering a baked potato and rice. But it was all a whirlwind so I can't be entirely sure.

I had great conversation with a great friend that I don't see often enough (sad face again). And then I had more skrimps. Gosh, I'm such a cheap date, it's kinda sad lol.

Had a waiter named Lucas, who preferred to be called Luke, who was from the Eastern Shore in Maryland (ewwww). He's been working with RL for seven years and Luke too is tired of the cheese biscuits blah blah blah. He looooooooves New York, but is trying to go back home for Christmas. But something about Luke told me he'd be happy all the same in New York if he didn't (how YOU doing?????)

I just felt the need to chronicle this momentous event with photos.

Can I get my card back?

So, um...Facebook, much?

2008-12-15T22:36:00.014-05:00

On the train today, I was debating whether to blog about Brazilian waxes. Luckily for you, I reasoned that to be too risque (streets is watching) and decided to write about something else instead.

Previously on this blog, I've touched on my affinity for the innanets. Yes, everyone knows I love the World Wide Web. More than chicken, more than store brand cookies from Duane Reade, more than shopping spreeing at Conway with Desiree (haaaaay boo!*). So it follows that my love for the internet extends to Facebook as well. Sort of.

It's crazy to me how Facebook has really changed the game in social communication. It's a great way to find out what's going on---that house party or that political rally or a free burrito day at Chipotle (which I missed and am quite mad about. Thanks, Chad).

But for real, if *anything* is going down, that ish is on Facebook. Not only social event thingies, but really personal stuff, too--stuff that I, nor anyone else, should have no business knowing about. Things like long, drawn-out breakups. Or a letter-writing Facebook group for your boy doing a bid upstate (true story). Or your baby moms being pregnant again ('Look at my girl's sonogram, son!" [true story, again]). I've seen a lot of wackiness on Facebook, for real.

So early last week, I decided to take a week-long (okay, five-day) sabbatical from the 'Book. In those five days, I did not log on once.

But during that short time, I couldn't help but feel a little disconnected. Like I didn't know what was going on. It was ultimately liberating though, being able to tell people *nose turned up* "No, I'm no longer on Facebook. It was just getting to be too much." But after a while, I was getting that Facebook itch and like a moth to a flame, I found myself back on the 'Book.

So to rationalize my lack of discipline, I reasoned to myself the following: People that *aren't* on Facebook don't have a life. People that do, well... do! Yes, that's right!

But the more I thought about it, the more it actually made sense to me.

If you have nothing going on in your life, then yeah, I understand why you wouldn't be on Facebook. It's not like you'd have anything interesting to put in your status bar.

Or maybe you've just missed the Facebook boat and can't seem to figure out the hoopla surrounding Facebook.

Or maybe you're old. It's okay.

But for real, anyone doing anything anywhere knows the place to be is on Facebook.

If anything, it's a way to keep in touch without having to pick up the phone or--heaven forbid--meet with someone in person.

I know that I'm in the minority of those who would much, much, much rather sit and have a real conversation with someone. Preferably over some food. So it does kind of make me sad to think that the art of conversation could one day be lost. Maybe even forever. After all, who writes handwritten letters anymore? And when was the last time you saw someone use a smoke signal? Exaaaaactly.

Anywhoo, to finish off this post on a more upbeat note (or maybe just to finish this off and be done), please click on the following clip. It's a humorous (yet still, a sadly accurate) take on the Facebook phenomenon literally translated into real life. Enjoy! (More after the clip)

Note 1: Upon finishing this post, I now realize that writing about Brazilian waxes would have been more fun. Soon come.

*Oh, and just for future reference, please everyone, refrain from calling me 'boo.' Ever in life. I hate that word.

It's iPod Shuffle Time!

2008-12-11T10:03:00.006-05:00

Zune people can get in on it too...

Okay, this may appear to be a bit of a cop-out, but I really thought this was fun so I wanna try it.

I'm gonna put my iPod on shuffle and list the first twenty songs that pop up. I'll write the first sentence I think of. One sentence only. Hopefully afterwards, you'll think I have great taste in music. Granted, I've got some wacktastic cuts on my playlist, so let's hope I don't embarass myself.

1. Goodbye Yellow Brick Road- Elton John
Love me some EJ and will straight PUNISH a rendition of Benny and the Jets--in the shower.

2. Closer-Teedra Moses
Shame how many people slept on her first album.

3. More and More- Little Brother
Not my favorite LB cut, but I'll always listen to whatever Little Brother (RIP) will put out.

4. Guess What- Keyshia Cole feat. Jadakiss
Not a fan of the track. (The end)

5. Brooklyn Queens- 3rd Base
Heard this at my aunt's barbershop, and remembered to download it.

6. Days of Our Lives- BoneThugs-N-Harmony
Krayzie Bone, Bizzy Bone, Lazy Bone, Wish Bone, and....why am I blanking on the other one?!?!

7. It's Getting Stronger-DeBarge
Weren't they like Samoan or something?

8. Five Minutes of Funk-Whodini
I can only listen to this like, twice a year.

9. Taxi-Tweet
Another tragically slept on album.

10.Shorty on the Lookout-Little Brother
Apple be on that mess sometimes, why am I getting another LB song?

11. (No way in hell I'm gonna post this one).
Yeah, waaaay to graphic.

12 .Wake Up Alone- Amy Winehouse
Sigh--it's sad how much this talented woman is exploited...only a matter of time before she's dead.

