LoisLane's Metropolis

Where the Wild Things Are

2009-10-24T13:57:00Z

I have been here long enough to share some of the quirky things about island life and how I am dealing with them. Here we go:

Cocks

I mentioned before that a cock was coming through the bush at me. Unfortunately, I'm not talking about what the kind you find in a pair of Fruit of the Loom. Well, these wild chickens are everywhere. And they crow, caw, whatever at all times of day and night. I guess that's what happens when you don't bemoan morning because you know you are not on the next day's menu.

Note to Self: Eat more chicken.

Flying Cockroaches

These things are even more fun. Imagine your least favorite pestilence sprouts wings to take flight. They do this in both fleeing you and coming at you. Wonderful.

Note to Self: Have ninja-like skills with a can of Raid.

Junk in My Trunk

To you dudes, don't get excited. This one is not about an expanding derriere. There is no house-to-house garbage collection. Yeah, did you get that? There is no sanitation truck that comes by one or twice a week to pick up our discarded crap. Instead, we have to haul our garbage to public dumpsters where we can rid ourselves of the trash once and for all. The problem is, the whole hauling our own garbage to a dumpster bit. And like everything else you see when you don't need them, the first time I needed to dump my garbage, I didn't see one. I wound up keeping the junk in my trunk all day while at work. I didn't want to find a dumpster at night, so it stayed in my trunk until the next day. Thank heaven it was a rental.

Note to Self: Buy air freshener for the car.

Storage Unit

I realized early on, because of all the critters, I will have to be very clean in the kitchen. This is not a problem as it became a habit during my first two flats in Prague where I didn't have a dishwasher and shared the space with other people. However, I find that I don't want to keep my garbage in my house and I don't dare put it outside overnight for fear of what it will attract. My solution: I stick everything in the freezer or refrigerator. Yes, you read correctly. I stick my trash bag in the freezer. In addition, I have started putting dirty dishes in there too until I feel like washing them. This is really weird but it gives me peace of mind.

Note to Self: Buy less food so I can have more room in the fridge.

Shopping

This is an all-day event. Nothing you want is at any one store, so you are forced to go to, at least, two or three different shops just for your necessities. They also have the dollar-type stores where you can get lots of things for way more than one dollar. Here's an example:

At $89.99 or $9.99 it's STILL to expensive for salt.

You have to do all of this unless you are a guy with a wheelbarrow. The other day, I saw a man in town selling fresh coconuts out of a wheelbarrow. Yummy, I thought. The next day during my run, I passed the same man, pushing the same wheelbarrow. On my next loop around, from a distance I could see the top of a tree shaking but not with the wind. As I drew closer, I realized there were coconuts all over the ground beneath this tree. I looked closer and that same man was climbing these tall, flimsy-looking trees to cut the coconuts off with a piece of wood. Later, a security guard was talking to him while he was still cutting. I thought the guard was telling him to stop. Nope, wrong. They were just chatting up the early morning. Correction: you have to shop unless you are a guy with a wheelbarrow, who knows how to climb trees.

Note to Self: Give up salt, get a wheelbarrow and start climbing trees.

You Can Learn A Lot from a Pussy

I'm not getting X-rated on you. I go running at the beach most mornings. On the same day as the coconut man, I noticed a colony (what the heck else do you call it) of feral cats who live there. One recent morning, I was running by this cute tiger-striped kitt-- Yeah, I made that mistake. It was a tomcat and the thing turned and looked at me with a 'Bitch, what do YOU want' look on his furry face. Ewe. I ran a wide curve around him.

On my next loop, the same cat gave that look to another cat, who instantly took off running. Over my headphones I heard them tearing it up and the second cat scream for dear life. I figured she was a girl and Tom was taking what he wanted. Poor puss.

The next loop around, I saw Tom protecting his turf, no sign of the other. Finally, I came around again and what must have been the female cat was sprawled out, chilling with Tom a few feet away. He looked at me and winked. It was a primal example of how men like to chase and women like to be caught, despite screaming bloody murder.

Note to Self: Keep running but let one of them catch me.

