Rewind...

September 11, 2006

Catherine Lisa LoGuidice and I have precious little in common. She was born nine years before me and lived several states away. I've never met her. Perhaps on one of her adventures, chasing down some hard rock star or heading out to defy death on a mountain biking trip, she wound up on a road trip, and maybe she passed me in a car on I-95 once and neither one of us knew it. I've come to believe that it's a smaller world than we think this is, and the Pisces within me likes to believe that the connection between me and Catherine is on purpose.

A big part of Catherine's life was love - she had the time and heart for lots of it. She loved her two god-daughters, and friends and family members. She had even found the kind of love that people pray and wish for in a fiancee, an old friend she'd known since high school. She was planning to get married to Erick Elberth, and all of her friends and family celebrated with her at a bridal shower. She was a beloved daughter to Catherine Masak and Carmelo LoGuidice, sister to Lucy and Michael, and an aunt to many. A part-time veterinary assistant, Catherine loved animals, too. One thing that she definitely shared with me was a love of reading - Anne Rice was one of her favorites! I can imagine her four cats finding other things to do while she got all wrapped up in some intriguing story packed with horror and suspense.

Her life seemed full. Her taste in music - on the edge. Her taste in stories - on the edge. Her sky diving and mountain biking - on the edge. This woman, of tattooes, intricate Halloween costumes, and horror movies wasn't one-sided, though. Her brother Michael knew that she loved Thoreau so much that she once travelled to his famous retreat, Walden Pond. She also took up Tai Chi, an ancient art characterized by its graceful and gentle movements that inspire health and inner peace.

What's crazy is that you could walk past Cathy, as her friends and family called her, on a crowded street - bump into her maybe - and never know all of the wonderfully interesting stuff about the woman you were bumping into.

When the planes hit those towers on September 11, 2001, I was in bed, getting ready to wake up and go to class across town. Catherine was at work. She was an assistant bond trader for a firm called Cantor Fitzgerald. As a nation, we were all shaken and confused while the tragedy was happening, but I can't imagine how Cathy and her family felt in particular on that morning.

She died that day, five years ago, at the age of thirty. She was on the 105th floor in the first tower, and it's pretty likely that she just wasn't able to get to a safe place. Like many of us, she hadn't thought much about the World Trade Center attack in 1993 since it happened. Her job was at the World Trade Center, so that's where she stayed for the several years to follow.

When she was memorialized, donations to the ASPCA were requested instead of flowers, honoring her animal-loving spirit. After her death, and the deaths of 2,995 others, I mourned, wearing black for two days and crying for many more, shocked and deeply moved by the television images of people wandering the area near the towers with signs seeking their missing loved ones. At the time, and even now, I am just a fellow American with no direct connection to the tragedy. But I suspect that Cathy's family felt the impact of the tragedy much more intensely, and I suspect that today, and every day, they remember Cathy's life more lovingly than I ever could. They, and the other 2,995 families of the deceased and missing, have my most reverent sympathy.

I hope that those who knew Cathy can get joy from their memories of what they loved most about her, and that if they are able to learn anything from the way she lived her life, that they'll honor her memory by doing so. (9/11/07 - This is updated to add that her loved ones think of her always and often. You may read their words to Cathy at the Legacy.com link, which is below this message.)

May her spirit rest in peace.

Thanks to Legacy.com and CNN.com for information on Cathy that served as the source of this tribute.

capitalism

ok, i'll finally expound at length on this situation with black people wanting to boycott vh1 because they have supposedly rejected a show featuring intelligent black women who are willing to date interracially. it's been going around on the internet for some time now. the logic here is that vh1 is racist because they're more than willing to show "flavor of love" and "charm school," which feature black women behaving badly, but they've supposedly said that "viewers are more interested in seeing black women in a ghetto role," so showing educated black women isn't something they want to do.

i can't help but think that if vh1 had actually decided to do the show they've purportedly rejected, then folks would be up in arms about this proposed show about black women dating non-black men, because people are tired of that whole black men and women can't get along stereotype. i can hear it now, "oh, so when you finally do put good black women on your network, they only get the spotlight if they choose white men over black men?" if it ain't one thing, it's another.

do i think vh1's position is righteous? certainly not. but i understand it. they're selling what sells. and something makes me question why vh1 wasn't boycotted when flavor of love and charm school got started. is it only in comparison to a show about educated black women that people can realize how tacky, trifling, and bad-for-our-collective-image their already existing shows are? vh1 is in the business of airing fluff. they've found their niche, and they're sticking to it. there is no requirement to balance out their programming when there are fi'tyleven other channels in folks' cable packages. i figure they're thinking, "you wanna see positive images? turn to a pbs documentary on the civil rights movement, or watch the autobiography of miss jane pittman or whatever they're showing on tvone now."

i don't expect fairness or balance or righteousness from vh1- why should i? we couldn't even get that from bob johnson. this market isn't driven by that. it's driven by who can grab the most eyes for those advertisements. that's why bob johnson is a rich man. i can't stand what he did with his network, but i can't knock his understanding of his business. he didn't make a network for us. he made a network for companies who wanted to advertise to us. vh1 is doing the same - grabbing attention, not changing the world or catering to our higher sensibilities.

cooning sells.

if we don't like that, then we should stop buying products from all the advertisers who sponsor cooning on all of tv and radio - not just vh1. we should stop celebrating people who make it a point to act a fool in the public eye, like karrine steffans, flavor flav, and 50 cent among others, just because they're black. folks become transfixed on every single train wreck aired on tv and radio and then have the nerve to cry foul when the media wants to capitalize on the (merited) perception that people like to watch foolishness? it's not them, it's us. americans, black and white and purple, patronize minstrel shows.

don't hate the playa, CHANGE the game.

note: i don't watch flavor of love or charm school, i don't own one 50 cent album, i don't watch bet, and i've not read ms. steffans' tawdry tales.

is there a "we"?

The Assertion

"N*****s destroy, Negroes assimilate, Black people build."

this is what led me to ask the question a few posts back about assimilation. i heard this sentence about two weeks ago, and it is still working my nerves. never mind for a moment the unnecessary use of the n-word (i've come to hate this "n-word" term as much as the word it unsuccessfully attempts to skirt, by the way), since i've already gone on that diatribe, and the debate will likely never die.

what's more troubling to me is the way this phrase is so divisive, as if we need any more division amongst us. all this finger pointing and "they" this and "they" that is so spinning-wheels-and-getting-no-damn-where. add that to the problem that none of these words are defined. two of them are fairly easy - destroy and build. the other words are not so simple. and based on context clues and personal anecdotes, even though i suspect that a black person hearing this sentence would know what the sentence means, they shouldn't just accept it word for word. instead, they should question.

De-constructing Semantics

now if i'd tried to get this same point across, i'd have said in the alternative that "ignorant, unappreciative people destroy," and that "progressive, positive people build." but that still leaves the middle part. this is where i really get puzzled. what is the difference between a "Negro" and a "black" person? and what (this is the really nitty-gritty gristle and marrow-in-the-bone of my problem here) is "assimilation," anyway? see, the speaker of this sentence is a brother i respect - i know he means well, and i see his point that we need to focus our attitudes and our actions on doing the best we can for our situation as a people. but this "Negroes assimilate" thing is where the whole thing gets derailed.

does assimilation mean moving out of the neighborhood to a place with bigger houses, less crime and better schools? does it mean speaking standard english? does it mean putting a relaxer in your hair? perhaps assimilation means playing golf on saturday with colleagues, or watching Friend.s reruns while baking chicken to eat with artichokes. maybe it means marrying a white person and having beige, amber-haired, hazel-eyed kids. it probably includes preferring E! to BET or Oprah magazine to Essence magazine. does assimilation mean purposely naming your daughter Katherine instead of Keesha? or purposely naming your son Matthew instead of Marquise? where do we draw the line? what is assimilation and what isn't? and if a Black person does "assimilate," what makes them a Negro instead of a Black person? for the record, some of the greatest Black figures of the 20th century were self-described Negroes, when Negro with a capital N was the most dignified way to refer to us Africans in America. have the past 40 years changed the meaning of Negro so much that it must become an insult? an assertion that someone has lost their Soul with a capital S? why are some of us always on the hunt to find words to malign each other?

Problems on Every Side

perhaps my friend's issue is that when people of color get involved in middle-class culture, and take on middle-class bills and obligations, they are less hungry for change in the neighborhoods they or their parents or grandparents left behind, where people who look like them still struggle without them, although they are probably best equipped with the education and funds to help make a difference. they are more worried about job security than agitating for change. they're less likely to tutor or clean up their old block or become a mentor, because they're busy hustling to pay mortgages and student loans (and keep up with the joneses). they're probably more likely to blame people left behind in the old neighborhood for not hustling like they or their parents or grandparents have done, both because it may relieve some of their guilt for turning away from the shells of the left behind neighborhoods and also because they do have a point about the "i'm a victim" mindset. black victims of racism and poverty have been helping themselves for centuries, and there is no reason in this post-Civil rights era to stop now. is this an assimilationist stance? to expect people to do what they can with what means they have? to expect such achievement of yourself and excel, like our ancestors fought to enable you to do?

part of "black people build"-ing (i assume the speaker categorizes himself in this group) is recognizing that change requires power, and power is not free. one thing middle-class black folks understand is how to put their time and effort into work that generates money. and in this country, money is power, and poor people get the shaft. poor people could learn this lesson from the Katherines and Matthews. and in turn, Katherine and Matthew could re-learn a thing or two about remembering where they came from from Keesha and Marquise, who pool their funds with their grandmother when that gap between this check and the next gets too long, or who watch their sister's baby after school when she starts her shift every afternoon so she won't have to spend light bill money on daycare.

