I had computer problems a few months ago, that caused me to reformat my hard drive. That was a big pain, but an even larger problem was that I lost most of the music on my iPod and I had to add it again. I'm still missing some tracks that I've burned from folks, but I'm slowly managing to get it back.
In the few years that I've had the iPod, it's become quite important to me. I use my Workout Mix to help me get motivated for my workout sessions, or even the drive to work. I have my Slow Jamz playlist for days when I want to feel melancholy. Anyway, I thought I'd share a few of these track listings, just in case anyone was looking for some selections in either category.
WORKOUT MIX
Real People -- Common
30 Something -- Jay-Z
Anything -- Jay-Z & Usher (CONSTANT REPEAT)
A Milli -- Lil Wayne
Mrs. Officer -- Lil Wayne
Hope it felt Good -- Nikka Costa (CR)
Duffle Bag Boy -- Lil Wayne (CR)
Don't Cha -- Pussycat Dolls
Buttons -- Pussycat Dolls
Feels Good -- Tony, Toni, Tone'
Just Fine -- Mary J. Blige (CR)
Work That -- Mary J. Blige (CR)
SLOW JAMZ!
This Year's Love -- David Gray
Love Lockdown -- Kanye West (CR)
Poetry Man -- Phoebe Snow (CR)
Is It A Crime -- Sade
You're Not the Man -- Sade (CR)
Dreaming with a Broken Heart -- John Mayer (not for the weak)
Violet Hill -- Coldplay
When I See U -- Fantasia
Whatever You Want -- Tony Toni Tone'
Hurt Again -- Mary J. Blige (CR)
Save The Best for Last -- Vanessa Williams (CR)
Lately, Kanye West's 808s & Heartbreak release has taken the place of the Slow Jamz list. Good stuff, but you have to be in the mood for it.
Saturday, December 06, 2008
Friday, December 05, 2008
Beginnings, Endings
I'm trying to figure out which part is more difficult, the beginning, or the end.
I'm slowly approaching the completion in writing the novel I've been writing for quite sometime. In fact, once I finish going over these last 20 pages, I'll have completed draft #5 of this project. Whew! That even feels like an accomplishment.
But it is also scary. I think I've done a good job overall, but I can't help but think about some areas that I may want to review, tweak and refine, meaning going into draft #6. I fear that I'll feel the same way after that draft is finished, taking me on into drafts 7, 8, 9, 10, etc. etc. etc.
The main thing that makes this project so hard to complete is that it's also part of my thesis. So, it's one thing to take all of my creative, left brained energy and tuck it into a neat 90,000 word package. It's quite another thing to think over those 90,000 words and draw on research that applies to some of the themes I'm trying to get across in said book. Aye!!! I'm banging my head against the wall!
When I finish this draft, I think I'll do the same thing I did when I finished draft #4, except I'll do it quicker. I'll write myself a letter about my likes/dislikes (very few dislikes, i may add!) and areas I need to make clearer. Then I'll go through the pages for one final, quick edit. After that, it's time to start printing and going on the hunt for an agent.
And that's the really scary part. But even more frightening is the prospect of taking a blank page and turning it into another 90,000-word novel. Whew! It's hard work, but I gotta do it.
Photo from http://kellsmurthwaite.files.wordpress.com/2007/09/writing-reviews.jpg
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Restless
So, I mentioned before that I’ve turned to art therapy to cure the occasional blahs. I even bought this book, since I was getting the itch to expand my mind beyond collage and finger painting. I know that makes me sound like an expert, but in all honesty, I’ve done exactly one collage and one finger painting project, which I wrote about here.
I flipped through the book the other day and I’m torn on a new project. Some of them just weren’t for me and some were a bit too involved. I mean, my interest wanes quite easily. That means I’m not entirely psyched about taking a bunch of silverware and creating a lamp. Creating 3-dimensional images of my pictures freaks me out, though not as much as the idea of making paper doll cutouts of my pictures does.
I flipped through the book the other day and I’m torn on a new project. Some of them just weren’t for me and some were a bit too involved. I mean, my interest wanes quite easily. That means I’m not entirely psyched about taking a bunch of silverware and creating a lamp. Creating 3-dimensional images of my pictures freaks me out, though not as much as the idea of making paper doll cutouts of my pictures does.
Anyway, I’m going to start light for the next project. The author, Mark Montano, has a bunch of suggestions for making crafty coasters, so I’m going to give that a try. I don’t have any coasters in my apartment; I just let guests set their drinks on a magazine and call it a day. But soon, that will change. Hopefully, I don’t ruin this!
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
(Book) Pimpin' Ain't Easy
Anyone who knows me, knows that I love to read. There is nothing I love more than a good book and a room filled with silence. I get my reading gene from my mother, who feels the same way. There were times we would bond just by sitting across from each other and reading our own books without a care in the world.
However, there is a huge difference in the way I read and the way my Mom reads. I'm always open to suggestions when she approaches me with a new book or a new author. But whenever I suggest the same to her, she brushes me off. When I was in college and had to read 'Things Fall Apart' for a class, I raved about it to her. She found out what the book was about and figured it would be 'too deep' for her, so she decided not to read it. Fast forward a few years and she was in the A section of a book store and another customer started raving to her about the works of Chinua Achebe, particularly 'Things Fall Apart.' So at this stranger's suggestion, she bought the book and offered it as a selection for her book club. They loved it, and I was annoyed. That wasn't the first time she has turned down one of my suggestions only to go with a stranger's.
When I finally decided to delve into some Toni Morrison books, I asked Mom to do the same, but she had no interest in doing so. Even though practically all of Toni's books are in her library, she hasn't read a single one. She just has them there for show. Once I got through 'Song of Solomon', then 'Tar Baby' and finally 'Sula', I encouraged Mom to do the same. She had no interest, because Toni was 'too deep' for her. Again, I was frustrated.
Recently, I told Mom how much I thought she would like 'Tar Baby' if she'd just give it a try. I also told her about those countless times where she'd reject one of my book suggestions only to jump on it when a stranger offered. And most of the times she loved these books anyway, so I argued it would be easier for her to jump on my suggestions first. She saw my point and agreed to spend the month of December reading 'Tar Baby.' I agreed to read along and offer help where ever I could.
On December 1, I called her:
Me: How are Son and Jadine?
Her: Who?
Me: I guess that means you haven't started Tar Baby yet.
Her: Well ... errr ..... uhh ...
I called again the next day:
Me: What's up with Valerian?
Her: Who?
Me: Another Tar Baby reference.
Her: Oh. Well ....
I called another day and she didn't answer the phone. She thinks she's slick. I'm not above stalking.
However, there is a huge difference in the way I read and the way my Mom reads. I'm always open to suggestions when she approaches me with a new book or a new author. But whenever I suggest the same to her, she brushes me off. When I was in college and had to read 'Things Fall Apart' for a class, I raved about it to her. She found out what the book was about and figured it would be 'too deep' for her, so she decided not to read it. Fast forward a few years and she was in the A section of a book store and another customer started raving to her about the works of Chinua Achebe, particularly 'Things Fall Apart.' So at this stranger's suggestion, she bought the book and offered it as a selection for her book club. They loved it, and I was annoyed. That wasn't the first time she has turned down one of my suggestions only to go with a stranger's.
When I finally decided to delve into some Toni Morrison books, I asked Mom to do the same, but she had no interest in doing so. Even though practically all of Toni's books are in her library, she hasn't read a single one. She just has them there for show. Once I got through 'Song of Solomon', then 'Tar Baby' and finally 'Sula', I encouraged Mom to do the same. She had no interest, because Toni was 'too deep' for her. Again, I was frustrated.
Recently, I told Mom how much I thought she would like 'Tar Baby' if she'd just give it a try. I also told her about those countless times where she'd reject one of my book suggestions only to jump on it when a stranger offered. And most of the times she loved these books anyway, so I argued it would be easier for her to jump on my suggestions first. She saw my point and agreed to spend the month of December reading 'Tar Baby.' I agreed to read along and offer help where ever I could.
On December 1, I called her:
Me: How are Son and Jadine?
Her: Who?
Me: I guess that means you haven't started Tar Baby yet.
Her: Well ... errr ..... uhh ...
I called again the next day:
Me: What's up with Valerian?
Her: Who?
Me: Another Tar Baby reference.
Her: Oh. Well ....
I called another day and she didn't answer the phone. She thinks she's slick. I'm not above stalking.
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
Appreciation: Phoebe Snow (Or, Great Finds by the Coffee)
One good thing I can say about my job is that it comes with perks. The best perks are back by the coffeepot. That is where people display their yummy leftovers, the top dawg leaves bottles of wine and occasionally, you can find a good coupon here or there. Things that are placed near the coffeepot go very quickly, so I learned any food item that has sat there for more than a half hour must be pretty nasty and to stay far away from it.
But the best perks are the music and the dvds. In recent months, I’ve been able to walk away with free dvds of several Bravo reality programs, including Paula Abdul’s show and the Real Housewives of Atlanta. I didn’t have a pressing desire to watch any of them, but I had to grab it because of the free factor. There has never been something by the coffeepot that I just HAD TO HAVE. Until now.
The other day, I went to the coffeepot to fix some more tea, when I saw a cd. It was !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!PHOEBE SNOW LIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I grabbed it with my hot little hands and tucked it into my bag. No one would be able to understand my excitement, so I grabbed an astonished coworker and told her the story that I’m about to write about now. *Ahem*
Years ago, I read this great book called ‘Butterscotch Blues’. It was a love story, but not your typical boy-meets-girl kind of tale. Let’s just say I laughed, cried and had a whole lot of other reactions that would give away the plot, so I’ll keep ‘em to myself. Anywho, the story revolves around Sandy, a dark-skinned Black woman, who falls in love with Adrian, a light-skinned man from the Caribbean. As their relationship progresses, he introduces her to new foods and new music. ‘Harpo’s Blues’ by Phoebe Snow was their favorite song.
After I finished the book, I wondered if Phoebe Snow was a real person and what this song sounded like. I learned that she was this awesome singer in the ‘70s who pretty much gave up her career to focus on her daughter, who was born severely brain damaged. (Her daughter, Valerie, died last year) Over the years, I grabbed what music of hers that I could – ‘Poetry Man’ (song is the truth!), ‘Two Fisted Love’ and ‘Harpo’s Blues.’
“So I was REALLY happy when I found this,’ I explained as I waved the cd in my astonished coworker’s face. She smiled at me politely but I know she was probably thinking that I was a nut. Ahh well.
But the best perks are the music and the dvds. In recent months, I’ve been able to walk away with free dvds of several Bravo reality programs, including Paula Abdul’s show and the Real Housewives of Atlanta. I didn’t have a pressing desire to watch any of them, but I had to grab it because of the free factor. There has never been something by the coffeepot that I just HAD TO HAVE. Until now.
The other day, I went to the coffeepot to fix some more tea, when I saw a cd. It was !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!PHOEBE SNOW LIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I grabbed it with my hot little hands and tucked it into my bag. No one would be able to understand my excitement, so I grabbed an astonished coworker and told her the story that I’m about to write about now. *Ahem*
Years ago, I read this great book called ‘Butterscotch Blues’. It was a love story, but not your typical boy-meets-girl kind of tale. Let’s just say I laughed, cried and had a whole lot of other reactions that would give away the plot, so I’ll keep ‘em to myself. Anywho, the story revolves around Sandy, a dark-skinned Black woman, who falls in love with Adrian, a light-skinned man from the Caribbean. As their relationship progresses, he introduces her to new foods and new music. ‘Harpo’s Blues’ by Phoebe Snow was their favorite song.
