honey molasses ebony majesty chocolate brown sugar sweet epiphany

Untreated Depression & Mental Illness Hurts Us All

2007-04-20T10:31:00.000-04:00

How many times have you seen it?

Once? Twice? Too many to count?

People are watching the video rants of Seung-Hui Cho over and over on the TV and Internet.

It's captivating in the same creepy way it was to see the planes hit the Twin Towers over and over, to see the teens flee Columbine High School again and again on CNN.

It's the latest reality TV horror show.

The media have given Cho a platform from the grave where he can flash guns and compare himself to Moses and Jesus.

There's no sense debating whether the media should have released the video. It would have ended up on the Web regardless.

The choice is now ours: Do we watch?

Do we let Cho point guns at us and rant about rich kids?

Do we let him pass the baton to another killer to make the next death count higher?

The message Cho left raised his status. The sad, lonely, weak 23-year-old went out with a bang -- 33 of them.

I wish there were a video of Cho before the guns to see the troubled college student behind the sunglasses and a low hanging baseball cap, the guy described this way by his teacher:

"He seemed to be crying behind his sunglasses."

Was Cho's mind a jumble because he had no friends? Or did he have no friends because his mind was a jumble?

We routinely use words like mental, crazy, nuts and psycho to describe illnesses of the brain. It's still a stigma to be sick when it's your brain that falls ill.

People who struggle with mental illness tell me it's a conversation stopper. One woman finally told her closest circle of girlfriends that she struggled with depression. No one spoke. If she had announced she had cancer, they would have hugged her and baked casseroles.

Another woman shared that her son attempted suicide but the hospital wouldn't keep him long, even though everyone feared for his safety. Insurance doesn't like to cover the mind, doesn't like to shell out for inpatient psychiatric care or long-term outpatient counseling.

People routinely have their blood pressure, cholesterol and blood checked. Ever hear of anyone going in for an annual mental health check-up? I haven't.

The tragedy at Virginia Tech isn't about gun control, rich kids or violent video games.

It's not about the need for metal detectors, armed guards or siren systems on every campus in America.

It's about untreated mental illness, about the strange chemistry and wiring of a brain.

But we're intrigued by the macabre details; Cho chained the doors, stopped to reload and now speaks from the grave.

Instead of examining his video rant for clues, we should examine the schools he attended, the doctors he saw, the insurance coverage he had (or most likely didn't), his family system, the support network that failed him, and ultimately, us.

A court magistrate once pronounced Cho mentally ill. Cho got sicker as time went on.

He couldn't stop the rants, the hate, the rage in his mind that now spew from his video.

His brain was broken.

Ours isn't.

We can, and should, turn it off.

Written By Regina Brett
Cleveland Plain Dealer Columnist
Friday April 20

Life comes at you fast

2006-10-10T09:47:00.000-04:00

Talley and The Bee

I don't know if he knew if he was allergic. But I do know that he gave 200% of his time and energy to the place we both love. Sometimes he was backstage, shouting at us about laundry. The last time I saw him, he was onstage, honoring the theater's founders. This summer he cleaned and organized 2 of the 5 costume rooms. And every time I have seen him since sometime in January, one, if not both of us, quoted La La L'Amazing Grace......"You know you gon' get fired, right?".

In the blink of an eye he was gone.

Princess Grace Goes Home

Before there was a Piscean Princess, there was Princess Grace. Nanny, my maternal grandmother, is the cutest, foxiest, classiest woman I've ever known. Years of exercise and swimming laps gave her legs that rivaled Tina Turner's. She married her high school sweetheart, he became one of the 1st Black gas station owners in the city, and she was the First Lady of Standard Oil. Make no mistake, they were "The Joneses" and keeping up was hard work. If there was a group for young people, black people, female people, democratic people, Christian people, Nanny was probably a member. She and her younger sister were like Frick and Frack. You rarely saw one without the other. If Auntie was going, Nanny was going too. Auntie went first.

And Nanny met her there.

There are other names and stories that I could mention here. But I won't. I do not have a personal story to tell about the Mad Scientist in Cali's Sweet Grandfather in Cleveland, so I won't. And the Billy Dee Williams of Pasadena better not get his name added to this list any time soon. [For real, Dad. If you're not gonna live forever, at least wait till I have some kids or something, geez!]

Remember when you were a kid and you didn't have to think about obituaries and funerals and last minute plane tickets? There were no bills to pay or credit scores to maintain. You didn't have to go through any changes to nurture friendships.

And you thought everybody was going to live forever....

Things That I Have Done

2006-10-04T16:18:00.000-04:00

Two of my favorite gals did this already, so I'm getting on the bandwagon too.

Life's TO DO List
*BOLD means yes, I have done this

01. Bought everyone in the bar a drink
02. Swam with wild dolphins
03. Climbed a mountain
04. Taken a Ferrari for a test drive
05. Been inside the Great Pyramid
06. Held a tarantula
07. Taken a candlelit bath with someone (can 2 people really comfortably fit in a bathtub?)
08. Said 'I love you' and meant it
09. Hugged a tree
10. Bungee jumped
11. Visited Paris
12. Watched a lightning storm at sea
13. Stayed up all night long and saw the sun rise
14. Seen the Northern Lights
15. Gone to a huge sports game (depends on the definition of "huge")
16. Walked the stairs to the top of the leaning Tower of Pisa
17. Grown and eaten your own vegetables
18. Touched an iceberg
19. Slept under the stars
20. Changed a baby's diaper
21. Taken a trip in a hot air balloon
22. Watched a meteor shower
23. Gotten drunk on champagne
24. Given more than you can afford to charity
25. Looked up at the night sky through a telescope
26. Had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment
27. Had a food fight
28. Bet on a winning horse
29. Asked out a stranger
30. Had a snowball fight
31. Screamed as loudly as you possibly can
32. Held a lamb
33. Seen an eclipse
34. Ridden a roller coaster
35. Hit a home run
36. Danced like a fool and not cared who was looking
37. Adopted an accent for an entire day (For most of the day, though, back when I was playing LaLa L'Amazing Grace in "The Colored Museum")
38. Actually felt happy about your life, even for just a moment (almost every day)
39. Had two hard drives for your computer
40. Visited all 10 provinces or all 50 states
41. Taken care of someone who was drunk
42. Had amazing friends
43. Danced with a stranger in a foreign country
44. Watched wild whales
45. Stolen a sign
46. Backpacked in Europe
47. Taken a road-trip
48. Gone rock climbing
49. Midnight walk on the beach
50. Gone sky diving
51. Visited Ireland
52. Been heartbroken longer than you were actually in love
53. In a restaurant, sat at a stranger's table and had a meal with them
54. Visited Japan
55. Milked a cow
56. Alphabetized your cds
57. Pretended to be a superhero
58. Sung karaoke
59. Lounged around in bed all day (substitute couch for bed, and I do this almost every weekend)
60. Posed nude in front of strangers
61. Gone scuba diving
62. Kissed in the rain
63. Played in the mud
64. Played in the rain
65. Gone to a drive-in theater
66. Visited the Great Wall of China
67. Started a business
68. Fallen in love and not had your heart broken
69. Toured ancient sites
70. Taken a martial arts class
71. Played D&D for 6 hours straight
72. Gotten married
73. Been in a movie
74. Crashed a party
75. Gotten divorced
76. Gone without food for 5 days (um, have we met??? that'll never happen)
77. Made cookies from scratch
78. Won first prize in a costume contest
79. Ridden a gondola in Venice
80. Gotten a tattoo
81. Rafted the Snake Dead River
82. Been on television news programs as an "expert"
83. Got flowers for no reason
84. Performed on stage
85. Been to Las Vegas
86. Recorded music
87. Eaten shark
88. Had a one-night stand
89. Gone to Thailand
90. Bought a house
91. Been in a combat zone
92. Buried one of your parents
93. Been on a cruise ship
94. Spoken more than one language fluently
95. Performed in aisles at Rocky Horror
96. Raised children
97. Followed your favorite band/singer on tour
98. Created and named your own constellation of stars
99. Taken an exotic bicycle tour in a foreign country
100. Picked up and moved to another city to just start over
101. Walked the Golden Gate Bridge
102. Sang loudly in the car, and didn't stop when you knew someone was looking (The singing was always accompanied by some very energetic dancing, too. I got no shame.)
103. Had plastic surgery
104. Survived an illness that you shouldn't have survived
105. Wrote articles for a large publication
106. Lost over 100 pounds
107. Held someone while they were having a flashback
108. Piloted an airplane
109. Petted a stingray
110. Broken someone's heart (I am genuinely sorry.)
111. Helped an animal give birth
112. Won money on a T.V. game show
113. Broken a bone
114. Gone on an African photo safari
115. Had a body part of yours below the neck pierced
116. Fired a rifle, shotgun, or pistol
117. Eaten mushrooms that were gathered in the wild
118. Ridden a horse
119. Had major surgery
120. Had a snake as a pet
121. Hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon
122. Slept for more than 30 hours over the course of 48 hours
123. Visited more foreign countries than U.S. states
124. Visited all 7 continents
125. Taken a canoe trip that lasted more than 2 days
126. Eaten kangaroo meat
127. Eaten sushi
128. Had your picture in the newspaper
129. Changed someone's mind about something you care deeply about
130. Gone back to school
131. Parasailed
132. Petted a cockroach
133. Eaten fried green tomatoes (As often as possible)
134. Read The Iliad
135. Selected one "important" author who you missed in school, and read
136. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
137. Skipped all your school reunions
138. Communicated with someone without sharing a common spoken language
139. Been elected to public office
140. Written your own computer language
141. Thought to yourself that you're living your dream
142. Had to put someone you love into hospice care
143. Built your own PC from parts
144. Sold your own artwork to someone who didn't know you
145. Had a booth at a street fair
146: Dyed your hair
147: Been a DJ
148: Shaved your head
149: Caused a car accident
150: Saved someone's life

when baggage is a good thing

2006-10-03T13:27:00.000-04:00

bag lady, you gone hurt your back dragging all them bags like that
i guess nobody ever told you, all you must hold on to is you
one day all them bags gone get in your way, so pack light

bag lady, you gone miss your bus / you can’t hurry up ‘cause you got too much stuff
when they see you comin’ niggas take off runnin’ from you
one day he gone say you crowdin’ my space, so pack light

Erykah, Dr. Phil and potential suitors have all cautioned me (and others) against holding on to relationship baggage. The warnings are strong.

“If the last guy cheated on you, don’t assume that the next one will. Give him a chance.”

On the surface, this is good advice. Each person is different and it’s true, the new dude shouldn’t be penalized for the last guy’s infidelity.

But is it wise to forget the last relationship entirely? Of course not. People who are older & less dumb revisit past relationships. We examine them. And in turn we examine ourselves.

So, if the last guy cheated, he was probably a jerk. If the last three guys cheated, this situation may deserve further analysis. (Note: At no time should that analysis include any “all men are dogs” nonsense.) The hard kind of analysis that involves getting real with one’s self, fully examining the places within where we’d just as soon not go.

Baggage often causes us to operate in extremes. I had a long term relationship with a man who wanted nothing more than to sit around getting high, drinking & playing video games with his friends. Seriously, he didn’t want for anything else. Nothing. Except maybe, like a sandwich or something. But otherwise he was just content to pretend he was 14 instead of 34. When that relationship ended, I immediately got involved with someone who had no interest in games or sitting still for any extended period of time. At first it was a nice change of pace. After a year or so, it became a recurring argument.

Turns out, honoring the baggage of the 1st relationship didn’t mean that the opposite circumstance would be inherently better. No, sir, it meant that I had some self examination to do. Why did I get involved with “Sit-Around-Guy”? Why did that suddenly become unacceptable? Why wasn’t “Let’s-Kick-It-Guy” just what the doctor ordered? Trust me, I have had four years to answer these questions and deal with myself. And the baggage of these past relationships has the potential to be the crippling type that Erykah sings of – making me unable to see myself and the people I choose to partner with. This baggage also has the potential to be a perfect springboard for self-awareness. So much so, that it almost seems unfair to call it “baggage”.

The Year of the Reunion continues...

2006-10-02T13:05:00.000-04:00

Seven months ago, I took the liberty of renaming 2006 "The Year of the Reunion". At the time, most of the reunions were happening online or on the phone. Well, as the months have progressed, that has taken quite a turn.

Without even meaning to, I have reunited with Jesus. Not in a "born again/saved" kind of way, but in the people keep asking me to come to church with them kind of way. For the most part, this has not been an entirely unpleasant reunion. Each time I had someone there to shield me from that typical "Oh, are you visiting? Do you have a church home? We have 8 zillion ministries here that you would be perfect for - I'll look for you next week..." spiel. Except for the funeral I went to last week that turned into a "If you're not saved you're going to hell" sermon. Like many of the other reunions I've had this year, this one has been at the same time familiar and awkward. I have fond memories of my Charlie-Church days, and I am very happy with my current non-religious status.

The reunion continues at the theater. It's the strangest thing, but I am constantly running into someone from a past life at the theater. In the spring it was a guy I went to high school with - who I absolutely, positively would never have expected to see anywhere near anything arts-related. And I ran into the aunty of one of oldest & dearest friends...at the theater. And I was on a theater related committee with a guy that grew up down the street from me, who has made weird little cameo appearances in my life every few years since the late 80's.

I won't go into tons of detail, but I have recently started dating a pretty groovy guy. If my life were loosely based on a movie, I would be Sanaa Lathan and my date would be that extra-cute white guy that she fell in love with in "Something New". So on our 2nd "official" date last Friday, we're sitting at the bar in a local young & hip establishment, enjoying wine, people-watching and giggling.....and in walks my most recent ex-boyfriend. And he's with a young lady. And she's "Something New" too! I am not the person who remains "friends" with ex's. I see no purpose in that and have never had a breakup that I thought should be the exception. However, I'm also not the person who holds on to negative feelings after a breakup, either. I have often thought of this guy and hoped that he has found what he was searching for in life. Sincerely. 'Cause there was no way we were gonna find it together. So there wasn't any awkward feeling or anything - I mostly wanted both of our dates to disappear for a minute so I could run over to him and laugh at the irony of it all.

