Thursday, December 14, 2006

Goodness gracious

I was caught all up in my own mental-mind at the end of my break today. So, I didn’t feel like responding when a brother wished me a nice day, as I passed by him on my way back to work.

Big mistake.

"Sistah…Sistah,” he called, continuing his attempt at trying to get my attention.

I noticed more than a few people stop, in the middle of the busy city sidewalk, to see who in the world this man could be hollering at with such commitment, and why in the heck she wasn’t answering.

Occupied with my thoughts and slightly embarrassed, I tried to get lost in the crowd before the scene escalated.

No such luck.

“SISTAH! SISTAH!...... SISTAH, WITH THE BIG LEGS,…. HAVE. A. NICE. DAY!”

…………

Yes, I am sistah with the big legs and that’s what I get for being shady.

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

randomness...

I spend most of my days on hold, while media relations people decide if they want to speak with me or not. Due to the classical or easy listening music that usually plays as I wait, I’m half asleep by the time someone decides to answer my call. If I ever have an office, when my secretary puts folks on hold I want callers to hear M.O.P’s “Ante Up”- probably the censored version. Regardless, of where I am or how I’m feeling that song never fails to get me amped and ready.

Yesterday, my thoughts fell upon my high school phys ed. teacher, Mrs. Gilmartin. With her long blonde hair and light colored eyes, simply by looks, she is the epitome of “all-American”. Out of the many people I’ve met in life, she is indisputably one of the realest. She is the same Mrs. Gilmartin who after asking the class to break into groups, noticed that a set of Jewish girls hadn’t budged. Without skipping a beat, she looked up from her clipboard and told Nicole to “stop being corny and sit next to those little Black children”. When it came to the swimming portion of her gym classes, Mrs. Gilmartin’s only requirement was that everyone had to fully submerge themselves into the pool at least once. Well, there were a lot of girls who tried to find creative ways not to get their hair wet. I remember one class Blair refused to put her head under the water. At first Mrs. Gilmartin paid her no mind; until the period was just about to end and she noticed that from her shoulder’s up Blair was completely dry. Twice she told her to go under and each time Blair refused. In a second flat, Mrs. Gilmartin jumped into the shallow end - clothes, sneakers, whistle and all – and dunked a shocked Blair under the water. Oh my goodness, I can’t forget one Bring Your Daughter to Work Day when a classmate asked Mrs. Gilmartin if the toddler with her was her daughter. “No, Tonya,” she said, “This here is just a midget I hired to follow me around all day”. All of my siblings have also had her as a gym teacher, and Mrs. Gilmartin told Shirlgurl that she felt sorry for our mother. My fondest memory of Mrs. Gilmartin is my senior year. A group of friends and I performed an African dance at the school’s Black Awareness assembly. Out of all the 2,000+ people in attendance, it was Mrs. Gilmartin who clapped the hardest. When we were done, she approached us with her hands clasped in front her face and a hint of tears welling in her eyes and told us , without her sarcasm or dry wit, that our performance was beautiful. Man, I need to pay her a visit.

I told a friend that for my birthday I want to go to some real illegal, sweaty, tight dance party in a concrete floored basement, underneath somebody's uncle's West-Indian restaurant. Monday, I got an evite inviting me to a weekend full of carnal exploits and hedonism, all in my honor. I love my friends.

Oh, to the brother who told me he loved my hair this morning and kept it moving – THANKS.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

For winter fearing women when bubble jackets aren't enough

Lately, I've noticed co-workers throw envious gazes at adolescent couples in Union Square, as they unabashfully radiate that pubescent I-can't-live-breathe-or-survive-without-you-and-even-if-I-could-I-don't-wanna kind of love. I listen to countless tales told by girlfriends who religiously hit up every happy-hour function, regardless of how many hours they've just put in at the office.

Winter is coming ladies and gentlemen, and all the single women around me are concerned with the impending season change.

Blouse buttons are released a little lower and sistergirl dinner plans are canceled two steps from the door, once a phone rings and a baritone voice is heard on the other end.

"Winter.Is.Coming," declares this fair weather friend, who seconds ago was starving, as she takes off her coat, gets comfy, and coyly coos into her cell.

Heffa.

You'd think that with all this fretting over winter, women would be running to buy BJ-sized bags of melting salt for the soon to be icy roads.

But the thirsty determination in their eyes, reveals the statement's true meaning: Ain't no female ,in her right mind, wants to trudge out in the numbing snow to any club, lounge, restuarant or the like to find a man. So, the hunt is now on and it's real. Cold weather snuggle buddies are wanted.

Jess said it best, as we waited on the subway platform for the A train:
'If you're trying to get got, you'll get gotten.'

Well, there's a whole lot of women praying that the gettin' gets good waaaaay before snow coats the ground.

Am I among them?

Ummmerah, it would be nice to spend frosty nights indoors with a brother- who loves Scrabble, eating, and Toni Morrison - shampooing my mini 'fro with peppermint hairwash, greasing every inch of my scalp (yes, Reg, with no gloves. LOL), and cuddling while reading Black classics. Yeah, nice indeed but I'm not beating those mean streets.

Good luck to all those ladies out there on a mission. I understand. 'Cause the cold and loneliness are truly real.

Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Treating tricks

After declining Jess' invite to witness how folks from the Bay area get down on Halloween, I sat on the four train next to a 3-year-old cowboy and five-year-old angel. Needless to say, they were too cute.

By the time we reached 125th street, both the angel and cowboy collected quite a few dollars from our fellow passengers.

I didn't get a dime.

I guess no one was feeling my make-pretend-grown-up/journalist-on-the-grind costume.

Saturday, October 14, 2006

This just in...

Over a week ago, I ordered a book from Borders. I was told that if it didn't come within seven days I qualified for their " 7 days or It's free" giveaway offer.

As I still wait, I'm letting you know now....

*pulling out bullhorn*

BORDERS IS GIVING AWAY FREE BOOKS!

Thank you.

Friday, October 13, 2006

Welcome back fam

My father, an old school West-Indian man, respected anything that required talent, hardwork and discipline. So from birth my siblings and I have been sport fans. We've spent countless school nights in our pjs , ignoring bedtime and the scolding of our mother, watching the rhythmic intensity of tennis , transfixed by the delicate elegance of figure skating, and getting riled up by WWF's Royal Rumble - dad's personal favorite.

Over the years, we've adopted several professional athletes into the family, referring to them by their first name and memorizing their stats. To these select few we've remained faithful. We groan, yell, and curse at unfair calls made by bias game officials, give standing ovations for glorious plays that require heart, and cheer till our voices are hoarse when our favorites win.

In our household basketball will always reign supreme. My lil' brother has said numerous times that it is absolutely unacceptable for me to date anyone who doesn't play basketball. He doesn't have to be nice or hold NBA dreams, says June, just a great appreciation for the sport is enough.

Every fall since 2003 , without fail, I've asked June about Jay Williams. We've followed his journey as a star Blue Devil, assistant to Coack K's third NCAA basketball championship, college graduate within 3 years, and second overall pick of the NBA's 2002 draft by the Bulls. We were devastated when in June of 2003, Jay lost control of his motorcycle and crashed into a utlity pole. With three of the four ligaments in one knee torn, a fractured pelvis, and a severed nerve in his left leg, there was little hope he'd ever return to the court.