After I finished the book, I wondered if Phoebe Snow was a real person and what this song sounded like. I learned that she was this awesome singer in the ‘70s who pretty much gave up her career to focus on her daughter, who was born severely brain damaged. (Her daughter, Valerie, died last year) Over the years, I grabbed what music of hers that I could – ‘Poetry Man’ (song is the truth!), ‘Two Fisted Love’ and ‘Harpo’s Blues.’
“So I was REALLY happy when I found this,’ I explained as I waved the cd in my astonished coworker’s face. She smiled at me politely but I know she was probably thinking that I was a nut. Ahh well.
Anyway, I’ve played the cd several times since then and I have some new Phoebe favorites: ‘Something Real,’ ‘The Other Girlfriend’ and ‘Rockin Pneumonia and the Boogie Woogie Flu.' Good stuff!
Monday, December 01, 2008
Shopping While Selfish
A few months ago, I was at an event where I saw an item that would make the perfect gift for a relative of mine. So, I bought it. I was eager to give this gift to the relative, but then it occurred to me: Why not save it and make it a Christmas gift? So that's what I did.
In the months that followed, I went on an intense hunt for Christmas presents. This was the first year that I actual thought about what I'd buy in advance, then went to the stores long before they started offering their holiday sales. But there is a method to my madness. For each gift I buy, I buy a little somethin' somethin' for myself.
For example, I was at the bookstore the other day a few weeks ago and I saw the perfect gift for Mom. That meant that I was justified to go to H&M and buy that shirt that I'd been eyeing. I saw the perfect gift for my stepfather on Amazon. But, in order to get that super saver shipping, I just had to buy something for moi. So I took a look at my Wish List and bought Self Editing for Fiction Writers. Then I went on and got a few gifts for more relatives and friends. I was on a roll.
I have a few odds and ends to fill in with the gifts, but I have a majority of it done. I have a ton of shopping plastic bags sitting in my bedroom, just waiting to be wrapped. Of course, I also have another pile that is filled with stuff for me. But what can I say? This is the time of giving. And I can't think of a better person to gift than myself. After all, I was a good girl this year!
Photo from: http://djspeak.blogspot.com/2007/12/dear-santa-claus.html
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Letters from the Darker Populace (#2 Address Our Needs)
Dear Mr. President,
I drink water all day long at work. Every once in awhile, I'll grab some juice, but my main drink of choice is water, since it's good for me and quenches my thirst. But there are some days that want nothng more than my favorite soft drink. Sprite.
This is where the problem comes in, Mr. President. There are four vending machines in our building. They contain Coke, Diet Coke, Mountain Dew, Sunkist, Ginger Ale, and A&W Root Beer. I didn't mention Sprite, because the vending machines don't have it. That means that I have to get into my car and drive to the local convenience store just to fulfill a need that my employer won't.
Clearly, this is blatant racism. Several surveys (ok, just me talking to a few friends) have shown that the Darker Populace opts for the clear, white-colored drinks, while the Paler Populace prefers sodas that are dark in color. By keeping nothing but dark sodas in the vending machine, my employer is telling me that it does not care about the needs of my people.
I tried to take matters into my own hands. I told my supervisor about my desires and he looked at me like I was crazy, until I gave him a power point presentation on how the Darker Populace was being wronged. Clearly, the Sprite executives know their target audience has a darker hue. That's why we get commercials like this, this, this, and my personal favorite, this. He agreed that I had a point, but made no effort to address my needs. My four Darker Populace coworkers gave up after that.
You'll be proud to know that I didn't stop there, Mr. President. Oh, no. I could hear the ancestors calling out to me -- the same ancestors who did bus boycotts, sit ins and historic marches to address injustices. It was then that I decided to stage my own acts of civil disobedience. When my supervisor asked me why I was late to work, I said it was because I couldn't get going in the morning without my Sprite. When I was asked to help a coworker with an assignment, I refused to do so because this was a person who liked to antagonize me by drinking Coke all day long. And when the workers came to refill the vending machine, I plastered myself against it and sang a loud rendition of 'We Shall Overcome.'
Things got a little ugly after that. Let's just say I was sent home and my future with my company is dependent on weekly visits with a psychiatrist. Whatever, they can keep that job. But here's where I need your help. Do you think you can hook a sista up with one of those cabinet positions you've been filling on the regular? Surely I can get a Sprite at the White House! Can't I?
Peace and love,
Strength/Courage/Wisdom
Photo from http://www.globalgiants.com/archives/media/SpriteCan.jpg
Monday, November 10, 2008
On Godmotherhood
A few years ago, I walked in on a coworker who was in the midst of a very heated telephone conversation. She was obviously annoyed and ended the conversation with, "Congratulations on the new baby. But I will NOT be a godmother to any of your kids again." Then she slammed down the phone.
I was going to pretend I hadn't heard a thing, but "Denise" started to complain to me about how all of her friends kept having babies, then making her the godmother, presumably, because she had a good job and was making good money. She mentioned how she only heard from certain friends until the kids' birthday, Christmas, Easter, or other holidays. Then, the friend never called to chat, they only wanted to know what gifts Denise would be buying for the kid. Some friends didn't even officially ask Denise to be the godmother. They'd wait until something big came up -- like the kid got the honor roll -- then ask Denise why she hadn't sent the kid any money. "I tell all my friends, 'please do NOT make me a godmother ever again,'" Denise had said. "It's too stressful."
But I couldn't relate to any of the things Denise was saying. Very few of my friends had children at the time and the ones who did didn't approach me about being a godmother. Unlike Denise, I wanted that title. I thought it would be kind of cool to be the hip person in the kids' life, the one that would let s/he eat candy, take the kid shopping or get its ears pierced. I could have a ton of fun with said kid and then send it right on back to its parents. Good stuff.
One of my friends had a baby a few months ago. I went to the baby shower, sent a gift and even saw her new daughter when she came home from the hospital. Cute baby. Mom seemed happy and I thought my work was done. But shortly after that the Mom surprised me a bit by asking me to be the godmother. I was taken aback, because even though the Mom and I have known each other for years, we've had our moments and we even struggle to keep in touch these days. All the drama is in the past now, but I wasn't sure if we had moved forward enough for me to be the godmother. But I guess we had.
So, I told her I'd be honored to take the title. Now I'm waiting for information about the christening and I have added the baby to my Christmas shopping list. I can't wait until the kid is old enough that I can take her out with me, and I can use her as an excuse to do kid stuff (i.e. see "High School Musical 3", "Wall-E", etc). So far, so good.
Sunday, November 09, 2008
Appreciation: Toni Morrison
All my life, I’ve been a big time reader. But there were two writers who always scared me – Alice Walker and Toni Morrison. Perhaps it was the subject matter in Walker’s “Possessing the Secret of Joy”, the creepy cover of “Beloved” or the graphic nature of “The Bluest Eye”, but for a long time, I did whatever I could to avoid their books. They were heavy.
But then, things changed. I’m not sure how or why, maybe it was my ongoing obsession with The Color Purple (I have every line memorized), that made me want to give ol’ Alice a try. I still haven’t read the book version of The Color Purple in its entirety, but I know how it differs from the movie. I think the first book of hers that I read was ‘Temple of My Familiar’. I thought it was engrossing at times, weird at others and had one part that I struggled to wrap my mind around. Still, I became a fan and started reading every Walker thing in sight. (I still haven't read 'Possessing the Secret of Joy' though)
So then I took the big step with Toni Morrison. I started with ‘Song of Solomon’ and read eagerly about Milkman Dead. Then I moved on to ‘Tar Baby’, the love story of Son and Jadine. I remember it having a very ‘heavy’ opening, but I got through the rest fairly easily. The book literally had some lines I had to read aloud, just to make sure they were as good as they sounded in my head. They were. I finished ‘Tar Baby’ only a few years ago and it was easily my favorite book. Yet when I flip through ‘Song of Solomon’ again, I’m torn between the two.
I say all of this to mention I am now reading my third Toni Morrison book, ‘Sula.’ I’m ahead of the reading schedule for my class this semester. So, while everyone is fretting over finishing Ann Petry’s ‘The Street’ (I already read it), I’m getting a head start on next week’s reading.
There are about 70 pages or so left before I finish ‘Sula,’ but it is having the same effect on me that ‘Tar Baby’ did. The cast of characters are truly memorable – I’m partial to Sula’s one legged grandmother, Eva – and her one liners are amazing. There’s one part where Eva is criticizing Sula for not having children. Sula says: “I don’t want to make somebody else. I only want to make myself.” Don’t even get me started on the part where she describes black men as “the envy of the world” because “white men spend so much time worrying about (black men’s) privates that they forget their own” and “white women think rape as soon as they see you.”
But then, things changed. I’m not sure how or why, maybe it was my ongoing obsession with The Color Purple (I have every line memorized), that made me want to give ol’ Alice a try. I still haven’t read the book version of The Color Purple in its entirety, but I know how it differs from the movie. I think the first book of hers that I read was ‘Temple of My Familiar’. I thought it was engrossing at times, weird at others and had one part that I struggled to wrap my mind around. Still, I became a fan and started reading every Walker thing in sight. (I still haven't read 'Possessing the Secret of Joy' though)
So then I took the big step with Toni Morrison. I started with ‘Song of Solomon’ and read eagerly about Milkman Dead. Then I moved on to ‘Tar Baby’, the love story of Son and Jadine. I remember it having a very ‘heavy’ opening, but I got through the rest fairly easily. The book literally had some lines I had to read aloud, just to make sure they were as good as they sounded in my head. They were. I finished ‘Tar Baby’ only a few years ago and it was easily my favorite book. Yet when I flip through ‘Song of Solomon’ again, I’m torn between the two.
I say all of this to mention I am now reading my third Toni Morrison book, ‘Sula.’ I’m ahead of the reading schedule for my class this semester. So, while everyone is fretting over finishing Ann Petry’s ‘The Street’ (I already read it), I’m getting a head start on next week’s reading.
There are about 70 pages or so left before I finish ‘Sula,’ but it is having the same effect on me that ‘Tar Baby’ did. The cast of characters are truly memorable – I’m partial to Sula’s one legged grandmother, Eva – and her one liners are amazing. There’s one part where Eva is criticizing Sula for not having children. Sula says: “I don’t want to make somebody else. I only want to make myself.” Don’t even get me started on the part where she describes black men as “the envy of the world” because “white men spend so much time worrying about (black men’s) privates that they forget their own” and “white women think rape as soon as they see you.”
I have a feeling that this book will be on my list of favorites. When I reach the last page, I may embrace my inner Clay Davis and simply say ‘SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT.’ (That’s from The Wire, for those that didn't know)
Saturday, November 08, 2008
"Keep In Mind I'm an Artist, and I'm Sensitive About My Shit"
A few months ago a friend introduced me to art therapy. It wasn't really therapy, it was just a bunch of us sitting around making a bunch of collages. She mentioned that art projects help her feel sane and I couldn't help but feel the same way as I put my collage together.
Anyway, I finally did my own art project. I mentioned before that I had a raging desire to revert
into my childhood and finger paint. Well, I finally did it.
I got some fingerpaint paper from my new favorite store, A.C. Moore, as well as some paints. It took me several weeks to get the motivation for my painting project, but I finally got the courage to do it after going here.
So, I grabbed my old newspapers and spread them out on my living room table. I wet the paper and dipped my fingers deep into the green, fuschia, brown and blue paints. I swirled my fingers all over the paper and came up with a colorful, convoluted mess.
But at second glance, the picture is really saying something, at least I think so. To me, it looks like a big flower emerging out of a cloud of confusion and chaos. Of course, that's my interpretation. Anyway, here's another glimpse of my workstation:
Basically, I made a bit of a mess. But that was my intention. It was kinda fun, actually. It didn't take very long and I was sad when it was over. Now, my picture is sitting on top of my television so it can dry. You'll notice that I haven't included any pictures of my work. That was intentional. Maybe I'll share next time. Because there will be a next time.