Reality Check

certainly - point out destructive and selfish attitudes when it will help us adjust our focus to what is important. but there's no need for the name calling. no need for the division. we all have problems. too many of us from various economic places on the spectrum have our priorities jacked up. pointing fingers at "them" from whatever point of view you come from is a sure way to further alienate us from each other. how then, will we learn from each other or help each other, if we can't tolerate our differences, let alone appreciate them?

weariness

lawd, i'm so tired of people sometimes. who do they think they are? seriously. i don't know if it's current trends in the culture - people getting paid to opine on things authoritatively (and loudly) on the news, blogs where people can beknight themselves experts, the general decline in civility in common interactions and discourse... maybe all of the above. but i'm so tired of the self-righteous. so very tired of the rude. so annoyed with the close minded. i can deal with and forgive the people who don't have (or use) creativity to think beyond what others have told them - ignorance and arrogance are not the same thing. but people who claim to know so much better than others, then fall victim to the same flaws as the rest - they really need to fall back. not because they make mistakes, but because they are wrong in trying to say that they are incapable of making mistakes. politics is arguable. religion is arguable. sometimes there are no absolute truths that anyone can lay claim to. certainly, support your point when you have one. stand up for your opinion. but don't elevate yourself in your own mind so much that you can't respect the people to whom you're speaking. i've been talked down to so much in the past week or so. it doesn't hurt my love for myself. it challenges me, sure. but more than anything, it disappoints me. because i catch more hell from my own people warring with each other than i get from "the other," and that's real talk. sometimes it feels like it's always a grind. always a trial. i know we can't be simple, 'cause being black in this country ain't no simple thing. and i know we won't always agree, and that's a good thing, 'cause i don't want us all to err together. but i believe a certain amount of respect for each other would go so very far. maybe if we weren't all trying to be right it would be better. the best, the most righteous, the most conscious, the hardest, the richest, the smartest, the realest... when did this become a competition? where is the humility? where is the concern?

assimilation

hey there, family!

first, thanks for checking in and reading even though i haven't been posting everyday like i used to. it means a lot to me every time someone leaves a comment or puts a hit on my page. it lets me know i'm not talking to myself.

second, in light of my confidence in you, i have a question i'd like you to answer, if you please. the other night i was at the poetry spot and my brother from another mother brought up the concept of assimilation. i'd like to know what you think: in the context of being black in america, what does it mean to assimilate? i have tried on my own to answer that very question for the past several days now, and i cannot come up with anything solid. i wonder why? perhaps your input may help me understand why i have such a hard time answering that question...

my own race

yesterday, i set foot in a gym for the first time in years.

i joined it just this week! and it's about time. i had this one post talking all kinds of smack about how i wasn't paying money to sweat in front of strangers. whatever! it's over a year later and i weigh about 10 pounds more than i did when i started this blog. i've outgrown too many clothes. i'm too far gone to be happy wearing a bikini in public. so i bit the bullet and bought a gym membership. however - i still don't have a bathroom scale. and i'm still not on a diet, even though i eat well about 80% of the time.

my first day was okay. i took a tour with one of the girls who works there, and she showed me how to use the weight machines and the treadmill. then i used the treadmill to go for a mile - walking/jogging - i am NOT a runner. then i used almost every weight machine there. i was at the gym for about 45 minutes. depending on how soon i can get my mile down, i might be able to get out in half an hour, and still get home in time to catch the news. my only concern is boredom. but i have some ideas. first, i'll switch from the treadmill to some other cardio machine, like the bike, or that other walking thing where you use your arms too (i don't know its name) to keep my cardio varied. second, once the music in the gym gets old, i'll use my z.une to listen to music. sometimes, depending on whether i use the bike or what, i may even be able to read a magazine while i work. i've got a year's financial commitment to work on this, and i'm hoping my thriftiness will keep me going, if for nothing else than to get my money's worth.

for me, the weight machines are where the treasure is. my main reason for joining was to tone up, not lose weight. that's why i'm keeping my cardio limited to jussst enough to get my heart rate hopping. to me, the most important part of working out is to keep my shape as i get older and my metabolism changes. it's totally a vanity thing. i've never been fat, but i don't wanna get there. i want to get rid of the cellulite forming on my thighs. i want my triceps to stop wobbling like my seventh grade teacher with the wig and fuzzy moustache. i don't want to outgrow the clothes i can still fit. i want a firm, developed thigh and butt area. i want to flatten my stomach back out and add definition to my abs. and i want my beloved's eyes to bug out of his head on our honeymoon one day.

i don't know how soon i'll get to where i want to be. i noticed that other women are using higher weights on the weight machines than me. that's okay. maybe they've been there for a while and have worked up to the weights they use. maybe they haven't but they're just stronger. it doesn't make a difference either way. i could try heavier weights but i could hurt myself, so i won't. i will go at my own pace - run walk/jog my own mile and use my own weight limits. much like with everything else - education, finances, personal relationships, my writing, lifetime milestones - i have to run my own race and work with what i have until things change.

i have to remember to take a picture as soon as possible in a bikini, so that a year from now, i can remember what the beginning of my race looked like. that is my comparison point - not people on tv or in the gym.

Mr. Trotter

why oh why did the eagles release jeremiah trotter? just why.

no, really, why?

'cause i don't want him to go. dude is a hard worker, a veteran, a team player, and a fan favorite. and the eagles let him go? it just ain't right.

mr. trotter, you will be sorely missed.

third first time

last night was the third time i stepped into an open mic venue after not having been there. i've been on hiatus for a while, life's been changing, so i came back to see if it still held the magic for me.

i was so inspired.

some of the old familiar faces were there, and it was really good to see them and hear from them. but it was really good to see that most of the folks on stage - even the band - were new faces. i heard new poetry and music for the first time in almost a year. and i was so impressed that i was thinking to myself, "i have to step my game up." i'm really happy to have been inspired to do more and do better.

as usual, while sitting at the venue, ideas for poems happened to me, but of course, i didn't take my notebooks with me, so those ideas are floating around in this head - i may or may not see them again. but between hearing live music for the first time in months, being able to really play with my media player, and all the singing i've been doing lately, i suspect that i may tackle that CD project i wanted to attempt before life interrupted me.

we shall see...

rewind

(Every year I have on here is totally approximate. So if I get one wrong, forgive a sista.)

It takes two - Rob Base and EZ Rock, 1987 - Learning all the words to me and my classmate's favorite rap song for the first time, and finally accepting hip hop as my own, and not my older cousins'.

Tomorrow - Quincy Jones, 1990. Fifth grade graduation, the end of the innocence...

Real Love - MJB, 1991. Getting used to the idea that being the teacher's favorite meant I was going to have to fight like Sophia.

Lately - Jodeci's remake, 1993. That long, long, lazy summer in Virginia's woods. Wearing daisy dukes and racing my cousin out in the country.

My Life - MJB, 1994. The background music of about the next three years of my life. I just couldn't get it out of rotation on the way to school, hanging with my girls, falling in and out of teenage love...

On and On - Erykah Badu, 1996. Finally knowing I wasn't the only one who wanted to be a little weird, wear clothes without labels, and burn some incense. Senior year I finally started getting up the courage to just be glory.

Strength - John P. Kee, 1997. That damn calculus class wound up making me go to summer school, but at least I didn't get sent home like I thought they would do to me. This is the year I was baptized.

Love Like This - Faith Evans, 1998. I never knew there was a love like S-G-Rho. That fall was worth every minute.

No More Drama - MJB - 2003. It was time for me to say goodbye to him and move on with my life, and this song on repeat was the battle refrain.

Golden - Jill Scott, 2004. Ironically, this is one of my least favorite songs of Jill's. But it's what was on the radio when I finally dumped academia off my schedule. It's become a time warp.