Lastly, I have reunited with my blog. Obviously I took the month of September off. There wasn't any particular drama or any good reason - I just couldn't ever figure out what to say. It all started when I watched "When The Levees Broke". I was simply unable to get it together to put my feelings down on "paper". And all the other amusing annoyances in life just didn't seem worthy of the blog when I had not addressed how I was feeling about the largely abandoned Black citizenry of New Orleans. And I kept going to blogs and folks were talking about it. And I was still stuck. So I stopped going to other blogs. Mostly I just kind of disappeared. (Perhaps my super-cute date and my ex's not-all-that-cute date made us disappear so they could talk about how funny it is that they're dating Black people!) But now I'm back, with plenty to say. I think.

Time is running out...

2006-08-18T15:31:00.000-04:00

I told you a while back about my girl C. Coolstein training for the October 22nd Nike Women's Marathon in San Francisco.

She has spent most of her summer running and lifting weights and running in circles and running up hills and running on concrete and running on the beach and running in dirt and running..........

...and time is running out!

She has met 50% of her fundraising goal and needs to have the rest of the dough by the first of September (yikes!). So if you wanna donate to the cause, or see how her training is coming, you can check her out at http://look-at-her-go.blogspot.com/.

the randomest ever

2006-08-17T11:46:00.000-04:00

I don't think I could be any more random than I am right now. (Ok, I probably could, but I'm dramatic. Work with me.)

It has taken me this long (it'll be 4 weeks on Saturday) to physically & mentally recover from Hawaii. The first week I had to constantly remind myself that not only do I have a job, but they expect me to show up at 8:00am, Eastern Time and they usually like it when I do some actual work. That was a tough sell during week 1, to say the least.

So I got the whole
(1) get up,
(2) get it together,
(3) go to work,
(4) work
thing down pat and then I had to deal with being physically exhausted. I mean pooped. Sleep at 8pm. Knocked out. And still tired in the morning.

At the same time I was battling constant fatigue, I was embracing the reality that my most recent (not-so) imaginary boyfriend does not have what it takes to be my future husband. And for the first time in roughly a year, I got really sad about my alone-ness. My frequent, confident talks to self suddenly weren't so effective.

Telling myself (and others) that "my man is out there, he just hasn't found me yet" suddenly made me want to scream to myself (and others) "well why the fuck not?? All he has to do is Google me. I'm right here. And I am fabulous. Is his MapQuest broke? Jeez!"

When I remind myself (and others) that "I am more interested in being in a healthy relationship than just being part of a couple for the sake of not being alone", I find that I am questioning my list. "Is it unreasonable to want my man to make at least $30k a year? I mean, is it too much to ask that he come to me already earning a (barely) living wage?" "I have my own communication issues that I'm trying to work out - when I say that I want my man to be able to express himself honestly and directly, am I being hypocritical?"

When I revisit the reality that "I need for my man to have some culture and depth about himself...he has to read, and appreciate theater & visual art, he ought to be able to watch some indie film with me and share my love for food, and he needs to understand that my spirituality and my upbringing and my interests and my friends are not strange, they are not weird, they are not "different" or "unique" or "white"(sarcastic, condescending tone implied), they are beautiful and valid and relevant." I wonder if I blew it when I broke up with the guy who was 100% with me on the culture & depth tip, but when it came to the emotional maturity and the living wage / career goals part......not so much.

And when I find myself thinking about this stuff for more than ten minutes at a time, I get mad. So today, instead of continuing this dumb ass day-by-day cycle of sad ~ mad ~ sad ~ mad, I'm going to get over it and find something else to do. People are dying in Iraq and Lebanon and Ethiopia - my problems pale in comparison.

Moving on.........

I'm trying to prepare for auditions this Sunday. I'll do a monologue from Who Will Sing For Lena, of course. And I've got about 70 hours to learn a monologue from The Shadow Box. Hopefully the directors will be awed & dazzled by me and there will be a small fight over who will cast me in their piece. There are 3 that I would really like to do, and as always, they are running consecutively. We'll see what happens.

Saturday I'm getting micro-braids. I will be a walking, talking example of "never say never", 'cause I sure said I would never get those things again! I was ok with the amount of time it took (back in the day it was 22 hours; hopefully this time will be closer to 8). It was the removal of said braids that made me want to shoot myself. Why is it that when you need help taking your micros down, nobody wants to step up? Well, the only reason I agreed to do this again is because my regular beautician agreed to take them down for me, as well as maintain them for as long as I keep them in. Ok, well there's more reasons than that I guess. I don't do well with new growth. I dig & scratch at it. Since I'm trying to transform myself and there won't be any chemical altering of my natural coils, I'm gonna need to wrap those coils in some $40-a-bag, 20 inch, Yaki Perm, human, made in China hair.

Dr. Dyson has redeemed himself, as I knew he would. After reading the Bash Cosby book, I felt like I needed a palate cleanser, so-to-speak. So I picked up "Come Hell or High Water: Hurricane Katrina and the Color of Disaster", knowing that this would do the trick. One of the things that I like about Dr. Dyson is that he structures his writing so that all the facts get laid out in plain view before he starts drawing conclusions. So whether you agree with those conclusions or not, you've got a full set of facts to work with. Now, I'm not sure how anybody could disagree with the fact that there was an enormous failure on the part of government at all levels. Enormous and more than a little fishy. "Come Hell or High Water..." does an excellent job of slowly exposing the details & history of what seemed fishy to the naked eye. And surprisingly, he was able to do it without getting me all riled up, like I usually am when I think about my people down there waiting and suffering for days. As difficult as I find his writing style, I was able to finish the book in 4 days. But now my brain hurts. I'll read "The Devil Wears Prada" on Saturday while I'm getting my wig busted, then that's gotta be it for a minute. I need to watch some Oprah (my TiVo is getting dangerously full) and start watching The Wire.

So there you have it...yet another post about how positively random (and sad and mad and over it) I am. Perhaps something noteworthy will happen in the coming days & I'll be focused yet again.

...journey...

2006-08-09T09:46:00.000-04:00

Like all of the major changes in my life, this one happened with almost no effort on my part. Sure there was months of talking, thinking, imagining, retreating, dismissing and reading. That's always my Phase One. Phase Two typically involves creating a timeline, determining the financial implications of my endeavor and executing my thoroughly thought through plan. Phase Three - completion.

I don't think I've ever gotten to Phase Two. Typically I go straight from Phase One to Phase Three and friends marvel at how I got to be so lucky as to skip the hard part.

Without me realizing it, this journey began on April 1st. I had survived winter coat + wool scarf. I had recovered from too tight at the edges. I was coping with stress + digging (no, not scratching...digging...with whatever was available...ink pen, metal letter opener...whatever). The morning of April 1st, however, I found out that I was NOT coping well with winter coat + wool scarf Part Deux.

I pulled out all of my trusty coping tools. I avoided looking at myself in the mirror. I reminded myself that it would grow back and it would be healthier. I promised myself that next winter I would take more preventative measures. I tried not to cry.

And then I saw C. Coolstein.

Oh my gosh, you cut your hair!!

And the dam broke. Don't worry, I didn't start crying openly in the bar. But I was weeping, wailing and moaning on the inside.

A conversation followed, during which my girl asked me why I didn't just go natural...locs even. I couldn't handle it. I snapped - conversation over. Is she f-ing kidding me? Hello, say it with me, people: "Corporate America".

But the seed had been planted. And it wasn't a bad idea. Upon further review (and execution of Phase One) I determined that it was actually a pretty good idea.

In theory.

Like I said, the universe has a way of taking care of my business for me when I'm too stuck on scared to do it myself. When I sat in the chair Saturday July 29th eagerly awaiting the harsh, smelly chemical that would instantly transform me from African Cheetah to Business Barbie, I had no idea that my scalp had other plans for me. That magically transforming process was over before it had a chance to start. I'm certain that she lit a match to my scalp, the burning was that instantaneous and intense.

Scalp is burning, scalp is burning,
look out, look out,
FIRE...FIRE...FIRE...FIRE
pour on water, pour on water

And just like that, Phase Three began. The African Cheetah was born again. My journey began with no steps (unless you count the swift and deliberate steps I took to the shampoo bowl, demanding that that relaxer be rinsed out immediately).

For twelve days I have tried to hide the TWA that has taken up residence under my hairstyle; I have cursed the stupid, dumb, itchy, nap....kinky African Cheetah hair; I have apologized to my tresses and begged their forgiveness and long term cooperation; I have obsessed over the possibilities; I have handed this journey over to my inner goddess.

This Damn Book Thing!

2006-08-08T14:46:00.000-04:00

I've been tagged. And it's not fair. I'm a reader. Narrowing these down to one book for each question has been entirely too difficult. And this was supposed to be the easy, fluff post that I put up while I'm getting it together to do my REAL post.

*groan*

1. ONE book that changed your life

The Bluest Eye By Toni Morrison

This was the first book that I felt a real connection with. I have always been an avid reader, but this is the first time I remember feeling like I was eating the words and drinking their power and wallowing around in their meaning. Thus began my love affair with (almost) all things Toni Morrison.

2. ONE book you have read more than once

Beloved By Toni Morrison

I don't appreciate having to leave The Bluest Eye, Song of Solomon, Paradise, Lovely Bones and New Black Man off this list. But since it only asks for one, I guess I am ok with putting Beloved. It is certainly one of several books that I used to read annually.

3. ONE book you would want on a desert island

Song of Solomon By Toni Morrison

As a general rule, I try to stay away from desert islands. But if I found myself on one, I would want to have a book that I wanted to re-read as soon as I finished it.

4. ONE book that made you laugh

Cell By Stephen King

He's my other favorite author and this was certainly not his best work. But I was quite tickled by some of his descriptions. I distinctly remember him describing a woman's haircut as "zero tolerance". Then he went into a brief moment of imagining her pre-retirement career as a librarian, who had become very good at keeping kids in line. Blah, blah, blah.

5. ONE book that made you cry

Finding Fish By Antoine Fisher

Not only did it make me cry, but it was one of few books that was so emotionally painful to read, that I had to put it down every chapter or so. The movie doesn't even begin to tell this man's story. Not even close. Quite frankly, by the time he got to the military, the book was pretty much over. Met wife, worked it out, met family, worked it out, the end. Good books should never be made into movies. People should just read the book or be forced to miss out.

6. ONE book you wish you had written

I don't have an answer for this one. Seriously, it's been a couple of days and I'm still drawing a blank here.

7. ONE book you wish had never been written

Losing The Race By John McWhorter

He's a jackass. I could have also lived without "Is Bill Cosby Right? Or Has The Black Middle Class Lost It's Mind?". For real.

8. ONE book you are currently reading

Black Hair: Art, Style and Culture By Ima Ebong

You'll be hearing more about this one, believe me. I'm reading some other book for this month's book club, but it's not worth mentioning. I'm enjoying it this time, but still.

9. ONE book you've been meaning to read

Come Hell or High Water By Michael Eric Dyson

I just needed a break after the Bill Cosby book, but I'ma get to it. Matter of fact, I'm reserving it right now at the library. Oh, and I checked out "The Covenant" but I wasn't in the mood (and may never be) so I didn't get past the 2nd or 3rd chapter. I get it, Tavis - we need to get it together - got it.

10. tag 5 other bloggers to do this

No. Yeah, I said it - no. This feels way too much like the chain emails of yesteryear (or yesterday if you're my mother). I can't even do it. Friends, readers, passersby, if you want to do this on your blog, feel free. If you don't want to, then don't.

(Ok, so I'm running out of fluff posts and I'm running out of valid excuses......I guess I better quit procrastinating and get 'er done!)

Yeah, India, but it's really hard!

2006-07-31T09:54:00.000-04:00

the highest expression of love
is to give without expecting

the highest expression of love
is to accept without exception

i have so much to learn...

...i want to live with an open heart

- india.arie

I'm Back!

2006-07-25T09:38:00.000-04:00

Did you miss me??

I've just returned from a 7 day cruise in Hawaii, so that's why I've been incognegro for the last 2 weeks or so. I have achieved a nice chocolaty color, even got a bit of sunburn on my shoulders and I've spent the last 2 workdays trying not to fall asleep at work.

So, once I am slightly more alert & able to string together a coherent sentence, I'll be back to blogging. In the meantime, I'm just trying to maintain...

The 1st Ever, Almost Complete Audio Post

2006-07-09T13:13:00.000-04:00

After 24 hours and 2 emails to the Blogger helpdesk, I am just going to move forward & post this without the last 3 pictures. I am terribly aggravated (Changseeker, you feel me!) so you are just going to have to use your imagination until I can get the remaining photos uploaded!

"...one time, at band camp..."

"...look deep into my eyes..."

"Wow, I was just waaaaay up THERE!"

"...so fresh & so clean..."

[do you really need captions when it's an audiopost?]

[This is where the additional 3 pictures would be if Blogger weren't so DUMB!

(Thank God) I Am Not My Hair

2006-06-29T13:07:00.000-04:00

After waiting for months, going to numerous retailers and watching my friend have a good old fashioned, Piscean Princess trademark "your customer service STINKS and somebody is gonna hear from me, just as soon as I get back to my desk to pen a strongly worded letter!" moment, I have obtained India Arie's latest album, "Testimony: Vol. 1, Life & Relationship". As always, the new album digestion process has been slow and methodical. So far, I think my favorite is "Good Morning", but by the time this weekend is over, I'll know for sure.

