L.A. Babble-on

NOT MUCH MORE NEEDS TO BE SAID ... except I am saying it!

2009-10-15T01:11:00.000-07:00

NOT MUCH MORE NEEDS TO BE SAID (this was sent to me in my email, I responded below)

BILL COSBY - A MUST READ (?)

The Reverend Jesse Jackson almost never gets

upstaged and I had never seen the Reverend

Jesse Louis Jackson cry in public until last month.

Jackson invited Bill Cosby to the annual Rainbow /

PUSH conference for a conversation about the

controversial remarks the entertainer offered on

May 17 at an NAACP dinner in Washington , D.C.

when America 's Jell-O Man shook things up

by arguing that African Americans were betraying

the legacy of civil rights victories. Cosby said

'the lower economic people are not holding up their

end in this deal. These people are not parenting.

They are buying things for their kids. .

$500 sneakers for what? But they won't spend $200

for Hooked on Phonics!'

Bill Cosby came to town and upstaged the reverend

by going on the offense instead of defending his

earlier remarks. Thursday morning, Cosby showed

no signs of repenting as he strode across the stage

at the Sheraton Hotel ballroom before a standing

room only crowd. Sporting a natty gold sports coat

and dark glasses, he proceeded to unload a Laundry

list of black America 's self-imposed ills. The iconic

actor and comedian kidded that he couldn't compete

with the oratory of the Reverend but he preached

circles around Jackson in their nearly hour-long

conversation, delivering brutally frank one-liners

and the toughest of love.

The enemy, he argues, is us: "There is a time,

ladies and gentlemen, when we have to turn

the mirror around." Cosby acknowledged he wasn't

critiquing all blacks. . .. just the 50 percent of African

Americans in the lower economic neighborhood

who drop out of school, and the alarming proportions

of black men in prison and black teenage mothers.

The mostly black crowd seconded him with choruses

of Amens.

To the critics who pose, it's unproductive to air our

dirty laundry in public, he responds,

"Your dirty laundry gets out of school at 2:30 every day."

It's cursing on the way home, on the bus, train,

in the candy store. They are cursing and grabbing

each other and going nowhere. The book bag is very,

very thin because there's nothing in it.

Don't worry about the white man, he added.

I could care less about what white people think

about me. . . Let them talk.

What are they saying that is so different from what

their grandfathers said and did to us?

What is different is what we are doing to ourselves.

For those who say Cosby is just an elitist who's

"got his" but doesn't understand the plight of the

black poor, he reminds us that,

"We're going to turn that mirror around.

It's not just the poor-everybody's guilty."

Cosby and Jackson lamented that in the 50th years

of Brown vs. Board of Education, our failings betray

our legacy. Jackson dabbed away tears as he

recalled the financial struggles at Fisk University ,

a historically black college and Jackson 's Alma mater.

When Cosby was done, the 1,000 people in the room

all jumped to their feet in ovation.

We have shed tears too many times, at too many

watershed moments before, while the hopes they inspired

have fallen by the wayside. Not this time!

Cosby's plea to parents:

"Before you get to the point where you say 'I can't do

nothing with them' , do something with them."

Teach our children to speak English.

There's no such thing as "talking white".

When the teacher calls, show up at the school.

When the idiot box starts spewing profane rap videos;

turn it off. Refrain from cursing around the kids.

Teach our boys that women should be cherished,

not raped and demeaned.

Tell them that education is a prize we won with blood

and tears, not a dishonor.

Stop making excuses for the agents and abettors

of black on black crime.

It costs us nothing to do these things.

But if we don't, it will cost us infinitely more tears.

We all send thousands of jokes through e-mail

without a second thought, but when it comes

to sending messages regarding life choices,

people think twice about sharing.

The crude, vulgar, and sometimes the obscene

pass freely through cyberspace, but public discussion

of decency is too often suppressed in the schools and

workplaces.

I passed this on... Will you?

__._,_.__
My dear cousin sent this to me and I am going to respond by saying this… I bristle when Bill Cosby and others point to the ills of the Black community and almost singlehandedly point the blame at blacks who are in the lower/lowest socioeconomic class. If he made the comments above, which I am not certain he did because I wasn’t at this supposed speaking engagement, my response is he is right. We are in a crisis in our inner cities. We perpetuate decades old fallacies that getting good grades and speaking English properly means someone is acting or “talking white”. We allow our children to listen to the most profane songs on the radio and even use profanity in front of them and sometimes while speaking to them, most times without even bothering to say the old adage “do as I say, not as I do.” I could go on and on about the things I have witnessed and experienced in urban centers across this country, but we already know these things, don’t we? But what about us? You know… those of us who were raised in the very neighborhoods Mr. Cosby decries in his speeches but managed to do well in school, get college degrees and get the good jobs. The first thing we, the middle class, did was pack up and leave the very neighborhoods that nurtured us. We may go back on special occasions, weddings, funerals and maybe Thanksgiving but we certainly don’t spend any real time there. So the children and young adults in desperate need of tangible role models don’t see us and that you can make a decent living without engaging in a life of crime, they see the drug dealers and gang bangers and that’s who they want to become. (Hell, didn’t we all fantasize about being rich and living the good life when we were kids? Well, to many of our youth living in the inner city that life is the drug dealers’ life! )

I mean since we are airing dirty laundry here let’s talk about the black middle class because we are the silent epidemic. What about those of us in the middle class who will buy a new car but won’t pay tuition for our child to attend a prestigious private school? Or those of us in the middle class who work 10-12 hours (or more) a day while our children sit in childcare or home alone? Or those of us who wake up on Sunday, get sharp and go to church, dinner or the movies while our children sit at home? Or, stop me if you know this couple, those of us who go on vacation and leave our children at home… went to the Obama inauguration but left our children at home, even the ones who could carry their own bags?! What about those of us that are active in our sororities and fraternities but have never met any of child’s teachers? My point is, are we doing such a better job at raising our kids than our lower class brothers and sisters because truth be told many of us are not raising our kids. What happens to children whose parents’ value things, a promotion, a title and not them? What happens when YOU don’t raise your own children? I instruct you to look at our white counterparts and their children… rampant drug abuse and promiscuity in most cases and a child that hates you i.e. the world. (Hello, I smell a Columbine in our future!)

My point… is that while we sit on our high horses pointing fingers at all of those lower class blacks we, the black middle class, need to be looking at ourselves. Did we abandon our communities for the suburbs? Do we maintain a meaningful connection with our inner city communities/youth/families either through mentoring or volunteering at an organization designed to provide much needed services and/or hope to them? What kind of example do we set for our own children? What kind of time do we spend with our children? (I hate to break it to you but kids in the “hood” and those in the suburbs are listening to the same music, cussin’ and all!)

So I agree with the section that says we must turn the mirror on ourselves. Now all I am waiting for is Mr. Cosby and Mr. Jackson to talk about this!

I passed this on… will you?

A Letter of Apology to President Obama

2009-09-09T01:05:00.000-07:00

Dear President Obama,

On behalf of the citizens of the United States of America, I am sorry. I am sorry that those who did not vote for you decided to ruin the opportunity for some of America’s school children to hear your speech. I am sorry that national media outlets chose to give voice to and empower the minority of Americans who are members of the ultra-right. Never mind that these are the same people who attend town hall meetings on health care and decry health care reform as socialism, compare you to Adolf Hitler and believe that your policies will cause the euthanasia of some of our nations’ most precious citizens, the elderly.

I am sorry.

I am sorry that like many who voted for you I have not watched your State of the Union addresses and interviews in their entirety. Like most, I always have things to do and am too tired to listen to you while I chat with my friends on Facebook or Twitter my latest thoughts, comings and goings. I am sorry I haven’t attended a town hall meeting in support of health care reform (which I do believe in) most times it is too far from my house ( I think) and is in the evening when I am taking a dance class or working out. (I should always look my best, right?) Most of all, I am sorry that I haven’t been as vociferous as members of the far right supporting your efforts to transform our nation and take us into the 21st century where the environment is important, the consumer is protected from predatory creditors, scientists have the freedom to do valuable research and where everyone can afford health care. So, I am sorry Mr. President.

I hope you will accept my apology.

Sincerely,
Najaa I. Young

PS. I think I’ll watch your speech to America’s school children now. Perhaps, I can learn something.

Somebody already broke my heart…

2009-07-01T13:51:00.000-07:00

Child, three days ago I was so in love I couldn’t stand it. Yes, I literally made myself sick. In the last few months someone who’d been out of my life for the last few years had re-emerged. He is spiritual, intelligent, ambitious, funny and… fine! On top of that, this man thinks I am supremely talented and supports the work that I do creatively. (Sigh…) Perfect, huh? Not quite, years ago I had a major crush on him and nothing ever evolved from our friendship and now… well now… we have a joint venture we’re working on together and shit, I am scared to tell him how I really feel. Rejection is a hell of a drug….

A few weeks ago I reconnected with an artist I know from my hometown, an extremely talented guy, a painter. For as long as I can remember I have always fallen for talented, dynamic men. For me talent is the best aphrodisiac in the world and this brother has no shortage of it. Phone calls about business quickly turned into personal and a conversation ending with him saying how he was attracted to me. (Sigh…) Attraction is a hell of a drug…

It has been a long time… two years to be honest, since I’ve been attracted to anyone. It’s difficult for me because over the years I have developed standards. I can’t just date the corner boy who hollers at you while you’re in line at the post office because saying, “A yo you sexy than a motherfucka” just won’t cut it as a pick up line. Nor can I date the Jamaican man in his 50’s who smokes weed outside in a public park who wants to “elevate me spiritually” but didn’t offer to purchase my meal after he followed me to the restaurant. Kick rocks weed head, Dred! And I cannot date the man whose self worth is caught up in what he drives and where he lives who thinks that registering as a Republican makes him special and smarter than the rest of us. I also can’t date someone who doesn’t read, watch the news, have a spiritual center or himself have standards! Standards are a hell of drug…

So when these two men entered my life imagine my happiness, joy, euphoria. Days and nights spent exploring one another’s thoughts, being honest and ones self… being admired. (Sigh…) Then it all started going south…

Mr. Ten Years Gone Too Long never talks about dating anyone and almost never inquires if I am either. To be perfectly honest I never ask him about it either because his answer, should be it that he is indeed dating someone, would be a piercing blow. Not good, I know… I should ask but… like Sade says, “somebody already broke my heart” and I am not willing to let my feelings change for him just yet… the fantasy I have of us being together building in my head is, to borrow a line from Seal “like an addiction that I can’t deny.” I just like being in this state of ignorant bliss (sigh)… Ignorance is a hell of drug…

Mr. Talented Attraction thinks we may be soul mates. We were born on the same day three years apart. We both want successful long term relationships. We both are tired of serial dating and meaningless sex. We both want a muse to inspire us creatively. (Sigh…) We haven’t seen each other in at least three years. We have never actually gone on a date or even hung out. He isn’t as financially together as I would want him to be, though to be fair neither am I. He is talking about moving back in with his mother to save money to move to Toronto. Sometime he rhymes when he talks because he is also a spoken word artist and sometimes he has VERY sexist views about women. Last night he said he thinks we should just do it… get married, this after a 2 hour heated debate. Love is a hell of a drug…

Yesterday, Mr. Ten Years Gone Too Long dropped a bomb on me. All of my plans went right out of the window… I wish I could elaborate but I can’t. I can say though I was disappointed in him and with everything going on. Our business venture may even be on hold for a while things are sorted out. My fantasy of there one day being something more gone blowing in the wind like cherry blossoms shaken from a tree. Oh the love is still there like the tree but the beauty of the blossoms, the fantasy, is gone. Reality is a hell of a drug…

I always want what I can’t have and what I have right now may not be enough… like the song says, “somebody already broke my heart” years before these two came along so I am asking God to please send me one that won’t.