Change For Me - Eric Roberson, 2005. I love Philly. This will always take me to that parking lot after that open mic when it just got real good to me.

rocks. trees. words.

the question was posed on a message board i frequent: a poster was asking what she was missing - why do some black people use the n-word knowing how it is an insult to our ancestors. i got a bit long winded, as usual, but i thought it'd make a food for thought blog post. liketa heah it heah it go:

my take on it - some folks aren't impressed with the "what about the ancestors" argument. to some black folks, it sounds like some old "i celebrate kwanzaa and eat bean pies and so should you" argument (no offense to those reading this who do, but you know that isn't popular in black mainstream thought, and that's my point). some folks are actually eager to forget the ancestors. maybe remembering slavery makes them feel inferior, so they don't want to acknowledge it??? maybe their background and society teach them there is no value in the past of their people - not in a black history month, who invented this or that type of way, but more in a black people, living or dead, are not inherently valuable type of way.

neither are some of the people who use the word moved by the "the word implicates us all argument," (especially since they are either convinced that there really is a group of black people superior to another and they belong to it, OR that they are in fact a n*gger and "what's so wrong with that?"). they see the word as just a word. that's it. like "rock" or "tree." it fits the bill for what they're trying to say when they're trying to say it - much like any cuss word may fit the bill when you stub your toe unexpectedly, or when they're trying to describe something and free association just floats that particular word up first. for example, my argument for using the word "sh*t" is that if it fits the bill, why not use it (as long as it's the right place and time)? it seems lots of people who use the n-word feel the same way. thing is, "sh*t" doesn't lynch the esteem of a people - my own people - every time it's said.

once upon a time, calling somebody black instead of Negro or colored was an insult - fighting words. then somebody decided "black is beautiful" and folks were digging that. it grew into the colloquial use for black people that i just used and you probably didn't even notice just now because it's so commonplace.

similarly, someone has decided that n*gger isn't something we need to be insulted by... as long as it doesn't come from a white person. this double standard totally negates the point of saying it shouldn't sting, by the way. it doesn't take the sting away - it reinforces our acknowledgment that white people and other non-blacks have a uniquely owned ability to sting us with it.

i'll never forget, they had this show on a while back where a black family and a white family changed races with makeup and went out into the world. the black family's teenage son was hanging out with some white kids while wearing makeup that made him look like another white kid. one of the other white kids said "n*gger" about someone else, and the black kid didn't blink. he didn't think to mention on GP that word isn't right to use. it wasn't because he was trying to play the role of a white kid since he had the makeup on, but because, as he explained to his irate parents after they found out about his passive acceptance of the word and called him on it, it's just a word that doesn't mean anything to him. his parents were crushed and embarrassed. they questioned how they brought the boy up that he could hear a white guy use "n*gger" in context and not feel anything...

similarly, i wonder how black people can use it on each other and not feel anything... i guess if you have no or low esteem for your people, why would you care if each use of that word attacks their value?

my story

i started this blog at a very exciting time in my life for me. i'd just moved to a new location, picked up a new hobby, reawakened my passion for writing, and was in love with sharing my take on the whole thing.

so many things have changed since i started this blog. my life is about different things now. it's funny to pause and take stock and see all the differences. but i've been on the grind, working on my career, and it has limited my time for getting it in.

and what's even more strange to me is that now that i've got a little breathing room, i don't know what to do with myself. i've got time on my hands and no passion for spending it in any particular way. somehow, spending all my free evenings at the open mics and blogging everyday seems like a step backwards instead of forward. somehow, putting my novel together doesn't mean as much to me as it did this time last year. i feel a little bit like it's december and i'm trying to figure out how i want my year to go. there are so many possibilities open to me, and just the idea of choosing how to spend my time is like being in the biggest grocery store in the world and being told to pick the thing i'd like most to eat...

all weekend, i've been reading octavia butler's patternist series. y'all, she got me having dreams and expecting to see things while driving down the street. i really respect her imagination. i'ma keep cozied up with this series until i'm done, and set out on the task of figuring out the next chapters of my own story when i get around to it.

baby oh baby

a lady across the street just had a baby in the house. i'm on the couch minding my own business and i heard screaming. i thought it was someone in the street wiling. then i thought, dang, she sounds like she's having a baby or something. then i heard glass breaking. what is going on?!?!?

so i looked outside, and there was a police officer standing on a stoop in front of an open door across the street. she's looking all over the place, talking into her radio. then i realized there really WAS a lady having a baby across the street! and the responding officer was alone. shoot, i called action news. maybe they'll be on tv tonight.

but anyway, cop car after cop car showed up. a bunch of men running in the house then shrugging their shoulders as they walked out. the lady cop was like, "hurry up, i'm not kidding," to one of the cops who arrived. and the lady in labor kept on hollering. then finally, she stopped hollering like someone was stabbing her, and a few minutes later, a cop came out with a bundle in a blanket. they took the baby to the ambulance, which had arrived by then, and everyone was smiling and shaking that cop's hand (after he took his gloves off).

it was a healthy baby boy, i heard one cop say to passersby. a few minutes later, the mom walked out of the house, very slowly, and they put her on a stretcher and then the ambulance took them to the hospital. this all took less than 20 minutes to play out.

wow.

i will most definitely be having an epidural, thankyouverymuch. call me a punk. i'll be that.

anyway, happy birthday little boy. welcome to the world. you better get your mama good presents EVERY may.


***EDIT: the news spoke to the cop who responded. turns out the baby wasn't born in the apartment - it was so urgent that he was born in the hallway, and his umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck! but one of the responding officers was able to free up the little guy, and everything turned out okay. even though i think his mama might have broke a vase or something...

invisible to visible to...

today i went to the country's first presidential residence on my lunch hour. it's really just a big excavation site where the residence used to be. i had been reading about it in the paper - how they planned to create an exhibit there and everything until folks realized that president washington had slaves there, and excavation revealed that there were artifacts on the site. right now plans to build the exhibit are being revisited, because planners are trying to figure out how not to lose the wealth of history and information that have been sitting in the dirt there for hundreds of years, virtually forgotten until now.

i wanted to go after reading an article about two older black women who make a daily pilgrimage to the site to see everything that's going on. they wanted to see whatever they could see pertaining to washington's slaves that lived there. shoot, so did i! there's a platform built on a corner of the excavation site from which you can view the foundation walls of the president's residence, including the precursor to washington's oval office, an old well shaft, and most fascinating to me - the tunnel that slaves used to get back and forth from their quarters to their master's quarters. it was used so that as they did their chores, they would be out of sight while the president was holding court with other heads of state, dignitaries and representatives. even back in the 1700's americans specialized in not actually seeing the social inequities we had.

i was kind of hoping to feel something important while i was there, reading the placards explaining the site and gazing over the excavation, imagining slaves and statesmen traversing over the space in such close proximity to each other. most times when i think of slavery, i think of fieldhands far removed from so-called gentlemen planters over in the estate house. here in philly, they were right up underneath each other, building tunnels and such so that the slaves wouldn't be visibly underfoot. but you know, as i tried to feel something special about being ground where our ancestors were enslaved, i remembered that everywhere i go in this city, on this east coast, there were slaves. most especially in my native state of virginia. i left a little disappointed. i wanted more knowledge. i wanted to see the artifacts, which are not yet on display. i wanted to feel some vindication for the slaves - that now they are no longer invisible and people come to visit the house they worked and lived in everyday, seeking information on them. but that's not really vindication. i work less than a quarter mile from the site. i have two degrees, and i don't have to empty anyone's chamber pot or fetch anyone's water - and there are millions of africans in this country who can say the same. for the ancestors, maybe that comes a little bit closer to, if not vindication, then maybe a salve for their injury.

it was worth my time though, and i highly recommend that everyone in or visiting the philly area take a look when they get a chance. there's a possibility that all of this excavation could be filled and built over if they can't get up enough money and creativity to figure out how to keep it on display, and time is limited. if they keep it open to the elements too long, it will wear away.

by the way, it's at 6th and market, ironically right near the liberty bell and all of philly's other monuments to freedom in america.

http://www.ushistory.org/presidentshouse/index.htm

check it out.

storm's sabbath

last night, lightning flashed off in the sky as i hustled home. when i got in, i started to go about my business as usual. i scuttled about, unpacking my bag, putting things away, getting something to eat... all the while, the storm approached, getting more and more intense. a memory beckoned me to look back at the times i spent with my grandmother down south. every time a thunderstorm came through as they are apt to do on long summer afternoons, she would turn off the television and everything else but the refrigerator, and just sit. my cousins and i had to just sit with her. you see, when a storm came, we sat still and silent, because it was the Creator's turn to talk and our turn to listen. in my youth, i thought that was nice and all, and rather quaint, but storms had a funny way of messing with my cartoons that i didn't appreciate. and i didn't hear nothing but thunder anyway. so far as my opinion went, my grandma was just being old, country, and superstitious. i respected her, but not so much what she was doing. once i almost had my life ended prematurely, because i asked my grandma to explain further. patience wasn't my strong suit. apparently, neither was good sense.

there was something about that memory that made me put my book down, get into a quiet dark place, open the blinds in the midst of the night, and lie there, quietly watching the sky, feeling the rumbling of thunder, and acknowledging God. it was good for me. the elder i wax, the wiser the elders appear.

it's way past getting old...

full story here.

abbreviated story - some folks at a church in california, while celebrating a graduation from their Christian school, dressed up as slaves in blackface, and then posted pictures of the event on the internet.