Earlier this week, out of habit and genuine curiousity about his condition, I asked June if he heard any recent news. He shared that he thought Jay was a sports commentator now, giving up any basketball aspirations since his near fatal crash. A few days later, my little brother called me to see an article on NBA.com about Jay playing the preseason with the Nets.

Tonight, we watched in disbelief as the New York Knicks played a game against the Nets, who sure enough had our man Jay Williams in their lineup.

They didn't win tonight, and that's okay. None of us are wishing for a championship ring. I'm simply happy that he is able to come back to a sport that he loves and the family loves watching him play. There have been many who have died from far less, Jay is blessed to have a second chance.

**UPDATE**
Last I heard, Jay wasn't picked up by the Nets for the season.

We stay fly, no lie

Yesterday, with my nervous hands, I pinned the visitor's tag onto my blouse and pressed the button for the sixth floor. As the elevator traveled to its destination, I said a prayer for my first interview after weeks of job hunting.

I tried to calm down and remember what my boy Reg said about everyone being people, who started out at the exact place I am now. When the doors opened at my stop, I quickly passed my hands through my hair and over my slacks, attempting to smooth out any wrinkles and self-doubt.

My nerves chilled, a bit, as I walked into the office of the publication's human resource director. Her easy-going banter and infectious smile were able to put me at ease, as if I was chatting with an old girlfriend who was glad I came by to visit. I taught her the meaning of diaspora and she shared with me pictures from her first walk against breast cancer, an illness that her close college buddy has battled for five years. But though I was comfortable, I remembered where I was and the position of the woman sitting across from me. I guess I passed the prelimiary round because within fifteen minutes of our meeting, she called a few editors to see if they wanted to meet me.

Our friendly conversation continued in the elevator, through the newsroom, and until we arrived at the office of the executive editor. With a quick introduction she was gone and so was my confidence. As the door closed, I had half the mind to call her back to save me.

There I sat, in his small office with several pictures of dogs and famous faces, as he grilled me on everything from my past experiences, last non-fiction book purchased, and feelings on 'skut work'. Under his critical journalist's eyes I felt like that little girl, who is more accustomed to wearing kicks and jeans, getting caught playing make pretend in her mother's business clothes. I tried my best to keep up with his quick, dry wit and prayed that my demeanor didn't betray the the flip flops that my stomach was doing.

At the end of our interview he offered to see me out. On our trip through the newsroom, I quickly scanned the workers that I hadn't noticed twenty minutes earlier. My eyes were met by faces, belonging to mostly white males, offering quickly disappearing thin-lipped smiles that followed my exit.

And that's when it happened.

At that moment, I ached for the false protection offered by conformity and the days countless Dominican hair salons helped my hair live the lye. Instead, my in transition strands seemed to sense their surroundings and defiantly stood on my head, reveling in all their naptified glory. With each step towards the elevator, the slacks, which were flattering when I left the house, tightened under the strain of my behind that was growing to monstrous proportions. My nose took over my face and my lips began to look like the after picture shown to hopeful patients before their collagen injections.

The executive editor offered a detached indifferent handshake, pressed the elevator's bottom button, promised to call within a week, and sent me on my way. It wasn't until I reached the city's sidewalk, that my body returned to normal and I was proud of the many months spent sticking to my natural headed aspirations. This morning, I immediately sent out my thank you notes and half-heartingly prayed that the position was mine.

A few minutes ago, at the top of my inbox sat an email from the publication's human resource director. Convinced that they were so incredibly unimpressed that they decided not to even wait more than twenty-four hours before giving me the bad news, I read her two sentenced email asking if I got her message and if I could start later this month.

I've been doing a non-stop victory dance that can rival any of Chad Johnson's post-touchdown celebrations.

My two youngest siblings, Shirlgurl and June, have been known to entertain the family and my close friends with hilarious catchy songs, that they write themselves. After hearing the good news, I can't seem to get the Dipset inspired, unabashedly braggadocious chorus penned by my little brother out of my head: Been through the fight (Can you feel me)/ Been through the hype/ Been up on top (Now I'm stuck)/ I can't get down from up.

Ballin'! HAHAHAHA!

Monday, September 11, 2006

True,you may need one but you won't find her here

I am not your ride or die chick.
Leave that to the Charlies, Kims, and Trinas.
I refuse to be your down for whatever secret
while your wife/fiancé/girlfriend
keeps thinking that she’s playing half to a monogamous commitment.
I don’t do shapes
so take your love triangle elsewhere.
Oh, and forget what you heard
I.AM.NOT.THOROUGH.
Fights with women who hold your last name and your seed
is not what I do for fun.
How can one dare argue with a sister
whose anger is fueled by betrayal
and heart is broken from lies?
What did you say?
Ain’t no fun if the homies can’t get some?!
Are you hearing me?
Must I repeat myself?
I.AM.NOT.RIDE.OR.DIE.
Since you care about your boys and ‘em so much
why don’t you personally take care of their case of the blues?
And no, there isn’t any room in my purse for your glock.
Live out your Bonnie and Clyde fantasies with someone else.
I will not play Elvira to your pseudo Tony Montana.
It is not …
will never be…
that serious.

Monday, September 04, 2006

Thinking Outside the Box


Much props to Saki and Trevis for recently opening up their All-Nite Upscale Apparel and Juice Bar and being featured in the recent Weekly Dig!

All those in Boston, make sure to head down to Grove Hall and give these brothers some support.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Hindsight is Always 20/20...

because sometimes my pride and I are too busy rehashing all the should of, could of, would ofs instead of sitting back and silently take the L.

Recently, I disappointed and vexed a friend and, though it was hard to not add my two cents as he verbally let me have it, I understood 100% where he was coming from. I sat there taking it all in and when he was done telling me about myself, I apologized.

I guess, now and then, I need the wakeup call of loved ones to make me see my mishaps.

No one said growing is painless.

Thursday, August 17, 2006

A Must See For Sure.....


My man Spike is at it again. I've already been called a hypocrit for wanting to see this and not "World Trade Center". Yes, both Spike's Katrina documentary and the 9/11 film tell the story of two recent American tragedies, but I'd rather hear the story straight from the mouths of those who lived it, not Hollywood.

HBO will premiere Acts I and II Monday, August 21 at 9pm, followed by Acts III and IV on Tuesday, August 22 at 9pm. All four acts can be seen Tuesday, Aug. 29, the first anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, at 8p.m. to midnight.

Sunday, August 13, 2006

Headed for Self Destruction

Summer days are melting away and I am coming to a semi-peace with the fact that, for this season, sleep and I have become distant friends. That's cool, for now, because rest hasn't been sacrificed due to idleness.

Though I have a dreamer's long to-do list, I'm satisfied that I've been able to put a check next to a few tasks. I'm especially glad that, after spending four years in the audience, I finally volunteered for this year's Roxbury Film Festival.

I not only saw several great films, that reinforced and slightly altered a few of my perspectives, but I also took part in a resourceful convo that has me 90% sure a master's degree in education is one of my future journeys.But I'm learning, from many past experiences, that while we make plans, God simply laughs. So I'm trying my hardest to leave all in the hands of the Most High and praying that we're on the same page.

The one thing I regret is not seeing the much talked about "Street Soldiers". Unfortunately, it was showing during the festival's last shift, we were severely shorthanded and hundreds of ballots needed to be counted.

About fifteen minutes into the documentary, as a fellow volunteer and I tallied, a woman exited the auditorium and walked out the front door without so much of a glance or word thrown towards our table. A few minutes later another woman did the same thing, leaving the building as if she was deeply offended. My curiosity finally got the best of me when a sister, I remember being pretty chatty when I sold her tickets earlier, also entered the lobby and prepared to leave.