Hate the Sin, Love the Sinner... This and Other Hypocritical Bull----!

2009-05-27T17:57:00.000-07:00

On May 9, 2009 one my best friends in the whole world suddenly died. In June he would have been 40 years old. He was diagnosed with HIV about four years ago and when he shared the news with me together we cried and prayed for a healthy, bright future for him. He was my big brother, my rock and my confidante. I told him things that I couldn't tell others. He was as nonjudgmental as a person could be. He’d calmly listen to you and then help you work out a solution. He also taught me a lot about life and people, seldom was he wrong, but he’d never preach to you or shove his opinions down your throat because he’d say ultimately you’re going to do what you want to do anyway. He was calm and patient and he treated his friends like gold. He was also extremely private.

A few months ago, when his health began to take a turn for the worse, his other close friends and I secretly began to call one another to discuss his health, progress and strategies to encourage him to get the medical attention that he needed. We did this in secret because he would tell each of us only bits and pieces of what was going on with him and besides that he would have killed us for discussing him behind his back. Well our little plan worked and he got the treatment he needed. When he was released from the hospital he was back to his old self. When I spoke to him on the phone he sounded vibrant and full of life that is until he went to fill his prescriptions.

He had medical insurance through his job but apparently it didn’t cover HIV medication. One prescription was $400 and the other $700. He only made about $25,000 a year, minus rent, car payment, and two wage garnishments he could not afford it. I immediately began researching national non profit agencies that were designed to help people like him get these critical medicines and forwarded the information to him. He called and was told he made too much money. Slowly, but surely, his health began to deteriorate once more.

It began with a persistent cough which he blamed on his allergies and other sinus problems. Then he would tell me he had follow up doctor’s appointments but wouldn’t tell me if he actually went or what the results were of the appointments. We friends began to call each another once more. The last time we all conferred with one another was the day that he passed away in his sleep… his best friend and roommate was preparing to take him to the emergency room.

I was devastated, we all were. Sometimes I still think that I can pick up the phone and call him. (We talked every Saturday morning for hours and sent each other text messages throughout the week.) I shared with my family and larger group of friends, some who knew him and others who didn’t, about his passing. There was an outpouring of love and support but I’ve also taken note of how people react when I say he had HIV. They make a little face or there is a pause in their conversation. It is judgment… about a man that in most cases they didn't even know.

What do they think they know about my friend? He was gay? He was promiscuous? He was a junkie? What? Or is it that they still consider HIV and AIDS a disease of filth… “Oh you must have been doing something nasty or wrong to contract it, so you got what you deserved.” He was a gay man, not a junkie and no more promiscuous than the average straight man his age. He contracted HIV the same way straight people do, by having SEX with someone who has it. HIV/AIDS doesn’t care if you’re straight or gay. If you have had unprotected sex in your lifetime you are at risk of contracting HIV/AIDS or an STD. Why? Well that’s because in some people it can take weeks, months or years to be detected in their blood stream and quite frankly alot of people don't get tested. Oh and before you start on how people shouldn’t be having unprotected sex with people they don’t know, shut up! If you have ever had sex with someone, anyone, without a condom in the last 35 years you may have been exposed to HIV/AIDS, period. It doesn’t matter that you’ve known your partner for 10 years or two weeks nor are now involved in a monogamous relationship or that you’ve turned your life over to Christ. There is a chance that you could have contracted the virus.

“But I know my partners and they’re all healthy.” Really… do you know what they did before they met you? Do you know everyone they’ve ever slept with? More importantly, do you know what they do when you are not around? Yeah, that’s what I thought. By the way, I know several people, straight and gay, with HIV and they look very healthy and if they never told you, you would never know they had the disease. So, looks can be deceiving.

(I used to work for the Family Health Council of Greater Pittsburgh in the mid 90’s and I remember talking to nurses at Alma Illery Health Clinic in Homewood and one said that she saw a pregnant 16 yr. old girl who’d contracted the HIV. She refused to tell the nurses and the health department who the father of her child was out of shame and fear but she did say he had multiple children in the community. I’m sure he didn’t look sick either or she wouldn’t have slept with him. )

You don’t choose to get this disease but your choices may lead to you contracting this disease. It doesn’t mean you are evil, dirty or deserving of this disease no more than a cancer patient deserves to have cancer. As my beloved, now deceased, friend would put it, “it is what it is.”

My friend’s sister asked his best friend/roommate if her brother was gay, without thinking he said yes. She paused… but then she said I really wish he would have felt comfortable sharing this information with me but my parents, if they knew, they would have cut him off. Needless to say, my friend also never told any of his family that he had contracted HIV or that he'd been ill in the last few months.

After his body was released from the coroner in New Jersey his family quickly had a funeral. We were told about the funeral on Friday and the funeral was Monday. Though his sister didn’t think her parents knew about his sexuality, we all know they did. At nearly 40 yrs. old your son has never brought a girl home or talked about being in a relationship… come on! They’re older but not dumb. Our group of friends began wondering if the family had a speedy funeral so that most of his friends, which includes me, couldn’t attend the funeral. We suspect they didn’t want a certain element to attend but alas we’ll never know. What we do know is that our friend deserves respect in death as he did in life.

"Judge not lest ye be judged."

"Let he who is without sin cast the first stone."

"Hate the sin but love the sinner" now that’s just bullshit! Why hate?

Dedicated to:
Rayfield Johnson, Jr.
“The Lord will make a way.”
June 1969 - May 2009

Read his obituary at: http://www4.vindy.com/content/records/tributes/294489040750190.php

Nice Day for a White Wedding

2009-04-29T19:39:00.000-07:00

Over the weekend I had the pleasure of watching Skin starring the wonderful Sophie Okonedo. The mixed race British actress portrays Sandra Laing, a Coloured South African woman born to “white[1]” Afrikaner parents in the late 1950’s. Coloured is a term used in South Africa to describe any person of mixed race. Sandra Laing ‘s father famously and successfully fought the Nationalist (that’s code for racist) government of South Africa to have his daughter classified as white like he and his wife the only problem was Sandra didn’t remotely look white. Her head was covered with tightly coiled kinky hair and her skin was a beautiful café au lait and while the government and her immediate family recognized her as white no one else did. Her parents in an effort “help” her fit in bought skin lighteners and hair straighteners, none of which were effective in the long term. She had few white friends and the white boys her age didn’t want to date her. At 14/15 she ran away with a black South African man, was thrown in jail for 3 months for breaking the country’s strict laws against miscegenation, was released and subsequently had two children by this black man. She was disowned by her family.

Upon watching the film for the first time I felt anger towards Sandra’s parents for ignoring the obvious, Sandra wasn’t white! No amount of fighting, racial classification or skin lightener was going to change that fact. Their blindness and ignorance doomed Sandra to the miserable childhood and adolescence she ultimately led because they refused to be realistic about the appearance of their child.

Then I watched the film again and thought though I hated her parents’ politics, they were staunch members of the Nationalist party who were the authors and enforcers of Apartheid, they ultimately wanted the best life for Sandra. If Sandra were declared Coloured she could be taken from them to be raised by strangers, she would not be able to attend the best schools, vote, live in certain areas, or hold certain jobs. Hell, she wouldn’t even be allowed to sit in public places or drink from public fountains set aside for whites. With that in mind I started thinking, maybe her father was on to something.

It’s Monday night and I am still thinking… how would I feel if a child I’d born looked nothing like me racially? I am chocolate brown, as chocolate as they come, with a head covered with the same tightly coiled kinky hair as Sandra’s. If my child were born with straight blonde hair, light skin and blue eyes I don’t know what I’d do. I know I’d love him or her but I can’t say I wouldn’t slightly resent their appearance. My people fought (and are still fighting) very hard to accept dark skin as beautiful. Hell, I fought very hard to accept my own dark skin as beautiful and now I am downright conceited about it! If my children were “white looking” how alien would that feel to me? Everywhere we’d go there’d be questions, looks and stares. I’d have to impart a sense of pride in African/African American culture and history to children who do not wear their Africanity on the outside as I do. Do I continuously drill into their heads that despite their appearance they are black and would this give them some sort of inferiority complex about their skin color? Would they wish they looked blacker? How would this govern their interactions with other blacks and/or whites?

I know some of you reading this are probably thinking I am over analyzing the issue, and perhaps I am, but if I don’t decide how to deal with this issue society will. I have a multitude of friends of various backgrounds and some of them are in interracial relationships. A friend from college is white and married to an Asian man and their children look Asian. How does she feel about that? What does it say on the kids’ birth certificate? I have African American friends married to white spouses and their children either look mixed race or black. How does that make their white spouses feel? Then I have a friend back home whose two sons from her previous marriage to a white man look… Native American or Latino at best but not mixed race and certainly not black. You should see the stares she gets because these boys look nothing like her. When asked what do the boys say they are? I also have friends who are biracial and multiracial or just look like they’re mixed when they aren’t. People can’t rest until they find out what they are and will go to various lengths to find out.

Call it xenophobia but I want my children’s appearance to reflect my racial background regardless of my spouse’s race. Some of us like to act like that race doesn’t matter, and really it shouldn’t, but it does. It is a political statement as much as it is a statement about one’s ancestry. It helps to shape one’s frame of reference in this world by both positive and negative experiences and it can unite or separate people. Lastly, if you don’t choose someone else will always choose for you… whether it’s right or wrong. So how do we transcend this thing called race and just see people? Is it even possible? Is it wise? Does skin color or ancestry dictate race? How do or did you choose? What say you dear friends of many races in various interracial, multi-ethnic relationships? I am really curious to find out what you think…

[1] Genetic tests were done on Sandra Laing’s parents and both of them were discovered to have African ancestry though neither of them claimed to know of any such ancestors. Interestingly, Sandra’s youngest brother, like her, also looked more Coloured than white.

Yay, another assistant gig in LA!

2009-03-16T20:51:00.000-07:00

Recently, I was sent a job posting for an assistant position at a major music television network. A couple of weeks ago I was lamenting over the state of my life, why am I here, what am I doing here, where am I going, etc… (I teach dance here, in Los Angeles, not what I came here to do.) So, I called a friend to vent and she said she’d “keep an eye out” for me, then sent me the job posting for the assistant position. As I read the requirements for the job and the duties I couldn’t help thinking, “I don’t really want to do this.” Theoretically, I should WANT to do this, it is in the entertainment industry, I could make invaluable connections and there are possible opportunities for advancement. But the truth of the matter is that I don’t really want this position. Six months to a year ago I would have sent a resume the day I received the posting and added it to the hundred or so other resumes I have already sent for similar positions in and around Los Angeles. However, having friends in these positions has tainted my view.