Caption reads: " The slaves served lemonade- it was a riot"


Caption reads: "Someday we gonna be leavin' When a workin' day is done"


Caption reads: "Bringing home the runaway slave in the Senior skit"


Caption reads: "Pastors Charles and Wilma Spencer with some of the students"

i don't think what these people did was indicative of hatred so much as it was particularly indicative of indifference.

i also am tired of hearing people say they didn't mean anything by it.

what you meant doesn't matter. from the white students at parties dressing up like blacks and latinos and masquerading in their respective stereotypes to the white people in these photos, what you knew about the history behind your actions and chose to ignore because of callous indifference towards the concerns of black folks is what matters. it shows that you have a lack of respect for black people, and a lack of concern for how you knew your actions would be perceived once you put them on the internet. no american i've ever met who has been raised in american society with a television set is so sheltered that they are ignorant of race relations with blacks in this country. no american i've ever met believes that they can participate in such mockery and not at least suspect that if they are seen, they will face criticism and accusations from those of us who recognize the lack of sound judgment and social decorum in your actions. you do these things because despite your knowledge, you just don't care.

you people are probably nice to the black folks you see in the drugstore or at the bank. you probably don't belong to the klan, or pass out white supremacist literature along with your tracts about being saved. you more than likely believe that you are good, fair people and that you are not racists. but when some fool said, let's go out and pretend to be slaves, another said, ooh good idea, oh - you know what would be funny? if we got some blackface too, and some slave costumes! and not one of you listened to your conscience, opened your mouth and said what you were thinking - that this was not a good idea. you didn't want to be the liberal tree hugging overly politically correct wet blanket, and you cared more about going along with what you knew was wrong than standing up for what you knew was right, especially knowing that in your lily white church and your lily white town, no blacks would be around to make a stink about it anyway. but our Creator calls us to be bigger in character than that.

in fact, i am probably giving you too much credit - maybe you didn't have that nagging thought to question what you all were about to do. maybe it didn't even occur to you that this could be offensive. but i doubt it. perhaps i'm giving you too much credit in another way - maybe you DO hand out white supremacist tracts along with your tracts about the Holy Ghost. maybe you happen to have some blackface in the attic, next to your daddy's klan sheets and the photo album full of lynchings your granddaddy took your daddy to. i could be wrong, it could be hatred and not indifference. can you blame me for wondering so?

and yet, as a Christian, i am called to be bigger in character than what i can ascertain from your actions and forgive you. i am also called to try to look past your actions and see the human being there - to recognize that just because you've done these things, you're not any less redeemable from your wrongs than i am from mine. i'm called to recognize that you are just a small group of white people, and that not all white people feel this way or act this way. it just seems like at least once a week i get this call. i'm tired of this call ringing off the hook.

the italicized above

did you ever wish you could temporarily suspend your senses for a little while so you could take a mental vacation? i think i might be struggling with sensory overload right now.

on the way home from work, i had to catch the bus i caught. why couldn't i have caught another bus? let me explain. there was another passenger on the bus who was listening to headphones that were so loud that i could hear every word and horn line in the song from several seats away. i wanted so badly to tap that person on the shoulder and tell them, "you're going to ruin your hearing like that." i have in fact done that a few times before. you know, there's a certain way that you can talk to strangers in which there doesn't have to be an issue between you and them, just chatter. i know how to do that, and i like to do that. i'm no fool - i stay away from taboo topics like telling girls with the muffin-top effect what not to wear, or telling women how not to speak to their children - some things will only lead to altercations. i haven't been in one in my whole adult life, and i'm not trying to start. this whole italicized section will become much more important - keep on reading - i will refer you back to this.

at some stop, we pick up a passenger who sits right next to me. i picked my head up from the affordable housing article i was reading and i started being friendly, chattering to her jokingly about how that person with the headphones was ruining their hearing and if they were within arm's reach i would tap them on the shoulder and tell them so. she agreed, the music was so loud she could hear it clearly, too. i joked about the person's eardrums screaming for help - she laughed, i laughed, all was well in bus land. she said that you have to be careful though because you don't always know who you're talking to, and some people might wanna... at which point i told her the italicized above, and added something like, "how am i gonna just get punked by the idea of talking to a stranger when i don't even know them like that? part of the reason people don't talk to each other now is because people aren't used to talking - that ain't right." she told me i did have a point.

shortly after i got back into my article -which i still haven't finished - the girl next to me recognized someone she knew on the bus.

"nicole."
nicole turns around, but doesn't see anyone she recognizes.
"niCOLE."
nicole turns around again but still can't see who's calling her.
"you hear me talking to you, dag! NICOLE!"
finally some eye contact. "hey!"
"where you stay at, nicole?"
"number street and cross-street."
"oh for real? i stay at othernumber street and othercross-street all the time."
"oh that's not too far. i be through that way sometimes."

chatter chatter chatter... move it along folks, nothing to see here. UNTIL:

"yeah, nicole, i be at the chinese store sometimes, such-and-such a place, or right at the corner."
"okay."
"yeah, i got them 25's... them 75's... them 25's will get you, for real. they be lasting for a long time."

huh?

"i be out there all the time, nicole. i usually have my kids with me. i got three kids. people be like, 'you be hustling with your kids,' i be like, 'yeah.' "
"i might have to come through for one of those 25's, you know how i do."
"you know how i do too."
"you do it with your kids?"
"no, just the first one, my daughter. she alright though, she just got asthma, but that runs in my family, so she probably woulda got it anyway. my other son, he was five [lbs] ten [oz], but ain't nothing wrong with him now. i got asthma... my mom got it... my youngest son, he's on a machine... but i didn't do it with the other kids."
"that's good."
"i mean, i don't know with my kids if it was my family or me, but yeah, but i do smoke though. people say if you're going to do it, just don't do the cigarettes too, but i do what i wanna do, shoooot, i smoke whatever i want. i smoke both!"
"i know that's right!"
"but forget me, though - my mom! my mom been smoking for years. my mom can smoke and smoke... maaan..."

and this whole time i was sitting here thinking, naw they playing. ain't no way somebody is gonna be all up on this bus putting their business out like that, and all loud where everybody can hear everything you're saying. they are joking. they have to be playing. but smokey the bear and nicole just kept on going like they were actually for real until we came to my stop and both i and the woman who was sitting on the other side of smokey the bear got off the bus.

i couldn't help it. "did i just hear what i thought i heard?"
"yes, you did. and i didn't want to hear it, but i heard it too."
"i can't believe that she would just say all of that for everyone to hear, where she is, EVERYTHING."
"i know. i heard you talking to her earlier and was thinking how is this same girl..."
"i KNOW. and it's funny, i had just got finished telling her the italicized above, but i mean, what are you supposed to say to that?"

i was already thinking about my blog, y'all.

the lady from the bus and i had our friendly stranger chatted a little bit more. for the second time that day i was reminded by her that you never know how somebody will react to you talking to them. i offered her the story of when i was on the bus and these two women were arguing really loudly about how one of them, a social worker, threatened to call the authorities on the other one, who had a child in her lap, for how she had threatened the child with some bodily harm. i told the lady who was walking with me that i am a poet, and my poet friends and i are always talking about the community, and how we all need to be accountable for each other. but i asked her rhetorically how i was supposed to be accountable for smokey the bear on the bus? tell her about how she shouldn't be doing what she's doing, blasting her business all out, setting a bad example for her kids, making them asthmatic and probably developmentally delayed? what could i have done as my sister's keeper for her? we got to my stop on the walk, and said "take care," in parting as she kept on walking home.

but then, as i was pulling out my keys, i heard her talking to me. she was walking towards my door saying, "mentor. be a mentor. you wanted to know what to do? be a mentor. but not to girls like her," she pointed in the direction of our bus stop.

i offered, "to those who want the help? not girls like her?"

she agreed. and with that, we parted ways for real.

i am much calmer now than i was when i sat down to write this.

get hungry

how much do you really want it?

are you willing to get up in the morning before the sun can be seen high in the sky? are you willing to open your heavy eyelids one more time to put in that much more effort before you catch what sleep you can?

truth is, you don't deserve it. at least not for free. not sweat-less. you can claim whatever you want in the name of the anchor of your faith. you can light candles and incense. kneel on your knees until they become unaccustomed to anything like standing on your own two feet, but i assure you that unless you use the gifts you've already been given, you won't get any closer to it. you can visualize and chant, stick pictures on your refrigerator, tell your friends and family - anyone in the world who will listen - but for all your daydreaming and positive thinking, bell ringing and posturing, anything less than putting in the work will not do it for you.

please, do dream. please, do imagine.

please don't just stop there.

for all the energy that you could expend worrying about your ability, worrying about how much you don't know, worrying about the possible pitfalls, worrying about every matter your idling mind could allow to trouble you, you could be getting busy boning up on the knowledge you need, practicing for the experience you need, preparing and clearing the way so you will have the elbow room to get the thing done. you don't need the prayer for magic. you need the prayer to support you mentally and spiritually as you put in your part of the work. you need the prayer for focus so you can rely on the wisdom and strength of the World's Most Successful Ally, instead of being distracted by the world's ever common doubters and detractors.

every article you read and story you hear that inspires you doesn't have to be a mere inspiration - it depends on whether or not you make it a catalyst. why not you? you can achieve the very same thing or even something better. never mind that you've thought that nothing extraordinary has happened to you or will happen to you - it is ordinary thinking like that which makes the extraordinary elude your grasp, if in fact, you have even made the effort to reach out and grab for it. if you haven't yet, you have a choice. you can reach - really truly extend yourself with the belief that your effort is not for naught. or you can go with what you know, catch your extra zzz's, and make yourself comfortable, because where ever you are right now is where ever you will be until you decide you really want it.

thoughts on coexistence

you know, i haven't been able to go back to that message board since i read that post. maybe that one post was just too much. too disturbing, too threatening. we all have comfort zones, and no matter how openminded or flexible or thick-skinned we'd like to think we are, i think we'd much rather not face certain ugly, unsettling things.

i don't know if that's the other reason why i wasn't able to facilitate discussion on economic stratification among black people and whether or not it's a problem. maybe we just don't want to talk about it. maybe it's too much of a non-issue, or conversely, maybe it's an issue that we don't want disturbing us. or maybe the very idea disturbs us but it would be bothersome to attempt to address it. leave it to me, the oddball to be fascinated by it. it's been riding on my train of thought for a while.