As I pulled into the parking lot at my job yesterday, volume at level 22, track 11 began...

little girl with a press n curl
age eight i got a jheri curl
thirteen i got a relaxer
i was the source of so much laughter
fifteen when it all broke off
eighteen and i went all natural
february two thousand and two
i went and did what i had to do
cause it was time to change my life
to become the woman that i am inside
ninety seven dreadlocks all gone
looked in the mirror for the first time and saw that

i am not my hair
i am not this skin
i am not your expectations
i am not my hair
i am not this skin
i am a soul that lives within

Yeah, India, I am so feeling you girl! The chronology and the ages are a little different, but all in all, my story is the same.

My mommy has never known how to do hair. She has never done anything to her own and she was pretty much incapable of making mine look decent. Several thousand miles away from her nearest family member, she was left to her own miserably incompetent devices. So for the first six years of my life, I had an afro. Sometimes that afro was teeny-weeny. Other times it was fluffy and unkempt with a ribbon attached to a bobby pin jammed into it's side.

Suddenly, things changed...and more capable family members were close at hand. Let the braiding begin! At first, there were cornrows in creative and elaborate styles. I couldn't have been happier! Until the cornrow-er went out of business and was replaced with a single braid-er. Now don't get me wrong, I realize that singles can be attractive and stylish. Back in 1980, a $2 package of colored plastic beads was all it took to take a head full of individual, slave-style plaits to the next level.

Unfortunately my braider thought those plastic beads looked cheap and tacky, so instead, I got some antique wooden beads. (Yes, they were wood. Like from trees.) They were gold and there was one on each 3 inch braid. With aluminum foil on the bottom to keep them on. Needless to say, I wasn't off to a good start in my new city at my new school with my new hair. Second graders are mean!

Before long, St. Jerry, the patron saint of little brown girls with major hair issues, heard my cry. Yes, dear reader, the Jheri Curl was born! Even though the bearer of the wooden beads would not even entertain the idea, once I was deposited into my father's hot little hands for the summer, it was a done deal. Finally! Not only did I have hair that moved, but I had hair like all the other girls. Of course mine was significantly shorter than most (think Easy-E, circa 1988) but it was a step in the right direction, regardless.

Anybody who was a child of divorce can probably remember that there was one thing that your estranged parents used as a tool to get at one another. For my mother, it was my hair. Upon my return after the summer of Jheri Curl #1, she promptly cut off all of my hair. It was back to the teeny weeny afro look, once again. The next summer, my teeny weeny afro had once again evolved into plantation plaits and I was off to visit daddy again. And he marched me right over to the local beauty shop and paid for more of those silky (aka greasy) curls. And when I got back home my mother cut off all my hair again. By the time the summer rolled around, I had cycled through the now familiar stages of hair regrowth. I even graduated from the Medusa look to the popular but impractical press and curl. Hot combs are indeed hot, rollers are pretty uncomfortable and not being able to swim was torture. I looked forward to Curl #3.

In a devastating turn of events, my mother wised up and cut my hair pre-visit!

Well, not to be outdone, my daddy waited patiently for my hair to get just long enough to wrap around one of those little rods.....and just like that, I was cool again! And this time, my exhausted & battle weary mother surrendered. The curl stayed.

Fast forward to 1988. Unless you were a gangsta rapper, the curl was no longer the style of the stylish. And I still had mine. By now I had experienced not only the original Jheri Curl, but the California Curl and the Wave Nouveau. And I was trying desperately to convince my mother to let me get a relaxer. Nope. Not happening. So here I was again, same city, new school, same bad hair. Tenth graders are mean!

In a totally spontaneous act of teenage defiance, I freed myself. Yes, I took matters into my own hands and got rid of that stankin' curl once and for all. Unfortunately, like most spontaneous acts of teenage defiance, mine lacked proper planning & regard for long term consequences. I won't take you through all of the ugly details, but I will tell you there was a blow dryer and a pressing comb involved. During the 5 days that it took for all of my hair to fall completely out, my mother employed one of her most memorable vigilante parenting tactics - she did nothing. She wouldn't take me to the beauty shop for services of any kind. I had to go to my new school with my new adolescent hormones with my new look (think Tina Turner, circa 1986). Tenth graders are still mean!

So the updated version of the hair re-growth process includes a relaxer (finally), finger waves (brown gel and all), finger waves and pineapple waves (yes, at the same time) and the Nefertiti cut (I swear it was in style for a few weeks!). And then I discovered weave. (It was around this time that I removed my mother from the hair care process. Her work was done.)

Fast forward 16 years to right now. My hair issues are not nearly as dramatic. Thanks to my standing weekly appointment at Styling Divas, I really don't have to think about my hair much at all. Until summer rolls around (don't worry, y'all, I really am over the jheri curl) and I want to enjoy swimming and other water related fun. Like now, I'm preparing to drive 7 hours to the most romantic place on earth (by myself, thanks for asking) to frolic in Lake Michigan. So I get braids. Not the crappy, individual braids of yesteryear, but the sleek, stylish cornrow of the millennium.

As I pulled into the parking lot at my job yesterday, I chuckled to myself in anticipation of my co-workers' awkward compliments and the questions of the bolder ones...

"now, can you wash that?"

"what happened to your other hair?"

"can I touch it?"

And just like in the movies, right when I was imagining these upcoming scenes, Track 11 came on. How poetic!

(I Am Not My Hair, the video)

Imagine That

2006-06-23T11:25:00.000-04:00

Those of you who know me personally probably know that I have a very active imagination. Whether I'm inventing personalities for people, describing the songs & sound effects that serve as the backdrop for my everyday life, or just generally exaggerating, my mind is constantly working toward it's own amusement. But my hands down favorite of all the make-believe activities is the imaginary boyfriend.

For the first time since 1998, I am single. I have been single since February of last year. I've been on approximately 4 dates in that 16 months. Despite several honest attempts & attitude adjustments, my romantic life is pretty pitiful.

I've never been one to wallow in my own sadness/loneliness/boring-ness. Instead I find other things to do. I cook, I read, I watch movies, I sample the Cabernet Sauvignon of numerous wineries (sometimes in lieu of dinner). And when I need to feel that giggly feeling that can only come from being noticed by a cutie pie, I invent one.

Please don't be alarmed. I am not spending my days talking to & making out with people who don't exist. No, no, no...these are real people who I have at least had some minor chit-chat with, during which they all instantly fall hopelessly in love with me. (Don't ask me how I know this...I just know.)

Trust me, it happens all the time. But I'd be an imaginary hoe if I let all of them be my boyfriend at the same time. So here are some of the categories that I use to keep them all organized.

While I'm in the process of creating a personality for my flavor of the week, he is usually in the "he wants to be my boyfriend (smile)" category. This usually involves some lite flirting by both parties and not much else. After said flirting, I usually remind my friends that "he wants to be my boyfriend", I giggle, they groan and that is that.

Once the personality has been created (or revealed), if I don't want to continue the lite flirting, he ends up in the "he wants to be my boyfriend (Yuck!), talk to me/hide me/let's go the other way so he won't come over here" category. This person's phone calls or text messages or emails don't get returned in a timely fashion. Instead of the usual big-normous smile that I typically greet people with, he gets the closed mouth let's-keep-this-at-hello grin. This unfortunate group of fellas may have organized a support group for their Post-Princess Traumatic Stress Disorder.

There are some cases, however, when no personality (real or manufactured) is necessary. Examples include any cashier or waiter who wants to give me a hook up of any kind and the guys at the gas station who put the air in my tire the other day. In these cases, temporary boyfriend passes are issued whenever I need something.

Then there are the times where the boundaries of my imaginary relationship are tested. Like last night when Big Bad Brother Coolstein & I had an actual conversation that ended with a phone number exchange and the possibility of taking a 7 and a half hour road trip to the most romantic place in the world next weekend. So now I've spent the whole day imagining all the possible ways that he & I can make chocolate and vanilla babies. But now it's not all that imaginary anymore. I mean, that flirting wasn't the "lite" kind, both parties were giggling, the innuendos were far more suggestive...THIS IS REAL! (Not real like he's gonna be my real live boyfriend real, but way real-er than it was 24 hours ago.) That fine line between fantasy & reality has been breached (sort of). This is the part where I have to start being responsible for my (real) actions and for other (real) people's feelings.

Well, I guess I'll have to deal with it if it comes to that. But in the meantime, I'm on cloud 9 knowing that B.B.B. Coolstein (and several other people) thinks I'm cute and sexy and interesting and funny and smart and all that good stuff. (Again, no one has actually said these things, but I know that's how they feel. I just know it.) Don't laugh. This whole single thing is tough. I have been in several(real) consecutive, with no down-time in between relationships since I was 14 (except for "The Year I Fell In Love With Me", otherwise known as 1998). This imagination thing is the best I know how to pass the time. It's fun and effective.

Colored Contradictions

2006-06-13T12:32:00.000-04:00

My power is in my madness, and my colored contradictions.

A few months ago I had the pleasure of being cast in George C. Wolfe's classic play, "The Colored Museum" at the oldest African American Cultural Arts Institution in the country (much love to The Mu!). Each of the 11 vignettes spoke to me in a different way and for different reasons. But the one that has inspired the most soul searching is "The Party".

If you're not paying attention, this scene is about a name-dropping, party girl who likes to dance. But upon closer review...

"Have y'all ever been to a party where there was one fool in the middle of the room, dancing harder and yelling louder than everybody in the entire place? Well honey, that fool was me! Yes, child, my name is Topsy Washington and I love to party!"

Well "anyone who knows anything about" Harriet Beecher Stowe or Uncle Tom (or La La L'Amazing Grace) knows that naming this character Topsy was sure to ruffle some feathers. Why, George? Why? You know we have a hard time coming to terms with those images!

She was one of the blackest of her race; and her round, shining eyes, glittering as glass beads, moved with quick and restless glances over everything in the room. Her mouth half open with astonishment at the wonders of the new Mas'r's parlor, displayed a white and brilliant set of teeth. Her woolly hair was braided in sundry little tails, which stuck out in every direction. The expression of her face was an odd mixture of shrewdness and cunning, over which was oddly drawn, like a veil, an expression of the most doleful gravity and solemnity. She was dressed in a single filthy, ragged garment, made of bagging; and stood with her hands demurely folded in front of her. Altogether, there was something odd and goblin-like about her appearance -- something as Miss Ophelia afterwards said, "so heathenish..."

~ Uncle Tom's Cabin, Harriet Beecher Stowe

I could go on and on about this Topsy thing, but there's so much more to the piece, I just can't waste time on the child's name!

"...now let me tell you 'bout this function I went to the other night, way uptown. And baby, when I say way uptown, I mean way-way-way-way-way-way-way-way uptown. Somewhere between 125th Street and infinity.

Inside was the largest gathering of black/Negro/colored Americans you'd ever want to see. Over in one corner you got Nat Turner sippin champagne out of Eartha Kitt's slipper. And over in another corner, Bert Williams and Malcom X was discussing existentialism as it relates to the shuffle-ball-change. Girl, Aunt Jemima and Angela Davis was in the kitchen sharing a plate of greens and just going off about South Africa.

And then Fats sat down and started to work them 88's. And the Stevie joined in. And then Miles and Duke and Ella and Jimi and Charlie and Sly and Lightnin' and Count and Louie! And then everybody joined in. I tell you all the children was just all up in there,

dancing to the rhythm of one beat.

Dancing to the rhythm of their own definition.

Celebrating in their cultural madness."

So, hold up George, you tryin' to tell me that I can identify with Malcom & Angela's politics and still have love for mammies and minstrels? At the same time?? Are you sure? Shouldn't I be mad & fly into a rage any time anybody even mentions blackface or pickaninnies?

How on earth is a modern day black woman supposed to embrace these "embarrassing" images in our history?

Well, like with anything else - getting educated on the subject. So like any actor, I spend a good deal of my pre-performance time doing research. Making sure that my character (or anyone else in the play) is not saying anything that I don't understand 100%. Becoming familiar with the period during which the play's action takes place, as well as the cultural & political climate during which it was written. And my process preceding "The Colored Museum" certainly helped me reconcile with my colored contradictions.

All I knew about Aunt Jemima before was that I didn't want to leave the house looking like her, or else I would shame the family & by extension, the entire race. But there was a real person behind those pancakes. Her name was Nancy Green and she was born a slave. We look at her and feel shame, but she is the face of our immediate ancestry. And in the late 1800's I can't imagine that she looked much different than any other 59 year old former slave. Neither Ms. Green nor her contemporaries were trying to be America's Next Top Model, they weren't climbing or integrating the corporate ladder and my guess is that their day-to-day concerns had more to do with survival than future generations' embarrassment over the scarf on her head. And how embarrassed can we really be? Don't you cover your head with something from time to time? I sure do - when I cook, when I sleep, when it rains.

Knowing a little more about Nancy Green and the 6 women who subsequently represented the pancake giant, I still resist the urge to wear my bonnet outside my house (except for the occasional quick drive to my mother's house). But I respect the fact that she represented the product marketing & fashion trends of her time. And she paved the way for Tyson Beckford (Polo, Ralph Lauren) & Paul Williams, Fred Thomas, Charles Stone III and Scott Brooks (Budweiser / Whassup!).

Now that that's been cleared up & put in perspective, what about this minstrel thing? White folks + burnt cork = OFFENSIVE, no question, right? But what about Williams & Walker (a.k.a. The Two Real Coons)? Do they go into the same box I put the Wayans family in?

After getting a bit more below the surface, I have concluded that White folks + burnt cork = cultural appropriation at it's stereotypical worst. And it still doesn't give me a warm & fuzzy feeling. But when someone steals something from you, what better revenge than to steal it back!