Friday, November 07, 2008
Priorities
Another month has come and gone, that means it's time for another list in my kitchen.
I've tried to become a more organized person over these last few months and it's been a struggle. But the one thing that has kept me somewhat sane is The List. Each month, I break out the dry erase board and list my priorities for that month. I have them arranged in different categories, like writing, school and housework. I enjoy checking off the things I've accomplished, but I haven't gotten to the point where I've fulfilled every task on the list. It's all about the baby steps, ya'll!
This evening, I scratched off everything that was important to me in October, including the books I was reading, the writing projects I planned to revise or begin and the various cleaning chores I gave myself. In the month of November, I'm pledging to clean out my refrigerator (that was on the list last month, but I didn't get around to it), give my cat a bath (same situation) and finish the latest draft of my novel (ditto).
This month, the biggest task is getting my Christmas shopping finished. I know that sounds impossible, considering how I've managed The List so far, but I'm making progress. There are 10 people that I need to shop for and I've already gotten two people out of the way. I got part one of the two gifts that I'm getting my young cousins and I have an idea of what I'm going to get my new goddaughter. I'm drawing a blank on some folks, like the parentals, but I'll think of something. Yet in classic Strength fashion, there will still be some gifts I need to get by Christmas Eve. Sigh.
Also in November, I need to revise a portion of my thesis abstract (my prof said my opening sentence was 'fraught with danger'. that made me think of that mystical song and i cracked up!), finish 'sula' and get my finances in order. Wish me luck!
I've tried to become a more organized person over these last few months and it's been a struggle. But the one thing that has kept me somewhat sane is The List. Each month, I break out the dry erase board and list my priorities for that month. I have them arranged in different categories, like writing, school and housework. I enjoy checking off the things I've accomplished, but I haven't gotten to the point where I've fulfilled every task on the list. It's all about the baby steps, ya'll!
This evening, I scratched off everything that was important to me in October, including the books I was reading, the writing projects I planned to revise or begin and the various cleaning chores I gave myself. In the month of November, I'm pledging to clean out my refrigerator (that was on the list last month, but I didn't get around to it), give my cat a bath (same situation) and finish the latest draft of my novel (ditto).
This month, the biggest task is getting my Christmas shopping finished. I know that sounds impossible, considering how I've managed The List so far, but I'm making progress. There are 10 people that I need to shop for and I've already gotten two people out of the way. I got part one of the two gifts that I'm getting my young cousins and I have an idea of what I'm going to get my new goddaughter. I'm drawing a blank on some folks, like the parentals, but I'll think of something. Yet in classic Strength fashion, there will still be some gifts I need to get by Christmas Eve. Sigh.
Also in November, I need to revise a portion of my thesis abstract (my prof said my opening sentence was 'fraught with danger'. that made me think of that mystical song and i cracked up!), finish 'sula' and get my finances in order. Wish me luck!
Thursday, November 06, 2008
Letters from the Darker Populace (#1: Diversify)
Dear Mr. President –
Technically, you’re president elect at this point, but because I’d like to pretend the last eight years didn’t happen, I’m going to call you Mr. President. In past entries, I’ve referred to you as The Rock, but now that you’re actually making your way into the office, I’ll refer to you as Mr. President or President Obama. Who am I kidding? I’ll probably still call you The Rock, but only behind your back!
You’ve got a lot on your mind right now, but I wanted to bring you further greetings from my world, as a member of the Darker Populace (DP). I work at a place where the staffing of Blacks makes up less than 1 percent and Asians is even lower than that. Latinos? Middle Easterners? Non existent. Those of us in the DP stick out like tiny dots on a big white page.
The situation has made for several interesting situations. Just the other day, I was at the Xerox machine, making copies of some materials I needed on Richard Wright. A coworker – of the Paler Populace (PP) – saw my documents (complete with a photo of Wright on the cover) and said, “who’s Richard Wright?” I looked at her like she was Boo Boo the Fool and clutched my heart, so I wouldn’t keel over. I quickly rattled off Wright’s accomplishments, ‘Black Boy’, ‘Native Son’ and his influence on the Harlem Renaissance.
She seemed impressed, then mentioned that although she wasn’t familiar with Wright, she did know Ralph Ellison. Interesting. So I asked her about Ellison’s most famous work, ‘Invisible Man’ and she was unfamiliar with it. She’d only read part of ‘Juneteenth’ (a book that was condensed and completed after his death), but thought he was a great writer.
I returned to my desk, still giddy from the announcement of your presidency just the night before. It made me think about all the times the Paler Populace wants to discuss Shakespeare, Joyce and Austen, but then are limited on their knowledge of writers from the Darker Populace. Now that we have you – a man of African descent, with connections to many other nationalities – in the White House, shouldn’t things change?
All I’m asking for is for folks in the PP to diversify a bit. It’s 2008, time to stop pretending that there’s only one crayon in the Crayola box. Do you think you could spread that message around a bit, Mr. Prez?
Peace and love,
Strength/Courage/Wisdom
Technically, you’re president elect at this point, but because I’d like to pretend the last eight years didn’t happen, I’m going to call you Mr. President. In past entries, I’ve referred to you as The Rock, but now that you’re actually making your way into the office, I’ll refer to you as Mr. President or President Obama. Who am I kidding? I’ll probably still call you The Rock, but only behind your back!
You’ve got a lot on your mind right now, but I wanted to bring you further greetings from my world, as a member of the Darker Populace (DP). I work at a place where the staffing of Blacks makes up less than 1 percent and Asians is even lower than that. Latinos? Middle Easterners? Non existent. Those of us in the DP stick out like tiny dots on a big white page.
The situation has made for several interesting situations. Just the other day, I was at the Xerox machine, making copies of some materials I needed on Richard Wright. A coworker – of the Paler Populace (PP) – saw my documents (complete with a photo of Wright on the cover) and said, “who’s Richard Wright?” I looked at her like she was Boo Boo the Fool and clutched my heart, so I wouldn’t keel over. I quickly rattled off Wright’s accomplishments, ‘Black Boy’, ‘Native Son’ and his influence on the Harlem Renaissance.
She seemed impressed, then mentioned that although she wasn’t familiar with Wright, she did know Ralph Ellison. Interesting. So I asked her about Ellison’s most famous work, ‘Invisible Man’ and she was unfamiliar with it. She’d only read part of ‘Juneteenth’ (a book that was condensed and completed after his death), but thought he was a great writer.
I returned to my desk, still giddy from the announcement of your presidency just the night before. It made me think about all the times the Paler Populace wants to discuss Shakespeare, Joyce and Austen, but then are limited on their knowledge of writers from the Darker Populace. Now that we have you – a man of African descent, with connections to many other nationalities – in the White House, shouldn’t things change?
All I’m asking for is for folks in the PP to diversify a bit. It’s 2008, time to stop pretending that there’s only one crayon in the Crayola box. Do you think you could spread that message around a bit, Mr. Prez?
Peace and love,
Strength/Courage/Wisdom
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
He Did It, We Did It
Well, the moment I’ve been waiting for is here. Barack Obama is the first black president of the United States of America. The significance of that continues to get to me. The new first lady is the descendant of slaves. The first daughters get their hair cornrowed. The president elect has a mean jump shot and used his basketball prowress to win over his future wife.
I’ll tell my grandchildren about how I didn’t think much of the Obama name at first. I was even more turned off once I read his snoozer of a book. When folks started the buzz about him being the next president, I thought they were putting too much pressure on him. But I became fascinated with his life, his family, particularly his wife Michelle, who is a baaaad chick. I believed all the campaign promises he made, but in the end, a politician is a politician. In the beginning, I was a Hillary supporter. That didn’t last long.
I’ll tell the kiddies about how I collected each and every article that mentioned the Obamas. I’ll tell them their love story, cause I know it verbatim. I hope to take them to Chicago and tell them about the places where Barack wined and dined Michelle, until he ultimately proposed. They’ll often hear me mention the beauty of Malia and Sasha, and my enthusiasm for terrorist fist jabs.
They’ll know that I pulled myself out of bed early election day morning, only to stand in a long line that snaked outside the building. Hungry, tired and late for work, I would not leave that line until my vote was in. Once I hit ‘cast my ballot’ on the election screen, I felt my ancestors looking down on me and got a little weepy.
My election night story won’t be as exciting as that of those who were in the trenches, at various Obama offices or election parties. I was at home, watching CNN and carefully preparing for a Richard Wright presentation that I needed to do for class the very next day. But when they announced that he won – and one of my homegirls called me to confirm it – it all felt so surreal. I watched the live broadcasts from Grant Park and I saw thousands upon thousands of people laughing, crying, hugging, kissing. I saw Oprah and Steadman all in the mix, like they were regular people. Then I saw Jesse Jackson cry, and I cried too.
I’ll try to explain the significance of the 2008 election, even though there (hopefully) will be about a dozen presidents of color by the time they’re born. I’ll tell them all about the significant events that impacted our community in my lifetime. Rodney King. O.J. Simpson. Barack Obama.
But for now, I’m savoring the day. I’m at work, watching a beautiful black man become the leader of the free world. With his wife – educated and elegant, both making her the type of sistah that Ebony, Essence and CNN predict would never marry – at his side.
It is truly a new day. I am ready for the new America.
I’ll tell my grandchildren about how I didn’t think much of the Obama name at first. I was even more turned off once I read his snoozer of a book. When folks started the buzz about him being the next president, I thought they were putting too much pressure on him. But I became fascinated with his life, his family, particularly his wife Michelle, who is a baaaad chick. I believed all the campaign promises he made, but in the end, a politician is a politician. In the beginning, I was a Hillary supporter. That didn’t last long.
I’ll tell the kiddies about how I collected each and every article that mentioned the Obamas. I’ll tell them their love story, cause I know it verbatim. I hope to take them to Chicago and tell them about the places where Barack wined and dined Michelle, until he ultimately proposed. They’ll often hear me mention the beauty of Malia and Sasha, and my enthusiasm for terrorist fist jabs.
They’ll know that I pulled myself out of bed early election day morning, only to stand in a long line that snaked outside the building. Hungry, tired and late for work, I would not leave that line until my vote was in. Once I hit ‘cast my ballot’ on the election screen, I felt my ancestors looking down on me and got a little weepy.
My election night story won’t be as exciting as that of those who were in the trenches, at various Obama offices or election parties. I was at home, watching CNN and carefully preparing for a Richard Wright presentation that I needed to do for class the very next day. But when they announced that he won – and one of my homegirls called me to confirm it – it all felt so surreal. I watched the live broadcasts from Grant Park and I saw thousands upon thousands of people laughing, crying, hugging, kissing. I saw Oprah and Steadman all in the mix, like they were regular people. Then I saw Jesse Jackson cry, and I cried too.
I’ll try to explain the significance of the 2008 election, even though there (hopefully) will be about a dozen presidents of color by the time they’re born. I’ll tell them all about the significant events that impacted our community in my lifetime. Rodney King. O.J. Simpson. Barack Obama.
But for now, I’m savoring the day. I’m at work, watching a beautiful black man become the leader of the free world. With his wife – educated and elegant, both making her the type of sistah that Ebony, Essence and CNN predict would never marry – at his side.
It is truly a new day. I am ready for the new America.
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
First Comes Voting, Then Comes Waiting
Well, I did my part. I set my alarm clock for its usual 5:15 a.m., but I didn't roll out of bed until about an hour later. And I didn't get to the polls until around 7:30. Hey, I'm not a morning person and I'm slow as pond water, what can I say?