13. Prayer- Beanie Siegal feat. Raheem DeVaughn
Prefers Freeway.

14. Carnival for Sha- Camp Lo
Always loved them because I could barely understand what they were saying half the time and that they were from the Bronx.

15. Promise- Ciara
Great stripper music.

16. The Wind Cries Mary- Jimi Hendrix
Tragic story of a talented man

17. Player's Prayer- Lloyd
I love Lloyd and his androgynous weird-looking self.

18. Mars (remix)- Blu
Sounds like a friend of mine.

19. Fulton Street- Leschea
Rain on a Saturday afternoon in Brooklyn

20. Ya Mama-Pharcyde
So funny--I was just joking with a friend of mine that his mama was so fat that she could get busy with a million burritos at Chipotle hahahaha. (She really isn't).

Okay, there's a lot of hip-hop on that list, but I'm not sure if most of what I listen to falls in that genre. I'm halfway tempted to do this again but this is time consuming and I'm sleepy.
Hope you enjoyed my half-assed attempted to write a post today.

"Yo' Mama's On Crack Rock!"

2008-12-09T22:44:00.010-05:00

If you've been reading this blog, you will discover one of my main obsessions is the internet.

It's becoming a huge problem, but it's something I'm working on.

Anyway, not too long ago, probably on a day that I had a TON of work to do, I decided to take a fifteen-minute (which subsequently became fifteen hours, but that's neither here nor there) break and exercise my expertise in something I like to call "YouTubery Tomfoolery."

During my session, I came across this. These kids, brothers with funky British accents, are so friggin' cute. Even if one has an unusually gargantuan noggin. *OhpleaseLorddontletmehavenobigheadedbabies*:

That clip led me to this clip. This guy is the funniest EVER. He has an accent too, it's just maaaad country. You just want to bite his cheeks, but he'd probably kick you. In the penis. Such a cutie pie:

Which of course, led me to this. I'd seen the above clip before, but this one just had me ROLLING. I know these commercial clips are mad old too, but whatever. The little boy is SO bright. Lil' senorita, ehhh not so much...

And then I come across this.

You already know. 5011 plastic colored barrettes in ONE girl's head is never a good sign.

Wait until the :25 mark.

Apparently, this was a real song and video. Too real. It's gotta be early nineties and thank God, I don't remember this.

How you gonna tease a girl, telling her her mama on crackrock?!? How do you know what crackrock is?!? Where are your parents?!??! Oh right, bent on crackrock!

But seriously, though. What parent would let their kid be in a music video talkin' bout CRACK? I know crack hit the BX kinda hard, but come on. OMG, I'm so...so done.

Crackrock, though?!?!? Jesus take the wheel.

On Allowing Things to Just... Be.

2008-12-08T10:51:00.007-05:00

So for over a year, I've been keeping a message of a close friend of mine on my cell phone. It was one of those funny voicemails that everyone keeps in their inbox--something that makes you chuckle when you come across it after forgetting it was there.

Well, my friend died over a year ago and every 21 days since, I'd renew his message, making sure it remained in my inbox. As long as I would remember to resave the message every three weeks, I was good. I mean, without fail--I'm sure sometimes I even wrote down a few 'Note to Self' reminders so I'd never forget to renew the message.

Well, yesterday, I forgot to save the message. It's gone forever.

The end. Really.

So I guess the universe is telling me to stop fighting and just... fall back. Had this happened a couple of months ago, I would have probably cried. Probably called Verizon, hoping there was something that could be done to retrieve my message.

But it was surely inevitable. Looking back, after a while I'd come dangerously closer and closer to Day 21, not being as diligent to make sure the message stayed in my inbox.

So now it has finally happened. And I don't feel the slightest upset about it.

'Cause really, when I really sit and think about it, I can't even tell you why I'd kept it so long. It's not like it was something I'd listen to everyday. Matter of fact, when I'd hear it, I'd just quickly save it and skip it. I'd only listen to it occasionally.

But knowing it was there was kinda imperative to my...I dunno. It was just something that had to be there all the time.

I think more than anything, I'm surprised that I don't feel badly about it. It does kinda "help" (help what really?) that I still have his emails, his designs, his pictures, his beats and music, the shirt he made me senior year of high school, and the birthday and graduation gifts he gave me. It's really a lot. But most importantly, I still have the memories. And I can only remember the good stuff! Sounds cliched as all hell, but it's 150 percent true.

Okay, that was enough. Back to writing about stupid 'ish.

The Internet: It's One Helluva Drug (c) Rick James

2008-12-01T20:23:00.003-05:00

Okay, so the drug that Superfreak himself was talking about wasn't the internet. It was, well, drugs but the same concept applies: I'm addicted to the internet and I really wish I wasn't.

Yeah, it's true.

Yes: I'm addicted to the internet. It's something that I think I've noticed for a while, but never really thought to confront until recently. I don't know if it was the Obama and Election 2008, or maybe reconnecting with a friend on Facebook or just general boredom. I don't know and at this point, I don't think it really matters. Fact is, I just can't imagine my life without the World Wide Web.