Late-Night/Early Morning Game of Frogger

I came in this morning around 5ish. I did my routine check for bugs and lizards. Found both, killed the former. Then, I walked into my bedroom to open my laptop to play a movie to put me to sleep. As I turned, I stared into one black bugged-eye. When I realized what I'd was looking at, I couldn't believe it. There was a frog in my bedroom.

"Yeah, I was here first, chick. Go back to NY."

Apparently, he wasn't afraid of me and didn't move quickly. When I turned on the computer, he simply moved over -- and, uh, went to sleep. Um, really? Frogs? I can kill bugs, I don't mind lizards but I have to deal with unexpected, middle-of-the-darkness, weird, little bug-eyed frogs too? How much more of this critter ish will there be? Lots, I'm guessing.

Note to Self: Get over it.

Life on the Rock

2009-10-09T11:48:00Z

I've done it. The hard part is over. At least, that's what I keep telling myself. I'm here in one piece. Check. I have a roof over my head. Check. I am driving -- on the left. Check.

All of that has been pretty easy, although, exhausting. But it's done and I lived to tell the tale. Last night, I even spent the first night in my own flat. This marks the first time I have been truly alone since October 2005 and it feels good! Well, sorta alone. Less than 20 degrees from the Equator, I feel I'm never by myself as there are lizards, frogs and bugs running around my flat at any given moment. Just this morning, a nice quarter-sized, hairy spider greeted me from the fold in the toilet paper! How friendly was he? I returned the favor by flushing him. The flat is sans dishes, pots and pans and a bit hot but having privacy after so long of not is bliss. There is nothing like your own place.

Nothing like your own place with a killer view. This is zoomed out, by the way.

This morning, I woke up inspired by some 'liquid sunshine', which is what they call sunshowers, to write about my first week here. Of course, people make a big deal about that driving on the left thing but since the cars have the steering wheel on the left like Stateside, it's not that big of a difference. I immediately took to the other side of the road, without major event. Getting lost, however, is something I do equally well.

After being here for five days, I was desperately seeking some island cuisine and went in search of one of my favorite dishes, Roti. Now, this dish is traditionally Trinidadian but you can find a version of it in most Caribbean cultures. It is curried vegetables, meat or seafood wrapped inside a special unleavened bread that's different from tortilla.

Ideal roti, indeed! Lekker!

This quest took me on one of my first forays alone into a hood where I was told I didn't want to get a flat. I parked my car at the bottom of the hill and footed my way up. It didn't look very different from one of the neighborhoods I know so well in NYC. There were hair shops, bars and cramped little apartments that I'm sure didn't have AC. But nothing scary. It was daytime, so there is that.

Inside Ideal Restaurant, I found a nice family of Trinidadians making their staple dish. The roti was hot, fresh and peppery. In other words, exactly how I wanted it. We exchanged names after I told him I was new to the island and loved his specialty. How I'm looking forward to more!

One of the first things I noticed is, the gap between the natives and the locals. Tourists are beasts of a different stripe and a blog all by themselves. Natives, of course, are those born here. Locals are those who come to live here like me. Many of the natives don't live in the big houses or flats afforded by the locals. They don't eat in the same places, either. I haven't even seen many at the same beaches but I've only been here a week and stayed at a hotel, so bookmark that one. It seems there are two factions on this island, who rarely come in contact unless one needs a service from the other.

As word gets around that the Daily News hired a new reporter from off island, who is now on island, I'm meeting some people in the know. All have introduced themselves quite politely and I know these early introductions will prove beneficial as time goes on. I'm excited to start work Monday and can't wait to write my first story. Until then, I'm settling in and meeting lots of native men. This I do without trying because there are five men for every one woman here. Finally, the odds are in my favor! Move over, Mr. Big because you're about to be history. However, here's an unpleasant stat: Two out of the three were unemployed, getting a government check and told me about all of this within the first five minutes of conversation. Not a good look. Uh, Mr. Big?

Word of the Day: Discerning.

Now, I've really got to go, I'm writing this outside and there is something scampering at a fast clip towards me. It's probably one of the island's wild chickens. I kid not.

Will have better pictures once I unpack.

Family: It's Relative

2009-09-24T17:23:00Z

One thing I learned during my country hopping period in 2007:

It's not about the destination but in the getting there.