chicago is a lovely place, by the way. i did some touristy things, like looking at this big bean shaped sculpture they have downtown. it's reflective all over its surface, and you can walk underneath the curve of the bean, the rounded surfaces of which make for funhouse-like amusement that attracted young and old tourists alike, myself included. of course i felt silly being a tourist, posing for pictures in front of fountains and the like. but you know, you can't take yourself too seriously. it's not worth the embarrassment that would be sure to follow when you realize you're not as fill-in-the-blank as you think you should be. might as well enjoy the moment.

which i did, until i saw a temporary exhibit put up by the quakers - a set of black boots set out neatly like the headstones in a cemetery, one for each of the 3,452 (as of that date) soldiers who lost their lives in the current military conflicts. it stopped me in my steps. there but for the grace of the Creator were boots that could have included a pair for my cousin, the closest thing i have to a brother, who will likely be leaving his wife and newborn child to go back to the desert in a matter of months. i couldn't help but cry a little. i couldn't help but to walk by a little slower, a little more somberly than your average tourist out for a memorial day weekend trip to a new city. the shoes all had names, ages, and hometowns - save for the boots with "unknown name" attached, symbolizing families with no answers. i thought about how the number of the fallen has now significantly outpaced the dead from the 2001 tragedy in new york. i thought about the 3,452+ families affected by every soldier symbolized here - so many lives, parents, children, spouses, workplaces, fellow soldiers. we have to have some reverence for that loss of life.

which sends me on a tangent. shouldn't there be some equivalent of remembering the senseless deaths here- stateside - by our own hands? i happened to mention on a message board that the selfish and violent culture we rail against in smaller populations, particularly the urban black areas of the country, is really indicative of what's going on in the larger american society. that violence doesn't happen in a vacuum. people are snapping out each other both in and outside of the hood. do you know some woman had the audacity to say that made no sense to her? what country does she live in? turn on a television. watch the news. i challenge someone to tell me that what that shooter at va. te.ch did was a part of his ethnic culture/upbringing. no-no-no - that is violent american-ness rearing its ugly head. maybe, possibly, if we acknowledge and admit that we (all) have a problem by recognizing and respecting the loss of life here in this country, we can curb the carnage, both here and abroad.

one other thing i've picked up in this last week: happiness ain't the same for everybody. my happiness is mine. yours is yours. (provided we've done enough soul searching to realize what truly makes us happy.) so long as our happinesses don't threaten each other's well-being, we should be that much more happy with each other.

caste acceptance

sorry, this is a long post.

the other day, i was on a messageboard that i frequent and i read this anonymous post. the board seems to have more white posters than black, and fearing that i wouldn't get candid reactions on the mixed site, i pasted it onto other boards with all black readership, asking for black folks' reactions.

I realize that all black people in these neighborhoods are not acting badly. Not all black people are litterbugs, etc, etc. Unfortunately, in most instances, you have only a few people on say a given block who may have some pride in themselves and do not consider their poverty status when deciding whether or not they should run a vacuum, rake their leaves, pick up the front yard, etc. These people are surrounded by too many people who use their current state as an excuse for not having to have any pride in themselves or take any action to create a future for themselves or their children. It is very hard for one or a few individuals to fight such a massive tide of adverse behavior or characteristics. Ultimately what happens is that these people get discouraged and simply give up and end up conforming to the group or leaving. Then you are left with what you have now. Also, the nice people are not going to get sucked into this because the nice people leave the demoralized slobs behind. At the end of the day, its unfortunate to admit, but we are living amongst two, not one, but two lost generations. Not talking about the few exceptions who find a way out, but on a whole, we have two generations who have gone to crap. What we are now witnessing are the offspring off the unwed and uneducated daughters who were born from the crackheads of the early 80's. To make it worse, the men that have impregnated them are also the products of crackhead mothers, and so on, and so on. Each of these generations has less value to impart to the next. I see them as digressing more than evolving. Seriously. When you look at how these people carry themselves and their demeanors, and how they dress, they actually look like slaves. You could pluck these people from modern North Phildelphia, and drop them "as is" into the year 1830 in South Carolina, and judging by their language and social skills, you wouldn't be able to tell them apart from the rest of the field hands. The only difference would be that the "modern" black person would have no desire to free themsleves from their bonds. They always talk about succesful black people being "Uncle Toms" and "House N[-]" and so forth when in actuality, these people who refuse to contribute are the ones living in the masters house. They are living in a world designed by those in power for them to inhabit. They think they own their corners and streets and do what they want when actually they are doing what their opressors want them to do. And thats to kill each other. I honestly believe that what we are dealing with are people that at the end of the day are basically genetically defective. The only thing that can change that is evolution. As Darwin called it "survival of the fittest". In order to survive, you either adapt, i.e., educate yourself to compete in this society, or, you starve to death. I think this generation will succomb to the latter rather than strive for the former. The most unfortunate thing is that their demise will be by choice.

i think it's sad that virtually anyone black who has responded to my request for feedback on this post simply agrees with little to no objection - responding with their eagerness to leave the hood, their dissatisfaction with other black people. i can't say i don't understand it. there's are good reasons why i don't live in the hood now. there've been times when i have complained about some of the same things. but to see it in black and white plain speech like that is so disheartening.

i would like to think that we would have a greater esteem for black folks in the hood, i would hope so - i once was one of them. i have family members who still are there. class stratification is a beetch. i'd hate to think that i've turned to judging that which i've come from - but in reality, i don't come from that. my parents were married homeowners who paid their bills, raised me right, and paid tuition for my private school outside of town. college was no choice for me, it was a default expectation. following behind the other kids was not an option, and my upbringing ensured that it was not a desire. the only thing hood about my life was my address and my front-row spectator seat to what was going on with others. but from that spectator seat, i've seen so many others like myself, with caring parents, clean and safe homes, similar work ethic and values... like attracts like, and while i was living in the hood, i had no shortage of friends from the hood like myself. today they are professionals, master's candidates, well-adjusted, happy, generally functional people.

thing is, they've all moved out too. there is some truth to the idea that those who can leave, will leave. those who can progress, will progress. and those who stay behind are those who have stayed inert.

a major thing i've learned from reading the history of africans in this country is that we haven't all had the same experience, believed the same things, agreed in politics or strategy as a people, etc. but for so long, the fate of our majority was a collective fate. the imperative then, especially during the civil rights movement, and even during the black power movement, was to exhort us to think and act collectively for the welfare of all. having been shaped by that mindset, it hurts for me to admit that at this point, as a people, we can't do that. we won't do that. we are so very splintered mentally, according to where we see ourselves on the spectrum from the extremes of bourgeois negro to ghetto thug, each reveling in the correctness of our caste - each trying to guilt the others for being traitorous to the values of a people who don't really have collective values. the adversarial stance we take further reinforces the fractures, breaking and chipping away at the idea of a people with a common future, until such a future becomes no more than a childish utopian illusion. but what are we supposed to do? become a monolith? the american capitalist in us - the distrust we have for each other - precludes that option altogether.

should i then embrace my middle class spot on the spectrum, disdaining the more wealthy who look down at me for socially (economically) climbing, as well as the folks in the hood for seeming to revel in their stagnant reality? where does accepting your caste cross the line to being a judgmental jerk?

i wonder what w.e.b. dubois and booker t. washington and marcus garvey and martin luther king and malcolm x would think.... probably five variations of "i told you so."

godsend

i've heard the word godsend plenty of times before. i'm not going to take the time to look it up for a dictionary definition - we know what it means. so good, it can only be attributed to the beneficence, generosity, love, and power of the Creator. so treasured, that it's hard to take for granted. so awesome, the concept of miracle gains new meaning.

he is that for me - a godsend. i had not imagined how good love could be for me until i loved him. i had not realized in those other relationships, that the problem was not that my love was deficient - the problem was that i wasn't yet loving the one for whom my love was intended. the beneficiary of my love gives my love new dimension - i can see it as my love, fused with his own, is reflected back to me in his eyes. it comes back to me like my own warmth radiating under a blanket. his love holds me like that - safe, warm, and at peace. his love inspires me even more in my faith - i want to love him in my best approximation of how the Creator loves me. you see, it always leads back to the Creator. all roads of love lead back to Him. which is why i can't help but to thank Him for the blessing of sharing love with him. he is my godsend.

his patience with my faults inspires me to work harder on them. his intelligence and wit make me thankful that he challenges my mind to increase. his ease and honesty with me are like a refreshing inhalation of the most invigorating air. his kindness and tenderness towards me tame the defiant fighter that i sometimes put forth to the world. he goes above and beyond my expectations - he is exceeding abundantly above all that i have asked or thought for myself in those times of longing or self-doubt, or even in those moments of my most ambitious hoping. and i give thanks for him often. he is my godsend.

it's just that i didn't know it could be this good. i've loved and i've lusted. i've had crushes. i've felt affection so ardently, i just knew it had to be love. i've even felt rejection so hollowing that in my anguish, i thought acceptance would save my sanity. in my youth and inexperience, and in my vain imaginations, i've spent my money, my time, my tears, my self sometimes. no amount of relying on bits of wisdom scraped from here or there could substitute for the experience which eventually taught me to love simply - my self, my life, my journey, my faith - without searching for romance. no amount of positive thinking could turn a haphazard mess into a godsend. only God can send a godsend. only God could prepare me for a godsend.