Bert Williams was a natural entertainer, who earned his early living mimicking "the humble, shiftless, slouch Negro who could neither read nor write but who had a certain hard, and not altogether inaccurate, philosophy of life." I guess he figured, if they can do it, I can too. After partnering with George Walker, Williams went on to become internationally famous for his vaudeville shows. White audiences came out in droves, considering Blacks in blackface somehow more authentic. The Black performers in this time used their time on stage to alter long held stereotypes. In the early 1900's the torch was passed to Stepin Fetchit, who brought the coon to the motion picture screen and became the first Black actor to become a millionaire. Often, while making movies in which he found the lines offensive, he would skip or mumble lines he did not like, pretending to be too stupid to comprehend the script.

So these men and women were performers. They cashed in on an artform that made a mockery of their very existence. They became world renowned actors, songwriters and filmmakers. They put on "a show" so that 100 years later I wouldn't have to. Make no mistake, these were not necessarily the most glamorous or respected trailblazers in our history. But they certainly represent a part of our history that we need to pass on to generations to come. Otherwise, we'll have entire genres of entertainment that pander to the foolish stereotypes that the mainstream is comfortable with.

(Oh, wait, that's already happening.)

It's hard work, coming to terms with the contradictions. But I think that our culture suffers when we ignore the parts of our past that we don't like. They are all a part of us and they're not going away.

"Everything I need to get over in this world, is inside here, connecting me to everybody and everything that's ever been. So, honey, don't waste your time trying to label or define me, 'cause

I'm not what I was ten years ago

or ten minutes ago.

I'm all of that and then some.

And whereas I can't live inside yesterday's pain,

I can't live without it!"

"Politics wedded to hypocrisy"

2006-06-08T13:03:00.000-04:00

By Sam Fulwood III, Plain Dealer Columnist
Thursday, June 08, 2006

"God created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve"
~punch line to an anti-gay joke

Dear President Bush:

I was outraged to hear your speech earlier this week endorsing a constitutional amendment defining marriage as the union of a man and woman.
I write you because I suspect you don't know many men like me, who are secure enough in their masculinity to say they love other men.

Hold on, sir, before you toss this note in your executive wastebasket. Let me explain that when I say love, I don't mean the "hooking up" or "having sex" sense of that word.
It's a common notion, but misguided. I'm angered when I hear love defined exclusively in sexual terms. That's an incomplete, limiting and gross way of thinking about something as glorious as love - even when applied to heterosexual relationships.
My understanding of love has nothing to do with sex, but everything to do with caring about other human beings. It applies especially to women, but it's elastic enough to cover men, too.

So let me tell you about two men - Adam and Steve -I love. Forgive me for not using proper names. I know them both well enough to be assured they wouldn't appreciate my sharing these locker-room tales with you.

My friend Adam is heterosexual. He's what you might call a manly man, the sort of best-buddy type who is willing to sit in front of a television, drink beers back to back and watch ball games. We actually did that some years ago in a male-bonding orgy that lasted an entire weekend. (If it makes you feel any better, sir, we were fully dressed the entire time.)
Adam is a complicated friend. He would give me or one of his male buddies the shirt off his back. But he doesn't respect women, including his wife. Truth be told, he's never been a faithful husband. He had a tryst with one of the bridesmaids at his wedding.

I wonder, Mr. President, if Adam is the sort of person you had in mind when you said families "pass along values and shape character" and marriage "is also critical to the health of society."
Or were you speaking about my friend Steve, who is gay? He's been in a committed relationship with his partner for nearly as long as Adam has been unhappily married.
I met Steve years ago as we shared a brief flight and talked about sports, movies and God. We became good friends almost instantly. I've introduced him to my family and friends. He's invited me to worship at his church, where we prayed for tolerance, respect and dignity for all mankind.
Mr. President, you used those words - "tolerance and respect and dignity" - as you summarized your opposition to gay marriage. If I may be completely frank, sir, I think your comments were despicable.
You knew the amendment wasn't going to pass Congress. Still, you lent the dignity of your office to this election-year diversion to appease your conservative political base and to prop up your sagging popularity.

And, sir, that clearly demonstrates it's politics - not people -you love.

P.S. Mr. President, let me also mention that later this year I will celebrate my 22nd anniversary with the same lovely person. In case you are worried, my spouse is a woman.

And by the way, neither Adam's troubled marriage nor Steve's successful partnership poses the slightest threat to my happy, monogamous marriage.

Who Will Sing For Lena?

2006-06-05T17:35:00.000-04:00

I did!

From what I understand, it lasted for 70 minutes. I wouldn't know; I don't remember saying much of anything, except the few lines I was trying to choke out at the end, trying to hold back the tears before I "walked real slow up the stairs to the chair. Then I prayed. Then I got quiet." ...and strapped myself to the electric chair, covered my head with the black hood and...

"What I done, I done in self defense or I'd have been killed myself...I'm ready to go. I am one in the number and I am ready to meet my God."

She sang her song and she sang it loud. I was but a vessel through which she could sing.

"Maybe I should start closer to the beginning."

After almost 12 hours of sleep, I woke up at around 6:15 Saturday morning, saying lines, going over my prop list, saying lines, you know, just generally being a nervous nelly. My weekly hair appointment was over in less than an hour & I went back home to finish obsessing. I showed up at the venue and all hell broke loose. In my most melodramatic, obsessive-compulsive, slightly neurotic daydreams, I could not have imagined the drama that would unfold between noon and 1:15pm. There was a flooded basement, about 12 loud, hi-tech, moisture removing fans & dehumidifiers, a put upon maintenance dude and an "assertive" Coolstein (is that what we're calling it these days??).

Fortunatly, the fireworks died down long enough for me to rehearse & go enjoy some of C. Coolstein's birthday dinner. (Girl, I'm so glad you were born! And not just because of the yummy chicken & cake.) There was blog checking, email sending, phone call ignoring, yogic breathing and calming meditation. Then there was five minutes to places.

It all comes down to this.

*deep breath*

*strong voice*

"Mama's twin cousin was lynched almost a year ago to the day I was born. For stealing a horse, the white folks finally said. It was 2 counties over and nobody could tell how he got so far from home."

Honest to goodness, I don't remember saying those words. I do remember pointing out people I knew in the audience. But I don't remember saying the lines. I do remember reacting to being raped. But I don't remember describing it. I remember the people laughing at the funny stuff. But I don't remember what I was physically doing that was so amusing. I remember seeing necks craning to get a better look when the electric chair was brought onstage. But I don't remember strapping myself down to it.

This inability to recall the performance means that I accomplished my goal. I got out of my own way & let Lena do the talking.

Random, But Focused

2006-05-30T15:06:00.000-04:00

There is so much going on...where to begin?

4 days, 1 hour and 43 minutes from now, I will take the stage as Ms. Lena May Baker. After memorizing 16 and a half pages, searching for music, obtaining/creating props and having a mini panic attack, I can now focus on further developing the character; her strengths, her fears, her nuances, her posture, her insecurities......you know, making her a whole, three-dimensional woman, who is fully present in each moment. This may be the hardest work I've done (except for studying for the CPA exam). But my girl, the Coolest Coolstein, my favorite Chosen Person, has been a lifesaver! She is freaking awesome! And Lord knows I am not easy to please - most obsessive, compulsive, control freaks aren't. So, a million thank yous, C. Coolstein - you're the best - I can't quit you. And I will be sure to update you after Saturday's performance.

This Memorial Day weekend, I took a much needed break from doing stuff. There was cooking, eating, sleeping, TV, movies, sleeping. I even did my nails & feet. As exciting as all of these activities may seem, I did something even more fulfilling. For the bazillionth time, I re-read Toni Morrison's "Song of Solomon". This is my hands down, all time favorite book, by my favorite author (she shares this #1 position with Stephen King) and there was a time when I read it once year (along with "Beloved" and "The Bluest Eye"). I have owned, loaned out and lost at least 3 copies of it and I hadn't read it in over 5 years. It was just as delicious as I remembered it to be, and like a decadent desert, I devoured it. When I read this book for the first time I was around 12 and I distinctly remember feeling full and satisfied after I finished it. I needed a weekend where I didn't have a million places to go and things to do and I needed to know that Milkman Dead could fly. Not only because he came from that tribe of flying Africans, but because he believed he could. Take wings......

as defined by me

2006-05-17T16:13:00.000-04:00

*Below is my submission to the Erase Racism Blog Carnival. This carnival's description is "A carnival dedicated to ending racism, White Supremacy and unearned privilege". I have chosen to answer the question "What is racism?".*

It is ugly.
It is hurtful.
It is a learned behavior.
It is about power.
It is borne out of ignorance.
It creates fear.
It creates stereotypes.

It is real.

I experience racism most often in the form of ignorance. Ignorance in that 85% of the people that I come into contact with on a daily basis have never had a relationship of any kind with any person of color. Many claim “colorblindness”. This (absurd) label supposedly protects them from being labeled racist, but it also helps them maintain their ignorance. This colorblind foolishness, along with a heaping helping of political correctness, leads to the painful “description game” that we’ve all witnessed a time or two.

colorblind person: I was at Starbucks the other day & I saw that lady from HR.
Person Of Color: Which one?
cbp: Oh you know, um…*continues to hem/haw*
POC: You mean Brenda?
cbp: No, the other lady…*more stuttering*
POC: Sarah?
cbp: *frustrated*…No! You know, um…
POC: Well, what does she look like?
cbp: She has brown hair, not too tall, not too short, really pretty smile…
POC: *confused* The black lady? Carol??
cbp: *embarrassed* Um…yeah. Carol.

Obviously this is a silly example of colorblindness translating into an inability to acknowledge a person of color as a person of color. But really, every single person who lays eyes on me can see that I am a black woman. No “PC Points” are earned by pretending not to notice. Omitting my blackness from a description of me tells me that my heritage has no value; that my race is irrelevant; that my culture is not significant.

It is great to recognize that we are all human beings. It is disrespectful not to recognize our differences. It is great to teach children that no one person (or race or religious belief or gender or sexual preference) is better than any other. We do our children a disservice when we don’t teach them to learn all that they can about other people and to respect what makes them unique.

I have met many people who choose to remain ignorant about matters of race. Maybe they are uncomfortable talking about it. Perhaps they don’t think it’s important. Could be they watched a few music videos and UPN sitcoms and don’t need to “gather any more data”, thank you very much. I don’t know about anyone else, but when I evaluate a relationship to determine if it’s a friendship or not, one of the most important questions I ask is, “Does this person take an interest in me and in matters that are of interest to me?”

This reminds me of an observation I made a few years back. I was at work, the only black person employed in a position for which a bachelor’s degree was required, and needless to say, the only person of color in the room. It was a closed door thing, we were doing some mindless thing and the mood was very laid back & casual. The conversation somehow moved to hair or something and one young lady said, “yeah, I’ve just gotta know…I hope this is ok to ask you, but I’ve really been wondering…why in the world do you wear that plastic thing on your head when it rains?” (I am all about having an emergency rainscarf or curl bag on me just in case!)

Were it not for the sound of my uproarious laughter, you could have heard a pin drop. The other 2 people in the room looked like she had just punched me and they were waiting for me to knock her out! I know DAMN WELL neither of them knew answer to her question, but they sat there looking like she had just broken some bigtime PC rule by asking. This was one of those times when I said to myself, “Self, this gal is someone I can deal with honestly without censoring myself or wondering what kind of bag she’s coming out of.”

And to this day, she is a really good friend. She never hesitates to get knee deep in whatever is happening with me, whether it has racial under/overtones or not. I mean let's face it, how in the world was she supposed to know what will happen to my hair if I let it get wet? She sure wasn't going to find out by watching TV or reading magazines (unless she subscribes to Essence or Black Hair). We talked for hours and hours and hours after she came to see my performance in Ntozake Shange’s “for colored girls who have considered suicide/when the rainbow is enuf”. When she doesn't know something, she asks. Remaining ignorant is not acceptable to her. She is a critical thinker so she knows that I don’t/can’t represent all black people. But she also respects me enough to know that our cultural differences are not only real, but they are valid.

Certainly I know that these 2 examples of colorblind foolishness & politically correct dumbassery are not at all examples of overt racism. Not at all. But I know for sure that the concepts on which these behaviors are founded keep racism alive and well.

I suspect that the “I don’t see color, I just see people” attitude has grown in popularity because it’s not cool to seem like a racist. And for some, avoiding being perceived as racist involves, not only resisting the urge to join up with the local chapter of the KKK, but avoiding any conversation that acknowledges race at all. Ignoring, downplaying, trivializing or marginalizing someone’s race (and the skin color, experiences & traditions that help define race for each individual) sounds like racism to me.

Happy (every day should be) Mother's Day

2006-05-15T11:30:00.000-04:00

OK, so technically I'm a day late. But let's un-Hallmark this situation for a minute...

I don't love & appreciate my mommy any less today than I did yesterday. When we had our Mother's Day outing on Saturday it didn't feel early or in any way wrong. I guess because it wasn't much different from any other day for us (except there was a greeting card involved). There was smiling, talking, gossiping, laughing, hugging, kissing, eating, you know, the usual. Then the next day, there was a post-outing discussion & recap.

I talked to my step-mother and her mother and sent greetings to my friends' mothers, but I kept wanting to say "happy day" to my new blog buddies. Some I know are mommys, some are not super close to their mothers, some I have no idea. But even though it's a day late...

Damali, I hope the boys gave you the best construction paper/egg carton/pipe cleaner creations ever!

S*, believe it or not, I had a really hard time finding a card too. Maybe next year.

Rachel and ChangeSeeker, you shape young minds and introduce them to concepts & ideas that their in-home mommies probably didn't. Y'all rock!

BlkButterfly, Ra, and Cherryl, I have no idea if you guys are mommy's or not, but I sure hope you had a good day, hope you have a great week and keep on doing you.