I asked if something was wrong and the sister responded that the film was far "too bleak". She tried to convince herself to sit through it but instead decided after twenty minutes that she had to go. I knew that the documentary was on the emotional issue of the city's growing youth violence but I still didn't get it.

I asked her if she felt that the director could have done anything more to make the film better, in her eyes. She stated that he should have added an element to "Street Soldiers" that at least gave the audience a small bit of hope that the condition in our streets would improve. Frustrated and with her mind made up, the sister repeated that the film was too bleak and told us that she understood that the lives portrayed in the film were someone's reality, but just not hers. She declared that it was a bright, sunny day and she'd rather be out riding her bike
....................

To the white teenager in Byron Hurt's "Beyond Beats and Rhymes: Masculinity in Hip-Hop", profiling in his dad's shiny Escalade bumping Fabolous' "Keeping it Gangsta" during BET's Daytona Spring Bling, and the sister cycling on a summer day through the same Boston streets where countless young lives have been lost: it's everything but the burden, right?

Sister, was it discomfort that truly caused you to leave? Are having the realities of Boston's youth come straight from the source, instead of an emotionally-detached newscaster, far past your comfort zone? It seems like you're looking for the hope of fairytales when "Street Soldiers" deals with real life.

To the brother who, during the Q&A, asked the director of "Kilombo Novo" how the teachings of the ancient Afro-Brazilian martial art form could be implanted into our schools, so that more youth could learn about life and peace: I see you.

I see your question's urgency and how it was thrown out there for the educators, decision-makers and parents in the audience, purposely putting the weight of necessary action on their shoulders. Brother, you understand that we are in a state of emergency and advantage must be taken of any moment we happen to come together, even if it is for entertainment.

At the conclusion of "Street Soldiers" a woman dropped her ballot in my box, after giving the documentary the highest score possible. She expressed that the language in the film was strong but as a mother of a 21-year-old Black male, who she calls every night to hear his voice and make sure he's more than alright, nothing could have made her leave her seat.

I shared with her the opinions of the woman who left earlier and she simply shook her head. She knows that "no one is going to save Dorchester, Roxbury and Mattapan but Dorchester, Roxbury and Mattapan."

Friday, August 04, 2006

i'm not perfect but nothing is wrong with me

Pushing over 250 pounds and with a Myspace page repping the infamous Castle Hill Projects, it’s understandable why the other teens don't mess with her.

But I know better.

I hear the excitement in her voice when she asks if he’s in the gym and quickly signs in so she can find him. Minutes later, I see her eyes slowly lose expression when she realizes he’s too busy flirting with girls who wear tight clothes over bodies shaped like old school Coca-Cola bottles, to pay her any mind.

Jaz knows that in order for big girls to get shallow teenage boys to like them they have to play one of two roles: the extremely funny big girl who hopes that laughs will distract attention from her size or the tough big girl who is, without question, down for whatever. She’s decided long ago to be that hard big girl, threatening to shoot the fair one with the girlfriends of her crew’s enemies and clap up anyone that dares question her gangsta.

Though her exterior seems rough and she takes pride in being the only female to know the crew’s exclusive pound, the Program Director and I both notice how she yearns for the hugs the guys reserve for the svelte girly girls.

Everyone wants to be liked in that special way.

Next weekend I’m starting a workout group for the ladies. I know how intimidating it is to exercise next to women who simply go to the gym for minor maintenance, while you’re trying to shed some serious pounds.

I won’t guarantee that her crush will return the same feelings but I do hope that,regardless if she loses weight, she gains some self-esteem.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

love of my life you are my friend

After almost two months of living under the Ghanaian sun my love has come back to me. She has returned in better health and with bit more meat on her bones (*rolling eyes*- "Yeah..yeah ...heffa you're butt got bigger"), both things Mom is definitely happy about.

My younger sis needed to leave because the world is meant to be seen, especially by one who craves knowledge and had never ventured too far from home. But I am more than happy to have her back because there are only but so many things that can be shared in emails, on IM or during five minute long convos on shady foreign cell phones and a Sam's Club phone card.

She's in Boston for a few weeks so one day, while I prepared myself for work, I tried my best to fill her in on all the goings on of mutual friends (Remember Rach from high school? The one with the beautiful voice? Mmhmmm. We're invited to the wedding") and the family ("Shirgurl is doing alright but I can tell she's sad he had to go"). All this said I knew the story she had truly been waiting for.

I braced myself and reluctantly dug into my memory, searching for every single unfortunate detail so that she could understand, and see the entire hurtful picture.

Her eyes widened and several gasps escaped her mouth as I shared with her the series of events that occurred before and after I decided to let go. Already late, I promised that I would tell her the rest that evening. But she would have none of it. She quickly put on some clothes and joined me on my commute to work.

As we rode the packed Red Line, she looked me in the eyes, in that personal way only loved ones do, and called the deaded relationship toxic.

No judgement passed between us because she knows we're from the same place. A place where folks give it their all, in faith, and sometimes hope, that things will work out and reciprocity is truly real.

I take pride in being the one who gets requests for birthday money and a few bucks to pay cell bills. I love giving advice on crushes, friendships, clothes, life and old high school chemistry teachers who simply refuse to retire. I'm used to being asked to talk to Mom ("Can you pleeeeease talk to her for me? You know she listens to you") and critique election speeches, and English papers over the phone. And though I embrace my role as the oldest, there are times that I too lose my way and forget how to get myself back.

My younger sis and I sat in silence, allowing the story to marinate.

As we neared my stop, she reached over and hugged me. Letting me know that it's okay for everyone's everything, to shed my armor and allow the unconditional love of my kin to protect and soothe my heart.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

On Some New York Ish

Mad random, but lately Kindred and I have been wondering why seeing grown men in jean shorts just doesn't seem right.

And it came to me......

It's because I'm so used to seeing them worn with Timbs.

Aha. Aha! (like the old Jewish man in "Coming to America")

Just some of the randomness that is me.

Sunday, July 16, 2006

allow me to reintroduce myself.......

In my ear: Jay-Z Live Unplugged and some Lil' Wayne

Perhaps it's my pheromones or because the vibes I'm throwing out there are completely off.....Who knows? Whatever it is it's getting frustrating as all hell because the absolutely wrong people continue to approach me.

Tonight, I worked with the teens and met one of my coworkers named X. My first impression was that he seemed standoffish and uninterested in making small talk. I figured he was having a bad day, so I continued setting up the night's dinner and movie.

Later on in the evening as I tried to rewrite a press release, X apologized for his shady behavior and explained that his fulltime has had him stressed out lately. I told him not to worry about it and turned my attention back to my work. But I guess he didn't notice or care that I was busy because he commenced to talk my ear off.

Now, I can be a chatty person. I love learning about people and what interests them but once I have my glasses on, it's all about the work in front of me. Also, if we're going to talk let's discuss something interesting. But noooooo all X wanted to talk about was himself. He went on and on about all the things he's accomplished and how wonderful he is.

Yadda yadda yadda.

I fell out of my bored daze when the onesided convo finally found itself on the topic of X once serving as a teen director at a local center. Okay,I thought,perhaps we have something in common. I asked if he enjoyed working with youth and without hesitation he responded with a deadpan 'No'. I even observed his interaction with our teens tonight and he gets definite negative cool points. His tone was harsh and abrupt, as if dealing with the city's youth is far beneath him.