i gaze upon his eyes and marvel at his smile when he's not looking. it stops me in my tracks, and i marvel at what my Creator has done with this man and with me. i am constantly captivated by how we harmonize. we make the kind of music that inspires your spirit to rise - the kind of music that infuses me with wonder at what God sent. peace. ascension. love.

i'm sorry, sir, your black card has been declined

Please first take a moment to check out at least the first couple of paragraphs of this news article:

"I'm sorry you have to remind yourself that you're black."

my city is in the midst of the political frenzy leading up to the democratic primary elections. we have five major candidates of varying experience and qualifications, and despite what the polls say, i think this thing is wide open. anything can happen. and since this is virtually a one-party town, this primary may very well decide who our next mayor will be. let it suffice to say that this is a very hotly contested race.

one of the candidates, a former city councilman named mike nutter, has proposed a controversial policy to combat the crime plaguing our neighborhoods - it's controversial because in part, it advocates stopping people and frisking them for weapons. among others, one of his opponents, congressman chaka fattah, believes that this policy is tantamount to racial profiling, and they were debating this topic on a televised debate last night. in the midst of this debate, nutter said that he's been black for 49 years and should know something about the subject. fattah, who is also black, said to the moderator that he was sorry that nutter had to remind himself that he is a black man.

now. pausing to pointedly put the politics of the policing policy to the periphery (say that fast 5 times,) i must say that i am truly pissed with congressman fattah for even going there. first of all, this response had nothing to do with supporting fattah's opinion on the subject matter of the debate - it was a personal attack against nutter's "blackness," and nothing more. secondly, i expect more from the congressman than personal attacks.

but most importantly, his remarks (which have not been the first during the course of this race to question nutter's blackness) are like the ones made by black children who are not studious that black children who are studious are trying to be white. i am not trying to say that fattah's remarks were directed towards nutter because of his achievement level or ambition- in fact, both gentlemen have accomplished careers and comfortable incomes. i'm saying that fattah was trying to achieve the same objective as the children who are bullies in my example - to assert that there is such a thing as some people being more black than other black people, and to ostracize the victim of the comments as confused, or gullible, or traitorous, but in any case - not acceptable to a standard of blackness that they fail to meet.

this mentality is killing us. it is stealing the inquisitiveness from our children. it is stifling their willingness to be open minded, to ask questions, and to try new things - leading to a young populace that truly believes en masse that this is black, and that is not. this in turn, allows the population to actually become what the stereotype dictates, bolstering its lie in the observant eyes of the next generation to follow, perpetuating the theft of our natural human desire to be curious and innovative. as bad as peer pressure can be at times, this mentality makes it exponentially worse - in this post-black-power-movement era, it can be extremely hurtful to one's pride to be accused of being white, especially when being black might be one of the few things you've learned to be proud of in your (often insular) neighborhood.

children need to know (shoot, some adults don't even seem to understand) that black people can differ in politics, or opinions, or interests, or dreams without threatening that which makes us us. we have been doing it for years: marian anderson sang opera instead of blues. arthur ashe played tennis instead of football. martin luther king was an intellectual author as well as a baptist minister. matthew henson explored the north pole. jimi hendrix changed the way we see guitar forever - after rock n roll was associated with white people. we claim these trailblazers now, but i wonder if during their journeys they encountered folks who challenged them, "what you wanna go and do that for? that's not for colored people."

why should we question the blackness of people who are willing to have their own opinions, whether or not we disagree with them, or who are willing to pursue their own dreams, whether or not we understand them? we cannot demand the opportunity to represent diversity in this country on the one hand, and with the other rebuke those within our ranks who dare to be different. what example do congressman fattah's remarks set for the children of this city?

(for the record, i think he only said it because he is specially pandering to people with this ignorant mentality, since he's not as high in the polls as he thinks he should be.)

worry subsided

sometimes all you need to hear are the words of a loved one affirming your faith.

i didn't even tell my mom's sister what went on yesterday. she had called me earlier, and i was returning her call. we hadn't spoken in a while and she asked how i was doing. i told her i was doing fine, trying to do what i am supposed to be doing. she said that she was too. there was something about what she said that just triggered the thought - i need to be relying on my Creator more and not relying so much on myself - and i told my aunt so.

she ministered so simply, so lovingly, yet so convincingly, not to worry and to know that i will be just fine - that when i feel like i can't handle something, i need sometimes to just go home, be still, and ask for Help. it was as if she'd read my blog (even though she doesn't know this blog exists). her advice was so very simple, and we weren't even on the phone for very long, but it was just the welcome absolution i needed at just the right time. He is so good.

so much for gratitude

oh, but watch this though:

i'm feeling good, you know, the sun is shining, and i'm carrying my light jacket 'cause i don't need it like i did this morning. and i've been contemplating getting a new purse, since the one i've been lugging around was originally bought to be big enough for carrying shoes, so it has a lot in it, so it's heavy, so the strap is coming off, so i don't want to carry it anymore, so i figure: debt be damned, i'll go to the store and find myself a non-designer purse that's smaller and newer and cuter. i can get a cheap one in a neutral color that'll fit my wallet and change purse and i won't have to choose between carrying stuff in my raggedy old bag that i'm sick of, or carrying stuff in this teeny weeny bag that's so small that i have to carry half my stuff in my pockets anyway.

so i went shopping immediately after work. even though i knew a new purse wasn't in my budget. and that if i bought it, it would squeeze something else important, like my allowance (which theoretically is the buffer that keeps me from overspending), or my groceries, or the amount of money i've budgeted to accelerate debt repayment. but i went shopping anyway, and lost my dayum mind.

first, let me say that i am not a label whore. any designer clothing i happen to own happened by accident or fortuitous circumstance, which might explain why i own exactly three articles of famous maker label clothing, and no more. let me also add that i am not good at consistency with makeup, accessories, hair - any of it. on any given day, i'm rushing out the door, last minute, hair snatched back with oil and water, no makeup, no perfume, same sensible black shoes, and maybe the earrings i forgot to take off the night before. i am no fashion plate. i do have a fashion sense, and i like to look cute, but i just don't invest much time or money in the effort - i hate getting up early, and always find more important things to spend money on instead of clothes/shoes/jewelry, etc. it's a shame, too - 'cause i clean up nice. but to my chagrin, most days i walk out the door, i'm dissatisfied with my appearance. i promise myself over and over that i'll get it together, 'cause i see how it affects my confidence and my bearing when i know i look good, and i wish i had it every day. but that promise keeps on getting postponed.

i'm tired of that.

i wanted a CUTE purse. and in fact, a nicer spring jacket for the morning commute. maybe some pretty skirts. sundresses. sunglasses.

i set out this afternoon in search of, at the very least, one thing towards that end - one thing that could make me feel like i'd put in some effort towards what i want. i looked in the discount store, then in the juniors store, then in the not-so-junior n.y&co (which i still call lerner's), then in another discount store... it was so depressing. i couldn't find any sunglasses that were small enough to look right on my face. i couldn't find any cute spring jackets - on sale or regular price. all the skirts were stupid. everything cute was so far out of my budget (never mind that i've exhausted my allowance until my next payday so ANYTHING would have been too far out of my budget)... AARRGGHHHH!

in frustration, i went home empty handed. nothing in my hands, but no hole in my budget. glass half full and half empty. needless to say, i did NOT feel like singing. why does it seem like money would be the solution? for as long as i remember, without even trying, i always pick the most expensive stuff off the rack. but instead of dressing with this filet mignon taste in fabrics and tailoring, i've been using the bologna discount stores by necessity since college. i am so so very sick of wading through rows of clothes i, and apparently many others, hate, looking for a bargain that is just inoffensive enough to my sense of style that i can tolerate wearing it. sick and tired. TIRED. i am so so very sick of worrying about keeping my stupid budget intact so i can one day have some little piece of house for myself and i can stop paying for walls i can't paint or tear down or build up at will or be able to do laundry without bothering relatives or gathering quarters.

i put up the brave face about not wasting money on clothes i paid too much for. i sound like i'm trying to convince others as much as myself when i say i'm happy with how i haven't gotten into any new credit card debt since finishing school. i try not to solicit sympathy for the way i look by saying i'm proud that i do my own hair, nails, facials, pedicures and by not calling attention to the way that i dress. but on the real, i'm sick of not caring - or pretending not to, or forcing myself not to - i suppose it's six of one, a half-dozen of the other.

i probly shoulda just went straight home from work like i started to.

i'll feel better tomorrow.

mmmmm

i feel like singing.

state of the glory

first of all, thank God for beauty. it is such a pleasure to be outside and to have so much sunshine. 'round these parts, spring was slow in coming, and i'm glad it's finally here. it is a joy to walk around the city. it's easy to forget why i came here while i'm shivering outside, walking behind my visible breath, looking over my shoulder for a late bus, trying to forget that the wind chill has pushed the air on my skin to feel like ten degrees below zero. but now, all is well. i'm squinting at this sunshine, unused to its blessing after so long, wondering where last summer's sunglasses have wandered off to lately.

and thank God for fluticasone propionate. F.lonase for the uninitiated. it's been my buddy every April and May for the past six or seven years now and it never lets me down. i can enjoy the season instead of dreading it.