Professor Kim, when "they " are shoving Tom Cruise's hijinks down my throat and trying to convince me that Natalee is the only girl to ever go missing, you keep me in the know about what's REALLY going on. Hoping your young 'uns showered you with hugs & kisses.

And for all of my sister-friends who don't have a page for me to link to, much love to y'all.

I heart Jim Halpert

2006-05-12T11:34:00.000-04:00

As far as imaginary boyfriends go, this one is by far the best. He's cute, smart, funny and nice.

Oh and did I mention that he is not afraid to tell the object of his affections his feelings. Yeah, and when I say "tell" I mean actually say out loud with words that are clear, leaving no room for confusion or misunderstanding. Imagine that...

...imagine a world where boys are pro-active and take initiative in the relationship.
...where they have no problem having and even initiating conversations about emotional & relationship matters.

I know, I know, it seems far fetched. But wouldn't it be cool if there was a Jim H. for every girl?

*swoon*

TV, The Office

Who Knew?

2006-05-04T13:19:00.000-04:00

I'll admit it - I'm one of those people who reads the daily horoscopes. Yes, I'm always interested in the advice, not to mention the added bonus of celebrity birthdays. It's supposed to be for entertainment only and I get my fair share of entertainment every day, between the Page-A-Day desk calendar, the newspaper version and the ones I have on My Yahoo page. So I start each day by reading not one, not two, but eight different horoscopes, ranging from a generic two-liner to the ultra specific Daily Work, Daily Singles, Daily Flirt and Daily Extended, and sometimes including a Weekly and Monthly just for good measure.

I'm sure this seems obsessive to you (actually, now that I've typed it out, it seems a bit extreme to me too), but let me qualify all of this astrological nonsense. I realize that none of these readings are even remotely indicative of what kind of day (or week or month) I'm going to have. Like today, my Page-A-Day says "...it's your life, not theirs, and in the end you have to uphold your principles and beliefs." Good advice, yes. Only applicable on Thursday May 4 to anyone born between Feb. 19 and Mar. 20, no. (It is nice to know that today is Audrey Hepburn's birthday, though. Everyone loves useless information.)

Even if I was fooled by that generic pile of lovingkindness, the "Love & Relationships" forecasts would put an end to the illusion. I have been single since February of 2005 and I've been on approximately 4 fruitless dates. But every day (and week and month) Astrology.com insists that the man of my dreams is going to appear that very day, completely prepared to sweep me right up off of my feet and usher me into the world of happily-ever-after, except for a minor bump in the road late in the week, which can only be resolved by quiet, alone time on the 23rd.

Yeah, not so much.

But still, I read them every day.....for entertainment purposes only.

And every now and then I run across some astrological tool or some other such personality thing-a-ma-jig that actually seems accurate. My most recent find, the Jung-Myers-Briggs Human Metrics typology test, was one of those.

After answering a short series of multiple choice questions (somewhere between the quizzes you find in Cosmo and the questionnaire you fill out when you go to a new therapist) the thing tells me that I am an INFJ, also known as a "Counselor Idealist". Sound sketchy so far?? Keep reading...

Counselors tend to be private, sensitive people. They are complicated and can understand and deal with complex issues and people.

Okay, private - check, sensitive - check, complicated - check. I'm intrigued. What else ya got?

Counselors can be hard to get to know. They have an unusually rich inner life, but they are reserved and tend not to share their reactions except with those they trust.

Well I think imaginary boyfriends and frequent out loud dialogue with myself qualifies as having "an unusually rich inner life", don't you? But what do those letters mean?

Introverted iNtuitive Feeling Judging (Introverted Intuition with Extraverted Feeling)

WTF?

As an INFJ, your primary mode of living is focused internally, where you take things in primarily via intuition. Your secondary mode is external, where you deal with things according to how you feel about them.

Yeah, I had an ex-boyfriend who had a big problem with the whole "how your actions make me feel" thing. He was dumb.

INFJs place great importance on having things orderly and systematic.

Mmm-hmm..to the point of being compulsive about it, it's true.

INFJ is a perfectionist who doubts that they are living up to their full potential - there's always something else they should be doing to improve themselves and the world around them. They believe in constant growth.

Well I think we can all agree that I'm all about the self analysis, introspection and personal growth.

As you can clearly see, I think this is pretty cool stuff. Many thanks to my good buddy Osmosis Jones in San Diego for sending it. I bet she didn't think I would spend 2 days obsessing about it! Boy was she wrong.

Oh, and as an added bonus, I got a listing of famous folks who have personalities like mine. Yep, turns out me, Sidney Poitier (who I share a birthday with) and Ghandi are 3 peas in a pod.

Who knew?

slightly less random

2006-05-01T12:56:00.000-04:00

Ok, so it's Monday and I have a bit more focus than I did Friday. Not a lot, but it's enough of an improvement to rejoice about.

I had my first rehearsal yesterday for "Who Will Sing For Lena" & I managed to get through it without an emotional breakdown. Now I just have to memorize a 45 - 50 minute monologue in the next few weeks. Hopefully I will do an acceptable job telling her story. I'll keep you posted.

This weekend, instead of having an Oprah-thon, cleaning my house or sleeping for 3 days straight, I read 2 books. (I Wish I Had A Red Dress & Some Things I Never Thought I'd Do) Reading Pearl Cleage is like talking to a good friend. Her writing style is familiar and conversational. The romances are honest and mature. The drama is realistic. The happy ending is never syrupy. What a refreshing change of pace!

Silly me, I thought I'd break up my P. Cleage-a-thon by reading a popular academic book. Not a good idea. This dude (I won't mention any names) was so far off base with his theories, I got about half way through the first chapter and put that mess in the "return to the library" pile. So much for trying to educate myself on another person's viewpoint. Tonight I'll be returning to the safe haven of Ms. C and her latest novel, Babylon Sisters.

In other news, the March issue of O Magazine taught me a new way to do something I've been doing forever. At first glance, "The Empathy Workout" seemed to be another attempt to get people to identify with others as humans before judging or labeling. And the bulk of the article does just that. There are exercises to help the process and everything. But the real bonus for me was the metta-tation.

I grew up practicing metaphysics, so the idea of meditating is one that I'm quite familiar with. I don't make time for it like I should but I am always happy to send out positive energy to anyone who needs it. However, I had never really made a formal ritual of sending the +E. It's always been pretty random. Effective, but random. The article provided a guide for this type of meditation, called metta-tation because metta means lovingkindness among other things. So that means that now, when I tell y'all that I'm going to send out some +E, there will be some structure to the process.

And in a final attempt to be slightly less random and overindulgent, I am going to attempt to give up pork for 2 weeks. It's going to be tough, 'cause I don't think I've ever said no to bacon, I've found a place that serves some pretty tasty pulled pork and I haven't gone two weeks without a carnitas fajita from Chipotle in a very long time. But I know that I have been way overdoing it lately, so I'm going to give it a shot. Who knows, if this works, I may try giving up some other nasty habits. (No need to follow up on that - I'll let you know when that happens.)

Happy Monday!

Books, Food, Spirituality, Theater

Ode to Randomness

2006-04-28T11:09:00.000-04:00

I have wanted to post something for the last few weeks. There are so many things on my mind. Unfortunately none of them took hold strongly enough for me to come up with a good post.

So...I'll just share my snippets of random thoughts.

My life as an actor has been in full swing lately. In June I'll be performing a one-woman show about the life of Lena Baker. I've also been asked to perform at the NYC installation of the Hip Hop Theater Festival, also in June. Perhaps the thought of trying to learn all these lines has something to do with why I haven't been able to formulate a complete blog post idea. My brain can only handle so much stuff.

The year of the reunion continues, much to my chagrin. I'm certain that High School Boy wants to be my boyfriend. In my effort to be more open I went on a date with him. This time, there was no need for a post-date scorecard. A good time was had by all & if I never see or talk to him again, it'll be fine with me. He's a decent person, but the thought of him touching me skeeves me out bigtime. Hopefully I won't have to have the "there's no chemistry here" conversation with him.

I am officially obsessed with the unfortunate events going on in Durham, NC. Thanks to song4assata for keeping me in the know. Still keeping homegirl in my prayers. The media/legal system is a bitch!

I've done quite a bit of reading during the last few months. Michael Eric Dyson's "Is Bill Cosby Right? Or Has The Black Middle Class Lost It's Mind" was interesting. I wasn't buying his argument, but it was an insightful read all the same. Suzan-Lori Parks' first novel "Getting Mother's Body" was enjoyable. May is my month to host the monthly book club meeting & I've chosen that book. I'm certain that the group won't like it. Particularly since the last 2 books have been the typical no-plot-or-character-development-required, "sistah girl" nonsense - and they seemed to enjoy that crap. Well, they won't be reading any ridiculous soap opera dramas this month, no siree. This month we will explore the human condition and emotional growth. They may kick me out of the group.

I constantly find myself angry at some corporation for their business decisions or bad customer service or some other such rant. This week, I'm super pissed at XM Satellite Radio. With no warning, they discontinued the Neo Soul station that I had been listening to 75% of the time. For a few days, I thought maybe they had decided to widen the scope of programming, because whenever I would turn on the radio I heard some rap song. As upsetting as this was, I wasn't quite at "You people are gonna hear from me in a strongly worded letter! Oh, yessir, heads are gonna roll!". No, I was willing to ride it out, positive that I would not be the only outraged listener. But one day last weekend I had to be in the car for longer than usual & I tuned into the station - number 1 on my presets - and they were playing some song by T.I. Still, I managed to keep my hysteria at bay, for a while anyway. I got to one of those ridiculously long stoplights and decided to investigate this matter. I'm still thinking that there might have been a user error. And at first that seemed to be the answer, because upon closer examination, I realized that preset number 1 was no longer XM61 - The Flow, it was XM68 - The Heat. Well, it's entirely possible that I pushed a few wrong buttons and screwed that up - no problem. Still stuck at this red light, I go through the stations to find good ole XM61 so it can reclaim it's rightful place on my in dash listening device. Still stuck at the red light, still scrolling.

68 - The Heat (no thank you)
67 - The City (why would anyone pay $13/month to hear "Urban Top 40"??)
66 - Raw XL (uh...NO)
65 - The Rhyme (old school hip hop - already preset on station 5)
64 - The Groove (old school R&B - already preset on station 3)
63 - doesn't exist (these mf's can't count???)
62 - Suite 62 (urban adult - I'm not even sure what that means.)
60 - Soul Street (at this point I don't care...where is 61???)

You can imagine that there was much more scrolling (this is a really long light) and the intensity was ramping with each push of the scroll button. Well, needless to say, XM Radio decided to eliminate channel 61, for reasons unknown. As upsetting as this is, if they told me that not enough folks were listening to it, I would eventually get over it. But what jackass decided that since I couldn't hear Jill Scott, Amel Larrieux and Kindred, that choice B was sure to be The Ying Yang Twins, Young Jeezy and Lil Wayne??? Help me understand the logic here!

I have already penned part 1 of the "strongly worded letter" and I'm not happy with the response. Heads are gonna roll.

So, anyhoo...as you can see, I have been terribly random lately. Any day now I'm sure that I will find some focus.

I guess.

By Any Means Necessary

2006-04-19T14:50:00.000-04:00

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

2006-04-17T12:20:00.000-04:00

It just makes me sick to my stomach.

Three weeks ago no one was talking about it. Not the university, not mainstream media, not the attorneys...no one. Except for a few bloggers. And I wondered if this would become another "underground" news story, like Latoyia Figueroa, Rashawn Brazell and Sakia Gunn. I mean, it doesn't take much to become invisible, right? It doesn't take much for folks to blame the victim. All you need is an unpleasant family history (a murdered mother), a not so picture perfect life (a child out of wedlock), a social stigma (homosexuality) or non-traditional employment (an exotic dancer).

But I was wrong. Because the "visibility" (a.k.a. race/power/wealth/prestige) of the accused offsets the invisibility of the victim. Now lots of folks are talking about it.

And most of the talk makes me sick. Folks are talking about prostitutes and their propensity to steal, cheat & lie. Folks are talking about Tawana Brawley. Folks are talking about the morality of earning a living while the children are at home sleeping. Folks are talking about deserving to be raped.

Here's what we know:

Something happened to this young lady. She was badly hurt that night and somebody knows who did it. She and her children will live with that pain forever.

It is so easy to jump to conclusions with limited information. Anyone who watches CSI is certain that cases are cracked in an hour; evidence is readily available; accused attackers fold under the pressure of long interrogations. But real life is not an episode of CSI. All strippers are not necessarily prostitutes and all prostitutes are not necessarily thieves or liars. Lawyers are not necessarily interested in getting the facts out to the public.

Is it so hard to remember that this is a real human being? A person who has to wake up every morning and deal with herself, just like you and me. She is a woman, a daughter, a mother, a friend. And she deserves to be respected as such.

Whatever happens for the next few weeks (or months), let's remember that.

Duke Lacrosse Team Rape Case
Current Events

Sponge Barbie Square Pants

2006-04-08T17:24:00.000-04:00

I have fond memories of the days when I could go into any clothing store, pick up a size 6 pair of pants, proceed to the register, go home & start trying on outfit combinations. Shopping was fun then - the possibilities were endless - my closet ran-eth over.

And then I turned 30.

I woke up one morning and had a new body.

But I'm flexible. Take the scenario described above, remove the 6 and replace it with an 8. No biggie. Give size 6 pants to smaller friend & wonder if the IRS would consider that a deductible charitable contribution.

Another year goes by and I find myself beginning most days wondering why the dryer keeps shrinking my pants. After a thorough investigation, however,I realized that the dryer was not to blame. Whatever - my search began for bigger 8's and small 10's. And I still don't have enough hangers or closet space for all my clothes. Repeat the aforementioned charitable contribution, only this time, take the tax deduction.