But I got to the elementary school that served as my polling place, I was amazed by the line of cars that filled the parking lot. People were calling the radio stations bragging about how they went to their stations at 4 a.m., just to be the first ones in line. I got even closer and I saw a line that extended outside. I immediately balked. I turned my car around and opted to vote after work.
I turned my car around and began to drive away. It was then that I started to think about all the people who came before me, who would've loved to see this day. I thought about our ancestors and how they waited in long lines, marched in the excessive heat and were sprayed with hoses just so they'd have the rights we take for granted. I thought about how I needed to represent the deceased -- Grandma, Dad, cousin Damon, friend Keya -- and do my part. So I turned around. Luckily, I found a parking space and I got in line.
Everyone braced for their turn in their own way. Some read books, papers, blasted iPods, smiled or just stared straight ahead. I left my book in my car, so I had plenty of time for observation. Folks in line ranged from old to young, pale faces to dark faces. One woman managed to get through the ordeal on crutches. An older black man proudly wore his Obama hat, easily putting an end to all those email warnings I'd been receiving. I wanted to take pictures, but I was too scared. I had this fear that that would be the one excuse to toss me out of line and keep me from voting. So I promised myself I'd snap a few pix once my vote was cast.When it was my turn, my hands were shaking. I had to go over the ballot a few times to make sure I picked the right candidates, the right issues. Then I thought about Grandma again and how active she'd been in elections and I got a little teary. Nevertheless, I submitted my ballot, then got an 'I Voted' sticker. I was late for work, but I didn't care.
One of the election volunteers thanked us for our patience. She said they had 198 voters by 8 a.m., which was more than they had during the entire primary election day. Crazy! The line had dissipated by the time I was done, but I did snap a few pictures of the jam packed parking lot and the voting signs.
Now I'll be up all night, doing homework (presentation on Richard Wright is tomorrow!) and watching CNN. Hopefully, I'll be able to hear the acceptance speech of the first black president of the United States of America. Whew! I get chills just thinking about it.Monday, November 03, 2008
Get Your Voting Game Right
It’s all about the strategy.
I’m at work, stooped in my chair, fingers a’typing in the keyboard. It’s all the appearance of hard work, but actually, I’m PLOTTING. See, I’ve got to get my plan together for tomorrow. I’m going to vote, but it’s all about the WHEN, as lines are supposed to be stretched to epic proportions.
Now, since my workday starts at 8, I plan to start my day by voting. I will wake at 6 a.m., then go to my polling station, where I’ll promptly stand in line. I’ll bundle up in my coat, chomp on my granola bar, blast my iPod (Kanye’s ‘Love Lockdown’ is on constant repeat!) and patiently wait my turn. I’ll make small talk with the people in line. I’ll chat with them about the constantly changing weather, how long the line is, how I can’t wait to get my turn, etc.
Someone will mention who they’re voting for and I’ll smile politely. I’ll keep my politics (BARACK, BABY!) personal, cause I know how ugly those conversations can turn. I’ll simply make eye contact with a few brothas and sistas in line and nod knowingly. Then I’ll spot the hordes of older black people in line and wax poetic about the days when Grandma would take me with her when she voted. I learned later that she was a fierce Republican, but that doesn’t matter. I know she would’ve loved to see history taking place.
I’ll take pictures and I’ll post them here. And when they make the announcement – that Barack Obama is indeed the first black president – I’ll run to the tv to see his speech. Then I’ll cry. Then I’ll call my grandpop to make sure he’s watching history. If I’m really feeling up, I’ll call my estranged grandmother and make sure she’s watching as well. (Who am I kidding? I’ll never be that up.)
I’m at work, stooped in my chair, fingers a’typing in the keyboard. It’s all the appearance of hard work, but actually, I’m PLOTTING. See, I’ve got to get my plan together for tomorrow. I’m going to vote, but it’s all about the WHEN, as lines are supposed to be stretched to epic proportions.
Now, since my workday starts at 8, I plan to start my day by voting. I will wake at 6 a.m., then go to my polling station, where I’ll promptly stand in line. I’ll bundle up in my coat, chomp on my granola bar, blast my iPod (Kanye’s ‘Love Lockdown’ is on constant repeat!) and patiently wait my turn. I’ll make small talk with the people in line. I’ll chat with them about the constantly changing weather, how long the line is, how I can’t wait to get my turn, etc.
Someone will mention who they’re voting for and I’ll smile politely. I’ll keep my politics (BARACK, BABY!) personal, cause I know how ugly those conversations can turn. I’ll simply make eye contact with a few brothas and sistas in line and nod knowingly. Then I’ll spot the hordes of older black people in line and wax poetic about the days when Grandma would take me with her when she voted. I learned later that she was a fierce Republican, but that doesn’t matter. I know she would’ve loved to see history taking place.
I’ll take pictures and I’ll post them here. And when they make the announcement – that Barack Obama is indeed the first black president – I’ll run to the tv to see his speech. Then I’ll cry. Then I’ll call my grandpop to make sure he’s watching history. If I’m really feeling up, I’ll call my estranged grandmother and make sure she’s watching as well. (Who am I kidding? I’ll never be that up.)
But you know what they say about best laid plans. There’s also another scenario:
I could oversleep, leaving me only enough time to get to work and get through the day. Then I’ll race home, grab my camera and head to my voting station. This line will also be filled with grumpy voters, who will frown as I try to take pictures of history in the making. Then they’ll snicker when my cameraH doesn’t cooperate (which has happened many times before). I’ll keep my eyes glued to the news reports all evening, waiting for any news about who the next president will be. Then, when the announcement comes that Americans have chosen John McCain as the next president, I’ll take it in stride. I’ll put on my frozen smile, tune in for Barack’s speech, then call Grandpa and say that 2012 is definitely our year. Then I’ll get on my computer and check this site again.
Happy voting day, ya’ll!
Monday, October 27, 2008
Baby, I Need Your Lovin
Most kids got bedtime stories, but I was treated to Four Tops songs. Actually, it was one song in particular.
Whenever it was bedtime and Mom gave me my story, she’d talk about how much she loved me and break into her rendition of “Baby I Need Your Lovin’” by the Four Tops. It became our song and we used to sing it together most nights. We only knew the chorus and to this day, neither one of us knows any of the verses. But, no matter where I am, when this song comes on, I think of my Mama. And she thinks of me.
So we were both upset to learn about Levi Stubbs’ death. So here’s a blast from the past.
Whenever it was bedtime and Mom gave me my story, she’d talk about how much she loved me and break into her rendition of “Baby I Need Your Lovin’” by the Four Tops. It became our song and we used to sing it together most nights. We only knew the chorus and to this day, neither one of us knows any of the verses. But, no matter where I am, when this song comes on, I think of my Mama. And she thinks of me.
So we were both upset to learn about Levi Stubbs’ death. So here’s a blast from the past.
Friday, October 24, 2008
And the Walls Came Tumbling Down: Life Lessons from The Sims
I’m not afraid to admit that I never got over my love of video games.
Even now, as a grown 31-year-old woman, I still have a few PC games that I break out when times get rough. What sets me apart from the general public is that I’m very particular about mine. No Madden or Grand Theft Auto for moi. It’s all about Pharaoh, Genghis Khan, Sim City and *sigh* The Sims. I’ve been told that the first three games show my desire for world domination. The last one … Well, that just means I’m learning how to control people.
I justify my love of the Sims by saying it’s just like playing with Barbie Dolls…via the computer. You’re given all these simulated people and you’re responsible for keeping them happy. As long as you make sure they’re eating, sleeping and having a fair amount of fun, you’ll get bonus points as they advance in their professional lives. Ignore these factors and your Sims will wind up peeing themselves, having temper tantrums and punching random people in the face (true story, see photo).
Anyway, I’m trying to relate my past with the Sims to my own life. Years ago, when I played it on a frequent, obsessive level, I had this one Sim named Michael. I did everything I could to keep Michael in the green, the game's indication of a Sim whose needs are met. He was getting promotions at his job, enjoying his fancy apartment and swimming in his backyard pool whenever he could. Yet every day, Michael would come home and cry. The problem? Michael was lonely.
These days, I’m feeling a bit like Michael. I’m lonely. Not the kind of lonely where I need a man. Eff all that nonsense. Just the kind of lonely where I think I’ve gradually pushed folks out of my life, and it has got to change.
I’ve worked at the same place for the last three and a half years. From day one, I’ve put up this wall around myself that separates me from my colleagues. Sure, I participate in friendly banter and occasionally go to group lunches with them, but for the most part, I keep them all at arm’s length. I’ve limited most of my friends to an email or two here and there, but few phone calls. And when they do try to get together, if it falls out of my regular world of work, school, the gym, writing – I find a way to decline.
So I’m going to get rid of my internal Michael. I’m taking a hammer and slowly knocking down the brick wall that I’ve been building. I’m not saying that I’m going to run out and be buddy buddy to everyone. But I am going to stop letting ‘no’ be my first response to invitations. It’s time to let my inner Sim go.
Even now, as a grown 31-year-old woman, I still have a few PC games that I break out when times get rough. What sets me apart from the general public is that I’m very particular about mine. No Madden or Grand Theft Auto for moi. It’s all about Pharaoh, Genghis Khan, Sim City and *sigh* The Sims. I’ve been told that the first three games show my desire for world domination. The last one … Well, that just means I’m learning how to control people.
I justify my love of the Sims by saying it’s just like playing with Barbie Dolls…via the computer. You’re given all these simulated people and you’re responsible for keeping them happy. As long as you make sure they’re eating, sleeping and having a fair amount of fun, you’ll get bonus points as they advance in their professional lives. Ignore these factors and your Sims will wind up peeing themselves, having temper tantrums and punching random people in the face (true story, see photo).
Anyway, I’m trying to relate my past with the Sims to my own life. Years ago, when I played it on a frequent, obsessive level, I had this one Sim named Michael. I did everything I could to keep Michael in the green, the game's indication of a Sim whose needs are met. He was getting promotions at his job, enjoying his fancy apartment and swimming in his backyard pool whenever he could. Yet every day, Michael would come home and cry. The problem? Michael was lonely.
These days, I’m feeling a bit like Michael. I’m lonely. Not the kind of lonely where I need a man. Eff all that nonsense. Just the kind of lonely where I think I’ve gradually pushed folks out of my life, and it has got to change.
I’ve worked at the same place for the last three and a half years. From day one, I’ve put up this wall around myself that separates me from my colleagues. Sure, I participate in friendly banter and occasionally go to group lunches with them, but for the most part, I keep them all at arm’s length. I’ve limited most of my friends to an email or two here and there, but few phone calls. And when they do try to get together, if it falls out of my regular world of work, school, the gym, writing – I find a way to decline.
So I’m going to get rid of my internal Michael. I’m taking a hammer and slowly knocking down the brick wall that I’ve been building. I’m not saying that I’m going to run out and be buddy buddy to everyone. But I am going to stop letting ‘no’ be my first response to invitations. It’s time to let my inner Sim go.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
It's YOU Again
It took me awhile, but I’ve decided not to get played. Ever again.
See, I have this friend, who I’ve mentioned before. Loves her, we go way back, back to a time when I was nine and in pigtails. I’ve always looked up to her and admired her (she’s seven years older than me)
But, boy have things changed.
For starters, there’s that bad a$$ child of hers, but I’ve already written about that, so I won’t beat a dead issue. I’ll just talk about the odd things that seem to occur whenever we hangout.
When we got in contact again a few years ago, the events were always as follows – meeting her at Headstart so I can watch her kids do their cheers, going to a Chucky Cheese birthday party, etc. Most recently, she called me up and asked me to go to dinner with her, just me and her. I jumped at the chance.
After we couldn’t figure out a place to meet, she suggested the bright idea of joining her friend’s party she was throwing at a seafood restaurant. Now, I wasn’t too keen of just up and joining a catered party that I wasn’t invited to, but she assured me everything would be okay. Cool beans. We get there and what do I see? Pyramid scheme!