There’s the friend who works for a large children’s television network that had a crazy boss who thought you could cue up a DVD like a videotape then hand her the DVD and say “Hey, I cued it up for you,” smiled in her face then wrote nasty emails about her to other execs and blame her when she neglected to do her own work. Then there’s the other friend who barely has a moment to spare during the week or the weekend. The same friend who has gotten two promotions but has not gotten a raise in pay! More work, even longer hours, same pay! She’s so busy reading scripts and writing coverage for her job that she has no time to write her own stuff. This friend is happy to have a job but not exactly happy to have this job.

When we moved to Los Angeles we all had dreams of stardom. We write, we direct, we have MFAs. At graduation we were told that the world was our oyster. We were commanded to go west and make our mark in the entertainment industry. If we didn’t have internships secured prior to our arrival, we did as we were taught in school. We called and emailed any and everyone that we knew asking them for advice, for their contacts and if they knew anyone hiring. We were lucky if for every five inquiries we received a response. Promises were made, most never kept and over time and several jobs (most gotten on our own and not through our “network”) some of us managed to break in to the complicated and duplicitous entertainment industry.

The most successful of us shunned “Hollywood” or traditional entrée into the entertainment industry and made films on their own, financing, producing and crewing (staffing) it with friends. They “made it” but not without heavy sacrifice. They lived in cramped apartments and houses with numerous roommates, sleeping on couches, driving a beat up old car or catching the bus, buying groceries at the 99 cent store or eating off the Taco Bell Value Meal menu, if they had enough money to eat at all. They finally get their film made, have an agent and have the all important buzz surrounding their name. The only drawback is, as one classmate put it, waiting for the next project because no one tells you that your next project is not guaranteed… you could go back to living on Taco Bell and your friend’s couch next week.

So what are we, am I, to do? Do I pack up and go home? No, hell no, I don’t do Midwestern winters. Besides, I came out here to do everything I did at home on a larger level, take my career to the national and international level and I will. Do I apply for entry level jobs as assistants? No… I mean yes, I mean I need to weigh my options. If it is an excellent opportunity for me at a company whose work I respect and/or love I will go for it. I don’t have a problem being an assistant I have a problem applying for jobs just because. Hey, I don’t want to work for the aforementioned unnamed music television network, it’s not even the cool one, trust me! So, I’ll continue writing and teaching dance around the city. I like it; I’ve met really cool people, made some lasting connections and lost some of my baby fat (from when I was a baby). Besides, Hollywood ain’t what you know it’s who you know and definitely not how you got there. Here’s to finding your own way!

Chris and Ri Ri and nem…

2009-03-11T15:25:00.000-07:00

Remember him? He was fine… skin like butter, straight teeth, fresh fade and washboard abs. He was tall, short, medium, dark, caramel, light and handsome. He was the pretty boy or the roughneck, the one everyone wanted and when he chose you, YOU, over all of the dozens of girls who swooned over him you told yourself that you were lucky. Everything was wonderful at first. He told you, you were the only one and you believed him. You ignored the rumors about him and other girls because they were all jealous. Everyone was jealous of you both but most of all HE was jealous. He didn’t like for you to talk to other boys even if they were just your friends and if he caught a boy looking at you he wanted to fight… them. When he told you that he didn’t like it when you wore certain things because it attracted the wrong type of attention you thought it was kinda cute, even gallant. And when he told you that you should stop talking to your friends because they were always saying something negative about him and your relationship you listened because you wanted your relationship to work. Besides, they were all jealous… right? Then one day the two of you got into an argument, you were both really upset and both said some things you’d later regret, and out of no where he hit you… hard enough to make you stop talking. It took a moment then the pain and shock radiated throughout your body. Instantly, he was sorry, he even cried with you and wouldn’t let you leave until you forgave him. You covered up the bruise, the one on your face and the one in your heart, and pressed on… that is until the next time and this time he was less than apologetic.

In my late 20’s I dated someone who was, while not F-I-N-E, good looking. He wasn’t as intelligent or as mature as I was, didn’t have a job and smoked copious amounts of weed and I knew we had little if anything in common but I was bored and he was cute. (It had been a while since my last relationship.) After a couple of weeks of dating he moved in and that’s when I started noticing he had a problem with his temper. He pouted when he couldn’t get his way like a five year old… lip poked out, sullen and defiant… on my couch! I learned to ignore him but then one day when I took him to meet a business contact, that could have resulted in employment for him, he crossed the line.

He sat in my contact’s office in earshot of the staff cursing because the man we’d come to see was late. When I reminded him that we were still sitting in the contact’s office and that people could hear him and he needed to quiet down he said, “Don’t you ever tell me what the fuck to do. See that’s what your motherfuckin’ problem is you talk to goddamn much. You ain’t my wife or my mother don’t you ever tell me what the fuck to say!” I was in shock. It was like someone had kicked me in my gut. No one had ever spoken like that to me in my life. As I opened my mouth to speak the lobby door opened and an older gentleman entered. I told the man I was with that I thought it was time to leave. He agreed and we left. As I started the car, my car, I gathered myself and said in a very calm voice, “Don’t you ever speak to me like that again in public,” (as if private would’ve been better). He began to scream and curse, jumping up and down in my 1990 Hyundai hatchback and hitting his hand with his fist. “See,” he said, “I knew you wasn’t gon’ just let that shit drop! I told you, you ain’t my motherfuckin’ wife or mother you don’t tell me what the fuck to do, etc…!” I couldn’t believe how this fool was performing! I pulled over on the side of a busy street and yelled for him to get out. I was so angry tears streamed down my face, my voice cracked and my body was shaking. He got out albeit reluctantly. I went home and packed all of his things, one box and two duffel bags worth of stuff, which were picked up that night by a third party. The relationship hadn’t lasted a month!

Our tight knit Pan African community was upset over the news of what he’d done. My parents and brothers were relieved he didn’t hit me, that we broke up and that they didn’t have to risk losing their freedom by putting him in the ground. I demanded an apology from him and got it. He started calling again and we saw each other a few times after that but we never got back together. I couldn’t. Shortly thereafter he began dating a woman I knew and was friendly with. He blacked her eye, twice.

Okay, maybe you’ve never experienced physical, psychological or verbal abuse, but we all know a woman who has. If you are one of the fortunate few who doesn’t know anyone who has experienced abuse you do now with the continuing saga of singers, Chris Brown and Rihanna. Turn on the TV, they’re everywhere! Now, I’m no expert or psychic but I’m willing to guess that this is not the first time that these two have fought and he’s hit her. There was an ease and comfort with which the abuse flowed from him. God often sends you a pebble before he sends you a rock and people tell you who they are, it is up to you to listen. My pebble was when the man I was dating decided to verbally abuse me. The way he jumped up and down in my car pounding his hand with his fist let me know that, sooner or later, I was next. The transcript provided by Rihanna to the LAPD reads like the ghetto playbook for wife beaters and girlfriend abusers. “You know I’m gonna beat your ass when we get home,” “Now, I’m gonna kill you.” If this was the first time he’d abused her those statements were the pebble and his fists were the rock.

Message boards on social networking sites have been all a buzz since the news broke about Chris and Rihanna and I have been amazed by how many women, African American women, have either outright defended his actions or said that we shouldn’t judge because we don’t really know what happened. These women began citing instances where a man has hit a woman and they thought he was justified in doing so. To me, this type of attitude is indicative of how acceptable it is for domestic violence is in our community. It also made me wonder how many women on those message boards have been abused by their partners in some way. Now that’s not to say that women are always right in their dealings with men but it is never okay for anyone to put their hands on someone else, debase someone else or attempt to control someone else. Love doesn’t hurt, love doesn’t hurt, love doesn’t hurt!

A few nights ago I dreamed about Chris Brown… someone said something to me and I jokingly said, “Alright, I’m gon’ do a Chris Brown and do you like he did Rihanna.” I could tell by everyone’s reaction, the “oooohs and aaaaaahs” that something was wrong. I turned around and Chris was there. I apologized, I told him I didn’t know he was there and I wouldn’t have said it if I’d known he was there. I told him it was not my goal to be offensive in any situation. Then I talked to him about his current predicament and that he had to use this as an opportunity to explore why he thought it was okay to hit her, to really get inside of himself. He seemed to genuinely listen to my advice. He seemed sorry for what he’d done and knew that this incident could potentially ruin his life. When I awoke I wondered if anyone was telling Chris these things since the whole world seems to be talking to Rihanna then I thought hell, I just did…

Weight? Wait, don't tell me!

2008-12-18T20:21:00.000-08:00

There are traders amongst us women, women who refuse to let you enjoy a holiday dinner, office Christmas party, or a night out at the bar. These are women who, because of their own insecurities, have decided to wage war against your self esteem by discussing your weight, a known Achilles heel for most women. These women (men usually don’t engage in this type of warfare) are usually our friends, best friends, mothers and sisters. The conversations start off innocently enough, generally with compliments. Someone mentions that they like an article of clothing or an accessory of yours or just how good you’re looking in general then, out of nowhere, like a hammer someone (either the person who made the compliment or a bystander) undermines the compliment by saying something about your weight which will be thinly veiled by a “pseudo-compliment.” Such pseudo compliments are, “Yeah, you could be like a plus size model,” or “Amanda’s big too, she always has the nicest clothes… I wonder where she buys them?” Another scenario like this may arise if you are talking about dating or being single. One of your so called friends may say “You know there’s a bar that has a night just for plus sized women” or “You should go on Craigslist there are always men looking for big women.” Lastly, if you are an actress you may hear, “I know if that Pinesol lady is getting paid you should be too.”

First, how the hell are these supposed to be compliments to me?!!! Maybe I am living in an utter state of denial but I don’t feel “different.” I am the size I am. I am not delusional I know I am not a size 8 but I feel like most other women, especially black women! I do not have trouble breathing, I run, jump, leap, dance and can do anything I wish to physically barring some injury. I watch what I eat (though admittedly I do have some bad habits) and I teach dance 3 or more times a week. I do not have to buy an extra seat on the airplane and I do not have to purchase clothes by mail order. And while I cannot buy some designer clothing I do not feel alone because most of them do not make clothes larger than a size 10, an extra large is a 12 (!!!) and most American women wear a size 14.

Am I really at a point where my size makes me someone’s fetish? A special night at a bar? Heeeeeeeeeeeeeellllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll no!!! As for being a plus size model… I am cute (if I do say so myself) but I’m also 5’5” so I guess my modeling career was over before it started. (BTW most plus sized models are a size 10 because the average model is a sample size 2!) And as for the Pinesol lady, anyone who knows me or has seen me knows we have little if anything in common besides the fact we are both black.