Months go by and I notice that I am wearing the same few pairs of pants constantly, since they are the only ones that fit comfortably. No problem - the stretch phenomenon has swept the nation, so one more trip to the mall & crotch comfort has been restored. Put old pants in the trash - smaller friend probably doesn't want them with missing buttons, broken hooks and busted seams. Increase charitable contribution deduction.....just because.

Actually, I lied. There was way more than just one trip to the mall. In each store I visited, I noticed that the pants were fitting rather strangely. They would be comfortable all over, but there was an enormous gap between my back and the back of the pants. I mean huge. Big enough to fit a soccer ball in.

After talking it over with friends, I discover the reason for this - women's clothes are no longer designed to accommodate and accentuate curves. They are designed for women whose waist is the same width as their hips. I start looking around to see these women for myself. Who could they be? How did they get their bodies to be rectangles? When did the average woman stop being shaped like an hourglass?

More months go by. I consider bringing suit against pants manufacturer, since they're not stretching as advertised. Realize that lawsuits are long and costly & go with Plan B: stop trying to zip & button pants and get longer shirts.

More attempts at buying new pants. (When did shopping stop being fun?) More square shaped pants for square shaped girls.

Plan B is a success for a few months. Until one morning I went to put on some pants and couldn't get my thigh into them. Not a good way to start the day.

More pants shopping. To my delight, several retailers have introduced new cuts for their pants, designed for girls with figures. This has to be good news, right? Wrong. During a fitting for a bridesmaid dress I discover the reason that even "curvy" pants are not a sure thing for me.

There is a 12 inch difference between my waist and my "hips". (You say hips, I say junk in trunk. Semantics.)

I'M A FREAK OF NATURE!

But, I'm also a trooper - I fought back the tears and got on the treadmill. And after a few months of working out, not only did the thigh compartment suddenly decide to stretch (must have heard about the pending law suit), but I could zip AND button my pants.

VICTORY!!

Like most victories, however, mine was shortlived. It seemed only fair to me that my reward for all that sweating in the gym should be not sweating in the gym. So I stopped going. Instead I used my lunch hour for eating and after work I went home.

And then the thunder returned to my thighs.

What was once loosely fitting material had become razor blades, digging into my bikini line.
What was once left only in your imagination had become camel toe.
What was once a fun, quick trip to TJMaxx, had become a painstaking process.

select pants
try on pants
wonder who the hell has thighs this small
guess how many basketballs could fit in the back of pants
tell sales girl , "No I don't need a bigger size"
pick self esteem up off the floor
tell sales girl, "It sucks not to be shaped like a rectangle"
leave store empty handed
consider coming to work in pajama bottoms

But yesterday, all my pants-related dreams came true. Apparently some sympathetic sales girl must have told her boss about the customer who was crying and screaming about square hips and rectangular junk. And that boss must have told the corporate office. And the super stretchy, curvy slack was born! The Gap is my new best friend! (Who knew?)

So for now, I can abandon my thoughts of coming to work naked. I'll be wearing my fancy new black pants every single day until The Gap makes them in a different color. For now, shopping is fun again.

What's in a word?

2006-04-03T20:00:00.000-04:00

NIGGER (or nigga or niggah or whatever).

There is a direct and strong link between the word nigger and anti-black caricatures. Although nigger has been used to refer to any person of known African ancestry, it is usually directed against blacks who supposedly have certain negative characteristics.
The Coon caricature, for example, portrays black men as lazy, ignorant, and obsessively self-indulgent; these are also traits historically represented by the word nigger.
The Brute caricature depicts black men as angry, physically strong,
animalistic, and prone to wanton violence. This depiction is also implied in the word nigger.
The Tom and Mammy caricatures are often portrayed as kind, loving
"friends" of whites. They are also presented as intellectually childlike,
physically unattractive, and neglectful of their biological families. These later traits have been associated with blacks, generally, and are implied in the word nigger.
The word nigger was a shorthand way of saying that blacks possessed the moral, intellectual, social, and physical characteristics of the Coon, Brute, Tom, Mammy, and other racial caricatures.

Nick's etiquette class came into his home and with his permission, called him "nigger".

Repeatedly.

And the poor child didn't know what to do about it. So he kept telling them it was ok. And they kept saying it. Boy, were they having a ball!

The local barber was called upon to consult Nick about the incident and what we heard from him was "Why would you want to hang around some kids like that?" Fair enough question, still not sure Nick (or the teens from etiquette class) have any idea why that's such a hurtful word.

Enter the Sparks adults armed (?) and ready to put these little rich kids in check. And lo and behold, out of the mouths of college educated black adults, "You shouldn't use that word because you might get beat up. It doesn't mean anything to your generation, but it means something to mine. It's for your own protection."

Well I guess he really told them, huh?

Yeah, apparently the Sparks adults are unaware of the history of the word or surely they would have made better use of their opportunity to "school" these youngsters (their son included). I sure hope they can educate themselves before someone calls them another big word that they don't understand.

Black.White
TV

Dirty Laundry

2006-03-30T09:45:00.000-05:00

Black.White episode 3...

"What does racism mean, Nick?"
"A'on kno."
"Instead of spending all this time trying to get through to Bruno, I should have been talking to my son."

When this exchange took place during episode 2, I was hopeful. Finally the Sparks family was realizing that they had failed to educate Nick about his history, about the people on whose back he stands, about the stinging reality of the race and class inequities in this country. I thought that they would start having some conversations that were long overdue.

Sadly, this never happened. Rene and Brian don't appear to be able to communicate anything of substance to Nick or anyone else. Even more sad was that within the first 15 minutes of the third episode it became obvious that their conversation needed to be about something far more pressing.

"Nick is 16 years old with an 8th grade education and he's been expelled from school."

(Um...y'all....your slip is hanging!)

Two years ago, Bill Cosby spoke out about the sad state of affairs that is the undereducated, disrespectful inner city teen. He scolded the parents of the BET generation for not instilling a sense of pride in their children; for allowing them to internalize the hyper-sexualized, misogynistic, violent stereotypes that have become the norm in music videos, movies and television shows targeting black youngsters; for not insisting that they take their education seriously.

These comments came as quite a surprise to a lot of people, as it is human nature not to want to publicly discuss the problems of your own social/racial group. No one wants to air their dirty laundry out in the open. But, as Mr. Cosby pointed out, "your dirty laundry gets out of school at 2:30 every day. It's cursing and calling each other nigga as they're walking up and down the street. They think they're hip...they can't read, they can't write, they're laughing and giggling and they're going nowhere."

Well, the Sparks family's dirty laundry is showing every Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday night on FX. And they don't seem to realize it.

Over lunch, Rose casually remarked that Nick embodies the stereotype and appears to be proud of it. And his parents don't seem to notice.

When he bought the $150 watch, their reaction evoked different responses. Bruno was excited to have a front row seat to the black-face-tongue-lashing. I, on the other hand, was extremely disappointed. There was never a time when the Sparks adults explained to Nick why he shouldn't have a flashy, expensive watch. They did point out that he didn't have a job, but then the question becomes where did he get the money? Why does an unemployed 8th grade dropout who lives at home need more than $20 in his pocket at any given time?

When he slurs his words & uses slang, they don't even bat an eye. I was in college before my mother would stand for me speaking anything other than standard English. Until then, I had to demonstrate to her every day that I was capable of being bilingual & that I knew when to use the "other" language. But the Sparks parents don't seem to be the least bit bothered by Nick's broken English. And they have demonstrated that they don't know how to correct him.

When he failed 5th grade did they have anything to say? How about when he failed 8th grade? Or when he was expelled for having the knife in school? I wonder if these people can ever manage to say anything of any substance. If those past, off-camera conversations were anything like the one all of America witnessed last week, I can see why Nick is having difficulty getting it together.

adult - "You need to go to school, get an education, go to college."
child - "Why y'all so concerned 'bout me goin' to college?"
adult - "Cause I'm yo daddy, that's why."

Yeah, I can totally see why he doesn't get it. His mother seems to think that HE is going to take the initiative to re-enroll in school or start working on his GED. I'm not sure where she got this idea. Nick is a child and he has proven that he is an irresponsible one. He also doesn't seem to have any interest in school. He is not even ashamed that he was expelled, or that he is 2 grades behind. Perhaps she should take that matter into her own hands.

Perhaps the Sparks adults need to sign up for the "Bill Cosby Parenting Boot Camp".

Or maybe they are watching themselves on TV now and realizing that their collective slip is hanging, their business is all in the street, and their dirty laundry is being aired in High Definition.

Black.White
TV

A little help here...

2006-03-23T08:28:00.000-05:00

I am not ready to post about episode 3 of Black.White.

But for a thorough & insightful recap, look and see what Jenn has to say. There's sure to be a lively discussion on her page, too.

I'll try really hard not to take a week to post about it this time. But until then...

Matters of Grey a.k.a. Episode 2

2006-03-19T20:08:00.000-05:00

"I can only offer my ignorance...and be relieved by the growth of people"
- Rose Wurgel, Black.White

Ignorance is defined as the condition of being uneducated, unaware or uninformed.

This definition of ignorance applies to each one of us. As educated as I am, I don't know everything about everything. (Yes, I know it's shocking, but it's true.) I try to open myself up to people who can educate me in the areas of my ignorance. My friend who is working on her PhD in Biochemistry constantly informs me about the ins and outs of proteins & stuff. She lives and works in a city where she is surrounded by people of all ethnicities & nationalities, so she is able to share some of what she learns about these people's cultures. The Coolsteins share themselves with me so that I can continue to learn about the Jewish religion and the traditions that go along with it. Afro-Creole medicine woman is always able to drop some knowledge in the realm of spirituality. I spend a shameful amount of time reading news related blogs since I have no tolerance for television news.

The Wurgel family (Black.White) also embodies this definition. It seems that Bruno is unaware of any social norms that dictate how to speak to strangers. To prove his point that racism doesn't exist, he disrespected a young barmaid by asking her to describe the sexual prowess of the Black man she once dated. Turns out Carmen isn't aware that strangers don't like to be called creatures or asked whether or not they are gay. She's also unaware that "bitch" is not an affectionate term used among acquaintances. I would like to say that Carmen & Bruno are taking full advantage of the opportunity to learn about another culture...and perhaps after tonight's episode I'll be able to. But as of now, they are content to stay ignorant.

There is an exception to the not so nice picture that I paint of the Wurgels - Rose. Since the first time she opened her mouth to speak, I have been impressed with her. She gets it. She will never be anybody but who she is. She gets that there is no formula for acting black (or white). She gets that she has been given an opportunity to become less ignorant. Not less white, not more black - less uninformed, less uneducated, less unaware. And she is embracing it. I applaud Rose for her honesty. Hopefully her housemates will learn from her.

I wish that I could speak to the ignorance (or lack thereof) of the Sparks family. Unfortunately, there has not been much real action with them. For the most part, the adults have been reacting to the Wurgels and the other whites in the community they are living in. Nick has certainly shown some signs of indifference. He refuses to speak without mumbling and using poor grammar. I would like to say that it's because he's a teenager, but I suspect that his parents have not emphasized the need for him to be bilingual. (Nor have they pointed out that NOW is the time to use the other language.) I'm guessing that tonight's episode will give us more insight into his world.

And in case you didn't hear her the first time...

with matters of grey
there's no one word in fact i can't even really speak about it
don't get me wrong because i talk all the time
i'm a talker by nature but
when it comes to black and white
it all turns grey

i can only offer my ignorance
these are the words of a girl who has attempted listening to another side
hoping that the
d i v i d e
is slighter than expected

and that i will be relieved by the growth of people

if color means so much

anyway

then why can't we get it straight

- Rose

discrimination.hate.fear.bias.ignorance

2006-03-14T18:56:00.000-05:00

I am so thankful this evening. Where would I be without the leadership and guidance of some of the political leaders and activists in this country? How would I survive day to day if I had only my own sordid morals and poor judgment to rely on?

Yes, I am thankful.

Thankful for the elected officials in 16 states (including my own) who are trying to prevent gay couples from adopting. I appreciate their efforts to make sure that the only people who have that opportunity are those they deem morally fit parents. This list of suitable would-be parents will surely include this heterosexual man: he adopted a 5 year old orphan, only to chain her up in the basement, rape her repeatedly, starve her and post thousands of sexually explicit photos of her on the internet. Well, of course, because if gay couples adopt, the children will be subjected to much worse. I can rest easy tonight, because I'm confident that these all-knowing politicians have identified loving, non-gay homes for the 520,000 children in foster care.

I am thankful that the AFA and 18 other groups of concerned citizens are taking a stand against Ford Motor Co. Their gripe? Ford advertises in gay publications, supports gay rights groups and makes their employees take diversity training! Well, of course they're launching a boycott - this "treating people with respect / human rights" thing is getting wildly out of control. If swift action is not taken, all the gays will certainly get in their ill-gotten, American-made vehicles and drive to Washington, where discrimination against them is no longer legal. Thank goodness these 19 organizations are exposing Ford - thanks to them, I now know that Ford's real goal is to promote gay marriage. And all this time I thought they were just manufacturing & selling cars.

What had happened was

2006-03-13T15:01:00.000-05:00

My bad, I got totally sidetracked. I started the morning ready to share stories of the weekend I spent with my favorite Chosen People. And then this happened.

What I meant to share with you is how happy I am to have this family in my life(we'll call them the "Coolstein's"). They remind me so much of my own family, it's hard not to love them.

I went to see one of the Coolstein's in a play Friday. This was my first time seeing her onstage; I mean really seeing her, 'cause the last 2 times I saw her onstage, I was onstage too. She is spectacular. She embodied her character with such honesty and passion. I know that she worked very hard to get there & I am blessed to have had an opportunity to watch her character unravel. The play itself was pretty darned good too, as was my friend's hunky co-star.