That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. Homegirl had a powerpoint presentation and was discussing the joys of her newfound business and how we should join up with her. But the kicker was that there was NO FOOD during this entire time and I was HUNGRY. Homegirl talked nonstop for a full 90 minutes. I know the time because my friend and I continued to text each other about how bored we were and how we hoped it would be over soon.
Yet, when it ended, they bought out the food…and it was FINGER FOOD! A row of little chicken drumettes …. (at a seafood restaurant!) …. And very little else! But because I was hungry, I chomped on that chicken as if I hadn’t eaten in 30 years.
Fast forward a few months. She sends me a text about this party that her friend and her hubby are giving soon. It’s a black & white affair and tickets cost $15. One part of my mind wonders if this is a black-tie, get dressed up shindig. Then another part of my mind wonders if this is the same friend with the pyramid scheme from hell. As someone else pointed out to me, she may have me dressed up in some black and white waitress uniform the way her track record has been going.
So I made up an excuse and politely declined. But I don’t want to avoid her forever. There must be common ground somewhere.
See, I have this friend, who I’ve mentioned before. Loves her, we go way back, back to a time when I was nine and in pigtails. I’ve always looked up to her and admired her (she’s seven years older than me)
But, boy have things changed.
For starters, there’s that bad a$$ child of hers, but I’ve already written about that, so I won’t beat a dead issue. I’ll just talk about the odd things that seem to occur whenever we hangout.
When we got in contact again a few years ago, the events were always as follows – meeting her at Headstart so I can watch her kids do their cheers, going to a Chucky Cheese birthday party, etc. Most recently, she called me up and asked me to go to dinner with her, just me and her. I jumped at the chance.
After we couldn’t figure out a place to meet, she suggested the bright idea of joining her friend’s party she was throwing at a seafood restaurant. Now, I wasn’t too keen of just up and joining a catered party that I wasn’t invited to, but she assured me everything would be okay. Cool beans. We get there and what do I see? Pyramid scheme!
That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. Homegirl had a powerpoint presentation and was discussing the joys of her newfound business and how we should join up with her. But the kicker was that there was NO FOOD during this entire time and I was HUNGRY. Homegirl talked nonstop for a full 90 minutes. I know the time because my friend and I continued to text each other about how bored we were and how we hoped it would be over soon.
Yet, when it ended, they bought out the food…and it was FINGER FOOD! A row of little chicken drumettes …. (at a seafood restaurant!) …. And very little else! But because I was hungry, I chomped on that chicken as if I hadn’t eaten in 30 years.
Fast forward a few months. She sends me a text about this party that her friend and her hubby are giving soon. It’s a black & white affair and tickets cost $15. One part of my mind wonders if this is a black-tie, get dressed up shindig. Then another part of my mind wonders if this is the same friend with the pyramid scheme from hell. As someone else pointed out to me, she may have me dressed up in some black and white waitress uniform the way her track record has been going.
So I made up an excuse and politely declined. But I don’t want to avoid her forever. There must be common ground somewhere.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
What's Going On Pt II
· So, I think I have The Blues · Not the kind where everyone is like, ‘what’s wrong with you, what’s wrong with you?’ · No, more like the kind where everyone is like, ‘boy, you’ve been in such a good mood lately’ ‘you seem so upbeat’ · Well, folks, it’s all an act · I call this faking my way to a good day · If anyone could look inside my head, best believe they wouldn’t see the sunshine & cotton candy that they expect to find · No sir, they’ll find big, dark cumulus clouds, thunder, lightning and the bad witch from the Wizard of Oz · Ok, that’s quite an exaggeration, but I’m for real when I say I have The Blues ·
Clearly, the obvious question is, ‘why do you have The Blues, Strength?’ · Without putting all my business out there, I’ll just say that sometimes the obvious decisions are often the most difficult to make · I mean, I always knew 2 + 2 = 4 · But sometimes, I get it in my head that it could easily equal 5 or 6, or maybe even 11 · You’ll have to forgive me if this makes no sense · After all, I did tell you I have The Blues · I’m getting good at this swimming thing, btw · The class is mainly adults, with the exception of about three kids · One of the kids includes a mentally challenged boy who has been running around and wreaking havoc, but that’s another story · My swim teacher – ‘Charles’ -- has one leg, not that that has anything to do with anything · The fact that Charles is missing a limb doesn’t bother me in the slightest, but it’s all I can think about · Whenever people ask me how my lessons are going, I’ll say the same thing · ‘My teacher has one leg’ · Does that make me prejudiced? · Scratches head ·
I have this raging desire to do a bunch of art projects as an outlet for The Blues · Lately, collages have been my vice · Yet suddenly, I have a deep, intense, HUNGER to do some fingerpainting · I want to dip my hands deep into some paint, then flail them wildly across a white wall until I’m out of breath · Does that make me strange? · I must be sure to call my mother more often · Whenever I do call, she’s like ‘what’s wrong? what happened?’ · Apparently, I don’t call ‘just to say hi’ often enough · I’m obsessed with TLC, particularly What Not To Wear · For years, I’ve been fighting the fact that a friend needs a What Not To Wear intervention · Obviously, I wouldn’t embarrass her on TV in front of millions · But I’m not above holding her down while my hairstylist does her hair · Or shredding some of her clothes · Or applying some lipstick · Or oiling up the ashy spots · Sigh · I can be quite cruel when I want to be ·
I want to see Maxwell in the WORSE way · Tickets are sold out here, but I’m considering traveling to Idaho to see him perform · Seven has become my favorite number lately · What I mean, is that lately I’ve been grooving off of the seventh songs from my favorite CDs for The Blues · Mary J. Blige’s Real Love got me this · Heather Headley’s first CD gave me this · And the Waiting to Exhale soundtrack gave me this · Hey, I didn’t say they were happy songs · Each gave me what I wanted/needed at a given time ·
What I need right now is to stop reconsidering my decisions · Stand firm, woman · If That Man is elected, I’m moving to Canada · I’m rambling like an idiot · But I think that was the point of this post · I’ve become obsessed with Twitter · Which is yet another way of Big Brother to monitor us · Yet I can’t stop · Ok, signing off now · The Blues will be cured in no time · Out ·
Clearly, the obvious question is, ‘why do you have The Blues, Strength?’ · Without putting all my business out there, I’ll just say that sometimes the obvious decisions are often the most difficult to make · I mean, I always knew 2 + 2 = 4 · But sometimes, I get it in my head that it could easily equal 5 or 6, or maybe even 11 · You’ll have to forgive me if this makes no sense · After all, I did tell you I have The Blues · I’m getting good at this swimming thing, btw · The class is mainly adults, with the exception of about three kids · One of the kids includes a mentally challenged boy who has been running around and wreaking havoc, but that’s another story · My swim teacher – ‘Charles’ -- has one leg, not that that has anything to do with anything · The fact that Charles is missing a limb doesn’t bother me in the slightest, but it’s all I can think about · Whenever people ask me how my lessons are going, I’ll say the same thing · ‘My teacher has one leg’ · Does that make me prejudiced? · Scratches head ·
I have this raging desire to do a bunch of art projects as an outlet for The Blues · Lately, collages have been my vice · Yet suddenly, I have a deep, intense, HUNGER to do some fingerpainting · I want to dip my hands deep into some paint, then flail them wildly across a white wall until I’m out of breath · Does that make me strange? · I must be sure to call my mother more often · Whenever I do call, she’s like ‘what’s wrong? what happened?’ · Apparently, I don’t call ‘just to say hi’ often enough · I’m obsessed with TLC, particularly What Not To Wear · For years, I’ve been fighting the fact that a friend needs a What Not To Wear intervention · Obviously, I wouldn’t embarrass her on TV in front of millions · But I’m not above holding her down while my hairstylist does her hair · Or shredding some of her clothes · Or applying some lipstick · Or oiling up the ashy spots · Sigh · I can be quite cruel when I want to be ·
I want to see Maxwell in the WORSE way · Tickets are sold out here, but I’m considering traveling to Idaho to see him perform · Seven has become my favorite number lately · What I mean, is that lately I’ve been grooving off of the seventh songs from my favorite CDs for The Blues · Mary J. Blige’s Real Love got me this · Heather Headley’s first CD gave me this · And the Waiting to Exhale soundtrack gave me this · Hey, I didn’t say they were happy songs · Each gave me what I wanted/needed at a given time ·
What I need right now is to stop reconsidering my decisions · Stand firm, woman · If That Man is elected, I’m moving to Canada · I’m rambling like an idiot · But I think that was the point of this post · I’ve become obsessed with Twitter · Which is yet another way of Big Brother to monitor us · Yet I can’t stop · Ok, signing off now · The Blues will be cured in no time · Out ·
Monday, August 11, 2008
White Men Can't Jump, Black Women Can't Swim
I can't swim.
Some of you are surprised. Your mouths are agape, eyes popping out of their sockets. What adult can't swim?? It's soooo easy! I know your thoughts. Believe me, I've heard it all before.
But there are those of you who understand what I'm going through. I'm a black woman. And that means I do NOT want to get my hair wet under any circumstances. (It's somewhat easier with natural hair, but it's still a challenge) Then I have this general discomfort of being in a bathing suit and exposing myself to a bunch of strangers. Plus, I wear contact lenses. If I were to get in the water -- dunk my head underneath and everything -- I'd either have to take my contacts out, or where goggles.
This summer, I went on a vacation to the Caribbean that made me want to change my ways. I spent five glorious days in St. Martin, where I spent alot of time in my bathing suit, on the beach or in the pool or the ocean. Because I can't swim, my exposure to the water was limited to jumping over the waves, drinking champagne in the kiddie section of the pool, and having a gentle splash fight, that managed to keep my hair mostly dry.
I returned to the states wondering what it would be like to actually learn how to swim. So I signed up for beginner swim classes at the new 'Aquatic Center' near my home. They start soon, and I already have a pair of goggles to protect my lenses. (I hope they work!) I haven't been able to find a swim cap yet, but I may have to go for drastic levels. If I can't get a swim cap in time, I'll braid my locs up and shroud them up with a scarf and no less than two shower caps. Think I'm playin'. This was enough to save me when I got baptized.
But let me not forget to add the most worrisome part of this upcoming swim class. The adult/beginner lessons are open to people aged 13 and up. I can't wait to be surrounded by teeny boppers!
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Doing It, Doing It & Doing It .... Well (?)
Recently, I decided to be a man.
No, I didn’t start to pee standing up. I didn’t scratch myself in unsightly places, or make obnoxious bodily noises. But I did do the infamous Fade Away that they are so famous for.
Anyone familiar with the Fade Away? I’m sure you are. It refers to that period when a guy loses interest in the woman he’s seeing. Instead of calling things off with her, he does the Fade Away – stops calling, stops making plans, etc. His goal is to fade away from the females mind until she reaches the point where she wonders if he was ever there in the first place. I have yet to see this work, but you never know.
I instituted my own version of the Fade Away not too long ago. It caused me to delete a certain telephone number from my cell log and I’d avoid the phone altogether when that number appeared on my incoming call list. I ignored the emails and declined the facebook friend requests. This Fade Away thing was easy.
But then I got his email with the tragic news. A mutual friend had been killed in a motorcycle accident, so that was, in part what some of the phone calls were about. Of course, I called him and shared my condolences. The conversation eventually turned into things I wished I’d forgotten – how we once went on a double date with the accident victim & his wife, my sucky bowling scores, how much his mother likes me.
He ended our chat with a somber ‘keep in touch’, but he must’ve known that I wouldn’t. I hung up and tried my damndest not to remember the good ole days, not to get emotional. I failed. Sighness. I guess being a man is just as tough as being a woman. Perhaps this Fade Away thing isn’t such a good idea after all.