As soon as X started to ask for my number I immediately waved my supervisor over to critique my work.

Definitely not.

I'm aaaaalllllll set.

I used to get offended when guys I have no interest in attempted to holler. But now I wonder if it's me. Perhaps my presentation says I'm pretentious and often have an affinity for cooning.

*shrugging shoulders*

Who knows?

Reintroductions are definitely necessary because folks obviously have no idea.

Saturday, July 15, 2006

Do Right Men and What They Have To Say...










Idris Elba, Hill Harper, Reggie Bush, Michael Ealy, Tyler Perry and 45 other single Black men, share with Essence why they love Black women. Definitely worth checking out.

Friday, July 14, 2006

Ashe, Ms.Dunham. Ashe.

~
~
"I wasn't concerned about the hardships, because I always felt I was doing what I had to do, what I wanted to do and what I was destined to do".
~
“I used to want the words 'She tried' on my tombstone. Now I want 'She did it' ".

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Hip-Hop Tidbits


So Long to Black Jesus and Tip Drills

Not sure if it's 100% true but supposedly, after 6 years, BET has let go of the infamously controversial "Uncut". Hopefully, this means they'll try their hand at better programming but that's probably a futile dream.

Back to Where it All Began

According to the The New York Sun, New York is planning to open a hip-hop museum in the Bronx. Folks are already making noise about $1.5 million in capital funding being spent on such a project. We'll see what develops.

Suge's Never Ending Troubles

After being sued and filing for Chapter 11, Suge Knight loses control of Death Row Records. I guess it all makes sense. With Snoop and Dre gone, and the rise of the hyphy movement, Death Row has long since lost its strong hold on west coast music.

Welcome Back Danyel

Lately, I've been wondering what happened to Danyel Smith's blog. I guess it has to do with her,once again, becoming Vibe's Editor in Chief. Congrats Danyel! Big things are sure to come.

Hip-Hops Founding Father Sentenced
---------------
In non-hip-hop related news: Cassey Weierbach needs to be put under the jail for life. Her cell walls should be covered with photos of the 1 million plus African children who are now orphaned due to the AIDS epidemic. Maybe then, she'll realize how foolish she is.

Sunday, July 09, 2006

excuse me as I kiss the sky.....



I met JaHipster aka Tonya Matthews a few years ago at a NSBE conference and her cd of poetry still takes me to that place...

black angel haiku #6

It wasn’t slavery that stopped us
from flying.
It was
amnesia.

Monday, July 03, 2006

Who's Bad?

Last Sunday, a small group of us trekked out to New Hampshire for some fun on the beach. Our afternoon was spent splashing around in the ice cold waves, napping and building sand cities.

Sun kissed and satisfied, we cruised back to Boston with disc one of MJ's HIStory playing in the background. We snapped to "Don't Stop 'til You Get Enough" and got a bit sentimental with "She's out of My Life"(I get choked up everytime I hear Mike's voice crack at the end). As we sang along to "Bad", it struck me how much things truly do change.

Your Butt is Mine

I remember watching the "Bad" video and thinking Michael was the ultimate thug. I know, I know crazy, right? But to my 8-year-old mind, a black cropped jacket with shiny silver buckles, long silky waves parted to the side, tight black pants and a group of hard male backup dancers, meant danger.

The word is out, you're doin' wrong
Gonna lock you up before too long
Your lyin' eyes gonna take you right
So listen up, don't make a fight
Your talk is cheap
You're not a man
You're throwin' stones to hide your hands

As his limber gang performed choreographed moves reminscent of West Side Story and Fame in a dark dank abandoned subway station, Michael menacingly thrusted his hips and grabbed his crotch. My younger self was scared for whatever acid washed jean wearing crew that dared to step to them.

Fast forward........

You Say You a Gangasta

Put that knife in ya, take a little bit of life from ya
Am I frightenin ya? Shall I continue?
I put the gun to ya, I let it sing you a song......
Y'all garages for bullets
Please don't make me park it in your upper level, valet a couple strays

Nowadays, supposed musically inclined thugs don't dance. Nah son, that's wild 'mo. Instead they have video honeys that handle that department. Oh, cropped jackets, form fitting pants and ballerina leaps? Yeah right! Are you serious? White tee night gowns are the uniform and the only time they're jumping is over cars and fences when the block is hot.

N***** know, the lyrics molestin is takin place
F****** with B.I.G. it ain't safe
I make your skin chafe, rashes on the masses
Bumps and bruises, blunts and Landcruisers
Big Poppa smash fools, bash fools
N***** mad because I know that Cash Rules
Everything Around Me, two glock nines
Any motherf***** whispering about mines

Today's 8-year-old? Maaaaan, they'd scoff at Michael's past claims of being bad, call him a wangsta and tell him to shut the hell up and sit down before 50 makes him cry. Kids are mean.

I'm scared to think who will be considered "hard" and "bad" when I have children.

Saturday, June 24, 2006

you can't sow yam and reap casaba

Have things ever weighed so heavy on your heart, that the pressure awakens you from your sleep? That's exactly what happened to me Thursday morning. I immediately recruited a friend to come along as I beat the streets and attempted to tackle my lengthy to-do list.

We ended up by Coolidge Corner, when a small, obscure art deco antique spot caught our eyes. As we explored the shop, we couldn't help complimenting the owner on his breathtaking collection. A sprite like older Jewish man with grand hand gestures, he told us that his store has existed at the same location for 39 years and how Luther Vandross once spent over $100,000 on his antiques.

Obviously, one who loves an attentive ear, Mr. Mark shared with us photos of his marvelous three-story South End apartment and stories of his youth. The story that touched us was how after repeatedly applying to the School of the Museum of Fine Arts, he was finally admitted on his ninth try. When I asked why he didn't give up, Mr. Mark gave me an incredulous look and simply replied , "Because I wanted to be an artist." Point. Blank. Period.

He graduated at the top of his class due to his perseverance and the financial support of a Black woman who believed in the importance of artistic expression. It is her generosity that has inspired him to offer annual full scholarships to students entering his alma mater.

On our way out he left us with the quote: Live for today and tomorrow miracles will happen.

Inspired, we headed to Ten Thousand Villages, a fair trade store whose purpose is to ensure that artisans from countries like Haiti, Sri Lanka and El Salvador, receive direct profit from their crafts. On this trip, we were in awe of a set of delicate colorful multi-sized boxes made by large sea shells. As the store manager explained to us the process, I wondered how we could ever consider creators of such marvelous artwork to be have nots. We in westernized society supposedly have so much but I have yet to see us produce anything half as stunning. Our growing dependency on technology has blinded us to the beauty and value of our natural resources, making us the unfortunate ones.

As cliche as it may be, I believe wholeheartedly that all things in life happen for a reason. And as we left Ten Thousand Villages I was overcome by all my blessings. The pressure on my heavy heart subsided and right on the sidewalk, tears almost escaped my eyes as I felt the humbling power of how good God is.

I was overwhelmed by the realization that all I ever need to be fulfilled and happy, I've already been given.

Meet me at the barn.....it's going down

Last Saturday, Kindred and her folks threw a celebration in recognition of her graduating from college and her two sisters finishing middle and high school. So, with our overnight bags, a bunch of us piled into cars and headed towards western Mass.

Forget the artists on Cribs and How I'm Living with their extravagant million dollar fish tanks, refrigerators filled with nothing but Cristal and shiny poles in the basement. I am not impressed.