As if that isn't enough, when I got to the theater, Cool Mama Coolstein and Big Bad Brother Coolstein were there with big smiles & warm hugs. Like my own family, the Coolstein's are enthusiastically supportive of one another. That was probably Cool Mama's 4th time coming to the performance, and she laughed, shrieked and cried like she was seeing it for the first time. Brother was back for a second (or, perhaps third) time too. (I just found out he has been checking me out for a year now. All this time I thought he was just happy his sister had a new friend. Turns out, he wants to "Something New" me!)

The evening ended with cocktails, more hugs and laughter at a nearby tavern.

But the fun didn't end there. No siree, it was just beginning. I had been invited to a party the following evening at Rockin' Sister Coolstein's house. And this wasn't just any party. At this party, the guests didn't just taste the punch & cookies or pass around joints (gasp). We tasted nipple cream & hot cinnamon tingle oil and passed around purple vibrators. A good time was had by all.

And, because one weekend of Cool Coolsteins isn't enough, we will all get together and do it again this coming Saturday!

I love these people. They have such an open, loving and accepting energy. I don't know a whole lot about why God chose them, but I sure am glad they chose me.

And the winner is...

2006-03-13T09:55:00.000-05:00

GOD NAMES NEXT "CHOSEN PEOPLE"; IT'S JEWS AGAIN

Jerusalem (SatireWire.com) Update — Jews, whose troubled, 10,000-year term as God's "chosen people" finally expired last night, woke up this morning to find that they had once again been hand-picked by the Almighty. Synagogues across the globe declared a day of mourning.

According to a worldwide survey of faiths, not a single group expressed an interest in being chosen, and the only application submitted before last night's filing deadline, on behalf of the Islamic people, proved to be a fake.

Due to the absence of voluntary candidates, God's Law stipulated that the Almighty had to choose a people at random to serve out the next 10-millenia term. Elias Contreau, director of the International Interfaith Working Group, said he wasn't surprised it came to a blind drawing.

"According to the Bible, God promised to bless Abraham and those who came after him," said Contreau. "Who knows, maybe that sounded good at the time, or maybe 'blessed' meant something different back then, like 'Short periods of prosperity interrupted by insufferable friggin' chaos.' Whatever, I think it's safe to say that people didn't know what they were agreeing to."

In Jerusalem, Jewish leaders said they will propose an amendment to God's Law prohibiting a people from having to serve more than two consecutive terms. "Hopefully, G-d will hear our prayer," said Meyerson. "No, wait, that's what got us into this."

Passing

2006-03-12T13:10:00.000-05:00

Have you ever felt like you were invisible? Like people aren't interested in embracing and honoring what makes you you?

People of color in this country live with that reality every day.

This week, I watched FX's new documentary "Black.White". The two families spent the first day or so planning how they would teach one another how to assimilate into the other's culture - how to pass. The Wurgel family brought some interesting ideas to the dinner table about how they would walk, how they would talk, and how long it would take before someone called them nigger. They had lots of questions and were very eager to get to the business of acting black.

I wonder, where did the adult Wurgel's get their ideas about how to act black? Did they poll their black friends? Do case studies on all of their black co-workers and neighbors? Did they spend several hours a day watching reruns of "The Cosby Show"? Did they aquaint themselves with the films of Spike Lee, John Singleton, Melvin Van Peebles and Gordon Parks? The writings of Toni Morrison, Walter Mosley, Zora Neale Hurston, Richard Wright, and Michael Eric Dyson. The plays written by August Wilson, Ntozake Shange, Ruben Santiago Hudson, Lorraine Hansburry, Amiri Baraka, and George C. Wolfe? The poems of Phyllis Wheatley, Countee Cullen, Gwendolyn Brooks, Langston Hughes, and Nikki Giovanni?

I kind of doubt it. Frankly, the Wurgel's were painfully clueless about black culture on any level.

During this dinner-time conversation, Mrs. Wurgel asked her black housemates, "Is there anything we need to teach you about how to blend in?". Rene Sparks responded by saying "No, I have to do that every day."

And she's right.

Black.White
TV

It's Hard Out Here For A Penguin

2006-03-07T19:47:00.000-05:00

Last night I watched the Academy Award Winning Documentary, "March of the Penguins", gently narrated by Morgan Freeman. I have wanted to see this movie since the buzz began last summer. Unfortunately, I was far too busy seeing Crash a million times and enjoying not being an actor for a few months.

So, as an animal lover, I thought surely this would be a delightful way for me to spend a Monday evening - watching & learning all about the Emperor Penguin. And for the most part, it was. After all, those penguins are darned cute. Especially when they have stored up lots of food for the winter and their bellies drag on the ice when they waddle to and fro.

They live in "the coldest place on Earth" - the ice deserts of Antarctica. During the winter, this area is so cold, that it is unable to support any wildlife other than these amazing birds. It is during the winter months that they all flock together to embark on an annual journey to the place in which they were all born. Because of changes in the formation of the glaciers (largely due to global warming, I'm sure), the route can change significantly from year to year. But they still manage to find their way. The sole purpose of their trek is to find one other penguin to mate with.

At first glance, this seems like your ordinary, run-of-the-mill procreation deal. But the courtship dance that takes place prior to mate selection squashes all of that. These penguins go to this sacred ground to find monogamy (until the next year, when they go back to find monogamy with a new penguin). The mates are chosen, the deed is done (they even make this look graceful - none of that wild, reckless humping you see on National Geographic) and the egg is laid. After months of just sitting around waiting in 50 below weather with no food or shelter, mom hands off the egg to dad & goes all the way back to where they came from to get a bite to eat.

At this point in the film, Morgan Freeman has told me, at least 3 times that not all of them will make it. Some will "lie down on the ice and disappear" during the initial journey. Some of the females will not get pregnant, and since there's no other reason for her (or her mate) to be there, she (and her mate) will go back home. "Some will not make it", says Mr. Freeman. The egg handoff is particularly tricky because the eggs can only survive a few seconds if they are not covered by the "pouch" of one of the parents. So while watching a botched handoff, I hear him say again, that "some will not make it".

So the moms get together & leave the dads in care of the eggs. During this mom journey, Mr. Freeman tells me AGAIN that "some will not survive". He means the moms. He also means the dads. He also means the eggs. All three have some pretty serious obstacles in their paths.

It was about this time in the film that I said (probably out loud) "(expletive) a pimp, it's hard out here for a penguin". I didn't do it on purpose. I mean everybody is singing that song after Sunday's rousing performance at the Academy Awards, right? Whether you want to or not (mark me down for "or not").

I mean, really - I can't think of any other animal that has that much trouble 9 months out of the year just staying alive. Granted, I don't know much about many animals. I did do a speech about the opossum in the 2nd grade, followed by a brief obsession with cheetahs a few years later. Based on that research, plus what I know about cats, dogs and humans, turns out the Emperor Penguin has got the survival-of-the-fittest thing locked down.

Don't get me wrong - I realize that animals living in the wild have that whole circle of life thing to contend with. And certainly the ongoing genocide in Darfur puts the survival of the Sudanese people to the test.

But the Emperor Penguin stands out among these and other survivors.

Their struggle is not only for life, but for love. They travel for weeks to a place where there is no shelter, food or entertainment so that they can kiss, cuddle and make love. Watching the courtship dance and seeing each family dance and sing with joy when they are reunited, I know that their struggle is not only about procreation, but about family. If one member of their family unit does not "make it", the entire family is sure to meet the same fate. They are entirely dependent on one another for their survival, both physical and emotional. Their struggle is not about trying to get from one part of the continent to another, it is about living a life that is quiet, graceful and simple.

cell phone crazies

2006-03-05T11:13:00.000-05:00

Last night I finished the latest novel of one of my 2 favorite authors - "Cell" by Stephen King. Boy, does it have me thinking...

The premise of the story is that, some unknown thing happened on October 1, 2005 that sent a "Pulse" to everyone in possession of a cell phone. That Pulse caused all of them to turn instantly into brainless, murderous zombies. Well, those that didn't commit suicide first.

In order to get through the book, I had to constantly remind myself that (a) this is a novel, and therefore, not really going to happen, and (b) if this does happen, I can only hope that I will be one of the "cell phone crazies" that kills herself early on, thereby avoiding the weeks of horror to come.

So far, the things in the book have not come to pass (thank goodness). But it certainly does make one think about where cell phones fit into our culture. When will there be a widely accepted and distributed manners guide for phone use?

Now don't get me wrong - I am a faithful user of said technology. I do not go anywhere without mine, I hardly ever turn the power off and if I misplaced it, I would have no way of getting in touch with anyone except my parents, since theirs are the only numbers I have committed to memory.

But I often worry about etiquette. (Yes, I really do.) I'm not even talking about my one-woman crusade to make hands-free units the law, damning those caught driving while holding their phones to their ears to immediate & indefinite jail time. No, that's not a blog post; it's a strongly worded letter to my Congressman. (I'll let you know when I actually do that.) No, no, dear readers, I'm talking about how to handle the day to day situations where cell phones have begun to appear. For example,

I'm on the phone (on my hands-free, of course) in a store. We'll say CVS. Another shopper engages me in small talk. Do I
(a) smile & point to my earpiece & keep it moving
(b) tell the person on the phone to hold on & chat it up my fellow shopper
(c) assume that my fellow shopper doesn't realize I'm on a call & just talk to them, with no warning for the person I'm on the phone with

Should I be on the phone in CVS anyway, or is that somehow rude too? I mean, let's face it - as busy and important as I often am, typically I am not talking about anything of substance while purchasing greeting cards and chewing gum in CVS. No, the truth is, when I'm making business calls, I am usually at my desk or in my car.

I can remember not very long ago when it was wildly inappropriate to place or receive personal calls via cell phone while at work. And now, it seems that it has become commonplace. Make no mistake, I do it too. My phone is on my desk (on the vibrate setting, of course) all day in case I get a call. But because of the nature of my job, it is painfully obvious that any calls I may place or receive during the workday are not work related. So have we now "evolved" to a time where it's acceptable to engage in personal phone conversations at work?

A very good friend recently upgraded her cell phone technology to the ever-popular Bluetooth device. I'm still a little fuzzy on all of the benefits, bells & whistles of this doo-hickey, but I'm certain that before the end of the year, I will have one. It's wireless, and it's cool and I'm in.

But I can't help but question why we as a society "need" all of this crap. When I got my first phone in 1996, all I wanted was to be able to respond to my pager (remember when pagers were the hot new thing?). That's it - just to place a call from time to time. There was no logging onto the internet, no Caller ID, no text messaging, no ringtones, no free roaming, hell, voicemail wasn't even free.

All of these features are fun and convenient, without a doubt. I make full use of all of them (except for ringtones, which I find quite annoying) on a daily basis. And my upcoming and eagerly awaited purchase of the Bluetooth ready phone and the accompanying wireless earpiece will be the final step in my conversion into a "cell-phone crazy".

But in the meantime, I can't stop wondering, where in the world are we going with all of this?

P.S. If the "Pulse" that S. King writes about does, in fact, happen, and you see me wandering the streets of Cleveland looking like a bloodied psychopath, please shoot me. All of this soul-searching and reflecting is nice, but I really don't want to live in a world without my cell phone.

The Year of the Reunion

2006-03-03T13:35:00.000-05:00

I'm not really a big fan of interacting with people outside of my cozy little group of buddies.

I tend to opt out of the "Oh, let's take the new guy out to lunch with us" thing. And I typically don't go for mixing otherwise unrelated groups of friends (been there, done that, still trying to convince one friend that the other friend is no longer a stuck up bitch...and that was 20 years ago). I typically have no interest in reuniting with anyone I may have known anytime before now, hence the stealth settings I apply to every people-meeting website I join. Yes, I know that seems like an oxymoron, but when I'm spending my money (or time or energy), I think I have the right to decide who I'm going to interact with. It started with Caller ID and now that whole "Right To Choose" thing has overtaken me.

So anyhoo...

The first day of 2006 I was sitting on my green couch, minding my own business, scrolling through my Caller ID to see who had been trying (in vain) to reach out and touch me. Much to my surprise, among the myriad calls from "Out of Area", "1-800-this-is-not-a-solicitation-call", and The Plain Dealer, there was a familiar name listed on the screen. It was the husband of a former friend. So after 60 seconds of staring at the phone, I decided that it was a freakish coincidence and kept it moving. (Well, I guess moving would be a stretch, since I was technically laying down on my green couch, as always.)

By now you may have deduced that this call was, in fact, not a freakish coincidence, and that in fact this former friend was trying to get in touch with me. You would be correct. Lo and behold the next day I was standing next to the phone when it rang and there was that name again.

(A brief history of this "friendship" might be appropriate here. This young lady & I had a pretty on-again-off-again relationship that started our Junior year of high school and ended in approximately 1998. She was always the person that decided that we were in the "off again" part of the friendship. Her various reasons included her distaste with my daily consumption of malt liquor, my decision to quit a job I was unhappy at, you know, the types of things that make or break most friendships. Now that I think about it, she was also the person that decided when we were in the "on again" part, too. And it always came as quite a surprise to me after being royally cussed out and told what a horrible person I was!)

So I listened to the voicemail message (which went on for at least 4 minutes) while making the face many of my friends have come to know and love. (The face usually indicates when my inner monologue is "Are you fucking kidding me?") I laughed. I probably said the previously referenced inner monologue out loud. I laughed some more. And I got back to the business of being lazy. A few days later I got an "urgent" call from my mother indicating that this same young lady had tracked her down also & left a similar message. "I'm trying to get in touch with her and I don't know if I have the right number so can you give her mine because I would really like to talk to her and we lost touch and blah, blah, blah." I laughed.

I didn't know it yet, but that set of voicemails kicked off THE YEAR OF THE REUNION (known to some as 2006).

Now at this point, you might be thinking to yourself, "Self, that PisceanPrincess sure seems neurotic - who would waste precious work hours blogging about one missed phone call?" But, no, dear reader, it gets worse.