From my late teens to my mid 20’s I suffered from an eating disorder. While it went undiagnosed by doctors it was clear that I was suffering from bulimia. My best friend and my father, away at the time, were the only ones who knew. It was a miserable existence. I’d binge eat because of my feelings of insecurity and loneliness then feel guilty that I over ate and take several laxatives. My weight yo-yoed for years because of it and though I later overcame my eating disorder I still struggle with it. There isn’t a time when I eat that I don’t feel some sort of guilt or anxiety. (And as I think about it I grew up watching my mother struggling with her weight and my grandmother talk about hers, but that’s a subject for another day.)

I don’t know how I over came it but I did. I guess that’s the miracle of God! I still diet and workout like most women but I am careful not to lose myself completely in it because mentally it has a way of beating me down and consuming my life. Also, when I diet now it’s not to be thin it’s to be healthier. Yeah, I’ve thought about Bariatric surgery but I just don’t think it is healthy in my case besides who would I really be getting the surgery for, myself or to satisfy society’s ideal of beauty? (If that’s the case then I need bleach my skin, fix the gap in my teeth, and straighten my hair too and ain’t none of that happenin’!)

So, while I do have the normal issues with my weight and body you are not entitled to project yours onto mine. If you really want to pay me a compliment just say I’m pretty, intelligent, or stylish (men do!) and quit using weight to differentiate my beauty from yours (and make yourself out to be the superior).

I am drawing the line in the sand and anyone that makes a negative comment about my weight is declaring war and I will defend myself by any means necessary and that means pointing out how insecure you are. Here’s how the conversations may go:

Scenario 1

Friend A: Wow, you look really nice… I wish they made clothes like that in my size.

Me: They do… they sell them in stores with other articles of clothing. You just have bad taste. (In professional settings you may substitute the latter sentence with, “But you’ve got to have an eye for style.”)

Scenario 2

Friend B: You should go on Craigslist there are men always looking for big women on there.

Me: I don’t need to go to a special place to find men they find me. Do they have men looking for someone like you on there?

As always it’s been a pleasure.

Najaa

After the Afterglow… Waiting with Baited Breath (Me and Barack Obama's Presidency)

2008-11-17T21:01:00.000-08:00

It’s been almost two weeks since we elected our first African American president, Barack Obama, and I’m feeling like I feel after I’ve had sex with someone for the very first time. “Does he feel the same way about me as I feel about him?” “Did we rush into this?” “Did we know enough about each other to take this step?” “Is he the one?”

Now I know some folks, black and white, see Barack Obama as the “second coming,” but I’ve been through this sort of thing before… falling for the dream and not the man. I still have high hopes for my relationship with Barack Obama and the Obama presidency but relationships of politics past keep haunting me. There was Washington DC’s former mayor Marion Berry smoking crack with his mistress while in office, former presidential candidate Jesse Jackson taped saying he’d like to cut off Barack Obama’s nuts and having a love child with his mistress, former Detroit mayor Kwame Kilpatrick’s affair with his chief of staff then perjuring himself in court about it in addition to a federal investigation into his possible tax evasion and funds misappropriation and last but not least, Clarence Thomas who sexually harassed Anita Hill only to still be appointed a Supreme Court Justice who not only opposes Affirmative Action but is one of the most conservative judges on the bench. I could go on but I won’t (and for the record Colin Powell was on this list of disappointments with the outright lies he told the United Nations to invade Iraq but he redeemed himself recently with his admonishment of the Republican Party’s hate mongering and his open support of Barack Obama).

Yes, I know white politicians have their fair share of scandals but I don’t have a relationship with them. I do feel though that I have a special relationship with these African American politicians because by and large it was our, MY, community that supported and elected them. And every time they do something to dishonor their office and position they dishonor our ancestors, themselves, their families and every person of African descent. I know it is a heavy cross to bear but that is the reality of the situation. One misstep by these politicians is all the racists (some blatant and some closeted) needed to justify their beliefs that we are inherently inferior to them, that we lack the ability to lead and think rationally and that to be criminal is our nature. So, I worry about an Obama presidency because one misstep by him or his administration could set us back another 15 – 30 years in our struggle to gain economic and political power in this country. The effects would be devastating and far reaching in both the public and private sectors. (You think the systematic dismantling of Affirmative Action is bad... you ain't seen nothin' yet!)

So, I sit back, wait and watch patiently, taking note of who Barack chooses for his cabinet because you can tell a lot about a man by who he chooses to surround himself with. Grandma says, “Birds of a feather flock together, Crows and Canaries don’t hang.” Truer words were never spoken! So far I like his first choice, his wife, an educated, successful, dark skinned African American woman. A sho’ nuff sistah! Not bad, not bad at all... if all of his choices could be this good…

Signed,
Waiting with Baited Breath

OMG... Obama!!!

2008-11-07T13:38:00.000-08:00

Tuesday, Nov. 4, 2008 - 1:52pm

Oh God…

Can you believe we’ve made it this far…?

In a few short hours we’ll have the results of the most important election in U.S. history and I am as nervous as a whore in church. I want Obama to win with cell in my being… as if it were me running for president. I guess that’s how most black folks feel about this election… if Barack wins then a little piece of us wins too and we’ll know that all things are possible in this supposedly great country of ours.

Now here is what I predict will happen if, God forbid, Obama loses:

Black people will stop paying taxes to a government they didn’t vote for.
Liberals with money will begin leaving this country en mass while the rest will start Underground Railroads to Cuba and the rest of the Caribbean excluding all U.S. territories.
Other countries, like France and Sweden, will take pity on us and offer U.S. citizens dual citizenship.
A new civil war breaks out with the “blue” states deciding to cede from the Union.
McCain/Palin supporters will live in fear that every time a person of color serves them at a bar or restaurant that they may be ingesting bodily fluids as well as their food.
African countries will entice educated and wealthy black folks to move back to the Motherland with the promise of citizenship and good government jobs.
I just might smack somebody!
Share your thoughts here… but let’s pray it goes the other way!

Wed., Nov. 5, 2008 - 9:30pm

That was me 24 hours ago…

In case you have been living under a rock for the last 24 hours the United States has elected its first African American president! I prayed for this moment along with millions of other people, black, white, Latino and Asian. We prayed and hoped against hope that Barack Obama would receive a fair election and that this country was ready for a changing of the guard. Last night I sat with two new friends, an Asian woman and a Latino male, at a Mexican restaurant and watched McCain give his concession speech. Later we went to bar that was overwhelmingly young and white and watched President – elect Barack Obama give his acceptance speech. Shoulder to shoulder we stood in awe watching history in the making and you could feel the joy emanating from the people around you. (I also met Ricky Bell from New Edition and Bell, Biv, Devoe!) Never have I felt so jubilant, so hopeful and so empowered and entitled in this country of ours.

Today I awoke bright and early despite my late night carousing. I called friends and family and we shared our stories about where we were when we heard, which news stations gave the best coverage and how we celebrated Obama’s victory, our victory. I walked down the street bopping to the beat of my own music, smiling all the way, and treated myself to a big pancake breakfast.

Children that I teach at a local school congratulated me and their fellow students and I walked over to a group of young black boys and called them all young presidents. One boy asked what I meant and the other boy said she’s saying we’re Obama, Barack Obama. The once confused boy nodded in recognition with a smile on his face. “Yes!” I thought, “He gets it.” I wished co-workers “Happy Obama Day” and they returned the favor and we all agreed there was no longer any excuse because… “Yes, we can!” Si se puede!

But, I am still numb... this feels like some wacky dream. The enormity of this election isn’t lost on me but I haven’t had the watershed of emotion that my counterparts have had. I haven’t cried yet and maybe that’s a good thing because there is nothing to cry about there is nothing but… joy.

I still pray for Brother Barack and his family. (I call him brother because I love him and my care and concern is deep for him.) I pray for the success of his presidency and the legacy it will leave but most of all I pray everyday for their safety and well being because if he should accidentally choke on a pretzel or get shot in the face by a friend on a hunting trip or worse yet catch a rare fatal case of pink eye I will swear this country’s white supremacists (in the government) conspired to kill him. Lawd, they better keep this brother safe!!!

I thank all who supported and voted for him and I know that we have placed our faith in right man.

Peace and joy!

Colin Powell

2008-10-19T19:00:00.000-07:00

Hey Family:

In case you missed this on Meet the Press this morning check out Colin Powell's endorsement of Barack Obama AND more importantly his admonishment of the Republican party! It was so well thought out and so... sincere I was close to tears. You can watch it on this link below. It's only the best few minutes you'll ever watch on the net...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b2U63fXBlFo

An Ode to Hill and Bill

2008-09-03T20:19:00.000-07:00

This is an addendum to my previous blog, “Michelle, my belle…” While I missed Bill’s speech at the DNC because I was stuck in traffic I saw Hillary’s and I was impressed beyond words. I’ve been hard on her and her supporters this primary season for reasons I’ve outlined in previous blogs but I really think Hillary’s speech demonstrated party unity and unwavering support of Barack Obama while acknowledging the historic nature of her candidacy. She certainly wasn’t the first woman to run for President but she certainly has been the most successful woman candidate in the history of the United States, serving up some “18 million cracks in the glass ceiling.”

As I watched Hillary speak I was overcome by emotion. I was proud of her. I also admitted that if Obama hadn’t run I would have been a staunch Hillary supporter. I also acknowledged that had she won the Democratic nomination and not Obama I would’ve been sore but I would have proudly campaigned and voted for her.

Hillary has permanently changed the political landscape and in an effort to capture women voters the old boy’s club of the Republican Party have added a woman as their vice-presidential candidate, Sarah Palin. I wonder if Barack hadn’t been the Democrats nominee if McCain would’ve chosen an African American as a running mate? (How’s yes… does yes work for you? Let’s hope that he would’ve at least known this running mate better than his current choice. )

I heard Bill’s speech was nothing less than awesome… I’m sure it was because Hillary set the bar high.

BTW… who the @#$%^ is Sarah Palin?

The song says, “Michelle, my belle…”

2008-08-26T12:49:00.000-07:00

If you didn’t watch Michelle Obama speak last night at the Democratic National Convention you missed something awesome. I sat there near tears as I watched an intelligent woman and devoted wife speak about her husband “with a funny name” and I was in awe. I realized I could be watching the first African American woman to be First Lady of the United States of America, which thanks to Sen. Hillary Clinton is arguably a cabinet job.

Michelle spoke about her and Barack’s working class roots and their commitment to social change and reform. She also stressed her love of family and of this country (the latter of which having been often criticized and debated due to her remarks earlier in the campaign). She spoke passionately and sincerely and the poise she displayed put a lot of viewers, like me, in mind of the quintessential first lady, Jackie Kennedy.

I watched the convention coverage on C-SPAN, a channel that admittedly does not get enough (any) play in my house, and after Michelle's speech they took calls from Obama and McCain supporters as well as the undecided. While most of the callers were as impressed with Michelle Obama’s speech as I was, I was struck by the comments of some of the callers.

Now I certainly didn’t expect McCain supporters to jump ship, so to speak, to the Obama campaign because of Michelle’s speech because that would've been ludicrous but, I did expect them to at least compliment her as a great orator. Instead, what we got were people who despite of her working class roots attacked her Ivy League education as elitist. I believe the word that was used by one caller was “suspicious” which is funny considering the current president graduated from Yale… another I vy League school. I wonder was the caller suspicious of him, too? Maybe Mrs. Obama should acquire a southern accent to make her more working class… or perhaps a ghetto one?