No, I didn’t start to pee standing up. I didn’t scratch myself in unsightly places, or make obnoxious bodily noises. But I did do the infamous Fade Away that they are so famous for.
Anyone familiar with the Fade Away? I’m sure you are. It refers to that period when a guy loses interest in the woman he’s seeing. Instead of calling things off with her, he does the Fade Away – stops calling, stops making plans, etc. His goal is to fade away from the females mind until she reaches the point where she wonders if he was ever there in the first place. I have yet to see this work, but you never know.
I instituted my own version of the Fade Away not too long ago. It caused me to delete a certain telephone number from my cell log and I’d avoid the phone altogether when that number appeared on my incoming call list. I ignored the emails and declined the facebook friend requests. This Fade Away thing was easy.
But then I got his email with the tragic news. A mutual friend had been killed in a motorcycle accident, so that was, in part what some of the phone calls were about. Of course, I called him and shared my condolences. The conversation eventually turned into things I wished I’d forgotten – how we once went on a double date with the accident victim & his wife, my sucky bowling scores, how much his mother likes me.
He ended our chat with a somber ‘keep in touch’, but he must’ve known that I wouldn’t. I hung up and tried my damndest not to remember the good ole days, not to get emotional. I failed. Sighness. I guess being a man is just as tough as being a woman. Perhaps this Fade Away thing isn’t such a good idea after all.
Friday, June 20, 2008
On Being Content
I’m not ashamed to admit it, but I google people. Sometimes quite often.
There will be times when I’ll have a lull in the day where I’ll think about someone, wonder what they’re doing, google their name and mystery solved. Sometimes the mystery isn’t solved, but it’s just as well. These are people who are usually friends/acquiantances/coworkers that I’ve lost touch with. They are people that I wouldn’t necessarily call, but I’m still curious about them.
There will be times when I’ll have a lull in the day where I’ll think about someone, wonder what they’re doing, google their name and mystery solved. Sometimes the mystery isn’t solved, but it’s just as well. These are people who are usually friends/acquiantances/coworkers that I’ve lost touch with. They are people that I wouldn’t necessarily call, but I’m still curious about them.
The other day I wondered about Holly. Holly and I interned for the same company in the summer of 1999. Actually, we worked for two different companies but they shared a building. Weird, huh? We were both working in Philly and were excited about our times in the big city.
Our bosses would send ous out for various tasks, some exciting, some not. Often, I would see her there doing the same thing. We’d smile and chat briefly, but it was clear that she was the competition. In our own polite way, we went for each other’s jugular for three months.
The other day I randomly thought of her and googled her name. I learned that she’s doing pretty well, living in another country and working – something that I dreamed of doing years ago. I read her bio and a strange feeling came over for me. It wasn’t jealousy or animosity. I actually felt happy for her.
I no longer have the desire to do some of the things I once intended to do. The dreams I had as a girl changed once I got into college, changed again when I got into the Real World and at this stage, are being chiseled and refined. I am content.
So go fight the good fight, Holly. I’m back here, cheering you on!
Thursday, June 12, 2008
The Lunch Crunch
In recent months, I decided to switch up my lunch routine a little bit. In the past, I would always bring my lunch, eat it at my desk, then run to the library for the duration of my break to get away from the office and escape my colleauges.
But that has changed. I don’t know why I started this, but all of a sudden, I’m bringing my book (in some cases books) and eating in the office cafeteria. This area is usually pretty quiet. The only person I see in there is a grumpy old man who enters every day at 12:05 p.m. to read the newspaper, cover to cover. He gets annoyed whenever people make noise, and plugs his ears as a sign of protest. Of course, that only makes people (namely me) make more noise as they move chairs around, or hit the vending machine’s brows button.
Recently, people have come to join me in the office cafeteria. The first person, Bunny, had to grow on me. She reads while she eats too, but she also likes to talk. Not talk, complain, about the job, our coworkers, etc. I’m all for a tad bit of office griping, but she takes it to another level. Eventually, she took the hint as I’ve limited our convos to our books and our meals.
Then there is Candy, the caffeine addict. She comes in the cafeteria every afternoon because she desperately needs a Diet Coke. We chat for a minute, then she runs back to work. Recently, she looked upset and I made the mistake of asking her what was wrong. She nearly burst into tears as she described a huge project that had been thrust upon her at the last minute. Honestly, I didn’t think the task was that huge and I thought she was overreacting, but I didn’t say as much. I just gave her some advice, a little pep talk and sent her on her way. But that did eat up 20 minutes out of my lunch break. Twenty minutes that I may never get back!
The other day, the weather was so nice I decided to eat at our outdoor patio. Big mistake. For one, the tables are all positioned (and bolted down) in the shaded areas, where it is freezing. I tried to maneuver so I can be more in the sunshine. That worked for a little while, until I noticed the huge pack of bees --- no, no, they were WASPS – swarming toward me and my meal. Lovely. I bolted up and went to a table in the shade and sat down, only to realize much to late that the chair was wet. So I had an unfortunate wet stain on the back of my slacks. I wanted to weep.
But that has changed. I don’t know why I started this, but all of a sudden, I’m bringing my book (in some cases books) and eating in the office cafeteria. This area is usually pretty quiet. The only person I see in there is a grumpy old man who enters every day at 12:05 p.m. to read the newspaper, cover to cover. He gets annoyed whenever people make noise, and plugs his ears as a sign of protest. Of course, that only makes people (namely me) make more noise as they move chairs around, or hit the vending machine’s brows button.
Recently, people have come to join me in the office cafeteria. The first person, Bunny, had to grow on me. She reads while she eats too, but she also likes to talk. Not talk, complain, about the job, our coworkers, etc. I’m all for a tad bit of office griping, but she takes it to another level. Eventually, she took the hint as I’ve limited our convos to our books and our meals.
Then there is Candy, the caffeine addict. She comes in the cafeteria every afternoon because she desperately needs a Diet Coke. We chat for a minute, then she runs back to work. Recently, she looked upset and I made the mistake of asking her what was wrong. She nearly burst into tears as she described a huge project that had been thrust upon her at the last minute. Honestly, I didn’t think the task was that huge and I thought she was overreacting, but I didn’t say as much. I just gave her some advice, a little pep talk and sent her on her way. But that did eat up 20 minutes out of my lunch break. Twenty minutes that I may never get back!
The other day, the weather was so nice I decided to eat at our outdoor patio. Big mistake. For one, the tables are all positioned (and bolted down) in the shaded areas, where it is freezing. I tried to maneuver so I can be more in the sunshine. That worked for a little while, until I noticed the huge pack of bees --- no, no, they were WASPS – swarming toward me and my meal. Lovely. I bolted up and went to a table in the shade and sat down, only to realize much to late that the chair was wet. So I had an unfortunate wet stain on the back of my slacks. I wanted to weep.
So sometime soon, I think I’m going to have to start going to the library again. No chatty, crying colleagues or wasps there!
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Riding on the MO Train
I'm not sure when it happened, exactly. It was just one of those random things that crept up on me and before I knew it, I wanted, needed more. The thing is, when I like someone, I really really like them. If it's a celebrity or public figure, I read every story pertaining to him/her, defend them to the ends of the other and do my fair share of googling of them. Yes, I know. I'm quite intense.
Lately, I added a new person to my list of google faves. And that person is Michelle Obama.
The thing that I like about Michelle (or MO, as I like to call her) is that she clearly doesn't take any crap from anyone. I had my doubts about her initially, but that was only because her highly arched eyebrows scared the crap out of me. Yet that was before I knew that her eyebrows were a weapon. She can play nice and smile for the media, but there have been quite a few times when I've seen her raise them eyebrows in a way that clearly says, 'Back up -- I'm not the one.' And seriously, everyone knows to back up, even Barack (or The Rock, as I like to call him).
So when the New Yorker did a very long article on her, I had to read it, cover to cover. I'm a Today Show person myself, but I couldn't help but chuckle at the interview GMA did on the Obamas where they talked about getting a dog for their girls. In short, The Rock was hesitant, but MO shut that mess down by looking at the camera and telling the kids (eyebrows raised, mind you), "We're getting a dog." And naturally, I loved how The Rock told the GOP to back off MO.
Anyway, I was reading the newspaper the other day and learned that Michelle will be a guest host of The View on June 18. They called her up and initially asked her to be a guest. However, she did the eyebrow trick again before pointing out to the producers that Cindy McCain was on there not as a guest, but as a guest host, and MO was entitled the same. The producers agreed and are giving her what she wants.
As much as I loathe The View, I will have my VCR (no tivo or dvr folks, i'm old fashioned) set to record this one show. I can't wait to see MO interact with Elisabeth Hasselbeck. It'll be a joy to watch her get shut down.
Friday, June 06, 2008
"I Stole Your Girl While You Were In Prison" (Or, Old School Moment)
Like everyone, I love Fridays. I'm particularly a fan of Friday mornings because I can start my day with the Russ Parr Morning Show. Each Friday, he plays a mix of 'the wrong songs,' which are basically old school tracks. And each week, I enjoy them.
But today, he played one of the songs that always makes me lose my ever lovin' mind. I mean seriously. I know all the words and am not afraid to sing them. Loudly.
Like this morning. I hop in my ride, roll the windows down (still no a/c ya'll. sigh.), check the mirror and turn on the radio. To my surprise, my jam was playing. So I start screaming the lyrics and bobbing my head like I've ... well ... lost my ever lovin' mind. I turn to my left and who do I see? One of my neighbors who was staring at me with interest. She smiled, but she had a look on her face like, "clearly, the child has lost it." I was embarrassed for like two seconds, but I'm over it. Clearly, we have separate mindsets on how to prepare mentally for the work day.
Anyway, here's the video is linked here. Also, I was able to find a recent article with MC Milk Dee. You can find it here.
Image from http://image.listen.com/img/356x237/7/4/1/6/686147_356x237.jpg
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
'Twins run in our family'
I haven’t been getting enough sleep lately. There’s no reason for it, actually. I just can’t get my tail to bed on time. But the problem with that is my sleep deprivation typically causes me to have some crazy dreams when I do get to sleep. On an ordinary night, I don’t remember my dreams at all.
So the other night I had the craziest two part dream that I must share. In the first part, I was in the hospital, in labor I guess, when someone hands me two blankets with babies wrapped up in them. Apparently, I had given birth. To twins! I did not feel happy about this. All I felt was stressed and scared. And the worse part was, there was no one in the hospital room with me. Where was my support system?? I’m not meant to raise two children alone!! And all I could hear in the background was my aunt’s voice saying, ‘twins run in our family,’ which is something she actually said weeks ago.
I’m really wondering what that dream meant. I am absolutely NOT pregnant, so that theory is out the window. I’ve had recurring dreams where I am pregnant, but all in different scenarios. In each of those dreams, there’s no baby, just me filled with the constant fear of having a kid. Never have twins entered the picture. Never. And I wouldn’t say twins run in our family. We have two sets of twins -- nothing near epidemic proportions. But whatever. I’m just scratching my head as to what that dream was about.
In the second part of my dream, one of my friends was pushing me to travel to some place that she thought would be fun and exciting. Delaware. I told her repeatedly that I had been to Delaware hundreds of times and never found anything particularly fun or exciting about it, but she wouldn’t listen to me, she wanted to go. So we go there and I as I predicted, have a pretty boring time. And that’s all I remember about that part of the dream. I think I woke up laughing on that one.
Anyway, it just shows that my mind has been a jumbled mess as of late. I’ll have to go to bed earlier until I can find which bedtime works best for me.