Tis my strong belief that truer words have never been spoken. Many of the funny stories I have from that time, are from the fleeting moments spent when traveling from one city to another. It is to be said that the same is also true in the journey of life. Maybe even more so. Lately, I've been thinking about family because this singular unit has an indelible impact on one's life journey.

It's been unbelievably difficult, these short months since I've returned from Europe. The economy was of no help. Nor was the fact that the journalism industry has shed the most jobs of any other industry this year. Tis fact, indeed. Adding insult to injury, I spent the last two years challenging and growing myself to return and feel like it was all for naught.

While abroad, I experienced a family who opened their door with wide arms and welcomed me to their home and to their country. A family who shared with me their food, their customs and their plans without limitations or caveats. A family who supports my every endeavor with the great belief that I will one day achieve everything I set out to do, even if at first, I'm met with adversity. A family who always believes in me and never turns their backs.

Tis not whole family but Sunniva (jokester with Lamb Chop puppet) tells the whole story.

Doesn't that look like a place you want to be?

Conversely, I returned to a family with expressed limits of love and support. A family whose patience lasted weeks instead of months. A family who passively seeks to make you feel uncomfortable in their space. A family who closes the door and refuses a couch when a couch could make all the difference. A family who sows seeds of doubt and scoffs while pretending they're not. A family who judges as if their decisions were any better.

The way I look at it, friends can act like family and, thus, be family. Conversely, family can behave worse than strangers and just be relatives.

Along my path I've had to save my career by walking away from it. To find myself, I had to be alone. This year, I shed relatives to find family. In other words, I shed those I come from to find where I belong and it's a diverse place.

The next step on my path is taking me to the Virgin Islands where I've taken a job at, as it says on their letterhead, a Pulitzer Prize winning paper. To the scoffers, the doubters, the people who always try to bigger-better-deal me (um, that's you, Mr. Big) and those who didn't have time for me while I was making my way in the valley between two mountain peaks: Continue to underestimate me, tis how I will continue to best you, each and every time. And while you continue to live and die in the same spot, I will have conquered two-thirds of the world, while I work on conquering the rest.

From Loretta Youmans of my youth to the Reinertsens of now: My extended, blended, adopted family, I love you one and all and my thanks could never be enough!

Me and more of the Reinertsen clan for Gud Jule (Christmas 2007).

Because I Said So

2009-09-23T19:11:00Z

If you live anywhere near New York City and tune in to the radio, there are certain names you just know: Wendy Williams, Angie Martinez and Egypt. That is, until December 2003.

Egypt, a famed WBLS personality, took a hiatus to pursue other avenues in her career, which is something you all know, I cosign. (For those who don't know, tis R&B and Classic Soul for the grown and sexy. Click on that hyperlink and listen to a live stream of New York radio.)

Photo Courtesy of EgyptSaidSo.com

Here's what was said about her in an online article announcing her departure:

In August of 2003, Egypt was named the second highest ranked honoree on R&R Magazine's Power Players On The Rise air talent Top 10 list... Egypt also received the 2003 Executive to Watch Award from NABFEME (National Association of Black Female Executives in Music &Entertainment). This award reflects the achievements and contributions of a woman of color in music and entertainment who has made the most advancements or executive strides in her career.

Prior to her success with WBLS-FM, she made aname for herself as one of the highest rated radio personalities at Baltimore's #1 station, WERQ-FM. Prior to Baltimore, the Philadelphia native simultaneously held an on-air and Music Director position at WPHI-FM in Philadelphia.

So why is any of this important to you? Because Egypt is up for the afternoon slot from 2 p.m. - 6 p.m. on -- you guessed it -- her old station, WBLS. But instead, of simply welcoming her back into the fold, they have capitalized on several things: the tight job market, the opportunity to increase site clicks and the fierce interest in New York radio personalities. Unlike a normal interview process, WBLS is hosting a competition to let listeners decide who should get the job. Among the choices: Chubb Rock, Jeff Foxx and former rap duo (which was really a trio) Salt -n-Pepa sans Spinderella. Thus far, Egypt, a real broadcasting professional, is leading the vote total with 35 percent, followed by Salt-n-Pepa.

Journalism is a male-dominated profession anyway, so the men are out for me. But, I've been poking around. And after she got Idris Elba to spill the beans about whether marriage is in his future during her guest hosting spot last week, I decided to check out her Web site, EgyptSaidSo.com. I can report: This is one femme fatale who is thoroughly plugged in to the R&B scene, thus, deserving said job.