i'm so thankful for so many things about what's on my mind, right now, today. it's the weekend in t-minus three hours. heroes comes on again in a mere three days. the black lily festival is going on - and although my broke getting-out-of-debt-and-calling-myself-saving-for-a-house butt won't be going, i'm STILL excited, because success this year means that there'll be another next year when i can afford it. i'm thankful that i get to go home sometime this month to get my bike from my parents' house in virginia ('cause i've been itching to use it to get around) and even more importantly, i'm excited that i get to welcome my soldier cousin back from iraq via germany, and see my brand-new "niece" up close and personal for the first time ever! then i get to get on an airplane for the second trip in my adult life and spend some time in what my beloved calls, "mudbutt, illinois" which is somewhere within driving distance of o'hare, for memorial day weekend.

i love changes of scenery! i love spring! i love babies! i love getting dismissed from jury duty! i love being in love!

this is totally a transition year for me. (something tells me that once i hit the end of this decade, i'll be saying my entire twenties have been a "transition decade," but i'll save that for the unimaginable future in which i can't fathom being any older than i am now.) i've been going through a lot of sacrifice and a lot of growing pains. for various reasons, i feel like my bonds with my friends are changing, and i haven't yet figured out yet if it's for better or for worse. i still miss my poet life - my underground philly soul adventures - but i know i'll appreciate it more when i get it back. i have daydreams about my own house and my trips to africa and the caribbean, yet i don't expect instant gratification. everything will happen when it is divinely ordered - i will HAVE when i'm ripe, i will DO when i'm ripe, i will BE when i'm ripe - when i'm ready. the longer i live, the more i understand it...

so i'm thankful for my challenges and changes and dreams, my strivings, my imperfections, my epiphanies, my inspirations. so much of it is God's molding of this woman He sees in me. i'm thankful because if i were stagnant, i'd be dead, a breathing zombie. instead, i'm so very much alive like the flowers and the blooming trees i see this may. so, like how the petals and leaves flourish in the almost blinding sunshine, i'm going to try to keep mindful of all these things i have to be thankful for.

speaks for itself

IF YOU ARE OFFENDED BY PROFANITY IN LANGUAGE AND SECKSUAL IMAGES, PLEASE DO NOT PLAY THIS VIDEO. IF YOU ARE AT WORK, PLEASE DO NOT PLAY THIS VIDEO. IF YOUR GRANDMAMA OR YOUR CHILD IS IN THE ROOM, PLEASE DO NOT SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU AS FOLLOWS:

VIEWER DISCRETION IS STRONGLY ADVISED.

in this space, i posted a video that i received from a poet friend. it's on her myspace page, and it's being passed around seemingly because it was banned from y.outube. it's by some dude out of new york, rapping about "y'all should all get lynched," (that was the hook) - which message was addressed to people he accused of being fake gangsters, liars, bitches, hos, nasty broads, etc. the video had images of the targets of his words, mixed in with images of black people actually getting lynched, mixed in with images of sambos and blacks with exaggerated nappy hair, dark skin, and big lips, not unlike the images in the closing scenes of spike lee's bamboozled. after talking with my beloved, who pointed out that spreading the video full of offensive images was tantamount to spreading the offensive and reprehensible ideas and images i hate to see on bet, i took the video down.

i hesitated to take it down.

i liked the juxtaposition of "cooning" images and images of the people i think of as modern day coons. i liked the hostility with which the guy talked about how shameful it is for people to glorify cooning in this day and age, especially in light of all that our ancestors have gone through to give us the freedoms we enjoy today. but that wasn't all. his tirade was littered with nigga this, nigga that. he showed images of young women shaking their ass for attention. he repeatedly said that the perpetrators, the (dare i say it) infidels, should get lynched.

my argument was that i would trust the reader and the viewer to know what i do and do not condone. his (good) point was that perhaps that trust would be misplaced on certain viewers - that posting it is akin to stabbing yourself in the leg (hurting the integrity of a people i strive to honor) just to get attention. so, if i err, let it be on the side of caution - i took the video down. the original post remains as i originally drafted it.



i won't say i agree with every single thing said, for example - that anyone needs to by lynched or that many of those images didn't make me cringe (in fact, they perpetuate the problem addressed in the video)... but this discussion needs to be had and it needs to be honest. and not because defenders of that radio "personality" blame our culture for what he said. we have to do it because the brother has a point. i dare anyone reading this to watch a full afternoon of bet and tell me that you want your kids watching it day in and day out. i dare anyone to watch this video and tell me if you want your children to idolize the images you see. it's one thing when adult entertainment is marketed to and shown to adults. it's another when it's marketed to children. it's even yet another disturbing thing when the line between adult entertainment and mainstream entertainment becomes so blurred that many parents are not disturbed by the content of the entertainment that comes into their home. i know i sound older than my years saying this, but - i fear that our values are being eroded, that we tolerate too much, that our children are becoming prematurely knowledgable beyond their years about adult matters, and that we are failing in our duty to make them appreciate our long hard past.

when i first saw the chick.en nood.le soup, i saw minstrel show shuffling. a kid 15 years my junior probably doesn't know what a minstrel show is.

i'm juuuust old enough to remember when calling another black person (or anyone else) a nigger or a bitch or a ho was something that could get you cut. you BETTA had been joking with the right one when you said it. it wasn't speech for mixed company. it wasn't something grown folks said around children. or at least, it wasn't something you could repeat. it wasn't something that even friends said to each other without consciously thinking about its potency. i remember when those words weren't said on television or on the radio. i knew of those words, and i'd heard them before, but i also knew because of their limited usage that they were not things you SHOULD say. i can't help but wonder if today's kids can make the same distinction.

these words and images are thrown around and in and of themselves, that's not a harmful thing. they're just words. they're just images. but when these words and images become pervasive, they can damage our psyche - our esteem for ourselves and each other. the elders tried to warn us. but they seemed so out-of-touch, so reactionary, so judgmental of an energetic and keenly intelligent youth. besides, every generation has admonished its children for a culture it doesn't understand. history has forgiven each successive generation - the hip cats with the zoot suits, the jazz junkies, the doo-wop street corner idlers, the soul brothers in platforms...

but this beef elders have with hip hop will not go away. and now many of its pioneers and its first flock of fans have grandchildren. hip hop has in many ways matured. innovation is still happening in that vein. creative expression is still in the works. the oldheads, the innovators -- they have a legitimate beef with the "artists" in the spotlight and the appetite for their wares. many parents, who grew up with boomboxes playing rhymes off the same radio stations their kids now listen to, understand this legitimate beef.

it's not so much that the pants are exposing these boys' boxer shorts, or even the language they use, as it is that folks worry about their understanding and respect for what their grandfathers have been through. the emptiness in the music these boys listen to stokes the fires of their fear. they worry about the future of the culture. folks, from c. delores tucker, to oprah, to the poets, to the preachers, to the old folks on the bus react by taking the current music and its videos and images to task.

of course there's much more to it than this. but i can't blog forever, can i? i maintain: this discussion needs to be had. and it needs to be honest.

what do you think?

who goes there?

riding the bus today reminded me of what i like about being here. the loud ugly dude who got on the bus hollering, "nigga where you at?" to some dude in the back... the wobbly seat that kept people from sitting next to me for fear of tumbling into the aisle... the lady with the raspy voice and the loudmouth kids she brought on the bus with her who were talking loudly about their playdates... the crazy chic who bumrushed the bus in the middle of the street to get on, even though she wasn't at a designated bus stop...

in the midst of all this, i felt at home. it was a welcome change of pace from the office. i felt like a part of society. maybe not the jostling throngs in the equatorially hot marketplace type of society, but society nonetheless. it's nice to talk to strangers, like when i turned to look at the girl who bumrushed the bus and said, "you crazy. you know that, right?" and she retorted, "it worked didn't it?" and we both chuckled.

...or when i was in the most stereotypically urban fast-food joint known to man - that's right, the one that communicates the very pulse of the gallery in center city - and i was watching this woman and her little girl standing in the line, holding hands. some little boy was in another line with his mom and noticed the little girl. neither of the children was any older than three. neither of them said a word. but reading their actions was comical. the curious boy approached the little girl, tentatively, gingerly... she looked at him, and unimpressed, she backed up, around towards the other side of mommy's legs. not easily daunted, the little boy wanted a closer look at the pretty girl. he paused for a second, not having gotten the hint, and then he pressed up again. she was the same size as him! maybe they could play? maybe not. girlfriend backed up, more vehemently this time, and yanked on mommy's arm to let her know she needed more space to get away from that boy. that boy's mommy came and led him away, to the little girl's relief. chuckles were had all around by the grown folks. i said to the girl's mommy, "she got the right idea," and she offered that knowing, shared laugh, which we both learned from our mothers.

it felt good.

before i came here - before i worked two jobs to save enough money to relocate myself - this was what i was looking for - resonation with others. finding myself in others and others in myself. those of us who haven't been without it may take it for granted. but i appreciate it when i get it. i remember what my lonely years were like. i thank the Creator for the bonds i have with my family and friends. and i suppose i should even express my gratitude for the wonder of finding kinship with strangers as well.

know thyself and choose wisely

i am disgusted that at least the first five minutes of my local tv newscast tonight were about the controversy surrounding that radio personality and that new jersey basketball team. i'm sure you've heard the story by now. he and his producer were yucking it up about the ladies on this team being nappy headed hos.

well.

let me first say that i didn't find his comment amusing. i understand why those young ladies would be offended, and why others would be offended on their behalf. i think that when statements are made that have the effect of encouraging reprehensible attitudes, words, and actions, those of us who are offended should definitely speak out - go on record as calling out ignorance for what it is, lest that ignorance go unchecked, letting that which is reprehensible become commonplace.