Like Wikipedia for instance. Yo, I can spend a *solid* three hours on that site, EASY. And what they do is, they really get you: one link leads to another leads to another to another. A simple click is all it takes and I'm dunzo. Yeah, although I always feel like I learn stuff, it's mostly useless information--like the birth order of all nine Jackson kids (Rebbie, Jackie, Tito, Jermaine, LaToya, Marlon, Michael, Randy and Janet). Impressive, I know. But that fact that I didn't even have to look that up gives me a reason to be concerned.

Oh oh oh! And with movies, I always wiki it, either to clarify something I didn't get or make sure I was paying attention and didn't miss anything. I rationalize this obsession with the excuse of just being sure I get my money's worth.

And Facebook? Forget Facebook. Proud will I be the one day I don't check my Facebook page.
I want to meet Adam Zuckerberg himself so I can deliver a swift kick to his thorax. Damn him and his multi-billion dollar enterprise for making my life consist of thinking of conjuring up witty, insightful or semi-cryptic status messages on my profile page. I really hate him.

I would love to join Twitter, but I know that deep inside, I couldn't handle it. And I'm already a nerd as is; I don't need Twitter cramping an already-cramped style. Nope, don't need alladat. My day would be shot, with me updating that thing every five minutes.

I also knew EXACTLY what I was doing when I bought a BlackBerry. I love that thing so much, it's not even funny. If I need directions, I got it. If I need to read the latest news on NYT, I got it. If I wanna, um, check my Facebook page for any new comments, I got that too.

On a recent media day with a sports celebrity author of mine (no name-dropping-o), I was definitely happy that I had my BB on hand to check on his Wikipedia page. Like I was really sitting next to him, checking his page because I needed talking points. I ain't mad at it. But this madness has got to stop.

So I'm dedicating this post to you, Al Gore. Thanks for inventing the Internet. I'll be sending my therapy bill your way.

Def Poetry Jam Part Deux: Wife, Woman, Friend.

2008-11-29T19:34:00.003-05:00

GEM!!!!!! I'm not even gonna say anything. Just watch. Homegirl ain't never lied....There's profanity and gratuitous use of the N-word but try to overlook all that and listen to what homegirl's trying to say. All women should.
I gotta comment on this another time.

Dana Gilmore

And damn that forehead kiss!

Ughhhhhhhhhhhh....Lovvvvvvveeeeeeeee

2008-11-29T19:12:00.005-05:00

Yo,

I have been extremely busy these last couple of days, but just wanted to post this up so I don't seem like a deadbeat poster.

Waaaaay back when spoken word was hot, HBO put out Def Poetry Jam. It wasn't too long ago it went off the air, but for some reason, I can't help but feel old.

This cat below, Shihan, perhaps ranks in my top three recurring poets on the show. I've always meant to look him up, but would remember to do so at the most inconvenient times. Saw this link posted up on the innanets last night and squealed like a pig! Then I spent about an hour going through all the Def Poetry YouTube links--like any good procrastinator would.

Anywhoo, spoken word's heyday has come and gone and admittedly I now find it to be kinda, well...wack (am I the only one that cringes a little when watching Love Jones now?), but still, the message Shihan delivers remains the same: ole dude loves being in love with his woman. And I love it.

I hadn't heard this poem performed in years, yet I never forgot it. I still can't help but smile and sigh.

Enjoy.

Lord, PLEASE let me find this man in Jamaica....

2008-11-22T21:44:00.001-05:00

In T-minus 28, I will be relaxjuriating on the beautiful beaches of Jamaica for twelve glorious days and I'm absolutely stoked.

Forget that I that I haven't seen the inside of a gym in a minute (that will change tomorrow). I know I ain't Beyonce but I'm alright. Honestly, I'm not worried. I actually think I look pretty good in a bathing suit. Don't hate.

What I am worried about is finding some beachwear. I want a white bikini, but I've been told that wearing any kind of white bathing suit is skanky. I guess it's because it becomes see-thorough when wet. Whatevs. I just bought this other burnt orange one that's pretty dang fly, but I really, really, really want a white pair. So if anyone knows of anywhere that sells 'em...

Winter in New York has always done me dirty and I'm just tired of this cold. People are mad cranky and I don't enjoy not being able to like, not feel my face. People also get sick in the winter and forget to cover their mouths when they cough. You should see me on the train. I promise you, half the time I'm turning purple because I refuse to breath. People is nasty, yo.

But in a couple of days, inconsiderate sick people won't even matter. I will be on the beach EVERY DAY, in the water, on the sand, on a rock, in a boat, whatever, doing absolutely nothing but eating and talking with random people. Man, I can't wait to eat. I'm gonna eat until I get sick. Every day.

Oh, but wait! I MUST FIND THIS MAN. Not considering all the weed smoking, I think this person is a pretty happy dude that loves his life. I must meet him. (No, for real, watch the clip. His laugh is awesome.)

Speaking of Jamaican men, I just hope I don't come across an irresistibly fine one in search of a green card. If he looks like Taye Diggs though, I can't make any promises. Sigh.

R.I.P. Miriam Makeba

2008-11-10T13:24:00.008-05:00

Aww man :(

I don't even have the heart to write about this. I do however, remember that Cosby episode (I'll post it later).

Gosh, I really loved this woman's music.

So weird, I was just telling a friend that they needed to make a biopic on her. It would be one hell of a story.

Her NYT Obit. A revolutionary in every sense of the word.

My favorite (and I'm sure everyone else's too...):

Peaceful journey.

Can I Be Real for a Sec?