Being on the verge of a really big gig myself, I decided to see if I could do something useful instead of just tweeting philosophical about her winning said contest. She's hardworking, she knows her stuff and New York loves her. Let's vote for her and make sure she locks in the job that should be hers, anyway.

All you have to do is text her name to 77522, and, I'm sure you already know standard text rates apply. Perhaps, texts aren't for you: Go to www.wbls.com and scroll down the main page. In blue type, you will see the poll. Why should you?

Because I said so.

Music Monday: Get Hi Def

2009-09-21T13:29:00Z

(Česká verze Anglická verze takto)

This won't surprise you: I'm trying something new. Again. But this time, it's not an around the world adventure, instead, it's something a bit closer to home. Well, sort of.

Since I was a child, I've always loved music. My mum tells stories of how I would dance in my crib or bob in the stroller. Today, not much is different. I love to dance and all types of music speak to my soul. <--- In case you missed it, this is as close to home as it's gonna get. My life-long love has collided with that of a new addiction, Twitter. Do these social media creators know how distracting Twitter can be for the socially abundant and verbally prolific among us? Getting back on track, on Mondays, Twitter users recommend and discuss music en masse; all genres, all eras. Of course, I have to needle my way into this conversation and the best way to do that for me is to write about it. Now, on Mondays, consecutive or not, I will write about a musician, a DJ or, even a music show that I'd like to point in your direction.

The first at bat goes to my friend, David Tuscher, who now calls himself, ah, you guessed it: Hi Def.

Photo Courtesy of David Tuscher

When I met David, we were two New Yorkers, not to mention former journalists, lost in of sea of Czech food, people and customs. Everyone deals with this differently. He sported a huge afro. I dug it as did the Czech Chicas. Later, David came to work at my place of business and only lasted two hours. He said he wanted to make music and that's what he was going to do. I respected him for that because I know what it's like to walk away from a job and I also knew what it was like to get a job as a foreigner in Czech.

Not quite six months later, I heard an afroless David had a show in Pardubice outside of Prague with other Skoop artists. Good for him! But nothing too major, right?

Photo Courtesy of David Tuscher via www.bbarak.cz

Soon after the buzz continued: I heard David signed with them. Twasn't much longer after that, he became Hi Def. Yeah, clearly defined like your bad ass TV.

There's one thing you should know: the music scene in Prague is surprisingly tight. The Czech people, like other Europeans, have a huge love and respect for music in all its forms. But Czechs, especially, love African-influenced genres like Reggae and Ska. And American hip hop is as beloved there as any other art form. There's lot of room for the commercial, blinged-out sets of 50-Cent and Snoop but Czechs love the underground sound. And if you suck, they'll tell you. So any modicum of success there, proves you have something worth hearing. When I listened to "In My Life" I immediately knew this was the class to which Hi Def belongs.

Today, he's teamed up with what my Czech friends keeping telling me is the best DJ and producer in their country, DJ Wich. And, yes, tis spelled that way. The two put out "I'm Coming Home" a few weeks ago. In November, Hi Def releases his first CD, Human Writes on the Skoop label, according to the Web site.

Def, check for it.

Česká verze

To nebude vás překvapí, ale já se snažím něco nového. Znovu. Aletentokrát to není na celém světě dobrodružství, místo toho, je to něcotrochu blíž k domovu. No, tak nějak.

Protože jsem byl dítě,jsem vždycky miloval hudbu. Moje maminka vypráví příběhy o tom, jakbych tančit v mé postýlce nebo bob v kočárku. Dnes, nic moc se liší.Líbí se mi tanec a všechny druhy hudby mluvit s mou duši. <--- Vpřípadě, že jste propásli, je tak blízko domova, jak to dostaneš. Můjživot-dlouhé láska narazil na novou závislost, Twitter. Do těchtosociálních mediální tvůrci vědí, jak rušivě Twitter může být prosociálně bohaté a plodné slovně mezi námi? Dostat zpátky na trať, vpondělí, Twitter uživateli doporučí a diskutovat o hudbě hromadně,všechny žánry, všechny éry. Samozřejmě, mám jehlu mé cestě do tohotorozhovoru, a nejlepší způsob, jak to pro mě je psaní o něm. Nyní, vpondělí, po sobě jdoucích nebo ne, budu psát o hudebník, DJ nebodokonce hudební show, že bych chtěla ve svém směru.