that said, i have issues with this situation that have nothing to do with the man who issued the words. first, a little background: people in my city are dying at an alarming rate. we have more homicides in this city since the year began than there have been days in the year. i read an article decrying the lack of a qualified pool of job applicants in this city - a situation which has been brought about by the migration of low-skilled jobs out and the influx of specialized-skills jobs in, despite a school system that is strapped for cash and graduating students who can't compete in the workforce. i've read my fill of anonymous posters on local message boards condemning black people to death for a supposed cultural lack of values, because it's much easier to attribute the crime on eugenics than it is to admit that the apathy of law-abiding citizens allows the conditions that inevitably lead to high crime.

understandably, as i face the rest of my adulthood and my desire to have stability and a happy home life, my thoughts turn to home ownership. i am excited about getting ready for my own house... but i am concerned about crime, education, jobs, taxes, and while we're on these topics, the city's upcoming mayoral race. i want to know what is being done - or what i can do - to make things better here. conversely, i want to know if it behooves me as a future mother to get the hayle out of here before things get worse.

when i turn on the news, if i see people up in arms about something - marching, carrying signs, chanting, demanding accountability about something, i want to see that being done about something that will help keep our kids from harm. better education. better job training. better welfare-to-work programs. government accountability. that's what i want to see.

i don't want to have to roll my eyes when i hear one of that team's players say, in the flood of news coverage on this story, that she's been scarred for life by this insult. bless her heart. i don't know what country she grew up in, but just last year we had that michae.l ri.chards thing. before that, there was the james byrd thing. let's not forget the rodney king thing... i know she may have been in elementary school when that happened, but somebody had to have told her something. i wanted to put my arm around her and say, "my sister, i feel for you, but on the real? you need to D up." i find it hard to believe that nobody ever told her that no matter how talented, intelligent, or beautiful she may be, there will always be some misguided, hard hearted, ignorant somebody who will refuse to see her, or me, or our current secretary of state as anything but a black bitch. maybe someone did tell her and she didn't believe it, because she has been blessed with a life full of support and love. but now, i would advise her to chalk this up as a lesson learned: if you don't know, now you KNOW.

of course, this doesn't excuse ignorant, rude, crass, insensitive, boorish, base, shameful behavior. neither does this mean that we should enter the world with the same chip on our shoulder for which our loud, aggressive stereotype with her hand on her hip is so famous. from the moment our foremothers were first chained, stripped of all clothing and fondled and groped on some auction block centuries ago, we've been on notice: be strong and resilient in this place, and remember your dignity comes from within. those women knew scarred for life. being called a nappy headed ho is an incidental scratch. every black woman i know is bigger than those words, and it's our job to know it from within, no matter what that unfortunate soul said on the radio.

in any case, my point is that i never see al sh.arpton and friends unless he's fighting some b.s. battle over something that won't make it less likely for a young man be to be uneducated, unemployed, or shot to death. i don't know if that's because the media only selectively covers him when he's whining, or if it's because no matter when you catch him, that's all he ever does anyway. and unfortunately, it seems like i only see outrage over stupid isht like some disrespectful words, instead of over important issues, like when our children will finally be given the tools and instruction to get them reading at or above grade level. THAT is what is outrageous. i couldn't care less whether this radio jock gets fired or not. let's get some of these raggedy police commissioners who won't protect the public from criminals fired.

protecting our women from racism and sexism is important. so let's put our battles in their proper perspective. let's keep illegal guns from flooding our streets. let's shatter glass ceilings. let's stop predatory lending. let's find ways to employ our women and their boyfriends and husbands and sons. let's concentrate on stopping the spread of HIV. that's the kind of protection that can save lives and communities.

composing

i've tried to type an entry at least three times by the time i was able to craft this one successfully completed sentence. blogging is harder than i remember. it's just that i don't really have anything i'm persuaded to share about my life, my observations, etc... maybe pulling myself into this hiatus from blogging and poetry performance is changing who i am and how i communicate. or maybe it's just that on this day, where i actually have the time to blog without guilt, of all the days my mind could decide to not be cooperative, this day and this time seem to have been the choice for creative inertia.

one thing about the muses - they cannot be ruled.

it's weird too. i just got off the bus and was listening to my zune media player. comm.on's be was playing, and the sun was shining, and i was walking through my cute little neighborhood and all was just nice. despite the cold weather, it was just a really nice time to have clear thoughts and let someone else's creativity inspire my own. i came in the apartment, dropped my bookbag, and danced to the music, saying the lyrics to the beat, imagining myself as somebody cool, somebody on stage, somebody free of cares besides riding the songs from bar to bar. i listened to the lyrics, how their rhythms flirted with the music and took turns harmonizing and jousting with each other and thought, i could so use this time to be creative and write something.

then come to find out i ain't got no words to cover the predominant conversations of my mind. my city's crime problem. my quest for homeownership. my struggles with discipline and time management. my obligations to my family. having no particular place to be this resurrection sunday. feelings of self-imposed alienation from the arts community i embraced. it's all swimming up in there, but too much for me right now, at this moment as i type, to try to flesh out into something that makes sense to me to type onto this blog.

so i'll end on the thought that sometimes the mind won't cooperate with the feelings. but just because i didn't write a particular song, it doesn't mean that there is no music in me. it'll just have to play on some other day, when i don't have time to write and should probably be doing something else...

good luck

near the end of my last workday, my co-worker came to me to let me know that legendary actress and author ruby dee was going to make a book-signing appearance at the department store five blocks away!!! i wrapped up my work within a half-hour, bundled up against the cold, and hustled myself through the gallery and down market street to get there. i hadn't been to the wanamaker building since i was a little kid. it is huge, and i wandered through the men's wear area looking for event signs, until i saw the crowd. i followed the sound of her voice, husky and poised (think maya angelou with a different cadence) to the sight of her face. she looked just like her pictures - smart soulful eyes, ample cheeks, acutely present bearing... it was her!

i read an article about her and her husband, ossie davis, one summer in an old folks magazine my grandma had lying around the house. my grandma is big on magazines, and i am big on reading, especially anything about black folks, even back when i was ten years old. the spread talked about their lives together in the past, their entertainment careers, their long marriage, and their active elder years. active, indeed! i first saw them on screen as mothersister and da mayor in spike lee's do the right thing, which is one of my favorite movies, from tina dancing with boxing gloves to mookie walking down his looted street. i loved mothersister instantly. in the spike movies that i followed with cult devotion, i saw other reincarnations of ossie and ruby, showing us different facets of our parents and grandparents. as i learned more about the civil rights movement, i found out ossie and ruby were there, too. there is a great picture of them standing in the midst of the movement with their three children and picket signs. they knew malcolm x, i discovered! they knew everybody! they were everywhere! their names were spoken together, always together, in one breath: ossiedavisandrubydee. even after her husband's passing, for which i shed my own private tears, we more often think of both, not one or the other, much like coretta or myrlie or sister betty.

and there she was, not ten feet away from me. a woman who had several things i wanted - a love, a family, a writing career, and a story of achievement and service. the book she was reading excerpts from is her husband's. it's a collection of some of his writings, throughout which you can find some editorial commentary from ruby dee. i headed to the back of the long line, purchased my copy of life lit by some large vision: selected speeches and writings, and waited to greet her face-to-face. the sound wasn't so great, so from waaaay back in the line, i couldn't hear her. i figured, she ain't doing nothing but reading excerpts from the book anyway so i might as well go on and read it while i'm in line. which i did. first i read his speech for the schomburg center, which my friends took me to visit for my birthday a year ago today. then i read the eulogy for betty shabazz, which brought me to tears right there in the line. each section made me want to read another, and i panicked.

i wanted to discuss the book with this man's widow and thank her for giving this gift to us. i hadn't known about ossie davis' writing talent, or his humor. i hadn't seen him give any speeches. but here in this book, i held those gifts of his to the world. his wife and his daughter made it happen for me, and for the others in the line and anywhere else who would buy the book. even in his life's epilogue, their teamwork survives. even now, they are as one, as surely as somebody must have said on their wedding day decades ago. now that is a testimony to real good loving. not just between man and wife, but between leaders and their people. i was very moved by these thoughts. but i knew there was no way i'd have the time, let alone the words present in my mouth, to tell ruby dee all that when i got up to the front of the line. what would i say? how would i greet this hero?

everyone in the line had green post-it notes on which to write the correct spelling of the name we wanted her to autograph the book with. i wrote my name and the name of my beloved. i wanted a veteran to give the both of us whatever wisdom she felt best. when she saw the post-it, she asked, "are these brother and sister?" i smiled proudly and said, "no ma'am, that is my boyfriend, and i love him very much." then i added, "we want to be like you guys." she looked at me (beautifully) and said, "good luck." that what we needed, according to her. and in fact, despite what i told her about my willingness to work hard, she pointedly repeated that i'd need good luck. and that's what's in my book - "good luck - ruby dee - 2-26-07." i reached out for her hand after she signed my our book, and she let me squeeze her hand lightly. i was too shy to go up for a real hug or hog more time posing for a photo op. the lil' squeeze was enough. with some good luck, when my children study about her in books and when they pick up this book, i'll be able to tell them, i squeezed that giant's hand. we stand on the shoulders of her and her husband.