2008-11-10T12:30:00.001-05:00

Now that I've done my mandatory OMG-Barack-Obama-is-My-President-Post last time, I can now write about something that's been on my bird for most of this whole election: this observational dynamic I'll call the Barack/Michelle Relationship Model, herein referred to as BMRM.

As a young, single woman, I utterly SWOON at the slightest image of the future First Couple together. She could be picking HIS nose, and I'd be, like totally okay with that (well, maybe not, but I just want you to understand).

And although I can never claim to know what goes on in the Obama living room when the cameras and mics are off (are they ever really?), the Obamas, if anything, do put up a pretty good front. The love between them seems so genuine and natural, so...easy.

And while Dwayne and Whitley, Martin and Gina, and let's not forget the ultimate black relationship model of Heathcliff and Claire Huxtable, were nice to see, they were just, well...fictional.

But it's a new day. It's great that when I turn on the idiot box I have a choice: I can either flip to the pathetic exploits of New York and her latest man-Flavor of the Week on Vh-1, or I could watch the Obamas getting their PDA on. And I hate PDAs, but I could watch these two all day. So when BMRM pops up through all the media outlets we've been glued to these last few months, my fellow female peers--all single, educated, attractive--find themselves wondering, "Where's my Barack?" Everyone wants their own Barack prototype .

As a young, (very) single woman who considers herself fairly intuitive in many things (especially in the realm of male-female relationships, go figure) and since we're all being honest here, I can't help but ask myself how many women would be checking for a dude like early-20s Barack Obama.

Like for real, check it: say you're a young, smart, single, childless urban woman. You're fashionable, personable, basically a "good catch." Yadda, yadda, yadda.

There's this guy in one of your classes, or at the office or wherever that you see him every day. He's nice and courteous, smart and totally non- aggressive; he's fam. But your female intuition (that's more acute than Peter Parker's spidey-sense, I might add) is also telling you he's feeling you and is ready to put in some major work to get with you.

BUT, dude isn't the most social of butterflies. He's a bit on the skinny side--you're afraid you'd snap him like a twig if you hug him too hard. He wears his pants a half-inch too high maybe, and he loves wearing white tube socks. With the Knicks logo on the side. He may have a penchant for exclaiming "golly" too many times in conversation. The potential in dude is there and will manifest itself in time, but you want your Denzel NOW. Whoa, whoa whoa, and did I mention that he's 60,000 dollars in debt? (student loans). Later for that one.

BUT (again), although he's not on homecoming king status, ole boy holds his own. The conversation between you two is great. He's patient, generous with his time, is a great listener, and is really really just... kind. Yet, you play dumb, pretending that you know nothing of his attraction to you.

For months, I've been hearing so many of my female friends talk about wanting a guy"just like Barack." And, I mean, that's cool. Hell, I'm guilty of wanting a guy that looks at me the way Barack looks at Michelle. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy and stuff. But if we're going to be real here, how many of us are really bringing a Michelle to the table?

Don't get me wrong--you don't need two Ivy-League degrees or pull a solid six-figure income to be a contender.

I'm talking about---are you kind-hearted, steady-handed, honest and forthright? Are intuitive, patient, and willing to be supportive of a man that just isn't "there" yet? Are you graceful enough to ignore those sideways remarks your homegirls give you when they wonder what you're doing with the geeky dude?

Hmmm. I'd like to think that I myself am all of these things, although I do have my moments. But I'd like to think that I'm a work in progress. I do know that I'm a lot better than I used to be. I guess it's maturity or whatever. So I think there's hope for me yet lol.

Okay, so I'm going to stop writing here because, frankly, I'm too lazy to properly end this post and I feel I'm slippery-sloping into divulging way too much information on this blog.

So, umm...yeah. *awkwardly moves the mouse cursor to the 'Publish Post' tab* I'm done.

Yep, we did.

2008-11-08T18:11:00.006-05:00

I know I'm late with this, as it's been a couple of days. Yet I can't believe it.

Barack Hussein Obama is the President-Elect of the United States. Of America, that is.

Like I keep saying to everyone that would listen: my heart is utterly full. I just didn't think I would see this. Me and Tupac both agreed: we were never going to see a black president.

But then it happened. And since Election Day Tuesday, whenever I think of it, I just...

I even catch myself at random points in the day telling myself, "Dag, the President of the effin' UNITED STATES is BLACK." It always, always, always bring a smile to my face. I'm smiling right now.

America messes up a whole lotta ish, but this time, we got it right. Geez, who thought it would be cool to be American again?

But you know what I'm really psyched about. Michelle Obama's going to be our First Lady. She's too fly for words and I can't wait to see how she'll hold this all---her family and kids, her duties as FL, together, all the while maintaining her usual grace and poise. It's great that girls all over the country are given an alternative to the bitches and 'hoes images that they unfortunately imitate and perpetuate. Dag, that's one classy lady. She's coming very, very, VERY close to dethroning Oprah as the play-auntie in my head.

And the Obama girls get a puppy!

God bless them all.

Obama...YO' MAMA, FOOL!

2008-10-15T23:07:00.009-04:00

I had absolutely no intention of making my blog a politics blog, but dang it, I'm finding it hard not to, given we're witnessing history or at the very least, a dynamic, youth-driven campaign that I'm excited to be a part of.

50 Million Youth voters! I cannot stop talking to colleagues about the momentum people my age are providing this campaign. Never in my (very short) life have I really felt pumped about an American politicial election--at any level.