They also said repeatedly that Obama has no plan for “all of the change” he talks about, a point that some staunch Hillary supporters who called in also echoed. Wow, Obama has outlined his platform numerous times and in numerous formats … I see these people don’t have access to newspapers, magazines or computers… or is all that readin’ and cipherin' “suspicious” too?

Now look, I’ll be real, McCain supporters have every right to pick apart the Obama campaign and find fault everywhere they look hell, I do it to McCain. But it’s the die hard Hillary supporters that are driving me crazy. Side by side Hillary and Barack’s political views and platforms are very similar, the devil being in the minor details. However, these rabid Hillary supporters act as if an ungrateful Obama stole this election from Hillary. The people have spoken and Hillary didn’t have the delegates she needed to ensure her nomination, PERIOD! Holding on to Hillary’s candidacy for dear life will not change this fact.

I beg all of you Hillary supporters not to let her be our 2008 Nader, costing us Democrats the election! Please! If Hillary had gotten the nomination I would have mourned Obama’s loss but I certainly wouldn’t consider voting for McCain or not voting at all because too much is at stake and I certainly wouldn’t continue to grouse publicly giving the Republicans all the ammunition they need to defeat us in November. Hello, have you seen that ridiculous “Deborah” ad with a Hillary supporter jumping ship for McCain? If she were one of my girl friends I’d slap her and say, “Snap out of it!

Lastly, for the Hillary supporters who are actually upset that she wasn’t named as the vice presidential candidate, how do you know she wasn’t offered the position and declined? I think she can effect more change as a senator. What would she gain politically from being Vice President? She is already a powerful and vocal senator and as V.P. she would definitely have to lose her voice in favor of completely supporting the President and his policies, something I think she may have a problem with. I would. Furthermore, being V.P doesn’t mean you’re a shoe in for President, ask Al Gore. Nah, Hillary can still be President and if, when , she runs again she’ll get my vote but only if you Hillaryites back off.

I've got a secret...

2008-08-09T18:43:00.000-07:00

Call it New Age hoodoo or hocus pocus but I've been reading The Secret by Rhonda Byrne and it really works. Listen, before you move on to Youtube or Myspace hear me out... In my last blog I was lamenting the fact that I was so broke I was about to lose my apartment, car and mind. My mother was desperate to help her only daughter and suggested that I get this book, The Secret. She said it may help and that she's been listening to the audio book.

Now, anyone that knows my mother knows that New Age isn't really her, she's a Yoruba priestess for goodness sake! Furthermore, if it ain't African it ain't her! But I thought if she is recommending this book there must be something to it because she can smell bullsh-- from a mile away.

It's been about 3 weeks since I've been reading the book and it has helped me make a definite improvement in my life. Instead of focusing what is going wrong I am focusing on what is going right. I am also learning to attract the things that I want in my life through visualization and positive thoughts. Before reading this book I would say things like, "I don't want this..." or "I don't want that..." Now I focus on what I do want... prosperity, joy, abundance, success, a loving relationship and children.

Since I've begun applying the various principals outlined in this book to my life the following has happened, I have been offered two positions, my car note is paid and I am looking for a newer, better apartment. Furthermore, I have received an outpouring of support from various people in my life. So right now I want to say a big fat thank you to... Mommy and Daddy, Uncle Bo, Grandma Alice, Afi, Casey, Tamara and Ray!

Ask, believe, receive....

Najaa

40 Acres and a Mule!

2008-07-21T13:25:00.000-07:00

I have always done everything right... I was never a straight A student but I was definitely an above average, good student. Honor Roll and Merit Roll were regular occurrences for me as well as a slew of other awards. I attended a school and later classes specifically for “gifted” students where I was told I was part of the best and the brightest, the elite. I graduated college in four years, a rarity at most colleges and universities, and later I attended graduate school obtaining my MFA… I did everything right, which is why I am so confounded by my current set of circumstances.

I am broke.

I have been living Los Angeles for nearly 8 months and during this time I have sent out scores of resumes (well over 200) and have only had 7 interviews, only one resulted in an actual job (and it’s part time). I have redone my resume several times; tailoring it specifically to each employer’s needs and experimented with various cover letters. I have accounts on hotjobs.com, monster.com and careerbuilder.com and I even get the fabled United Talent Agency (UTA) job list. Daily, I peruse craigslist.org, mandy.com, entertainmentcareers.com and I have applied for jobs in every industry I have ever worked in from auto insurance to film/TV production. I have applied to job openings for receptionists, cashiers, assistants, grant writers, program directors, arts instructors, voice talent, tape loggers and mailroom assistants almost all to no avail.

I am exhausted.

A few weeks ago I attended a film/television industry career fair and networking event sponsored by the Academy of Television Arts and Sciences (the people that bring you the Emmys™). The presenter told us that he’d placed an ad for a job opening on the UTA job list and in one week had received 400 resumes. That was for one job! That got me to thinking… my resume is floating out there with hundreds, possibly thousands of other resumes, for each position that I applied for. With those odds how am I ever going to stand out? Tell me, would you read 400 cover letters and resumes? No… maybe the first, 15-20 but definitely not 400! (Note: When I posted job openings in Cleveland I was lucky if I got 15 responses… total.)

What the hell am I gonna do?

“It’s all in who you know,” that’s what everyone tells you out here but what if everyone you know is in one way or another in the same position as you, a paycheck away from complete financial ruin. The financially savvy live off of their savings, or worse yet credit cards, to make ends meet (because most of the entry level positions in the film/television industry don’t pay well). While others of us rely on the help of family and friends in the form of monetary gifts and interest free loans. Still others are lucky enough to have all of the above. But, what happens when all of your options have run out? No savings, no credit cards and no friends and family able to help out. You become me.

Oh God…

I have been working since I was 13 years old. I’ve had summer jobs, afterschool jobs, part time jobs and multiple jobs at once. I have worked over time, weekends and holidays. I have always, for the most part, been able to take care of myself and now I can’t.

I work as a “Traveling Specialist” for an arts organization, traveling to various schools teaching dance. My job cut my hours for the summer. I was down to working 2 days a week. I was making less than half of what I previously made and that was barely enough to pay my rent, car note and cell phone bill. Now my rent is late and due, the finance company is threatening to repossess my car (because I am more than two months behind) and my cell phone bill is due in a week. You can’t imagine the thoughts that run and have ran through my mind… how can I turn a quick buck without completely demeaning myself?

Last week I applied for food stamps.

The first time I stepped into the welfare office it was surprisingly not crowded. It was the day before the 4th of July. I handed my purse to the security guard and walked through the metal detector, of course I beeped but they waived me through. I walked into a large room with lots of teller style windows. I had no idea where to go and there were no clear directions posted anywhere. One of two security guards stationed at a booth in the front of the room directed me to the correct window and cheerfully observed that I obviously hadn’t been there before.

The woman at the window gave me a form to fill out then hit me with a barrage of questions:
“Have you ever applied for food stamps before?” She said.
“No,” I replied.
“Never?”
“No.”
“Do you have any kids?”
“No.”
“Are you pregnant?”
“No… my job cut my hours for the summer and I am just trying to make ends meet.”
“Oh… well the entire interview process is going to take 3-4 hours.”
“What?”

I still had a job to go to and that day was First Aid/CPR Training, I couldn’t miss it.

“Uhhh… I have to go to work,” I said.
“What?” She said.
“I have to go to work.”
“But I already put you in the system.”
“Yeah, but I gotta go to work.”

She sucked her teeth and started talking to another woman behind the window. She got up from her stool. I didn’t know whether to leave or stay. She gathered a bunch of papers.

“Here, you need to fill these out.”
“Well, can I bring them back on Monday?”
“Yeah, that’s fine.”

Wow… she couldn’t just say that earlier, what was with the extra “attitude?” I skulked out of the office hoping no one I knew saw me.

It took over an hour fill out all of the paperwork that she gave me and I told myself that I would get there bright and early on Monday. The office opened at 8AM. I was parking my car by 8:40AM and there was already a long line in front of the building, it was like a disco but there was no music. Once I made it inside the lines were ridiculous at every window. People avoided making eye contact with one another while cautiously surveying the scene.

You had mothers with children, the elderly, the homeless, the disabled and the young able bodied but broke like me. There was also every race, nationality, ethnicity and sexual orientation represented in that room. Whoa, I thought, this is truly America and I was also reminded of a comment a peer made in graduate school that my people get free money from the government… I think it was supposed to be a joke but I didn’t laugh. .

I turned in my paperwork at on of the windows and waited for my name to be called over the speaker. I was afraid I was going to miss it. The low murmur of conversation from all of those people made it difficult to hear and one man was talking loudly to a person on the other side of the windows about how his check didn’t come and he almost starved over the weekend and went into diabetic shock! (He also carried a plastic bag filled with various medications.)

When my name was called I had to find someone to direct me where to go next. He pointed to a room across the hall. It was filled with more “teller” windows but this time there were chairs in front of them. I sat in front of my assigned window waiting for someone to appear. Behind me a black man complained that he was tired of being disrespected. He declared that he deserved good customer service not the run around and that he was a man. When I finally gathered up the courage to turn and look at him a white man was standing beside him trying to soothe him by getting him to focus on getting his benefits not his respect.

Damn…

Finally a woman appeared and introduced herself as my temporary caseworker. She was pleasant. I think she could tell I was nervous. We filled out more paperwork and reviewed what I’d already turned in. She asked me for income, rental, and utility verification. I hadn’t been told to bring anything when I initially called or came to the office. I just happened to have a few check stubs because I thought they’d be helpful. By the way, she wasn’t at all surprised that I wasn’t told what to bring in. So she gave me a postage paid envelope and a list of what I needed to send back to her. She said I didn’t need to come back unless I wanted to. I smiled, thanked her and told her I was definitely mailing my verification paperwork in.

It took me a week to complete the verification paperwork not because I couldn’t get the verifications she requested but because I kept hoping that I didn’t have to go through with the entire process. I am ashamed that I have to apply for government assistance even though I have been helping to pay for this assistance as a taxpayer for 22 years. I mean, why should I feel ashamed, right? I am no “welfare queen” eager to live off of the system, content not to work. But now, I am a part of those “bad” statistics… one of the many women of color on welfare… often blamed for over burdening the system.

I sent off my verification paperwork on Monday.

A closed mouth don’t get fed.

PS. Last week I was given back some of the hours my job had taken from me… they placed me at another school but it’s still not enough and a little too late. However, I am very thankful for this boost in income. I also have a “lead” on a better job for which I am also thankful. Wish me luck!

R. Kelly is the New O.J.

2008-06-18T14:38:00.000-07:00

Remember when O.J. Simpson was acquitted of murder? White folks lost their minds and black folks “high fived” one another. White folks, and perhaps rightfully so, believed O.J. was guilty. There was certainly no shortage of evidence against him including prior domestic abuse and given the legal systems’ historical bias against black men accused of any crime against a white person we all expected O.J. to go down. He didn’t. Years later, we as black folks finally have admitted that in all likelihood O. J. did it though that hasn’t stopped some of us from silently gloating over the not guilty verdict.