Thursday, May 01, 2008
May Day
I promised myself long ago that today would be My Day. The Day where I wiped the slate clean and started fresh. The day where I reviewed everything that I accomplished this year and think about what I wanted to accomplish with the remainder of the year. I guess it's like a New Year's Part 2, if you will.
So I took the to-do list on my refrigerator, wiped it off and started updating it in a way that's more beneficial. I placed three categories on top -- education, writing, and other -- on the left hand side I placed the time period I expected to finish each -- week, weekend and month. For example, one of my writing tasks is placed in the month of May category, which for me, means that I must reach the 80,000 word mark in the fourth draft of my novel by the end of this month. For education, I wrote about a bunch of projects I have due by the end of the semester and when I'll finish them and the other category mainly lists household chores, i.e. coupons, vacuuming, cleaning fridge, etc.
Aside from my written goals for the month, I also have an idea of how things will be for the rest of the year. I will be better organized. I will stop spending money like it's going out of style. I will go back to church. I will exercise more. I will master the art of ALIGAF* at work. I will use a bit more of my head, less of my heart when making decisions. I will .... have fun!! Or at least, act like I am.
From today until December 31, 2008, I will make no more mistakes. Sighness. We shall see about that!
*Acting Like I Give A F***
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Prom Night
I have this strange habit of recognizing dates that are seemingly meaningless. Most people think it's weird that I acknowledge the day the anniversary of my womanhood, but hey, if I remember the date, I'm going to give it its moment of praise. Today I looked at the calendar and noticed that it is the anniversary of my senior prom.
It'd be a cliche if I started calling my high school years the good ole days, but they were. Back then, all I wanted to do was graduate and get as far away as possible. But then I got this taste of puppy love that made me rethink going away so far for my college years.
I remember that I waited till the last minute to get my prom dress (Hey, I still procrastinate. I can't help it) and a group of us arranged to be in a limo together. There were about four couples and when we showed up to take pictures, I realized that one of the other girls was wearing the same dress as me. Horror upon horrors! But whatever, we got through it.
We went to this fancy restaurant beforehand, where everyone smiled and stared at us. One of my friends reached out to say hello to me and had a wardrobe malfunction that would make the Janet Jackson thing look innocent. Afterward, we stood in this long line to get pictures, when this girl I couldn't stand came up to me and snidely mentioned that everyone inside was wearing my dress. Oh, what a bitch. If I had been less of a lady, I would've told her that people who come to prom alone because they discovered their 20-something fiance' was already engaged to someone else need not talk. But I smiled and swallowed my evil words.
I remember that my date got sick and couldn't dance that much, which was kind of annoying. I remember drinking champagne in the limo when another girl got sick and vomitted in the champagne container. I remember going to the hotel afterward, with my date thinking this would be the night and me knowing it wouldn't.
As much fun as I had in high school, I am truly glad to put those days behind me. It's only fitting that my Mom called me recently to tell me that she discovered my prom dress as she was cleaning out the closets. She was sweet enough to mention that the dress is a 3/4 and did I think I could still fit it? Funny lady.
It'd be a cliche if I started calling my high school years the good ole days, but they were. Back then, all I wanted to do was graduate and get as far away as possible. But then I got this taste of puppy love that made me rethink going away so far for my college years.
I remember that I waited till the last minute to get my prom dress (Hey, I still procrastinate. I can't help it) and a group of us arranged to be in a limo together. There were about four couples and when we showed up to take pictures, I realized that one of the other girls was wearing the same dress as me. Horror upon horrors! But whatever, we got through it.
We went to this fancy restaurant beforehand, where everyone smiled and stared at us. One of my friends reached out to say hello to me and had a wardrobe malfunction that would make the Janet Jackson thing look innocent. Afterward, we stood in this long line to get pictures, when this girl I couldn't stand came up to me and snidely mentioned that everyone inside was wearing my dress. Oh, what a bitch. If I had been less of a lady, I would've told her that people who come to prom alone because they discovered their 20-something fiance' was already engaged to someone else need not talk. But I smiled and swallowed my evil words.
I remember that my date got sick and couldn't dance that much, which was kind of annoying. I remember drinking champagne in the limo when another girl got sick and vomitted in the champagne container. I remember going to the hotel afterward, with my date thinking this would be the night and me knowing it wouldn't.
As much fun as I had in high school, I am truly glad to put those days behind me. It's only fitting that my Mom called me recently to tell me that she discovered my prom dress as she was cleaning out the closets. She was sweet enough to mention that the dress is a 3/4 and did I think I could still fit it? Funny lady.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Whoopi
Looking back, it’s probably my fault. I started this mess.
For those of you who don’t know, The Color Purple is one of my favorite movies. I’ve seen it 85745850375347547405040 times. I know most of the lines and I’m prone to bursting out with an occasional, “You told Harpo to beat me”, “Ceeeeeelieeeee!!!”, or “You sho is ugly” phrase from the movie. It keeps things interesting.
(For those of you who aren’t as obsessed with me (or you live under a rock), The Color Purple is a movie about Celie (played by Whoopi Goldberg) , an abused black woman growing up in the 1900s. She goes from victim to victor in the 30 year span of her life that’s shown on screen.)
A few years ago, my beloved Uncle Charles got his hair loced. They looked good, but he always had this little piece of hair at the center of his forehead that I thought made him look like Celie, a la’ Color Purple (see photo). So I started to tease him and spout lines from the movie. Our conversations often went like this:
For those of you who don’t know, The Color Purple is one of my favorite movies. I’ve seen it 85745850375347547405040 times. I know most of the lines and I’m prone to bursting out with an occasional, “You told Harpo to beat me”, “Ceeeeeelieeeee!!!”, or “You sho is ugly” phrase from the movie. It keeps things interesting.
(For those of you who aren’t as obsessed with me (or you live under a rock), The Color Purple is a movie about Celie (played by Whoopi Goldberg) , an abused black woman growing up in the 1900s. She goes from victim to victor in the 30 year span of her life that’s shown on screen.)
A few years ago, my beloved Uncle Charles got his hair loced. They looked good, but he always had this little piece of hair at the center of his forehead that I thought made him look like Celie, a la’ Color Purple (see photo). So I started to tease him and spout lines from the movie. Our conversations often went like this:
(Thanksgiving dinner)
Uncle Charles: Strength, can you pass the gravy?
Strength (rocking back and forth in my chair): Oh, don’t do it, Miss Celie! Don’t trade places with me Miss Celie!
( random greeting )
Uncle Charles: Hey Strength, how’s it going?
Strength: Oh, I see Mister bought his maid to the juke joint.
Uncle Charles: You know, this game is getting kinda old. Could we end it, please?
Strength: Hell, no! I said, hellllllll noooooo.
Uncle Charles: You ain’t right.
Strength: (hands raised in the air) Until you do right by me, everything you even think about is gonna crumble.
So yeah, that about sums up our relationship for those few years. Interesting enough, he cut off his locs around the time I was growing mine. Now he calls me Miss Celie, but it’s not the same, since he doesn’t know any lines from the movie.
Anyhow, here’s what’s happening to me lately:
(at the airport two yeas ago, meeting friend who hadn’t seen my locs, which are very short at this time)
Strength: Hey, good to see you.
Friend: What’s happenin’, Whoopi?!!!!!
(Getting a manicure a month ago, chatting with the white woman next to me about a book she was reading)
Woman: You have your hair like Whoopi Goldberg.
Strength: (no response, just give her a glare that I hope is menacing)
Woman: Are you a big fan of Whoopi Goldberg’s? Did you get your hair done like that so you can look like her?
Strength: (still silent, as I mentally hum Negro spirituals that keep me from punching her in the throat)
Uncle Charles: Strength, can you pass the gravy?
Strength (rocking back and forth in my chair): Oh, don’t do it, Miss Celie! Don’t trade places with me Miss Celie!
( random greeting )
Uncle Charles: Hey Strength, how’s it going?
Strength: Oh, I see Mister bought his maid to the juke joint.
Uncle Charles: You know, this game is getting kinda old. Could we end it, please?
Strength: Hell, no! I said, hellllllll noooooo.
Uncle Charles: You ain’t right.
Strength: (hands raised in the air) Until you do right by me, everything you even think about is gonna crumble.
So yeah, that about sums up our relationship for those few years. Interesting enough, he cut off his locs around the time I was growing mine. Now he calls me Miss Celie, but it’s not the same, since he doesn’t know any lines from the movie.
Anyhow, here’s what’s happening to me lately:
(at the airport two yeas ago, meeting friend who hadn’t seen my locs, which are very short at this time)
Strength: Hey, good to see you.
Friend: What’s happenin’, Whoopi?!!!!!
(Getting a manicure a month ago, chatting with the white woman next to me about a book she was reading)
Woman: You have your hair like Whoopi Goldberg.
Strength: (no response, just give her a glare that I hope is menacing)
Woman: Are you a big fan of Whoopi Goldberg’s? Did you get your hair done like that so you can look like her?
Strength: (still silent, as I mentally hum Negro spirituals that keep me from punching her in the throat)
Woman: Well? Do you even watch The View?
Strength: Swing low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home........
(Going to dinner at a new restaurant with a friend who is black)
Friend: Wow! Your hair has really grown since I last saw you. I like it.
Strength: Thanks.
Friend: Yeah. You’ve got that whole Whoopi Goldberg thing going on.
(Going to dinner at a new restaurant with a friend who is black)
Friend: Wow! Your hair has really grown since I last saw you. I like it.
Strength: Thanks.
Friend: Yeah. You’ve got that whole Whoopi Goldberg thing going on.
Strength: Die, okay?? Just DIE!!!
So yes, apparently, Whoopi G is my new alter ego. I'm sure Whoopi is a lovely person in real life, but no, I don't think I look like her. I'd feel flattered, if folks were comparing me to, say, a sexy Whoopi G who looks like this, instead of the asexual way she typically looks. Now I just need the general public to understand that my name is not Whoopi!
So yes, apparently, Whoopi G is my new alter ego. I'm sure Whoopi is a lovely person in real life, but no, I don't think I look like her. I'd feel flattered, if folks were comparing me to, say, a sexy Whoopi G who looks like this, instead of the asexual way she typically looks. Now I just need the general public to understand that my name is not Whoopi!
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Enough is Enough (Or: My Name Is Not Whoopi)
Blogger: Um, excuse me, but what are you doing here? I know you don’t think you can fall back into my good graces after being gone so long.
Strength: Sorry, B, baby, it’s just that some things have been happening, things out of my control.
Blogger: Psfh! We all have things that happen. That’s why I’m here! You’re supposed to use me to vent. Were you cheating on me?? Was it Typepad? Or Wordpress? I swear, I’ll kill them futhermuckas!
Strength: No, there’s nobody else but you.
Strength: Sorry, B, baby, it’s just that some things have been happening, things out of my control.
Blogger: Psfh! We all have things that happen. That’s why I’m here! You’re supposed to use me to vent. Were you cheating on me?? Was it Typepad? Or Wordpress? I swear, I’ll kill them futhermuckas!
Strength: No, there’s nobody else but you.
Blogger: For real? Well dang…. Where have you been?
Strength: It’s just so hard. I’ve been really busy. Must I remind you that I’m a graduate student? I have classes on Tuesdays and Thursday nights. Plus, I take guitar on Monday evenings. Not to mention my full time job and all the other work I have to do throughout the week.
Blogger: Blah, blah, blah. Don’t beat me in the head with bullshit.
Strength: I’m going to do better now. I promise.
Blogger: Hmph. I feel like I’ve heard it all before. It’s like you don’t even love me in 2008. This year, you celebrate our anniversary, your birthday and poof! You vanished. Into thin air!
Strength: I know, I know. But I’m back now. I’ll try not to go away that long ever again. I’m trying to get it together. Can you bear with me?