Everyone's talking about Obama/McCain McCain/Obama. On the train coming back from work yesterday, I eavesdropped on two adorable school kids talking about Obama. Now, you know they were only regurgitating what they'd been hearing adults say, but regardless of whether they had a firm grasp of the topics at hand or not, the mere fact that they were talking about POLITICS--not Lil Bootsie or Lil' Mama, but Barack Obama--says a lot. God love'em. (c) Joe Biden's mama.

First, I gotta commend the committee for picking Bob Schieffer, quite a surprise given that Bob's interview style is usually unremarkable. Like really, I wonder how that happened. However the case, I'm glad it did. I was EXTREMELY pleased with the questions raised as they seemed to be real, everyday problems for the regular folk.

The economy questions were unavoidable, but the whole pro-life/pro-choice and education questions never really got that much shine before during this election. And as someone who's spent four years mentoring within the DC public school system, I appreciated Obama's stance on charter schools and his acknowledgment of the failure of the No Child Left Behind initiative. Believe me--it doesn't work.

Regarding the deficit, I can't wrap my mind around what half a trillion dollars means. Like. That amount of money is...is...I can't even find the words. Do you know how many people could save their homes from foreclosure? How many children we could provide with healthcare AROUND THE WORLD? Do you know how many shoes I could buy with half a trillion dollars?

Obama's performance tonight just further proved himself to be a classy dude. Shut down that Ayers comment, acknowledged ACORN, kept it moving.

I did initially feel frustrated with Obama for not lighting a fire under his own behind. But I figure he plays cool customer because 1. that's what he's naturally like and 2.)if it's taken him this far already-- It must work.

Oh! But please, someone tell me who the hell Joe the Plumber is. Ugh. Oh yes, best believe he WILL be getting laid tonight.

'Been a long time...shouldn't have left you..'

2008-10-12T14:30:00.009-04:00

I really don't have any excuse why I haven't been blogging. I guess it's just been life that had gotten in the way.

Since my last real posting, Election 2008 has been charging on, full steam ahead, I've started a new freelancing gig, finally got my ass on LinkedIn, made some cool professional contacts and reconnected with some old acquaintances.

Bear Stearns and Morgan Stanley are no more and our economy sucks something marvelous. People are losing jobs left and right (my place of employment has been suffering too...) and mostly everyone is worried. I find myself somewhat ambivalent however, as I guess I have no real financial responsibility besides paying my student loans, Am Ex and cell phone bills. Nothing major. I don't have a mortgage, I don't have kids. I'm cool for now *knocks on wood* I'm trying to go to Paris for Thanksgiving, but may decide to just save up for the Christmas break and go somewhere else. Jamaica for December is in the bag, although it comes with a few strings that I'm not entirely comfortable with, so maybe it's not in the bag after all. We shall see.

Last time, I promised pictures, and pictures you shall receive. Went to the MoMa last week with my homegirl for the museum's monthly First Fridays (Brooklyn Museum's First Saturdays are better) and came across some interesting exhibits.

Hope you're happy.

Afterwards, we went to this vegan restaurant (I know, me??), Angelica's Kitchen and had an *awesome* time. The food was great, the three-dollar bottle of wine from Trader Joe's was great, and the conversation was great. It was really all I could ask for, considering the day had begun so...blah for me. Yes, we are making 'blah' into an adverb, thanks.

Back to Angelica's. I cannot remember the name of what I had, but it consisted of steamed veggies and rice wrapped in this....umm...wrap. I'm too lazy to look online for the menu. But it was good.

And you know I had to have dessert. I got this pumpkin cake--and please keep in mind that vegans do not eat eggs--with pumpkin icing. I don't know how they did it, but that mess was good.

Now it's time for me and the sis to take a trip to L.I. to take her back to school. As our usual ritual, I drive her back to Stoney and make our way to Steve Madden, Trader Joe's and then Target. Not exactly a lazy Sunday, but not much accomplished either.

Toodle-loo!

Sooo....I forgot I had a blog...

2008-10-02T20:08:00.002-04:00

...and haven't typed for a good while.

And that's not going to change tonight.

Sorry folks. Don't know if you've been living under a rock, but in under an hour, Sarah Palin and Joe Biden are gonna go at it. And I'm getting ready.

I'll be blogging tomorrow. Promise. I'll be at the MoMa for First Fridays tomorrow too, so definitely, I'll have something to talk about then. With pictures. Or not.

Peace out, homies.

It's Just Life.

2008-09-21T22:24:00.016-04:00

It's official: I've been experiencing my quarter-life crisis.

Well, I won't call it a "crisis" per se. Maybe just a series of events that, as of late, have cumulated into a bout of often-neurotic self-reflection.

Just about everyone my age is going through the same thing, if it's of any consolation (it's not). But this fact also lends itself to a kind of frustration in that no body knows the answers to all our questions.

I know my life could be a lot more complicated. Believe me, I do. I don't have a husband or a bunch (or any) kids that I have to be accountable for. I don't have a mortgage. I'm not financially strapped. I don't work on Wall Street. I'm not fat (I don't know why I though that to be relevant, but whatev. I'm not, though). I'm healthy, the fam's okay, the sun shines for me every morning, yadda yadda yadda.