Enter R. Kelly and his child pornography case. I saw the tape as did many folks. It was sold as a bootleg videotape by street vendors on every corner from New York’s Boogie Down Bronx to L.A.’s Leimert Park. R. Kelly allegedly engaging in sex acts with several black women including what looks like a very underage black girl. Perhaps the most damning section was R. Kelly allegedly setting up the camera; it was an extreme close up as he took his time setting up the shot just right. But the most disgusting section was this man, who looks just like R. Kelly, urinating on the girl post coitus.

During his trial both sides presented a slew of evidence and witnesses including a former protégé of R. Kelly’s who testified that the young girl on the tape was her niece. The girl and her parents deny it was her. R. Kelly says it isn’t him at all on the tape. In all, Kelly’s defense team poked enough holes in the prosecution’s case that he was found not guilty, acquitted, due to reasonable doubt. One of his defense attorneys said, “She is a 13-year-old girl having raunchy, dirty, nasty sex ... with a superstar who’s won Grammy Awards and she tells no one? You couldn’t keep a 13 year-old girl’s mouth quiet about having Hannah Montana tickets.”

But is he really not guilty? Long before this scandal became a blip on the mainstream news radar black and urban news outlets had reported several incidents involving Kelly and women under the age of 18. Most accusations were settled out of court for undisclosed amounts of money and let’s not forget he married the late R&B singer and actress Aaliyah when she was 15 and he was 27, the marriage was quickly annulled.

Again I ask, not guilty? Hmmm... I have some reasonable doubt. There’s no gloating over his verdict over here.

Now, my mama always made it clear from the time I was a wee little thing that I wasn’t to sit on any man’s lap, “I don’t give a damn who it is.” I was also to be suspicious of any man who wanted to hug me all the time, plant copious kisses on my cheeks, or was always trying to be alone with me. Periodically, she would corner me and ask me point blank if anyone “had tried to touch me,” my answer was always NO. She made me a suspicious and cautious child but I was safe because of her. I knew that men that did “those things” to little girls were sick, perverts, because I was a child, a little girl. That is until I turned 12.

Like most of the women in my family I started my period (menstruation) when I was 11 years old. Overnight the hard knots resembling mosquito bites on my chest blossomed into small, perky breasts. My nickname “Niky,” was replaced by a new one, “Hips,” as my own had begun to rapidly spread away from my narrow waist. By the end of my first year as a young woman I was stacked, perfect women’s size 6… at 12 yrs. old. My mother and aunts cautioned me that boys and grown men were going to start noticing me differently than before, making comments about how pretty I was, the shape of my legs or (God forbid) my hips and butt. I was told to stay away from them and report any transgressions to my parents.

I must admit I always had an eye for talent, a fine man that is. As a prepubescent girl I had a crush on everyone. I would always confide in my aunties who I thought was cute. Everyone laughed and the men, if they found out about my crush, would sort of pat me on my little braided head, thank me and quickly dismiss me for the grown women in the room. After I turned 12, the world changed. Men who previously dismissed me as a little girl let their eyes linger on me a little longer.

That summer a handsome musician in my mom’s band was sitting on my porch with his equally handsome brother who had recently returned from the military. I don’t remember why I was on the porch with them but what I do remember is the brother from the military whispering to the musician then asking me to walk across the porch. The musician told me not to but I did it. I knew what his brother was looking at even without him saying it. I did it because I wanted him to like me. I never told anyone, especially my mother.

Later, in that same summer, I spent the night over my former babysitter’s house. That evening a neighbor, a young girl about 14 or 15, came by and as we sat in the living room talking and watching TV a male friend of my sitter’s also stopped by. He was a light skinned black man with a wicked laugh. I remember that he had a long nail on his pinky that my former sitter said was his “cocaine nail.” They laughed, I laughed too… I’d seen Miami Vice. Then, I remember him saying something about the other girl and asking me to stand up. Smiling, my former babysitter told ME not to do it. I stood up. He inspected me, even asking me to turn around, which I did. He nodded with approval and made some comment I can’t recall now. But, as I recall now, this man was someone she knew well… her young toddler’s father. Again, I never told anyone, including my mom.

My first boyfriend was 19… I was 12! Luckily, nothing ever really happened between us, just a slight kiss. I quickly broke it off. (I knew I wasn’t having sex.) Something else, I never told my mom. There are lots of incidences like these that I could list and I am not alone.

All of these men knew my age. None of these men had any qualms about objectifying me sexually and I let them do it… because I was 12. I never told my mother because I knew what she would say and do (I ain’t even mentioning my daddy!). You see, the fact this young woman (13 at the time of this alleged crime) purportedly didn’t tell anyone, specifically her parents or friends, doesn’t cause me to doubt whether or not the incident happened. I didn’t tell anyone because I knew it was wrong, because I wanted to protect the aggressors (the men), because I didn’t want the reputation of being “fast” (too sexually mature). Besides who’d brag about letting someone urinate on them?

All I’m saying is that just like the O. J. trial is thought of by some as a miscarriage of justice. The R. Kelly trial will also live in infamy. The courts may have acquitted these men but we all have the notion that they are guilty… if not of these crimes then something else. If you doubt what I am saying R. Kelly supporters let your young daughter hang out in the studio with him alone. Yeah, I didn’t think so. There’s your reasonable doubt, choke on it.

TV is the Devil!!!

2008-05-09T14:05:00.000-07:00

Television is the devil!!!

I have had a TV for about 3 weeks and I am convinced that it is the devil. I have a screenplay and stage play that both need to be finished and I cannot stop watching TV. As I write I am watching the rerun of the 500th show of Tyra. Yeah, that’s right… Tyra! Some might argue my brain is leaking from my ears right now. No disrespect to Tyra but I hardly think I am her um… targeted demographic. It has taken me 10 minutes to write just these few sentences. I would count the number of sentences I’ve written but then I couldn’t watch Tyra.

Money is tight. Since I’ve moved to Los Angeles my lifestyle has undergone a serious make under. Yep, a make under. Where as I used to spend the weekend with friends shopping, having drinks and going to dinner I now count how much I spent in the grocery store, rent movies and surf the net in the library and pray I can make my rent and car note at the end of each month. I can’t tell you the last time I bought shoes or a purse and when I do manage to go out to dinner or a movie with friends it is either their treat or very very cheap.

I am lucky. I have a great group of friends and a very supportive family. My family is not wealthy so I had no trust fund to support my move cross country but my father once told me that if he had 50 cents I’ve got half of it. My friends help me when family cannot whether it’s listening to me bitch about being broke and somewhat lonely in an unfamiliar city or loaning me money when the bills are due. I would list all the people that I owe right now but then my other creditors would get jealous.

Okay, now I am watching Jon Stewart and The Daily Show and it is now 1:07 AM PST. I should be going to sleep but I want, need, to finish this blog. I need to prove to myself I can get it done in spite of this devilish TV. I didn’t come to Los Angeles to watch TV, I came to make TV… and films for that matter! I MUST MAINTAIN MY FOCUS!!!

A sane person would say just throw the damned thing out but I can’t… my TV was a gift from my cousin Mickie and her husband. Besides, I love the damned thing. I love Law and Order SVU and Criminal Intent. I am addicted to anything on TLC and Bravo, specifically Jon and Kate plus 8 and Top Chef Chicago and any documentary on A&E and PBS. Okay, I don’t have cable now but a girl can dream can’t she?! Most importantly, I am lonely and broke and the TV is always free. The TV talks to me, lulls me to sleep and provides a glimpse into other peoples lives. It also provides information and entertainment. So is TV really that bad, is it really the devil?

Well it is if you’re a writer who has moved to LA to make TV.

Black Like Me... and Leon

2008-04-03T15:38:00.000-07:00

I was going to write about love and sex, two of my favorite topics but, instead I am going to write about Leon Walter Tillage. When I saw his book lying on a table with other donated books for my teens (whom I teach dance to) I instantly knew that no one was going to pick the book up but me. The book entitled, “Leon’s Story,” is the coming of age story of Leon Walter Tillage who grew up in the rural segregated South but that’s not the reason why I knew no one would dare pick up his book. It was the cover, his picture, a black and white photograph of a smiling young black boy no more than 11 years old with coffee colored skin much like my own. You see, we are conditioned as black people to reject images of ourselves, anything that shows our blackness or some would say African ancestry and Leon is BLACK (definitely of African descent).

I watched my children, class of teenagers, run eagerly to the table of donated books to make their selections then gleefully choose several books. After they were done I was invited to make my own selections and I did, there was one by H.G. Wells, another one called, “A Fungus among Us,” and still another about African American women. When I saw Leon at first glance I gave it a pass. I thought it was about a child living in rural Africa and I wasn’t interested. I considered myself pretty well informed on the subject and it held no interest for me and, to be quite honest, I thought it was going to be about how (insert bad fake African accent here) he was so poor but happy and how men came to his village to build an irrigation ditch and a school, etc… you know, the typical portrait of a child growing up in rural Africa.

As I was walking away with my selections, my supervisor invited me to take more books that were left over and so I took more books… one about a child growing up in Nazi Germany and a couple more about a young black girl and her mother and finally…, “Leon’s Story.” I picked it up out of guilt and shame because as much as I mentally mocked what I thought this book was about the real reason I didn’t want to pick up this book was because I didn’t want to read the story of the little black boy who so very much looked like me. See, I can dance around the issue all I want but the truth of the matter is that at first glance I saw nothing beautiful in Leon’s photograph. I thought it was average and lacked anything remarkable. Instantly, I felt ashamed because I was passing this book by for the same reason the children were because he is so… BLACK.

Now my friends and other people who know me will probably find my statements shocking because not only do I have an African name (Swahili, to be exact) and practice a traditional African (Yoruba) belief system but I also study traditional African dance. I don’t hide from the sun, I revel in it and can be often overheard saying, “the darker the berry, the sweeter the juice…” I mean, I am supposed to be the poster child of a healthy African (black) identity but, I am not. I am a product of this society and our culture just like everyone else and my psyche, like yours, has taken a beating.

Growing up dark skinned in America is rough, a hard knock life. Thankfully, I came into the world in the 70’s after we discovered “Black is Beautiful” but, even that had taken a back seat in our consciousness when I was growing up. In the 80’s my skin color was the topic of many conversations and the source of many insults from BLACK FOLKS. A male cousin told me I was too dark to be a cheerleader and another time when I and some other cousins were playing in my aunt’s makeup I was told I looked pretty because the makeup made me “not look so dark.” Neighborhood kids made comments about me playing in the sun, “‘cause I would get too black.” Boys would say “ugh… she’s too black,” then secretly want me to be their girlfriend. And when someone wanted to insult you they merely had to call you black or African. The only way for a dark skinned child, female or male, to escape this cruelty was to have “good hair” (long, straight, wavy or curly hair) or “pretty eyes” (blue, green, gray or hazel would do just fine). I used to stare in the sun, risking blindness, so that when someone walking past saw my eyes they appeared to be hazel.