První na pálce jede na mého přítele, David Tuscher, který nyní vyzývá sám, ach, uhodli jste: Hi Def.

Když jsem se setkala s Davidem, byli jsme dva Newyorčané, nemluvě obývalých novinářů, ztracené v moři na česká jídla, lidí a zvyků. Každý,kdo se zabývá touto jinak. On sported obrovský afro. Já jsem vykopalji, stejně jako v České Chicas. Později, David přišel do práce na svémísto podnikání a trvala jen dvě hodiny. Říkal, že chce dělat hudbu, ato je to, co to udělá. Vážil jsem si ho, protože vím, jaké to je,odejít z práce a také jsem věděl, co to bylo jako dostat práci jakocizinec v českém jazyce.

O šest měsíců později, slyšel jsem afroless měl David show v Parabudice mimo Prahu s ostatními umělci Skoop. Dobré pro něj!

Skoop Entertainment je hip hop label spustit jiný můj přítel, Rico.Brzy po brnknout pokračoval: Slyšel jsem, že David podepsal s nimi.Twasn't mnohem déle po tom, on se stal Hi Def.

Je tu ještějedna věc, kterou byste měli vědět: hudební scény v Praze, jepřekvapivě těsná. Český lid, stejně jako ostatní Evropané, majíobrovskou lásku a úctu k hudbě ve všech jejích formách. Ale Češi,obzvláště, láska Afričan-ovlivnily žánry jako je reggae a ska. Aamerický hip hop je milovaný tam jako jakákoli jiná umělecká forma. Jetu spousta místa pro komerční, blinged-out sady 50-Cent a Snoop aleČeši milují podzemí zvuk. A pokud si sát, tak jim to řeknu. Takžejakékoliv špetky úspěchu tam, ukáže vám něco stojí za to poslouchat.Když jsem slyšel, "In My Life" Okamžitě jsem věděl, že to bylo třídy,do které patří Hi Def.

Dnes, když se spojila s tím, co máčeské přátele vedení říct, je nejlepší DJ a producent v jejich zemi, DJWich. A, ano, tis napsána tak. Dva natáhl "I'm Coming Home" předněkolika týdny. V listopadu, Hi Def vydání svého prvního CD, lidskápíše na etiketě Skoop, podle webu.

Def, zda pro něj.

Restaurant Road Kill

2009-09-13T13:10:00Z

The topic of Mr. Big got me thinking about the men in my life. Sadly -- tragically, I haven't been a very good picker. I wish I had someone like Patti, from the Millionaire Matchmaker, to find me a solid guy, millions not required or, even preferred, for that matter. We all know there are defining moments in our lives regarding different aspects. A defining moment for me was deciding whether or not to continue to let the Cracked Eggs in Eggland continue to abuse me and my talents. Result: I walked out, traveled extensively and changed my life forever. Defining moment.

Yesterday, during my run, I got to thinking about my horrid choice in men and, of course, a scene from my life produced as art, popped into my mind, over and over again: (So, tis not actually my life but it's running a painfully close parallel.)

The first time I saw that, I cried. Tis true. When there's no one but you, you have no choice but to dig deep and find the courage to move forward. In the clip, you see Carrie bust her ass on a New York Fashion Week runway. What you didn't see: Her nerves were shot after being told she would sport undies instead of a dress, so she indulged on the free liquid courage. What you also didn't see was her braggadocious nature proclaiming the higher her stilettos, the better.

Not one to beg off a pair of 4-inch, come-hither pumps myself (I bought these

last week to celebrate my birthday), I can relate. In 2006, which was not a banner year by any standard, I went to dinner at a favorite spot, Bonefish Grille, with the then-current man in my life. Alert: 2006 low-point up head. I was sporting a pair of strappy stilettos that require weekly pedicures and daily pumicing. Girls, you know the ones.