But why am I so antsy all the time? And why do I feel like I'm doing so much but still haven't *gotten* anywhere? As such, this frustration gives way to a quiet anger and seems to spill over from one day to the next. After all those years of schooling, after all those people that I've fought to take me under their wing, after all the conferences and workshops and networking parties... all for what, exactly? And why is it *still* not enough?

Where's a carton of ice-cream and a package of Twinkies when you need them?

**A heartfelt thanks to Chad for finding the above image for me. You rock, dude! **

Toodle-loo!

Monsitat 1: That New Do-Gro

2008-09-18T00:00:00.007-04:00

Yes, you read that correctly.

There has been talk circulating on these here internets about using Monistat as a hair-growth stimulator.

Pause.

And just so we're clear, yes, Monistat is the stuff we ladies put on our nether-region bits to cure yeast infections. And no, I've never had a yeast infection, thank you.

Apparently, Monistat contains an agent called miconazole, an anti-fungal substance (according to my resident microbiologist, aka my dad). It's what cures Athlete's Foot, ringworm and Jock Itch. So it *kinda* makes sense. He was skeptical to the claims on its effects on hair-growth, although he did acknowledge a possibility, however small. Then he waved me away--I guess talking about Monistat and yeast infections and whatnot was something he didn't really want to discuss with his twenty-something year-old daughter.

But for real: it *does* kinda make sense. I get it--it'll probably kill the fungus on the scalp that prevents our (read: my fellow black sistren) hair from growing. But still. You can't tell me I can't feel a certain way about putting va-jay-jay cream on my head.

Me being me, I'm STILL half-way tempted to see if this works. I figure the worst that could happen is that my hair will smell like bread.

Or fall out.

Hmmm, I may be on to something, though. I wonder if I should use Monistat 2 or Monistat 3. The 1-day or 3-day treatment? The one with the accompanying chaffing powder? And what kind of monster yeast infection do you have if you need Monistat SEVEN!? Ouchies.

Decisions, Decisions....

Parents Jailed in School Truancy Crackdown- HILARIOUS

2008-09-17T21:35:00.005-04:00

I'm sorry, but I find this utterly hilarious. Sad too....

Parents jailed in Atlanta (Dekalb County) because of their truant kids. And I think the county is 100 percent in the right here.

From kindergarten to twelfth grade, I can count the number of times I've missed school. Unless one of my body parts had fallen off during the night, my parents were not letting me miss school for ANYTHING.

So it boggles the mind to think that these parents' kids have missed thirty, forty, fifty days of school. That's months. MONTHS.

What kind of parent allows that to happen? Where's the accountability? Granted, I know--a couple of times during the year here and there, yeah. But forty days? Can you imagine all the backlogged work missed? How do you even catch up from that?

But anyway, linkage to the story here. Kudos to Dekalb County

On: Wanting Better for Yourself

2008-09-03T21:45:00.013-04:00

Thought I'd give the politics a rest for a minute and engage in some other kind of discussion...

On a rare evening home yesterday, I was watching one of my favorite (and tragically underrated) sitcoms, "King of Queens." In the episode, Doug has turned forty and his wife Carrie is bothered by the notion that Doug, upon touching this milestone, seems to still not want 'anything better' for himself.

Despite getting older, Doug is the same old Doug: hapless and fun-loving, a big dude with a little brain and, not to mention, little regard for the consequences of his often-irresponsible actions. Carrie gets mad as hell when Doug doesn't bother to apply for the managerial program at work like his friend Deacon does. Doug, of course, has no problem with that. Carrie is confused--Doug doesn't want to make more money--but is more so frustrated that Doug isn't living up to his potential. She's also bitter, as she realizes that she'd given up a lot to be with Doug the Dud.

And so, as it usually goes in thirty-minute situational comedies, Doug schemes up a way to teach Carrie a lesson by faking a midlife crisis--carrying on and making a big thing about how he's so disappointed in himself and his lack of achievement. At first happy that Doug finally gets what she's been trying make him realize, Carrie soon begins to feel guilty, admits that she loves Doug despite his shortcomings, and blah blah blah.

Anyway, the episode wraps with Doug 'fessing up to the ruse and explaining to Carrie why he'd never change a thing about his life: he's madly in love with the woman he's married to, he has a stress-less job that gives him zero problems and has a great circle of friends that he can always rely on.

So CBS, I frigging get it. I understand. Doug isn't act a slouch, and is in fact quite successful at life. Hurray for Doug.

But it did have me thinking.

What happens--in real life, now--when you're in fact *not* living up to your potential and you're like, totally fine with it? I'm not talking about shiftless, unmotivated, unpromising individuals whom the world (or their communities) have already written off as inconsequential liabilities (you know who I mean). I'm talking about those whom have been given anything and everything needed to "succeed" and are seemingly on the way to big and great things, yet chuck up the deuce to societal expectations?

Are people of color even given that option? Especially with promising young black men, do I wonder about this. I know with me and my siblings, we've been constantly reminded of the old "to whom much is given, much is required" adage. And trust: I've been given a lot.

What happens when a promising future has been realized, but you've chosen not to bank on it? How do you reconcile the pressure to "do good for yourself" with coming to terms with the notion that maybe, just maybe, there's not much you *do* want out of life? What happens next? What are you called then? And how to get people to realize that you're not being lazy, you just...content?