Our objects of beauty and affection were anyone who was light skinned preferably with “good hair” and “pretty eyes.” It didn’t matter if they were cute or not they had met the basic requirement for beauty if they had any of the aforementioned physical characteristics. Seriously, I have seen some butt ugly folks be called attractive because they were merely light skinned and whatnot. If you were fortunate enough to be dark skinned and thought of as attractive people “qualified” your beauty by saying, “she’s cute to be so black.”

Now, amongst whites I fared no better. My first real interaction with whites came when I was in junior high and before that I mainly experienced them through TV (where girls nee children like me were nearly absent). In junior high I felt invisible to whites so I did my best to impress them. I talked about heavy metal and rock (which I really did love) and chatted them up about anything else I could think of but I still remained largely ignored. I was caught between a rock and hard place so, I developed a pretty healthy case of self loathing. The only way I could think of getting some love from my people was to date (and hopefully marry) a light skinned guy or Puerto Rican (white guys weren’t really “in” in my neighborhood) and boy, did I love some light skinned men though seldom did they love me back.

I carried this love throughout my 20’s as my own black consciousness evolved (separate from the one I’d inherited from two Afro centric revolutionary parents). It had become second nature so much so that I hardly noticed that I almost always chose light skinned men to adore. When my best friend pointed this fact out to me it became my shame and I felt almost powerless to reverse this often undeserved attraction. Then in earnest I began dating and I dated decent looking and some down right handsome brown and black skinned men, though I did and do still find myself drawn to a few light skinned brothers. I tend to believe it is my inner child still seeking validation from my race.

I read “Leon’s Story” and it was wonderful. I felt that the ancestors were talking through him to me, telling me that I cannot forget the cruelty our people endured to live and survive in this country and… how beautiful we are as a people. Now, when I look at Leon’s smiling photograph I am reminded of myself. He kind of looks like my father at this age smiling in a school photo, except with more innocence. I look at Leon now and see exquisite beauty, hope and joy in his photo and I’m ashamed that it has taken so long for me to find my own. I embrace him as I embrace myself and I know that I will never ever feel ashamed again.

4/2/08, 1:03am

Must haves...

2008-03-18T21:01:00.000-07:00

Today’s blog is very simple. Periodically, I am going present you a list of must sees, must reads, must listens or must haves. Some of you will probably have already seen, read, heard, listened or have these things but here goes nothing:

Must sees:

Sicko by Michael Moore – I am not a 100% fan of all of his films because at some point I always feel manipulated by him and his flare for the dramatics (such as taking Columbine survivors to WalMart headquarters or a boatload of ill Americans to Cuba) but this film illustrates how poor healthcare in America truly is.

Ganga Zumba – A film based on the true story of an enslaved African, Ganga Zumba, who manages to escape to the hills of Brazil and live free with several colonies of other escaped Africans for decades before being recaptured. Other peoples of African descent in the new world known to have done the same are the Garifuna in Central America and the Maroons in Jamaica. (Don’t ever let folks tell you we didn’t fight back!)

Sankofa – It’s been a while since I’ve seen this but this film by Haile Gerima ignited a passion within me as a black woman and as a filmmaker. It also showed the brutality of slavery without romanticizing our ancestors’ experiences for mass appeal.

Bandit Queen – I love films from India but not Bollywood and this is one of my favorites. This film is based on the true story of an Indian woman, Phoolan Devi, forced into marriage at 11 yrs. old and raped repeatedly by her husband who escapes to help lead the resistance against India’s corrupt caste system and the government. This movie shows why women can overcome anything and rise to be victorious!

Salaam Bombay – Another Indian film, directed by Mira Nair. Most of the films actors were actually children living on the streets of Bombay. It was heartbreaking because it shows the cyclical nature of life and how inescapable poverty is in most countries.

The Great Debaters – I consider myself a pretty smart chick but I’d never heard of this debate beween Wiley College and Harvard before. It was an uplifting film beautifully told by Denzel Washington and he’s made me hungry for more of his work. (My friend and I actually clapped at the end of this film… yes, we are nerds and proud of it!)

Other films:
Earth, Fire, Water – a trilogy of films by Indian filmmaker Deepa Mehta

Michael Clayton – an excellent understated film with amazing performances by Tilda Swinton and George Clooney.

No Country for Old Men –I love the Coen Brothers; they tell a mean story that leaves you with chills running down your spine.

Broken English – a film I discovered at my local library and fell in love with, directed by Zoe Cassevetes. It’s a love story for all of us cynics who desperately want to believe in love.

Must reads:

Octavia Butler – If you think Anne Rice has one hell of an imagination please read Octavia Butler who seamlessly blends science fiction and science fact to create believable futuristic and supernatural worlds.

Stephen King – Don’t sleep… Stephen King is a master writer whose words both terrify and offer insight into the darkest recesses of the human psyche.

Edwidge Danticat – I envy her, I really do, because she discovered her talent and became successful at such a young age. She has a collection of stories about the Haitian experience entitled, Krik Krak, that I love and another semi-autobiographical book about emigrating to America entitled, Breath, Eyes, Memory that are among my favorite books.

Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye – As a dark skinned girl growing up in a world that did/does not appreciate dark skinned girls this book spoke to my own need for love and acceptance and more importantly how racism has impacted the black standard of beauty and severely damaged our psyche.

Must listen:

Punta from Central America – Straight up party music where one winds their waist as fast as possible while twirling in a circle. A woman, regardless of size, can’t help but to feel sexy doing this dance!

Bachata – Whew! This dance can be pure sex on the dance floor if done right. Passion oozes between the man and woman holding them together like glue.

The Nightwatchman – Tom Morello formerly of Rage Against the Machine and Audioslave hits us with insightful politically aware music once again with this solo project. (Yeah, I have a crush on him, so what?) Black rock rules!

Floetry - Damn, I am so sad that they broke up because these sistahs made some serious music. I am praying for a reunion.

Erykah Badu – She’s a consummate artist; her music is deep, witty, and lyrical. She inspires me to “do me” at all times.

Other must haves:

Decency
Courage
Sense of humor
Pride
Humility

Peace!

It's Because He's Black... Obama 2008

2008-03-17T15:23:00.000-07:00

When people see me they see two things a, black, woman. It is an undeniable fact that I am indeed a black woman, black, of African descent, and woman, person of female gender. I am also a registered Democrat and a proud graduate of a women’s college. I say all of this because for some reason people think there is some dilemma I must be facing or some war raging inside of me over which Democratic candidate I support. “It’s clear isn’t it,” I say to all of my friends, “I am supporting the best candidate for me, whose politics and experiences are most closely aligned with mine.” The Clinton campaign says Hillary is the far more qualified candidate but, if I am asked to vote my conscience on Election Day then I must vote for Barack Obama.

Over lunch my good friend, Ana, a white woman, asked me who I was rooting for and I told her that in my case it was okay to assume that I was supporting Obama. I know that some black folks get upset by this but I’m not. Why should I be? Hell, I’m proud of Obama for having the gumption to mount such an ambitious campaign and the tenacity to stay in the fight. Furthermore, Obama, to me, is the embodiment of America and its’ dream. He is of mixed race yet he and the majority of Americans see him as black. (If that ain’t American I don’t know what is!) His father was absent throughout most of his life. He did not grow up rich and privileged but middle class and he had to take out student loans to pay for his education, like me. He was also the first African American elected president of the Harvard Law Review. He isn’t an actor, oil tycoon or owner of a minor league baseball team but a civic minded lawyer and now a Senator and perhaps one day, a President.

Obama is also Martin Luther King’s dream very nearly realized. He has brought together the races toward the greater good of making change in America. People, at least in the media and other public forums, judge him on the content of his character not by the color of his skin yet the fact that he is a black man running for President is not lost on them. His speeches rouse and ignite the listener and make the impossible seem possible. People, hungry for something new, latch on to him. He represents the little guy, the every man fighting against the political machine, fighting for his equal share of the power. He is the face of the disenfranchised, while Hillary is not. If he is elected President the world will celebrate America’s ability to somewhat transcend our racist past and America will be the first major western country to elect a person of color to lead a country.

Barack and I have shared experiences. Issues that I am most concerned with are racism, classism and sexism, in that order, and race has had the most impact on my life. I have often times been the only or one of very few black(s) in social and professional settings and I have found that whenever I achieve some level of success inevitably my race enters into the picture. Once, I received a promotion at a large insurance firm and a white female colleague said that I got it because I was black, never mind that the majority of the other people who were also promoted were white (five out of the eight who were promoted were white). In graduate school I was selected to make a 35mm film with the total financial backing of the school, I was one of five, some of my white classmates began griping that the only reason I was given this honor was that I was black. (The other recipients were two white men, an Asian man, and a white European woman; I guess I took some poor white man’s space.) In both instances it was my race that set me apart from the others and made me a target of scrutiny not my gender much like the way Geraldine Ferraro said the only reason why Obama has gotten so far in this campaign is that he is black man. (The funny thing is that if we fail it’s because we’re black and if we succeed it’s because we’re black… we’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t.)

Gloria Steinem asserts that if Mr. Obama were a woman with his credentials he wouldn’t have gotten this far and the fact that he is a man has everything to do with his rise to national prominence. She lists his credentials as a person who became “a lawyer after some years as a community organizer… served as a state legislator for eight years, and became an inspirational voice for national unity.” Then she poses the question, “Do you think this is the biography of someone who could be elected to the United States Senate? After less than one term there, do you believe she could be a viable candidate to head the most powerful nation on earth?”

Hillary supporters like Steinem like to simplify and devalue Obama’s experience saying that Hillary has 35 years experience in public policy but this is due in part to her husband’s various political offices where she surely served him as an advisor. She has only served one full term in the Senate and her experience in the White House was as First Lady… FYI not a political office. Furthermore, if Hillary has 35 years of experience in public policy then Hillary is part of an antiquated political machine in Washington, a woman in an old boys club. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure she went through pure hell at times but she is a part of the machine. In fact, she is such a part of the machine that in order to save she and her husbands’ political careers she turned a blind eye to his numerous documented dalliances and transgressions, standing stoically by her man. She is a centrist in a party filled with centrists there is nothing radically new in her rhetoric and the truth of the matter is if she is elected to lead this country not a whole lot of our policies will change and after the initial oohs and ahhs of having a woman president it will be in effect, business as usual. She will prove that we can run a country as good as any man but not… better.

What Geraldine, Gloria and other Clinton supporters resent is Obama giving Hillary a run for her money. Let’s face it none of us thought his campaign would last this long but it has and Hillary and her cronies can’t believe she has to prove herself against, of all things, “a junior Senator from Illinois.” The funny thing is Geraldine in some ways is right. Race is a factor in this political race because the Clinton’s wrongly assumed that Bill’s presidency had bought the black races’ vote for Hillary but they never counted on the little upstart from Illinois. And no amount of saxophone playing on late night TV, visits to African American churches or counseling from high profile black ministers during a marital crisis can make you… black. (Just ask Duane “Dog” Chapman, the bounty hunter, he found out quite publicly that going to jail does not also make you black.)