Show me a home with a barn in the back and that's when I'll ooooo and awwww.

Yeah, I said it. B-A-R-N.

Right in Kindred's backyard is a dark red wooden barn, the same size of a one level, single-family home, with a front deck that leads to an above ground pool.

We spent the evening eating good ol' homecooked Haitian food, laughing, taking tons of pictures and dancing in the barn to music provided by our boy Jose from It Bees Like That Entertianment. As the sunlight subsided so did the debauchery and mayhem. In the late night we warmed up by a bonfire, ate s'mores and enjoyed the good company until 4 am.

With sleep still in our eyes, on Sunday morning we trekked down the road for breakfast at a small country diner, whose patrons obviously never saw Black folks in such large numbers before. As the temperature rose, folks said bump it to going back to Boston and hopped into the pool, in an attempt to beat the heat. Wanting to preserve my freshly done do, I opted to take a cold shower instead. But once they managed to push the Back Bay Madame , who's violently allergic to fun, into the water and she didn't come up swinging, my ache to cool off grew stronger. I finally couldn't take it anymore and jumped into the icy water, with my relaxer, pajama shorts, t-shirt and all. The humid afternoon was spent playing a hilarious game of water basketball and splashing around like kids.

My boy B from back home came through for the weekend and all my friends welcomed him into the family.

That weekend I finally, kind of sort of, understood the satisfaction those who aren't in school and are unemployed get from simply chilling. Being care and worry free definitely has its appeal but I just can't live that life for long. Way too ambitious for that.

It's nice to know though that when I need a little vacation and don't have the funds to jet out to St. Tropez and see a a man play the mandolin like Puffy, there's always a nice cozy spot in the boondocks of Massachusetts where I can hideout and relax.

The only sour part of the two day festivities was Kindred's teenage sister's friend (get it?) who is unfortunately lost. While folks scoffed at her behavior, were appalled by her choice of attire and deemed her destined for videos, my heart couldn't help crying for her. Because I know that people in her life are quick to call her degrading names and promise her material gains at the high cost of her selfworth. But who's taking the time to teach her her value?

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

My 50

Folks have definitely caught tagging fever nowadays. I'll be a good sport and go along with it.

So, here goes my 50:

1. How tall are you barefoot?
5′1″ and a half. I didn't realize I was considered short until my freshmen year of college. I guess being tall is a state of mind.

2. Have you ever flown first-class?
Nope and I don't yearn to.

3. One of your favorite books when you were a child?
Dag, I've always been such a bookworm so choosing just one book is hard. If I must, I'd say A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.

4. A good restaurant in your city?
My life is shared between two cities right now.

NY:
During Memorial Day weekend Kindred's family put me on to Silk Road Palace on the Upper West Side. That was hands down some of the best Chinese food I've ever eaten. To top it off the waiter continued to fill our glasses with free white wine during our entire meal. Kindred and I made sure to pour a little out for the homies who couldn't be there.

Boston:
Due to health issues my girl Ro has spent the past year on a strict eating regimen. In the beginning it was hard for her to hang out because we would often go to or order food from restaurants that couldn't cater to her dietary needs. Things have gotten much better and for her birthday we discovered Grasshopper in Allston. There isn't any meat, chicken or seafood on the menu but the dishes are so good that it doesn't matter.

5. What is your favorite small appliance?
Right now, my iron. It's been able to work wonders.

6. One person that never fails to make you laugh?
My family and friends. Definitely people who recognize the healing power of laughter.

7. What's your favorite Christmas song?
O Holy Night.

8. What was the first music that you ever bought?
I think it was a TLC cd.

9. Do you do push-ups?
Nah.

10. What was one of your favorite games as a child?
Kickball.

11.What is the one thing that you cook that always receives compliments?
The fam loves my scalloped potatoes, spaghetti and barbecue chicken.

12. When you were twelve years old, what did you want to be when you grew up?
Always an author.

13. Your favorite Soup of the Day?
My mom's soup joumou. January 1st doubles not only as New Year's Day but also the anniversary of Haiti's independance. Since that day in 1804, Haitians around the world drink soup joumou. It is also tradition to bring the soup to the homes of friends and family. We drink it to celebrate our freedom and foster unity.

14. What in your life are you most grateful for?
So many things. But the one thing that I'm consistently grateful for is my family.

15. Have you ever met someone famous?
Yeah but fame is relative. Those I consider famous others may not know or care for.

16. Date Of Birth?
12-09-83. Gifts are welcomed.

17. Top 3 thoughts at this exact moment:
Wondering if it's the truth.
How I can help my girls find what they're looking for.
Why folks can't allow things to be simple.

19. Name five drinks you regularly drink:
Water, apple juice and ginger ale.

20. From what news source do you receive the bulk of your news?
Mostly the internet but also newspapers. Nothing beats holding the actual news in your hands.

21. Current hair?
Jet black, straight and shiny.

22. Current worry?
That things may take awhile to work themselves out.

23. Current hate?
Nothing at the moment.

24. Favorite place to be?
In or by the water.

25. Least favorite place to be?
Anywhere with negative energy.

26. Do you consider yourself well organized?
I'm an organized mess.

27. Do you believe in a afterlife?
I believe in heaven.

28. Where do you think you will be in 10 Yrs?
Definitely someone's mother, maybe someone's wife and anywhere but here.

29. Do you burn or tan?
What? I guess I tan. Always trying to become more darque. ( that was for you Kindred)

31. Are you more optimistic or pessimistic about the future?
Optimistic. I'm in far too many people's prayers to fail.

32. Last time you had an alcoholic drink?
Last Saturday.

33. What songs do you sing in the shower?
Usually some gospel.

34. What did you fear was going to get you at night as a kid?
I don't remember. I do remember just being scared of the darkness.

35. What's in your pockets right now?
My sweats don't have any pockets.

36. Last thing that made you laugh?
Someone telling me tonight that Pat Riley can be the next great leader in the Black community.

37. Best bed sheets you had as a child?
The Care Bears.

38. Worst injury you've ever had?
Praising God for only experiencing minor scrapes and bruises.

39. Favorite song?
Far too many.

40. How many TVs do you own?
One.

41. In the last calendar year, how many people have you told that you love them?
So many people. Can't even count.

42. Last thing that made you blush?
When one of my boys said that everyone can't help falling in love with me.

43. Best Compliment received?
"Woooooow! That's my dream girl," said by a teen in Dudley Square.

44. What song is in your head?
"One Last Cry" Brian McKnight.

45. What is your favorite book?
Too many to list one.

46. Last meal you cooked for the opposite sex?
Spicy shrimp, mixed vegetables, rice and a cake for dessert.

47. What songs do you want played at your wedding?
My girl since childhood always jokes that my wedding will a be nonstop concert since I love music so much. There will definitely be some good ol' r&b, classic soul, kompa and something to electric slide to. Oh! Definiately some Cameo and Maze!

48. What song do you want played at your funeral?
Anything uplifting and rejoiceful.

49. What were you doing at 12 midnight last night?
Laughing and having good conversation at the Reflection Pond.

50. What would you like to accomplish with the remaining years of your life?
I hope to help others and myself to be fulfilled and genuinely happy.

What's your 50?

Monday, June 12, 2006

we've come a long way, a mighty long way

Way back in March, my mother let me know that she'd allow me to miss Easter Sunday if and only if I promised to come home for the church's march. So on a dreary Saturday evening I caught a ride on the Fung Wah and headed home to celebrate.