I have no answers to any of the aforementioned questions. But I'll end this post with this: think of whether *you're* living up to your potential. If you are, you rock. If you're not, but you're absolutely fine with that, that's cool too. But I will implore you---especially my fellow future leaders of color--to not be too quick to dismiss yourselves as possible agents of greatness just because the alternative might take a little more work, or little more energy or you may suffer a few more disappointments on the way to fulfilling your ultimate goal.

'Cause frankly, I'm not sure we can afford to do otherwise.

Oh, and It Gets Better!

2008-09-01T14:10:00.005-04:00

Sooo, it's been reported that Sarah Palin's 17 year-old daughter is pregnant.

I don't get this. Like, doesn't the McCain camp do background checks on their people?!

Reuters is reporting that McCain knew. But I don't believe that. Mr. American Family Values don't want no baby-mama drama up in the White House! Come on, now.

I think the right-wingers are gonna love this. I see it panning out as a failure on Palin's part to keep her family "in order" all the while boasting about family values. They're going to think that she can't possibly run a whole country if she can't her own family.

I wonder if she's expecting twins. That'll be awesome.

GOP: Grand Ol' Production

2008-08-29T19:08:00.012-04:00

Sooo, last week McCain announced his choice for VP, a Sarah Palin of Alaska.

Ring a bell?

Didn't think so.

Palin's the governor of Alaska and is about two years into her first term. This is her first state-level office. Mother of five, avid hunter, likes moosemeat. The end.

Besides being mayor of Wasilla, Alaska (population: 6715, in case you were wondering), that's really all there is to Vice-President Nominee Sarah Palin. Like, for real.

I have a problem with this appointment for a couple of reasons:

First, John McCain is old as dirt. NO ONE debates this. Hell, even McCain knows this. Why is this important? Well, everyone knows that on the first day of Democracy 101 you learn that in the event that the president of a nation is unable to fulfill his duties in office (ie impeachment or...death), the VP is next in line for job of commander-in-chief. Plain and simple, Plain Ol' Palin would succeed McCain as president.

Hell, I'll send McCain some Ginkgo Biloba MYSELF, if it'll prevent Palin from becoming POTUS.

The fact that I have never heard of Palin prior to this week disturbs me. The fact that Palin has no national-level experience is a little discerning too. The fact that she's not entirely sure what the Vice-President of the United States does kinda makes me pause. May I point out she's also under investigation? Off the top, I could think of three potential candidates that McCain could have picked; if he was hell-bent on sticking with a woman, Christine Todd Whitman easily comes to mind (what up NY, NJ, CT Tri-State area). But of course, in McCain's case, a female running mate would have *everything* to do with strategy and nothing to do with truly being right for the job.

And she likes MOOSEBURGER. Mooseburger, y'all? For real?

But GOP, I see you, doggy: she has FIVE kids and decided to keep her last child, despite knowing he'd be born with Down's Syndrome (look, Dems, a pro-lifer!). She's a woman and would appeal to those former Hillary supporters from Middle America. She's had a history of cracking down on oil-drilling, too. But besides that, I don't see anything else worth writing home about.

But at the end of the day, I just find it so awesome that young people are dialoguing about this election. Americans are so disinterested in anything that's not celebrity or scandal driven. I dunno. Dare I say I'm feeling kind of hopeful in my fellow youth?

But anyway, damn. Biden's gonna eat Palin alive during debate time. Chomp into her like a mooseburger. And I can't wait.

Delegate Meltdown at DNC

2008-08-27T23:32:00.005-04:00

Just.

Wow.

Say what you want to about Texas delegate Anne Price-Mills, but you can't say she's not passionate.

And what's up with CNN finding the ONE BLACK HILLARY SUPPORTER at the Democratic National Convention supporting DEMOCRATIC CANDIDATE Barack Obama?! What ever happened to demonstrating an united front?

Bet at the Republican convention, this would NOT have gone down.

But all jokes aside, I guess this shows that being of color is not the end-all-be-all for supporting a black candidate. I understand, Anne. I really do. But damn.

I Want to Go to Michelle Obama University

2008-08-26T21:02:00.011-04:00

It's been official for a minute, but I just want the whole blogosphere to know: I want to enroll in Michelle Obama University. Someone hand me my sweatshirt and pom-poms. It's that serious right about now.

Barack is great and all. But Michelle?? Michelle's the bidness.

Michelle hit all major points: drew in touching biographical information, her love for her husband, how Obama is the epitome of the American Dream. All fine and dandy, although I was hoping to hear something that we haven't heard before.

But something else really resonated with me last night. There was something I saw in Michelle that I kind of hope to see in my future self. I know what I sound like--like I've just drank the Kool-Aid--but for real, yall: what young, promising, Black woman doesn't see a bit of their older selves in Michelle? Like, she is that dope. She's a great orator; a great stump speech on steroids was made last night. And.I.loved.every.minute.

You know what they say: "behind every strong man..."

Something stirred inside me, something kinda a bit like at church when your favorite pastor's on a roll. You feel it deep in your chest as it spreads outwards to your shoulders and you kinda bounce around a little. Everyone around you feels it too and it kinda brings the collective blood pressure up, but in a good, feel good kind of way. I had only wished I was in Denver last night.

Ummm and Michelle's hair?!?! ON POINT. Got that good good press. Wonder if she uses a CHI iron.

And I know a lot of black dudes got laid in Denver last night. But that's neither here nor there.