Blogger (sniffs): I thought you loved me.
Strength: I do. It’s just that life has a way of getting in the way of things. Will you give me another chance?
Blogger: Maybe. What do you have for me now?
Strength: Well, I wanted to discuss my feelings on being 31.
Blogger (sarcastically): Oh, how exciting. Next!
Strength: I can write about how I’ve been compared to Whoopi Goldberg on three separate occasions since I’ve gotten my hair loc’ed.
Blogger: Ohh!!! Go on.
Strength: And I can write about how each day, I’m forced to tame my inner Hood Chick from giving folks a beatdown.
Blogger: Well, now you’ve got me.
Strength: I live to make you happy.
Blogger: You better.
Strength: I love you, Bloggerlicious.
Blogger: Don’t call me that in public! You know how I feel about PDA.
Strength: It’s just so hard. I’ve been really busy. Must I remind you that I’m a graduate student? I have classes on Tuesdays and Thursday nights. Plus, I take guitar on Monday evenings. Not to mention my full time job and all the other work I have to do throughout the week.
Blogger: Blah, blah, blah. Don’t beat me in the head with bullshit.
Strength: I’m going to do better now. I promise.
Blogger: Hmph. I feel like I’ve heard it all before. It’s like you don’t even love me in 2008. This year, you celebrate our anniversary, your birthday and poof! You vanished. Into thin air!
Strength: I know, I know. But I’m back now. I’ll try not to go away that long ever again. I’m trying to get it together. Can you bear with me?
Blogger (sniffs): I thought you loved me.
Strength: I do. It’s just that life has a way of getting in the way of things. Will you give me another chance?
Blogger: Maybe. What do you have for me now?
Strength: Well, I wanted to discuss my feelings on being 31.
Blogger (sarcastically): Oh, how exciting. Next!
Strength: I can write about how I’ve been compared to Whoopi Goldberg on three separate occasions since I’ve gotten my hair loc’ed.
Blogger: Ohh!!! Go on.
Strength: And I can write about how each day, I’m forced to tame my inner Hood Chick from giving folks a beatdown.
Blogger: Well, now you’ve got me.
Strength: I live to make you happy.
Blogger: You better.
Strength: I love you, Bloggerlicious.
Blogger: Don’t call me that in public! You know how I feel about PDA.
Strength: Sorry.
Monday, March 24, 2008
It's My Birthday!
Today is my birthday. (Actually, it’s not, since I’m writing this post in the future). To celebrate, I’m off to the Midwest to visit Dee and her now husband, The Canadian. I also have all of next week off to relax, run errands and contemplate the meaning of life. Can’t wait!
One highlight of next week is that I’ll be getting a facial and a manicure. A friend bought me a gift certificate for these services for my bday last year, but I hadn’t gotten around to using them until now. Can’t wait to go to The Spa where I predict (keep in mind, I’m writing this in the future) that the facial (my first) will be an AMAZING experience, excluding the extraction. Everyone warned me about that part of the procedure. I don’t think it will be that bad, something I ‘imagine’ will be akin to having a hot knife stabbed into my face repeatedly until every single blackhead is wiped clean. Then I’ll get a manicure where the woman next to me will make a rude comment that makes me want to pummel her, wet nails and all. But this is just what I’m predicting …
I’ll plan to spend my week off relaxing, but that may not happen. I'll probably run alot of errands, get some exercise in and get the last few repairs on my car taken care of. But, that's just what I predict. Happy birthday to me!
One highlight of next week is that I’ll be getting a facial and a manicure. A friend bought me a gift certificate for these services for my bday last year, but I hadn’t gotten around to using them until now. Can’t wait to go to The Spa where I predict (keep in mind, I’m writing this in the future) that the facial (my first) will be an AMAZING experience, excluding the extraction. Everyone warned me about that part of the procedure. I don’t think it will be that bad, something I ‘imagine’ will be akin to having a hot knife stabbed into my face repeatedly until every single blackhead is wiped clean. Then I’ll get a manicure where the woman next to me will make a rude comment that makes me want to pummel her, wet nails and all. But this is just what I’m predicting …
I’ll plan to spend my week off relaxing, but that may not happen. I'll probably run alot of errands, get some exercise in and get the last few repairs on my car taken care of. But, that's just what I predict. Happy birthday to me!
Monday, March 10, 2008
Stank & Sexy
It annoys me when someone coins a phrase that I didn’t think of first. But since I love Anika Noni Rose, I can’t be too mad. She did an interview recently where she used a term that I’m going to take and use to my own devices. In talking about Terrence Howard in ‘The Best Man:’ “You know he had something dirty," she said. "He had the stank and the sexy at the same time.’ I couldn't have said it better myself.
Here’s my translation:
Sexynstank: (adj). A person bringing a certain virile swagger, while displaying other vile attributes. Can also be used as a noun, i.e. Terrence Howard bought the sexynstank or sexynstank Terrence Howard. Can also be abbreviated, like the S-n-S.
Here are a few folks that I think rock the S-n-S, in no particular order:
·50 Cent: Whenever I hear this man’s name, I get annoyed because it is tied into him hating on somebody. I’ll think he’s stupid and immature … until he takes his shirt off. My goodness gracious. It’s so hard to stay mad at a man with a bulletproof body. Whew! Sexynstank, indeed.
·Nicholas Cage: Dude just does it for me. Castor Troy in Face Off was the truth.
·Kiefer Sutherland: I’ve seen practically every movie of his and I never found him attractive. I thought he was a decent actor who got some so so parts, but I wasn’t a crazy fan. But then I started watching 24. It is amazing to watch his alter ego Jack Bauer fight the good fight for CTU. One minute, he is the devoted Dad who teaches his daughter how to shoot her first victim and the next minute, he tortures a suspect by shooting out the kneecaps of the man’s wife. He does all this with a smooth, velvety voice to match. Nice! (Too bad I stopped watching the show back when they killed off two of my favorite characters).
·Eddie Cibrian: He caught my attention when he played a bad boy on the soaps and then he played a womanizer on ‘Third Watch.’ His ex wife on Third Watch went nutso when he did her wrong and looking at those dimples, I understand.
·Tyrese: I thought he was corny until I saw ‘Baby Boy.’ Talk about the S-n-S effect. Once I saw that he had some thug in him, it upped him a notch in my book.
These are just a few that crossed my mind. I'd like to put Don Cheadle up there, but I can't think of any examples of him being stank. Hmmmm. Got anybody on your Sexynstank list?
Here’s my translation:
Sexynstank: (adj). A person bringing a certain virile swagger, while displaying other vile attributes. Can also be used as a noun, i.e. Terrence Howard bought the sexynstank or sexynstank Terrence Howard. Can also be abbreviated, like the S-n-S.
Here are a few folks that I think rock the S-n-S, in no particular order:
·50 Cent: Whenever I hear this man’s name, I get annoyed because it is tied into him hating on somebody. I’ll think he’s stupid and immature … until he takes his shirt off. My goodness gracious. It’s so hard to stay mad at a man with a bulletproof body. Whew! Sexynstank, indeed.
·Nicholas Cage: Dude just does it for me. Castor Troy in Face Off was the truth.
·Kiefer Sutherland: I’ve seen practically every movie of his and I never found him attractive. I thought he was a decent actor who got some so so parts, but I wasn’t a crazy fan. But then I started watching 24. It is amazing to watch his alter ego Jack Bauer fight the good fight for CTU. One minute, he is the devoted Dad who teaches his daughter how to shoot her first victim and the next minute, he tortures a suspect by shooting out the kneecaps of the man’s wife. He does all this with a smooth, velvety voice to match. Nice! (Too bad I stopped watching the show back when they killed off two of my favorite characters).
·Eddie Cibrian: He caught my attention when he played a bad boy on the soaps and then he played a womanizer on ‘Third Watch.’ His ex wife on Third Watch went nutso when he did her wrong and looking at those dimples, I understand.
·Tyrese: I thought he was corny until I saw ‘Baby Boy.’ Talk about the S-n-S effect. Once I saw that he had some thug in him, it upped him a notch in my book.
These are just a few that crossed my mind. I'd like to put Don Cheadle up there, but I can't think of any examples of him being stank. Hmmmm. Got anybody on your Sexynstank list?
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
What's Going On
This post will be scatterbrained, cuz that's how I'm feeling at the moment.
My guitar teacher has informed me that I have to perform in a concert this spring. No ifs, ands or buts about it. So I have to perfect this song in time for the May event. I like the song, which has no name, other than 'Study in A Minor.' It gives me a chance to do a little fingerpicking, which I love. But I'm nervous!!! I'll have to practice like a bandit so I don't make a fool of myself.
It is a Tuesday, which means I jumped through hoops to leave work early, battle traffic and get to my grad school class this evening. I go through all that for us to spend a whopping twenty minutes in class. Apparently, the professor sent an email earlier saying she wasn't feeling well and wasn't sure she could 'galvanize the energy' to make it to class today, so she left one of my classmates in charge. That's interesting, especially since I galvanize the energy to get to class twice a week, but whatever. Why couldn't she just cancel the blipping class??? Instead, we just sat around and talked about our projects briefly and rolled out. What a waste of time.
A close friend is running away and getting married. Not really running away, but going to the justice of the peace with no one but her and his parents and calling it a day. But I have the pleasure of keeping the phone by me at only times so I can be alerted once she they settle on a date. I've promised to go out there a few weeks beforehand and help her get ready. But the problem is this friend lives four hours away and my car is slowly turning into a hooptie. Hopefully, she won't get the urge for broom hopping until after I get all the necessary repairs to my car.
Got the new Erykah Badu and I'm LOVIN' 'Honey', 'Me' and 'That Hump.' Those are my favorites, but I like the whole CD. Of course, I still have Mary J Blige and Keyshia Cole on constant rotation. Can't wait for the new Mariah to drop.
Just finished "A Piece of Cake" by Cupcake Brown. This is a true story of an abused foster child turned prostitute turned Bloods member turned crackhead turned lawyer. Yeah, it's deep and VERY detailed. A good read, but heavy. It made me grateful for all the opportunites I've had, but it also made me sad for people who grow up in similar situations. It's a loooong book too. Nearly 500 pages. If you've got the time and you're willing to go through the roller coaster ride that is her life, check it out.
And that's it for me tonight. Thanks for tuning in!
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Rest, My Child
Lately, I've been having a serious love affair with sleep and I'm wondering if it's hereditary.
There was a time when I was a little girl, that all my Mom wanted to do was come home from work and sleep. It was summertime and we lived in this apartment complex that was still under construction. We barely had any neighbors and I was the only child living there at the time, so the summer months were unbearable. We had a death in the family recently, so we were both pretty miserable half the time. I'd sit around and watch TV all day; she'd come home and sleep. It got to the point where I would have a pillow waiting for her on the couch with a short note that said, 'Rest, my child.' Eventually, we broke out of it.
But all of a sudden, I think I've caught the family sickness. All I want to do is curl up in bed and sleep. If I have a bad day at work, I rip my clothes off and hop into bed. If I'm feeling bored or restless, I rip my clothes off and go to bed. The other night, I was pissed because one of the networks stopped showing repeats of 'Half & Half'. You know what I did as revenge? Yeah -- I ripped my clothes off and went to bed. That'll teach 'em!
I didn't think there was anything unusual about this phase until I thought back to Mom's Sleeping Summer. Coincidentally, she was around the same age as I am now when she was enduring her slumber. Maybe this is just something the women in my family go through from time to time. I don't think I'm depresed. I'd be lying if I said there weren't things going on that get me down, but that's true of anyone. All of this sleep has had its benefits. I'm able to wake up earlier, which allows me to do some a.m. writing, and then I can actually get to work on time. So maybe this sleep overload isn't such a bad thing.
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