When we got to Bonefish, I was horrified to realize the dining room floor was a marbled, polished perfection. I told myself to take it slow and walk on the balls of my feet. Fine. Now, here comes the I-should-take-this-to-my-grave-part. After dinner, we got up to leave and it's still all good. He heads out in front; first problem. I took about 10 steps, if that, when the next thing I knew, I was having polished marble floor for dessert! Legs went flying up, purse was spilled all over the place and I had this purely stunned look on my face that read: What. The. Fuck. And, I hadn't been drinking.

(Insert laughter and applause, here. Thank ya. Thank ya, very much.)

Luckily enough for me, we had dinner late so there was only one table of people left in the dining room. They looked at me as if I landed there from outer space. Surely, they'd seen more of me and my thong than either party planned. I started to collect myself and realized, soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend was heading out the door. He left! The people felt so bad, they asked if I needed help getting up. Unlike Carrie, my girls weren't seated in the gallery giving me the courage. I had to find it within.

(Insert India.Arie song, here.)

Somehow, I did. I got the fuck up without shedding one tear. The Spanish-version of the above clip says: When real women fall, they get back up. That's right. Upon getting upright, that fucker reappeared asking, "I was wondering what happened to you?" And, yes, he had a smug look on his face.

Someone once told me, it is never good form to tell people what you deserve. But I can tell people what I expect. I expect to have the sort of man in my life who will never let me fall because when I slip, he's right by my side to, yes, catch me. Period. There are no exceptions. And, whether I deserve it or not, is irrelevant. That's the deal.

So when you're sitting there wondering why I don't jump at your calls, I don't care if you wish me a Happy Birthday, answer your e-mails or respond to your voicemails, there's a simple answer: You are not that kind of guy and I don't need or want you.

Until the time comes, I will continue to wipe the floor with my mistakes, pick myself back up and wear my version of the glass slipper. I thank heaven for my defining moments. It doesn't matter whether I'm telling management where to go or picking my exposed arse off of a restaurant floor. Because of these split seconds, I know what makes me. Tis the glory of living single.

Sex & Mr. Big

2009-09-11T18:11:00Z

I hope you weren't expecting something about today's anniversary. I can't go there. Not yet. I just can't.

Fellow blogger, MoxieInTheCity of ...And That's Why You're Single, warns against blogging about your personal dating experiences. She says it jeopardizes any potential for a relationship now and in the future. Well, Moxie dear, your post was a bit late. In Not So Sweet and Downlow, I blogged about my version of Mr. Big and outed him as gay. If that wasn't relationship suicide, the text at nearly 6 a.m. informing him of my newfound knowledge and realization, certainly was. But hey, I'm a superwoman, says Alicia Keys, I take this shit in stride.

It's not like blogging about him, then or now, I'm putting any potential, substantive relationship at risk. I really never had a chance, as Mr. Big is king-size snob. Adding to that, even though I didn't call him out by name, he was a tad mad I thought him gay. Our last email exchange after the post went live, was not our friendliest and we both logged off relieved it was over. Me, for the games. Him, for the drama.

Fast-forward five months and lo' and behold, over it's not. Out of yonder blue sky, Mr. Big up and rings my phone last night. I have his number set to DNA (Read: Do Not Answer), so at first it went to voicemail. Then, I realized exactly which DNA it was for I have several. Thinking he dialed by accident, I rang back. Twas no accident.

Transfixed by the idea he still had my number, I could barely digest his greeting words: Do you really think I'm gay? Of course, for if I didn't, I wouldn't have published it. However, am I sure? Not 100-percent. No. Uh, unh. But wait, why does he care?

Mr. Big is the vilest of all cancerous crabs, as he retreats into his shell quite often, not unlike he did since late March of this year. Over the course of the 12 years I've known him, he's done this repeatedly. So I shouldn't be surprised but am, since I believed it was, indeed, over. As a romantic and pragmatic Virgo, I admit, I hoped the crux of his call would be: I have come to silly senses. Blah, blah, blah. Um, not this Crab.

Instead, Mr. Big told me how he plans to prove he's not gay. Then -- wait for it --- make me pay for saying he was. Hmmm. The first part sounds delightful. If proven wrong, oh, how happy I would be! The second involves lots of pain and will avoid at all costs.