As my mother prepared Sunday dinner, I peered out the kitchen window at the dauntingly stubborn gray sky and noted that my new suit and satin pumps wouldn't withstand the rain. She assured me that God knew what day it was and He would send the sun down on time. Always steadfast, my mother went back to humming as she lowered the fire under the brown rice and beans.

Word of the march reached far. Over two hundred congregation members and supporters stood under umbrellas in front of the former worship space, waiting for the march to commence. It seemed that I was the only person concerned with the weather because no one else bothered to look up and acknowledge the dark clouds. I guess they had waited far too long for this day and would march through even the heaviest of snow if it was necessary.

As usual my mother was right. Once the police escorts arrived the sun sensed we were ready and chose to take its rightful place in the sky. Its rays shined so brightly that the prior rainstorm seemed like a figment of our imaginations.

The deacons and deaconesses took their positions in front holding the church's banner and both the Haitian and American flags. Behind them stood a Haitian marching band from Brooklyn dressed in pristine white uniforms and a large white pickup truck carrying several guitarists and a drummer.

Jenny, my girl since the days of colorful hair ribbons, and I decided to hold up the rear so that we could get a good view of the celebration.

Congregation members dressed in their Sunday's best and sensible flat shoes feverishly waved their Haitian flags as we made our journey through the city's streets. The further we walked the more the procession seemed to embrace the spirit. Apparently moved, the band's conductor, a handsome deep chocolate wiry man with microphone in hand, hopped onto the rear of the pickup truck and commenced to get the crowd crunked.

Men and women who once intercepted my notes during service and told me I was a fresh child when I asked how they knew my eyes were open during prayer if they were actually praying, lost all their inhibitions. The band caught the spirit and they began to play old celebration songs from back home. Sisters lifted their skirts a bit higher making it easier to dance and the brothers pumped their fists in the air as the music's tempo quickened. They looked more like revelers in Jacmel during carnaval or folks on Eastern Parkway during NY's West Indian Day Parade than participants in a church march.

A joyful chorus of 'HALLELUJAHS!' and 'AMENS!' filled the air once we reached our destination and the ribbon was ceremoniously cut. Several times I found myself in deep warm hugs and my cheeks moistened by damp kisses from those who still consider me 'the church's first baby'. Their eye's were misty from 22 year old memories of the living room of my step-father's old bachelor pad serving as their first worship space and how it soon became too small as more Haitians arrived in the city.

Eyes turned towards heaven and tears flowed freely as all the church's choirs sang a soul stirring rendition of Give Thanks. Pews filled quickly and those who couldn't find seats within the sanctuary instead stood in the aisles, outside on the church's steps and in the parking lot.

No one wanted to leave. They'd come much too far by faith to turn around.

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

an apology to the real good black men


Dear Black Men,

We as Black women have done you a great disservice.

There was a time when statistics had us panicking. We could be found lamenting on the pages of Newsweek and the couches of Ricki, Sally and Montel about how we couldn't find any desirable single Black men.

We complained that most of you were either some baby's daddy, locked up, jobless and/or without degrees. You heard us repeatedly declare that we were in active search of a good Black man amongst all the defaults . Our definition of this man was one with a clean criminal record, career, at least one degree, his own place, car and no kids. We wanted our equal male counterpart and felt that if we could finally find this elusive good Black man that our lives would finally be fulfilled.

A few of you saw this list and realized that you had every single quality that Black women, at the time, desperately desired. Your chest protruded a bit more and you stood a few inches taller because you understood that your degree, car, no baby momma drama and the bills in your pocket meant that you were top choice. With that knowledge you got your serious mack swagger on and I don't blame you.

Across the country Black women were sistergirl high-fiving because some of us had finally found ourselves the Black man we always wanted.

But unfortunately all that falsely glitters eventually begins to fade.

I've heard the countless sad tales of friends, family and associates who were devastated to discover that their good Black men were arrogant, cheaters, inconsiderate lovers, elistists unconcerned with the issues of our race, self-centered, dishonest, faithless and uninterested in Black women.

We created a list of what we thought we wanted instead of what we need.

We forgot that educated doesn't mean faithful. We forgot that no baby momma drama doesn't promise that problems won't exist. We forgot that a mortgage and car in the driveway can't guarantee morals. We forgot that money in the bank won't necessarily ensure happiness.

We overlooked the Black men with kids who are actually committed to being fathers and raising them. We ignored the brother who made mistakes in the past, paid his dues and is trying to right his wrongs. Our noses went up at the hard working blue collar Black man putting in long hours so that he can take care of his responsibilities.

I completely agree with having standards, there are certain attributes that we simply won't bend on. But perhaps some requirements on our lists need to be bumped down or revised.

Black women have made a mistake. To the true good Black men, I apologize.

You are loved for all that you are.

Sincerely,

A Black Woman

spiritual renewal


Looking for peace.
Thinking of fasting.
Let's see what happens.........


I admit that sometimes pride tries to hide my view
And even this gift that you gave me, I forget it’s for You
And all the many days and many ways Your grace I’ve abused
Still you were patient and Your love loved me through
But the wind still blows and the flower still grows and one thing is still true......

Without You life’s a wound that won’t heal
Without You, nothing in this world is for real
Without You, we're just actors on a stage
Like a child who's lost his way
Wouldn't be here today without You

This World



Another child is born
Another race is won
Another dream is shattered
Another day has begun

This past weekend was spent hanging out in the dungeon with Kindred and the reclusive Back Bay Madame.

One of the many reasons why Kindred is... well... my kindred... is because she hates being confined, is always down for whatever and loves the sun as much as I do. So once we saw thin rays of light peeking through the two pinholes that the Madame has as windows, Kindred and I caught a serious case of cabin fever and needed to breakout.

After a walk to Cambridge we tried to make it back in time to meet up with the Dutchess and Madame for a sexuality workshop in Brookline but that definitely wasn't happening. While I showered up Kindred hopped on the computer to research what we could get into. She found info about an independent film festival that was going on in the SoWa neighborhood of the South End.

We tried calling some folks in an attempt to up the melanin level of the audience but unfortunately no one came through. I truly wished they did because what we caught of the festival was incredible. The documentary "BALLOONHAT" was our favorite hands down.

This world is still afloat
No not in Noah's boat
We've only lost the vision
Of the stars we're meant to be

The film follows balloon artist, Addi Somekh and photographer, Charlie Eckert who are disheartened by our media's love for sensationalism. Refusing to view the world as hopeless, they set out on a journey to prove that humankind needs joy to survive.

What stands out in the documentary is not only the breathtaking images but also the beautifully inspiring tales of their travels.

Hopefully, the film does well and their second chance at a publishing deal works out.

Somehow the balloon hats show that at the humancore all we want to be is happy.

Another broken heart
Another lesson learnt
Another harvest eaten
Another night is gone
A new day's begun
Even your dreams they can be real

Thursday, May 18, 2006

that good ol' new jack swing

Summer is soon approaching and concert season is around the corner.

So far Stephanie and Corinne are already occupying my time. Also the ladies are thinking about having a mother and daughter day to see Anita. I may add some testosterone to the mix by seeing Michael.

The last time I went to a concert at the one-time Fleet Pavilion, was four years ago to see Angie Stone, Gerald Levert and Luther Vandross. My friends and I were the youngest people in the audience but that didn't stop us from spending the night on our feet, singing along to Luther's classics. At the end of the show we left wanting to be his backup singers. Those ladies were fierce in their bright sequined gowns and undeniable vocal skills.