Now, I am not a fool. My day to day existence as a black woman in America will largely remain the same if either Hillary or Barack are elected. Electing either of them as President will not change the minds of racist cops who negatively profile me and other people of color as criminals when we drive down the street. Nor will it create a fair and balanced judicial system that does not sentence blacks and Hispanics more harshly than their white counterparts. Nor will it ensure that my gay, lesbian and transgendered friends will be given equal rights as heterosexuals to legalize their relationships and in turn have the private sector, such as HMO’s, recognize those partnerships. Our children will not be magically moved from over crowded classrooms in deteriorating buildings with no books and computers to sprawling state of the art campuses of learning. No, none of these great things will happen… not in Barack or Hillary’s four years as President of the United States of America.

But maybe, just maybe, an Obama Presidency will give those racist cops cause to pause before they pull us over. Maybe, just maybe, parents will begin to demand better schools for their children en masse so that their baby can grow up someday and become… president. Maybe, just maybe, I and others of my race will feel inspired to Pledge Allegiance to this country that has left us largely disenfranchised and stand shoulder to shoulder with their white counterparts and say we are proud to be American. But maybe, just maybe, it will inspire us all to believe in America’s dream of equality, freedom and justice for all.

Somebody should have told Sharon Stone…

2008-03-14T20:33:00.000-07:00

It is the duty of a woman’s best friend to let her know when she needs a mint because her breath smells remarkably like fresh shit, when she’s had way too much to drink because she completely missed the toilet and pissed directly down the back of her pants, and when she is way too old to play a sex kitten even when you made the role famous 14 years earlier. Where the hell were Sharon Stone’s friends when she was asked to make Basic Instinct 2?

As a recent transplant to LA money is tight and I have found really great ways to save money, one of them is renting movies at my local library instead of Blockbuster or subscribing to Netflix. This often means that I watch movies that I have no real interest in but they just happen to be on the shelf. When I saw Basic Instinct 2 on the shelf I knew it was probably going to be bad, really bad, awful in fact but, I still picked it up. I was hoping it would be the kind of bad that makes something good, a masturbatory delight filled with great and lurid sex. Instead, I got an over the hill, robot like Sharon Stone whose acting consisted of icy stares and a throaty monotone paired with a hunky David Morrisey who looked uncomfortable having sex on screen. But I digress this is not a movie review.

This is about knowing when to stop. Did Sharon Stone really need the money they offered her for Basic Instinct 2? In our celebrity obsessed culture surely the story of her cash shortage would have been all over the press. So, if it wasn’t the money what possessed this grown ass woman (pardon the African American colloquialism but Sharon’s been an adult for quite some time now) to take all her clothes off for the camera, again? Okay, she is in great shape if you like that too thin waif look popularized by Victoria Beckham and The Olsen twins. But it was hard for me to appreciate her great shape in clothes that were too young for her to pull off, white shirts that showed off her nipples, and tight pants that showed that she had no ass. It was sad. I felt bad for Sharon… even her character Catherine Tramell could have told her that as women age what made them sexy in their twenties is not what makes them sexy in their forties. Having a great shape helps but women in their forties no longer have to solely rely on their bodies to attract men and the old adage “less is more” applies. (A hint of skin and a whole lot of experience and innuendo is all she needed.)

I see these older women out sometimes, clearly in their 40’s and beyond, wearing outfits from the junior’s section of Nordstrom or worse yet Forever 21. In clubs they are often the loudest and/or the drunkest. They usually hang out with much younger women and offer unsolicited sexual advice. They are the widowed, divorced, or never married women whose children are finally old enough to take care of themselves. And they spend so much time trying to look young that they actually look older.

My mother had a friend once who told anyone who would listen how she used to be a “baby doll” and how men used to love to take care of her. Her nickname was Legs Diamond. When she met her common law husband he was married to someone else but as she tells it she “had to have him.” Legs hunted him down… she went where he worked, to places he hung out and even called his house, where he and his wife lived. (Talk about a bitch.) Legs won, she got pregnant, he got divorced and they moved in together. They shared a home for over 18 years. He had other affairs, she had an affair. Eventually, like all good things it had to end. Legs lost her job and went from full time school administrator to freelance consulting. She got her own place and she started hanging out with my mom more. Enter my 26yr. old brother.

My brother can be an asshole by his own admission. He is 6’3”, big and black, and has traveled the world, living in New York and California at one point. Women, young and old, love him. He and Legs’ son (a couple of years younger than my brother) were friends. At some point they, Legs and my brother, started fucking each other. When I found out I was horrified much in the way big sisters are always horrified to find out who their brothers are fucking. My other brothers and I began joking that the one brother was a Geritol Gigolo. By the way, Legs at this point was in her late 50’s and she looked great with lovely silver gray dreadlocks.

Most everyone knew about the affair and we all knew it wasn’t serious, except Legs. My brother was seeing at least three other women that we knew of. All of the three other women were in their 20’s. Legs had met all three of the women before in various social and religious settings and slowly, before out very eyes she began to transform. She went from dressing in blouses and slacks to low-rise jeans and thongs. Her locks transformed from regal gray to dark brown and she got a tattoo.

To my brother and his friends smoking weed is damned near a religious rite and Legs Diamond openly partook. She also began giving my brother money and driving him around town in her very new and expensive car and for a time things were good. Until my brother decided to cut her loose for a younger woman.

My mother, bless her soul, actually thought she was going to stay out of this debacle until Legs began calling to tell her about how my brother was doing her wrong and used her. Immediately my mother began fussing at my brother who, of course, didn’t want to hear it. When my mother called me to vent I told her what I thought. My brother is an asshole and Legs is an idiot. Sounds harsh, I know. I didn’t then and I still don’t doubt that my brother had used Legs but she also used him… for sex and self worth. She could not have had any expectations of monogamy with my brother who told her and anyone who would listen that he believed in polygamy. (Don’t ask…) As for the money, hey, you can’t buy love and as a woman in your mid 50’s I would expect her to know that.

Her mistake was in thinking that transforming herself into this younger version of herself that my brother would choose her. But, why we he choose a copy of youth when he had access to the real thing. She forgot her power and it isn’t her sex but her experiences and wisdom.

What made her beautiful was her poise and grace not how young her face and slender her waist.

Straight Woman Needs Wife for LTR with Husband & Kids

2008-03-13T13:31:00.000-07:00

I have always, for the most part, wanted a wife. No, I am not a lesbian… and this is not my “coming out” essay, for I have nothing substantial to declare. Nor am I a woman who wants to become a man. In other words I like being myself, I like women, but I don’t “like women.” All that being said, I still want a wife. No, not one of these modern women who work and have careers and dreams for themselves outside of the home… no, that chick is me. Thirty –five and unmarried, I recently moved to Los Angeles following my dreams of stardom as a writer and director. I have never been married, never had children, and have never been in any significant long term relationship. But I want to, I want to get married, have a handsome, loving husband and beautiful, smart children and I want us all to live happily ever after. Except, I’m afraid I can’t do it, that I am completely incapable of doing it, which is why I need a wife to do all the things I feel I cannot do. I want my very own, 1950’s style, June Cleaver, wife for my future husband, children and I to share.

For me, she can be my new live-in best friend. She can listen to all of my gripes about work and people I know and give me the neighborhood gossip I miss when I go to work. She can also go shopping with me and tell me what shoes to buy and what jeans make me look like I have a juicy ass, smaller thighs and trim waist. More importantly, she can do the laundry, making sure all of our whites stay white and all our socks have a mate. She can grow herbs, vegetables and fruit in the garden to make organic nutritious meals for our family. Oooh, and she can bake bread and cookies and pies other delicious treats for me and the kids. She also makes the best lunches and the kids never complain and the low fat diet she has me on helps me lose 20lbs. She is my help-mate. So, when I have long stopped being attracted to my husband she can takeover all sexual duties… pretending that 1 minute 30 seconds is all the lovin’ a girl needs or desires.

To my children she is the woman who drives them to ballet class, piano lessons and soccer practice. She is the one who never misses a game and cheers the loudest in the stands. She stays up with them when they have a fever or the flu or just a bad dream. She is the one who sews their costumes for the school play and bakes goodies to sell at the bake sale. Besides my husband and me, there is no one else in the world who loves them more.

To my husband she is the woman who gets his slippers and his paper when he walks in the door. She makes a mean scotch and tonic or whiskey and rye or whatever manly thing it is that husbands drink after a long hard day at the office. She balances the checkbook and never spends a dime without asking him first. She watches sports, plays poker, cooks for him and his friends and cleans up after them without complaint. At night she rubs his feet and tells him how special he is, how that job is lucky to have him and how cool he’d look on that motorcycle, Porsche, or boat. She tells him that she hasn’t noticed his paunch, love handles or receding hair line. She never ever complains about anything.

She is not me.

I cook about three times a week and most of what I call cooking is a sandwich and chips or fish and salad and on a bad night a bowl of whatever cereal was on sale. While I try to watch what I eat and have gotten significantly better I still suck at living the healthy lifestyle… I can’t put kids through that; at least I don’t think so. My mom stayed home when I was younger and she made everything from scratch… cinnamon rolls, zucchini bread, carrot cake, you name it. We had fresh fruits and vegetables either from our garden or the open air West Side Market in Cleveland and she varied our diet by feeding us exotic foods like Falafel, plantains, Fufu, and tofu (unheard of in the early 80’s on the east side of Cleveland). What’s more, we weren’t even allowed to drink Kool Aid because simply put, according to my mother, it was “nothing but dye and sugar.” And while she wasn’t necessarily the best laundress… I had many a faded jean and shrunken shirt to prove it; she did do loads and loads of laundry for my brothers, father and me. I can’t imagine it… seriously, I can’t. (At this very moment I need to go do laundry but I am choosing to write instead.)

Furthermore, some nights when I get home I don’t feel like talking. I just want to take off all of my clothes and lay across my bed and watch a little TV. Can you have moments like this with a husband and children? My married friends who have children only talk to me right after the children have gone to school/bed, husband’s at work or while running an errand to the grocery store. Our conversations can best be described as AOL headlines… one sentence descriptions of what’s happening in our worlds. Talking to them while their kids and husbands are home is nearly impossible. What you get is, “Uh huh… hey what did I just say?” “No… I said no!” “I’m talking to Najaa… __________ said hi.” “Girl, let me go.” Am I willing to put up with that, my life being constantly interrupted?

Moreover, I can be completely self absorbed at times. Obsessed with my own feelings and heartache and laboring over what my future holds or if I still have toothpaste in the corner of my mouth. The list goes on and on, it’s like some internal tape constantly running, only blocked out by the occasional voice of someone else and even then, more likely than not, my internal tape is still playing while I’m supposed to be listening to them. If marriage is supposed to be a partnership how can I not be listening to my partner 80% of the time? And what if I miss something important said by one of our kids, like Dada or… Mama?

Lastly, I desperately want to make it in the film industry, hence this crazy move cross country. Do I, can I, put my dreams on hold for the wants and needs of others, my own family? If the studios called tomorrow and asked me to direct a feature film and the man of dreams showed up in my life proposing a blissful future of marriage and children which would I choose? The truth is both… but I would postpone the marriage and children. But since neither has happened I guess I have nothing to worry about. But when it does happen, and it will, I’d better start writing a personal ad for a wife.