But anyway, somebody--please give lil' Sasha her own TV show! Her and her sister--utterly adorable. Having the kids talk to their dad via satellite was cute too. Well played, Obama camp.

I thought it was also hilarious that Barack's just chillin' at some family's house. And they didn't even get any shine! Had he been at my house? Boyyyyyy...

A Sea-Thing Found on the Shores of Montauk. AKA, We Gonna Die.

2008-08-01T20:55:00.006-04:00

And I know I'm kinda late, but I had to talk about this.

Instead of discussing important things like Barack Obama at UNITY last week (which I missed) or the much-hullabalooed CNN two-parter on being Black (or "black", take your pick) in America, today, no, I'm choosing to discuss something far more important. Like, for real, this is rocking my sensibilities right now:

(In my best Bernie Mac voice) "Ah-mur-ricah: WTF is this!?"

And to think this rotten alien dog's secretions leak into our water systems! That would give an explanation for all the crazies in this city, actually.

I've heard a variety of things: it's a dead dog, a turtle missing its shell, a manbearpig. And speaking of pigs, SURELY you've witnessed this spawn of Satan found in China. A pig with the face of a monkey! And yes, I *do* read whatever language on that page is.

But let's focus on one thing at a time. For real--who's ever seen a dead dog with a beak?? Where is its fur? And why is it giving us the finger?

Just great. We gonna die.

A Secret from The Secret Life of Bees aka Mission One: Writing Your First Blog Entry

2008-07-30T23:42:00.001-04:00

Soooo, a couple of days ago while exiting the uptown 1 train from work, I was tapped on the shoulder by this fairly attractive (but unfortunately for me), obviously gay guy. I had noticed him immediately when he entered a stop after me with a male companion. Both gentlemen were styled in summer whites, each with their designer glasses sitting atop their heads.

“Hey, are you reading, “The Secret Life of Bees?” one of the guys (herein referred to as Guy on Train or GoT) said to me, pointing to the book I was holding in my hand. Why yes indeed, I was reading The Secret Life of Bees, in preparation for my upcoming literary circle meeting (Hi ladies!).

I nodded, taking a step back. He was thisclose to my face and bristled against my Bronx-honed, three-feet-of-personal-space, please sensibilities. I wasn't feeling threatened, so I didn't walk away.

He opened his mouth to say something else as I put my hands up and yelled, “Don’t spoil it!” I smiled, just to tell him I wasn’t being hostile, just wary of well-intentioned, but overzealous book readers (After all, I work in publishing, so I encounter these crazies all the time), when he smiled and said, “Oh no, no no, nothing like that! (insert vigorous hand wave here) I just wanted to tell you, there’s like, a part in the book that says something like, ‘If you need something from someone, always give that person a way to give it to you.'”

And with an impish smile and a most dramatic turn of his heel, he was gone. Just like that. Honest to blog.

So this was a couple of days ago, in the middle of New York rush hour and this happens. I stand there on the platform, not really knowing what to do with myself, kinda dumbfounded. Like, that was too… random. Kinda eerie, kinda exhilarating and definitely, totally unexpected. What does one do after being accosted like that? Like, really?

And so, I took a moment to pause and look at the viewers at home [Tough Typing Note 1.1: *Refers to the camera technique sometimes implemented in comedic sitcoms where a cast member, upon experiencing something ridiculous, incredulous or out-of-the-ordinary, pauses and looks into the camera, hoping the audience at home has somehow witnessed and therefore confirm that said questionable action has indeed taken place.] , made a beeline to the shuttle, and pondered my brief but potentially lasting exchange with Guy on Train.

Of the few things I'm sure of in this life is that everything, everything happens for a reason and thus, my exchange with Guy on Train warrants some kind of reflection.

I hadn’t come to that part in the story yet that he was referring to, but found it so friggin' awesome that Guy on Train would remember a line from the book line-for-line like that (Note to self: find prolific book and memorize prolific line from aforementioned prolific book). What's even more amazing is that of alllll the people reading books (and there were a lot of us, trust me, I notice these things) and of alllll the books this guy had probably read in his life (which I hope is a pretty big number), he picked me to talk to about a book I had just started reading a day before. Random?

I think not.

I didn't want to spoil the story by thumbing ahead for the quote dude was talking about so I allowed myself to come upon it a day or two later. And alas, it was there, verbatim.

"...Always give a person a way to give something to you." And the more I thought about this, the more I knew this applied to me.

I am *notorious* for making things exponentially harder than they need to be for me. And yes, this includes social relationships. I overthink and analyze: picking apart every little inflection I catch in one's voice, a stare that's lingered a little too long, things like that grind my gears.

Admittedly, this habit has bode me well. After a couple tries, I've become okay at weeding out the poseurs, the ill-intentioned, and the tedious crumbsnatchers that find a way to infiltrate my space. Other times...

I also tend not to make things easy on some people, many of whom don't know how to react to my hardassness, and eventually do something that gets to me. I think this cyclical process is this new thing they call 'self-sabotage'. Dunno.

But like some really important person said once, "the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem."

And so today, I hearby solemnly promise to make things easier. On myself and on other people. I'm gonna allow people to make it easier to give me what I want from them. What that means exactly and what results my new efforts will render is left for the universe to manifest.

And I didn't even get a chance to thank the guy.

So I've decided to dedicate my first post to GoT. Thank you dude, wherever you are.