Saw old Jon B. and AZ Yet videos today and it made me wonder where all the "beggars" went. What happened to the brothers who used to croon about true love and how a good woman made them feel?

Where are the all male R & B groups with the seamless harmonies and temptation-esque sharp dance routines?

Instead, we're bombarded by oversexed Pretty Ricky asking your little sister to playhouse so they can eat (her) body out like lunch.

What the heck?

damn, when it hurts so good


Maybe it's because the sun decided to come back.....

or the things he said....

or what she shared that inspired and made me think.....

Who knows. It doesn't matter.

Regardless of who, what and why, yesterday I ran.

I ran until my chest constricted, my thighs throbbed and sweat gathered right in that spot where my back curves.

I forgot how much I love running. I forgot how on those just right breezy sunny days J and I would have our running dates around the Charles, and compete to see whose legs could last the longest.
When I woke up early this morning with slight aches and sores, it brought back memories of how good and alive the hurt used to make me feel.

Sunday, May 14, 2006

Her revolution will be recognized


Congradulations Sarah Jones! The best is yet to come.











-----------
Your revolution will not be me tossing my weave
And making me believe I'm some caviar eating ghetto
Mafia clown
Or me giving up my behind
Just so I can get signed
And maybe have somebody else write my rhymes
I'm Sarah Jones
Not Foxy Brown
You know I'm Sarah Jones
Not Foxy Brown
Your revolution makes me wonder
Where could we go
If we could drop the empty pursuit of props and the ego
We'd revolt back to our roots
Use a little common sense on a quest to make love
De la soul, no pretense, but
Your revolution will not be you flexing your little sex and status
To express what you feel
Your revolution will not happen between these thighs
Will not happen between these thighs
Will not be you shaking
And me, [sigh] faking between these thighs
Because the real revolution
That's right, I said the real revolution
You know, I'm talking about the revolution
When it comes,
It's gonna be real
It's gonna be real
It's gonna be real
When it finally comes
It's gonna be real
Your Revolution, Sarah Jones

Thursday, May 11, 2006

this black seed was planted to grow...

I need to escape.

I must go somewhere. Anywhere.

The entire world has officially lost it's mind and I ...maann, I just got to go.

Ever yearn to see the good but the bad keeps blocking your view? And do you ever sense that sometimes unfortunately inorder for situations to improve they must get 10 times worse?

There was a time when you could have called me Ms. Optimist. My glass was once half full.

Unfortunately my feelings run deep and the chaos of the world tends to weigh heavy on my heart. Due to all the wear and tear my glass now has an
irreparable leak and all this craziness has clouded the clarity of its exterior.

To be honest, I'm not even too concerned for myself . It's my children I worry for.

How are they going to grow up in this?

I know, I know I'm only 22 and I don't have kids. But the fact remains that one day I will be a mother, so it's imperative that I
now contemplate how and where I want to settle down and anchor my roots.

The United States is almost completely out of the question because when it comes to crazy, the USA is Public Enemy #1. Perhaps I should 'quit America' and head to St.Kitts like Randall Robinson.

I'm actively searching for fertile land y'all.

Land made to nurture
my future strong, proud and culturally responsible Black seeds.

Any ideas?

----
From the time you were born, . . .

wherever that place may be, this beautiful black seed was
planted, planted to grow and be free . . .whether its bed of
soil was a city of cement and steel, coldhearted haven,
midwest middle of the road village site, big city bright
with glamour and hidden sights, a grit and grace
paradise, or a down home dirt field south of the border,
with the moon as the only streetlight.

This Black seed was planted to grow . .

this Black seed planted to feel the sunlight.

From the Time You Were Born, Charles McClain

Monday, May 08, 2006

wicked and evilous

these past few weeks have been interesting to say the least.

my sister is right: black folks, especially west indians, love to be 'scandalized'. we are definitely entertaining storytellers. no matter how small each tale is told with grand hand movements, animated facial expressions and varying accents to approriately acknowledge all characters involved.

some of the best storytellers i know are my girls. our ladie's breakfasts/lunches/dinners always turn into a ladie's day or weekend because everyone always has several stories to share.

our tales can range from the hardships of running a business from home, finally satisfying a curiousity, preparing for married life, arguing an eviction notice to an electrifying late night rendevouz in a not so discrete location.

in one another's company we are able to momentarily shed our sometimes cumbersome strong black women's armor and allow the entirety of who we are to be laid bare. together we share our passions, fears, insecurities, questions and desires. what cements our bond is food and laughter, which always overflows with abundance when we come together.

great food and great laughs is what heals the heart and fills the soul.

this summer there's sure to be much eating, sharing, scandalizing, building and adventures.

speaking of strong black women, i'm not too sure how i feel about this.

whenever someone who isn't black mentions black people i feel my ears perk up a bit and my back muscles tighten in prepartion of the possibilty of hearing something that may require me to duly check someone.

is it being sensitive or simply aware? can it be a combination of both and on somedays maybe more one than the other? i do admit there are some of us that draw the race card a little too quickly, while others are way too hesitant.

Thursday, April 27, 2006

you ever hear something that you're just not ready for? and once it hits your ears and registers, you really can't believe that you actually heard correctly?

that's how i feel when my friends and i get together. i swear the things that come out of their mouths is straight up and down unbelievable. whenever and wherever we gather there's sure to be theatrical hand gestures accompanied by quotable remarks. most of the time i'm either crying and/or holding my belly from laughing so hard.

i spent the afternoon with one of my girls that i haven't seen in awhile. a few of us pack into my girl's car and she tells us about how ,as of last night, she let go of her most recent trifling bed buddy. she says that the guy has been 'baby baby pleasing' all day trying to get her back but she will have none of it. so i'm sitting in the backseat listening to one of the funniest stories i've ever heard and attempting to recover from some of her smart remarks from earlier this afternoon, when she has the whole car in hysterics with this one:

"I finally told him to consider us like edible panties: you can get one good use out of it but try regurgitating that sh*t and it's just not the same."

so today i got some much needed legal advice with a side of good ol' humor.

laughter is a definite cure-all.

Monday, April 24, 2006

first love, standing first in line

i went home this weekend and spent time with my boy b. i've known b since the 10th grade and it's been interesting watching my first love find his way towards becoming a man.

i would have never imagined being with him in high school but somehow it happened and it made sense. we fit. grown folks would often comment on how mature our love was and how happy we seemed. from administrators to teachers to students, everyone was interested in our relationship. to this day whenever i go home someone wants to know how b is doing and whether we're still together.

though our relationship was definitely mature in many aspects, we were still teenagers and we definitely had our dramas. we joke now that back then we were on some serious black dawson's creek sh*t. there were strong emotions, public displays of adolescent affection, out of control hormones and too many tearful hallway episodes to count.

there were good times and bad and i wouldn't go back to change a thing.

though our romantic feelings for one another have dissipated, our love has manifested itself into something comforting and genuine. i've been there for the females who came after me, giving some a thumbs down and rooting hard for others. i'm rooting for the woman he's with now and i pray for his overall happiness.

b and i have gone from teenage lovers to semi-adult friends attempting to find our niche in life.

in the may issue of essence there's an article about a woman who was invited to her ex's wedding. though she was unsure of attending she finally does and is happy with her decision. she finds closure in witnessing her old lover exchange vows with another woman and in the end understands why he wanted her there and why she went-- "because there is comfort in having people around who knew and loved you back then, and who can find a way to accept and celebrate the person you are becoming right now."

how true it is.