Even though my 12-year, round-n-round, on-again, off-again dealings with this Cancerous Crabcake has been taxing, the idea of sex, hopefully, the toe-curling, expletive-shouting, bitch-making sex, as promised, sounds like the move. Good sex pretty much exited my life along with my twenties. He left the ball (bah!) in my court. And, yes, the idea of recapturing my saucy sex life is enticing but at what cost?

Gone are my days of non-committal sex. Does Mr. Big not know how this Carrie feels about him? Does he not know that the idea of him being merely gayish (Read: Devastatingly Metrosexual) and not actually gay is something I'm willing to consider? Of course, he does. He knows, which is why he rang. Mr. Big is trying to play the very game, he's accused me of losing. I suck at it because tricks are for kids.

Mr. Big, you want any part of this? Here are your choices: Love me or leave me alone.

Joe Wilson's Web War

2009-09-10T16:25:00Z

I'll be the first to admit it. Until two-thirds of the way into President Barack Obama's health care reform speech in front of a joint session of Congress, I didn't know who the hell Rep. Joe Wilson (R-SC) was. And, I'll take cash bets that others outside his district in South Cacalaca were just like me.

The defining moment in his national identity came in the minutes after this:

The reaction was immediate and visceral. A friend of mine summed it up succinctly:

"Watching the GOP tonight reminded me of how I imagined the the old southern jury in the book, To Kill A Mockingbird. Straight cocky frat boy disdain, catcalling during the speech from the Commander in Chief...shameful," typed Stanley Scott on my Facebook status.

He was right. In the beginning of the above video clip you hear the GOP wing of Congress laughing at Obama's admission that the kinks aren't worked out in the health care reform bill. Through their collective scoffs, the irony wasn't missed that the kinks exist solely because the GOP is fighting substantive reform with every insurance and health care lobbying dollar tooth-and-nail.

Like I said, the Twitterverse and Facebook Nation reaction was swift and fierce. Immediately upon checking in, Wilson's telephone numbers were statused and re-tweeted. His Twitter page and Web site reportedly crashed. Rick Sanchez, CNN's social media anchor, gladly jumped on the reaction and CNN published a story about it this morning. Wilson, who is running for re-election (um, he phucked that one up but good!) rapidly noticed his misstep giving this lukewarm and vapid apology:

"This evening I let my emotions get the best of me when listening tothe President's remarks regarding the coverage of illegal immigrants in the health care bill," he said. "While I disagree with the President's statement, my comments were inappropriate and regrettable. I extend sincere apologies to the President for this lack of civility."

This screenshot from MSNBC shows how incredulous his outburst. Look at those faces:

Those expressions sum Wilson's behavior up perfectly. It was uncalled for and the dignity of the Presidency has never been disrespected like this even when our former POTUS sent thousands of troops to fight an unwarranted and vengeful war. It happened because POTUS Obama is black and the GOP is scared. It's latent racism, plain and simple.

The GOP fear and acrimony aside, don't lose track of the real issue. This country needs health care reform. Insurance companies shouldn't be able to decide who lives or dies by their decision to pay a claim. Everyone deserves health care and in the richest nation, we can afford to do it. I don't believe otherwise. An insurance company's decision to withdraw coverage because of an omission irrelevant to the insured's current condition thus causing the unexpectedly uninsured to stop or delay treatment resulting in death due to said insurance company's failure to cover is, at best, manslaughter. Maybe even negligent homicide because the insurance company had to know the premeditated act of withdrawing coverage would result in death. The GOP wants a death panel? There it is, folks. Right in their insurance lobbying backyards. Think about the hypocrisy of that one.

This is not the time to get caught up in the GOP's latent predjudice. It's time to stop insurance and health care industry bureaucrats from running death panels and making billions over the graves of average Americans. The fact that the health care industry is one-sixth of our economy should frighten and disgust you. The time has come to support real change.

"We did not come here to fear the future, we came here to shape it," President Obama during last night's speech.

I concur. All the rest, Wilson and his Web war, are just red herrings.