From time to time I like to throw money up a wild goose's ass (often referred to as Internet Dating). So around Thanksgiving, I decided to try a new site. Much to my delight, this new site offered a "Stealth" privacy setting! (My description, not theirs.) Basically, what that means is that no one could IM, email, wink at, or otherwise communicate with me unless I approved them. That means I had to initiate contact with any of the dudes that looked reasonable. (Reasonable, in this case, means black, no kids, lives alone, and bachelor's degree.) That also means that, for the first time in my Internet Dating (I.D) experience, I had to...

(insert dramatic, foreshadowing music here)

...POST A PHOTO!!!!

Yes, this was a fine example of me "walking on the wild side." My worst I.D. nightmare involves some guy seeing my photo, knowing all of my turn ons/turn offs, and running into me in the grocery store, thinking "That's that girl from the I.D. site - I know all about her. She's a thespian, a CPA, a food snob, a........". The horror. But I did it. I went out on a limb. I threw caution to the wind.

And I ran across a guy that seemed pretty cool. According to his profile, he seemed to have some of the same interests and dislikes as me, he had no children, lived alone, gave off an employed vibe. So I contacted him. I went on and on about myself and how much it seemed that we had in common. He emailed me back to politely let me know that although his I.D. membership was still active, he had started dating someone and wanted to see where it went. He went on to say, "Hey, by the way, you look like someone I know. Did you go to (insert name of high school here)?"

I will spare you the background music, the panicked look on my face, the scurrying around to compare this dude's photo with yearbook photos from the late 80's. He was in my class and quite frankly, we weren't really friends. I had known his entire family since I was about 10 years old, but still not really friends. Well, I think we both immediately knew that this was not a love connection and we started the whole "So what have you been up to" thing that I hate so much. He proceeded to tell me that I had packed on quite a few pounds since high school and that I was getting pretty old. We never did go have that coffee.

Within minutes, my membership to said I.D. website was cancelled. "High-School-Dude" was by far the best available option on this site and none of the other people ever responded to me so I figured I might as well cut my losses and move on. (Maybe I should have used the picture on this site with the girl covered in chocolate! Next time.)

So fast forward to last week. My good buddy suggested that I become a member of MySpace.com. When I asked her why on earth I would do that, she starting going on and on about reuniting with people you've lost touch with and "networking" and things like that. Naturally, I reminded my good buddy (from now on, I'll refer to her as Emerald. my good buddy takes way too long to type) that I had no interest in reuniting with anyone. We were all set to move on to a new conversation when I said "Can you have a blog on there?". "Why, yes" she replied, "you can".

I had heard of this website in news articles that cautioned parents that on this site, their children are sitting ducks for child predators. Well since that's not applicable to me, I went for it. Of course, within the first 24 hours, I found the "Settings" features that made me virtually invisible to anyone that I didn't invite into my private little web of madness. And the blogging began. It didn't take long for me to realize that the website was not really cut out for stealth-types like myself. It was obviously designed for people who want to be in touch with other people. Most importantly, it was way too hard for my friends to get on the damn site to read my stupid posts. And when they did, they could never get far without some stranger wanting to be their "friend". So I packed up my blog & moved it here. I left the other stuff out there in case anyone was a little late catching up to me.

I went back there this afternoon to tidy up a bit & leave the keys for the landlord and lo & behold, I had someone asking me if they could be my "friend". Now, I must admit, in a moment of silly curiosity, I did in fact do a search on my high school to see who was out there. I saw, I had 30 seconds of fond memories and then I logged off. Turns out, that whole high school searching thing goes both ways & my new "friend" was actually an old friend (no quotes) that I haven't talked to since approximately February of 1991.

It would be absolutely silly for me to rehash the reason why she & I lost contact. I mean really, that was a very very long time ago. And I'm positive that if she and I discussed it now, there would be much laughing and wondering why we waited so long to squash it.

However, this 3rd occurence has left me no choice. I must officially declare this T.Y.O.T.R. I am quite curious to see who I will reunite with next. And I'm hoping that 2007 (or even the last 3 quarters of 2006) will be The Year of The Mega Millions Jackpot, or The Year of The Appearance on the Oprah Winfrey Show, or The Year of The Meeting of The Man Of My Dreams.

I'll keep you posted...

Instructions for Use

2006-03-02T13:37:00.000-05:00

If you're a minority in this country you have one.

You learned about it at a relatively young age. You probably found out you had it after an unpleasant incident.

When your parents (or aunt/uncle/sibling/etc.) told you about it, they may have been shouting angrily. Or, they might have been whispering, or using the tone of voice that you knew meant, "This is something we don't talk about".

You have seen countless news stories documenting it's use.

It has come to my attention, however, that it has been used inappropriately. It seems that someone has misplaced their owner's manual.

So, as a courtesy, I will use this forum to reiterate the do's and don'ts.

THE RACE CARD
Instructions for Use

*CAUTION* Excessive or inappropriate use of your card could result in it's revocation and/or invalidation.

BEFORE INITIAL USE:
Read Instructions for Use thoroughly.
Check with another card-holder to make sure that you haven't missed anything.

FOR DAILY USE:
There are very few reasons to put your card to use on a daily basis. They are listed below. When doing so, keep in mind that no one but you needs to know that you are using it (see statement of CAUTION, above).

To remind yourself that you are beautiful (often used in slogan format ie. "Black is Beautiful").
That was it.

FOR EMERGENCIES:

Check with another card-holder to make sure that your incident qualifies as a card-worthy emergency.
Get all of your ducks in a row (ie. paperwork, media-friendly statement, etc.).
Contact a kick-ass lawyer.

Tear at the perforated edge below for a handy card you can carry in your wallet or purse!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Do...when you don't want to go hiking/kayaking/bungee jumping/(insert dangerous activity here)
Don't...when you don't want to get a speeding ticket

Do...when you arrive at the open house & are told that it's no longer on the market
Don't...when you neglect to pay the house note & are told you have 30 days to vacate

Do...when a co-worker whispers racial slurs every time you come around
Don't...when a co-worker "forgets" to say Good Morning once or twice

Do...when you live in a Red state that wants to re-district "certain areas"
Don't...if you don't vote

Do...when the levee breaks, you're stranded on the roof & it takes 4 days for anyone to "realize" you're there.
Don't...when the sniper turns out to be black

Fun with the HumanityCritic

2006-02-28T17:30:00.000-05:00

I love this guy. He has been blogging for much longer than I even knew what a blog was.

I read this today and it made me chuckle (as most of his posts do). This particular post is called "Fun with Racism". If you're going to read it, be warned - you're going to need a good 10 minutes - brevity is not his strong suit.

**CAUTION**
HumanityCritic is not rated PG! He is foul and violent and crass and vulgar and rude...you get where I'm going with this. I know it's tempting since you're on my blog & I like the guy & all, but if you think that you might be offended or put off in any way, just don't go to the site. Please. I will post some original stuff in a day or so that will probably be much more tolerable. If you go & find it upsetting, please accept my "I told you so" in advance.

http://nappydiatribe.blogspot.com/2006/02/fun-with-racism.html

Siskel, Ebert, Roeper and Brown

2006-02-27T18:00:00.000-05:00

My Oscar picks:

Best Actor Heath Ledger - Brokeback Mountain
Best Actress Felicity Huffman - Transamerica
Best Supporting Actor Matt Dillon - Crash
Best Supporting Actress Rachel Weisz - The Constant Gardener
Best Cinematography Good Night and Good Luck
Best Editing The Constant Gardener
Best Picture I just can't decide!

Now that that important piece of business is out of the way, I can give my reviews of a few movies I've seen recently.

Broken Flowers - Much better story than Lost in Translation, same great acting by Bill Murray, but certainly not a memorable flick.
*Surprise Bonus * - Jeffrey Wright co-stars. (and he's awesome, as usual!)

Transamerica - This was a very entertaining film. Slow to start, but once it did, I was in it for the long haul. I have been cautioned against calling it a comedy, although I did have several LOL moments, not to mention much post-movie chuckling! As mentioned above, F. Huffman out-acted all of the Best Actress nominees by leaps and bounds. As an actress, I cannot begin to imagine playing a pre-operative, transgender man! But she more than pulled it off. (And the kid that played her son was a little hottie, as a surprise bonus.)

Something New - Exceeded my expectations, for sure. This was a solid movie and quite a refreshing love story. We could go on and on about how much Kenya (the main character, played by Sanaa Lathan) and I have in common. But we all know that flexibility and spontaneity are not my strong suits. And we all know that (most of) my life is ruled by lists. So feel free to make the comparison in your own time, I'm going to review the movie in mine.

Going into the picture, I expected great performances from Sanaa Lathan and Alfre Woodard - they are both very classy ladies, and they never dissapoint (even when they're in mediocre movies). I had no idea what to expect from the other characters, though. Well, I guess if I'm honest, I should rephrase that...I was bracing myself for some Hollywood style, steryotypical, foolishness.

What a pleasant surprise. Kenya's parents were very accurately portrayed as a loving, down-to-earth, slightly henpecked husband and a wife, to whom status & affiliation means everything. Together they raised 2 very well educated and successful children and they are rightfully proud. Kenya's brother was a young law school graduate with a sparkly new convertible luxury car and a sparkly new date each time we saw him. Kenya's friends were the friends you expect her to have - professional young women who are honest with each other and themselves about their dating prospects.

I don't want to give away too much more about the characters and their storyline. I will say that I identified with this movie in a way that I haven't since The Best Man and Love Jones. I look forward to the day when ordinary black people's lives, their loves & losses, their collective experiences, frustrations and dreams, become a part of mainstream America. I look forward to the day when quality movies about ordinary black people do not come as a surprise to me. I look forward to the day when there are so many mainstream television shows, plays and movies featuring ordinary black people, that the Medea/Tyler Perrys, the Soul Planes and the Baby Boys become the anomaly. I hope it happens during my lifetime.

Older & less dumb

2006-02-25T17:57:00.000-05:00

Ok, so I think at this point we are all aware that I had a birthday this week. And most of us know that I am all about introspection and self-improvement year round, but particularly during the birthday week (or month, depending on my mood).

So for 32, first of all I'm thinking, way better than 31. Please! Not that 31 was so bad. But it was definately not my best year. I fell off financially and that's pretty upsetting considering how hard I worked for years to get that part of my house in order. But I'm back on track there and vowing to re-prioritize and stay focused. (Wish me luck.)

Thank goodness for having lived a rich and full (and sometimes dangerous and reckless) life. I am very glad that I have had this year of absolute single-ness. How else can you get really sure about what you want in a partnership, right? Spending time dealing with and throwing out the baggage and really being honest with myself about my faults & the BS I bring into a relationship - my role in the recent failures. It's refreshing to know myself (the good, the bad and the downright annoying) and to know who I can tolerate in my personal space. Not to mention, who will ENHANCE my life instead of drain my energy & spirit. So, since that is all taken care of, like most well educated, independant, childless and confident Black women, I wait. I keep myself busy while I wait, but I wait. I wait with hope that the Black man that fits the bill is out there somewhere preparing himself for me. I wait with the hope that I will not become impatient during all this damn waiting!

So today I was telling somebody about my 1st (and only) date
with the guy from yesterday's post (re: "I'm just not that into you"). Remember when you met somebody and you overlooked the obvious incompatibility because they were nice? or because you didn't know what you wanted out of a date/relationship? or because you thought you could change them? or because your dating cheerleaders begged you to "give him a chance"? To hell with that!
It either is or it ain't. And trusting your instincts is so important. The first phone conversation was great. It seemed like we could talk for hours. (Actually, we did.) Then the date....

-1 point he's way too old for me
-1 point he's got a child in college & one about to be in college
+1 point he knew about Mark Anthony Neal (translation: he reads)
+1 point he suggested we meet a few blocks from my house
-1 point he suggested we meet at a grimy sports bar
+1 point he scheduled the date during a playoff game
-1 point he watched the playoff game during the date
-1 point his obsession with sports ended his marriage
-1 point he goes on regular county-wide searches for the best hamburger
+1 point he came to see my performance
-2 points he is homophobic

I could go on and on, but I think you can see where this is going, points-wise. A younger and more dumb gal would have siezed the fact that this guy is, indeed a great catch. She would have ignored the watching of the game and the marriage ending obsession. She would have taken his statement "I would love to get married again and have more kids" at face value instead of realizing that the statement was preceded by "You are so much older than me & that makes me uncomfortable". She would have heeded the advice of several well-meaning folks and "given him a chance". Thank God that "she" is not me (anymore).

Surely there will be more posts that related to my being older and less dumb. But for now, I will just hope that 32 proves to be my best age so far.

Closure...the good...the bad...and the uncomfortable

2006-02-24T17:54:00.000-05:00

So, I've never been good at closure. The whole "I'm just not that into you" conversation is really one I've not had. Who wants to say that to somebody? It's so much easier to just never return their phone calls and hope you never see them again. Right??

But karma is a bitch. And it hasn't ever happened to me, but who knows how I would feel if it did. Now that I'm in the dating arena (allegedly) I have to think about stuff like that. Not to mention, I would feel like a real ass hole if I saw said dude in public and he was doggin'!
So I did it. Not in a very timely fashion (technically, I'm about 2 weeks late) but I did it. And fortunately he is "a big boy" and could handle it gracefully.

"The Committee" tells me that now it will be easier to do the next time. Boy I hope that there is only one next time! The next dude that comes my way had better be the freaking "one" because this dating thing is no picnic - I don't want to keep this up. And at that point I will have to say goodbye to my ever so delicious booty call a.k.a. pretend boyfriend. That's a whole 'nother blog for a whole 'nother day...

For now, the "just-don't-ever-answer-the-phone-and-he'll-get-the-picture" method is OUT and the closure method is IN.

For now...