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

just like a song in my heart......


a few days ago my beautiful best friend/sister sent me a wonderful package meant to lift my spirits and make me feel loved. in it was a mix cd with music from corinne bailey rae. it's been in constant rotation at my place and i'm hooked. she is definitely what's up.

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

ashe

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no one, and nothing goes unchanged

This past weekend was AMAZING! Aside from being oh so shamed by a 5 year old who wrote me a note to "STOP TALKING!"(HAHAHA!), there was a TON of reflecting, eating, sharing and laughing.

It's surreal the various yet to be experienced journeys that lay ahead for my friends and me. There are some of us that are taking our romantic relationships to the next level by cohabitating or tying the knot. Others who are applying for jobs in places they never thought they'd want to live. This is all exhilarating and scary. The things we say, the time we spend together, our feelings, our doubts, who we are .........everything now just means more real. Who knows what our future holds but we're all stepping out on faith in ourselves, each other and somebody bigger that in the end we'll be more than fine.

I'm making a lot of decisions nowadays and there's one in particular that I'm hoping my feelings are right about.

Ms.Nina Simone has it right. Everything must change.

Oh if you love fashion and helping out a good cause please hit up this up in support of Rosie's Place.

Thursday, April 13, 2006

what a difference a day makes....

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

You'd think that I had a huge gaping bloody wound with my heart hanging out of it by the way men have been hovering around me like starving vultures. It's actually somewhat funny because a lot of these guys who have approached me recently do have this crazed hungry look on their face as if they're looking for a meal and I'm their favorite item on the menu. HAHAHA!

What kills me is that a few of them are guys that I have already told that I'm not interested. I mean damn! I know that my heart is hurting but I'm definitely not suffering from head wounds so my memory is fine. LOL! I can't front I have definitely been entertained. I guess I can't knock a few fellas for trying. It's been feeling good to smile.

I saw this yesterday and I'm starting not to be surprised anymore.

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Thanks to all those that reached out after my last post. I know as E said the entry was real cryptic but I truly appreciate all the love. It's definitely what made this past week somewhat bearable. It started off shaky and ended pretty well. Don't get me wrong- I'm still hurting but the tears have been gone since last Wednesday and sleeping has become a little easier. I've been productive and spent a lot of time with friends.

One of my friends, who has no idea what's been going on lately, asked me early last week to keep my schedule open Friday around 2. I wasn't allowed to ask any question. All I had to do was be ready by
2 o'clock sharp. We ended up at a day spa and wellness center at some random shopping plaza in Woburn. I was surprised with a chocolate pedicure and a 30 minute massage. It was explained that since my birthday the surprise was planned but because of the snowstorm that day everything had to be rescheduled. Part of me wanted to leave the salon because it's hard for me sometimes to accept gifts but I thought about all that's been going on and decided to let it go. Everything happens for a reason and the massage and pedicure came at the right time. I was touched because this friend didn't and still doesn't know all the things that has transpired as of lately but nevertheless wanted to show how much our friendship has meant.

This weekend I visited a girlfriend and her 1 month old son. It's been awhile since I've spent time in an actual home and not just an apartment full of random folks. Her mom made some damn good Haitian food and we spent the afternoon admiring the baby and talking. My girl's father joined us and we were all immersed in a 2 hour conversation on
Haiti.

He expressed to us that Haiti
can not be saved. Being young and optimistic Haitians we argued that there's hope and the last thing we should do is abandon the island. He went into a story of how Haitians are still living in 1802, the year they defeated the French and took over the island. He explained that as African slaves we could no longer take the brutal treatment of our captures in a place that wasn't our home, so we revolted and overthrew them. He expressed the purpose of a revolt isn't to remain in a foreign land but to return to what you know but being slaves returning to Africa wasn't an option. So they were forced to make a home in the land of their oppressors.

It's like being kidnapped from your parent’s home and forced live and work at someone else’s house. One day shit gets real and you decide to be rid of your captors. You're unsure how to return home so you're forced to stay where you are and start anew. How can you genuinely care and upkeep this new home when there are memories of what occurred there? That is why he believes that Haitians misuse the land and can only care about what it can do for them.

He said that if there were two piles, one consisting of visas ,to get out, and guns , to kill all the wrongdoers on the island, that the pile of visas would disappear first and those who are left will pick up the guns.

No one truly wants to stay.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

a labor of love....


This Monday I was honored by a campus group called Brothers About Change with a Women of Distinction Ethel Payne Award of Excellence in Journalism.

While I was visiting my sister in Durham I recieved a message from the org's president asking me to get at him about the ceremony. Being that I helped with nominations the year before I assumed he was calling to see who I had in mind for this year's awards. When I called him back he informed me that I in fact was one of the women being honored. My honest and exact words to him were 'Why?! I don't do sh*t.' I said that not due to false humility but because I feel that I don't do much and always wish to do more.

Those who aren't close friends wouldn't believe this but,at times, I am a very shy person. Compliments and recognition aren't things that I'm comfortable with. I don't do things for the praise of others but simply because I figure if I didn't who will?

Though they admire my dedication people have often asked me why I've sacrificed many nights of sleep and chill time to produce a publication that some at the university consider irrelevant. And there have been many nights sitting in front of the computer when I thought I may be crazy and questioned my purpose. But I've realized early that there is a struggle out there and regardless how much Northeastern wishes to separate itself from the outside world, the university is a microcosim of the society which surrounds it. I may not be able to deliver thought provoking speeches or mobilize large groups to protest but writing is my passion, it is my small offering towards progress.

I remember earlier this semester I wanted to organize a small roundtable discussion with current and past members of the Onyx. I sent out an evite and recieved a response from a woman who regretfully couldn't make it since she now lives overseas. She shared with me how happy she is to hear that the Onyx is striving and told me that though working on the publication isn't always easy it's a labor of love that keeps it going.

In their short exsistance Brothers About Change has come a loooooong way. BAC is an organizatioin of Black and Latino men at Northeastern who created the Women of Distinction Award inorder to combact the negative and onesided images of Black and Latino women in the media. They use the award to recognize women at NU who strive daily to postively shape and impact those among them. I remember the obstacles their former president Johnathan went through inorder to make his vision of the award ceremony become a reality. Now he has graduated, works in the financial aid office and serves as BAC's faculty advisor.

He opened up Monday's ceremony with a speech on the 8 characteristics that his woman of distinction is comprised of. Each characteristic matched up to past and current honorees and he gave me the gift of creativity. The most touching moment was when Major, a student at Berklee College, sang a heart melting rendition of You Are So Beautiful. Though the songs lyrics are simple Major's blessed vocals made them resonate in my heart. I hope someone recorded it.

In Their Eyes Were Watching God Zora Neale Hurtson described women "as the mules of society" and it's refreshing to see a group of young men unapologetically recognize the tireless work of Black and Latino women. Not only was I touched to be the only student this year to recieve the award but to also be in the company of Alejandra Lombardo who is the acting Director of the Lation Student Cultural Center and especially Dean Lula Petty-Edwards of the African-American Institute.

I actually spent much of Monday afternoon interviewing Dean Petty for an article and she's always dropping gems of knowledge. She is definitely a force and to stand beside her as a fellow woman of distinction, I will do my all to uphold that title.