I Am Mud

2009-09-08T16:09:51Z

For those of you who know me, it's no surprise that I'm one of that special breed in the Zodiac wheel, Virgo. If you've kept up with The Blog you know this because I mentioned when figuring who might be my perfect mate. I still don't know the answer to that one as the uber-sensitive, emotionally-skittish and withdrawal-prone crab couldn't stand up to my Virgoan, serpentine tongue. Today, is not a day to ponder random couplings but to acknowledge the virtues of the Virgo born. We are constantly the butt of jokes about prudishness and perfectionism but the truth may surprise you.

_______-______ years ago, my mum was rushed with swollen belly to Beth Israel Medical Center four days before her expected delivery date. True to what would become my Virgo form, I fortuitously arrived four days early on a Saturday afternoon. And, ready to party, it would seem. This would only prove fortuitous, ________-________ years later when on September 11, the exact day of my expected birth, the world came crashing down less than a mile from the very hospital in which I personally, and forever, redefined Labor Day for my mum.

The fact that on a cold January day after my parents returned from seeing a friend's baby shagged, thus, setting in motion my late summer birth put me in very interesting company:

Sean Connery, Doug E. Fresh, Nas, Ludacris, Beyonce, Jada Pinkett Smith, River Phoenix, Richard Gere, Shania Twain, Roger Maris (long-time Yankee homerun record hitter), Raquel Welch, Salma Hayek, Ryan Phillippe, Paul Walker, Idris Elba, Oliver Stone, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Mother Theresa, Mike Piazza, Mickey Rourke, Michael Keaton, Michael Jackson, Macy Gray, Luke Wilson, Macaulay Culkin, Lily Tomlin, Leo Tolstoy, LeAnn Rimes, Lauren Bacall, Sophia Loren, Lance Armstrong, Keanu Reeves, Julio Iglesias, Jesse Owens, Jimmy Connors, Jimmy Fallon, Jeremy Irons, Jennifer Tilly, Ingrid Bergman, Hugh Grant, Henry Ford II, H.G. Wells, Harry Conick, Jr., Guy Ritchie (I love his films!), Greta Garbo, Gloria Gaynor, Gloria Estefan, Fiona Apple, Faith Hill, Eli Kazan, Dan Rather, David Copperfield, Colin Firth, Claudia Schiffer, Charlie Sheen, Cameron Diaz, Bruce Springsteen, Bill Murray, Arnold Palmer, Angie Everheart, Andy Roddick, Stephen King, Tim Burton, Tommy Lee Jones, Tommy Lasorda, Upton Sinclair, Van Morrison, Warren Buffet and US President William Howard Taft.

Seeing that Bey, Jada, Raquel and Sophia are on that list, as well as Adonis Elba (see link), Richard Gere and Mickey Rourke, the false stereotype that Virgos are prude should be flying out your window right about now. We're fiercely loyal and monogamous, not prude. Now, my touting of this list doesn't mean I don't think there aren't other signs equally impressive. (Note: Notably missing are Maya Angelou (Aries) and Albert Einstein (Pisces).) But there are enough famously successful Virgos to equate our collective drive for excellence and success -- and achieving it -- with the time of year we were born.

What surprised me is that I share an actual birth date (Sept. 07) with both, Pink! and Queen Elizabeth I (aka, the Virgin Queen, depicted twice by Cate Blanchett (Taurus), which garnered her an Oscar nomination. She lost to Gwyneth Paltrow (Libra), who missed being a Virgo by five days.)

In spite of the birthday commonalities, I pondered my differences. Yes, Virgos have a drive for excellence (many equate this with perfectionism but it's really a discriminating and exacting quality, rather than perfectionism, which carries a negative connotation) and crave knowledge but there are other factors in our birth charts that make us very different from each other.

For instance, the fact that I came on that Saturday afternoon, instead of four days later changed my natal chart and, therefore, how certain things affect me. This little fact means: I have not just a Virgo Sun but a Capricorn Rising AND a Taurean Moon. What do these three signs have in common besides their mutual compatibility with one another?

They are all Earth signs. Literally, I am mud. It's not as bad as it appears. This muddy foundation explains my grounded nature, the joy I get in simple things like cooking and feeding people and my proclivity towards comfort, be it in food or material things but without being materialistic.

Hogwash, you say? Consider this: My fellow Virgo sister, the Queen, had a Saturn in Cancer, as do I. (The similarities with this woman never cease to amaze me!) People with Saturn in Cancer typically have a serious estrangement with one, or both parents, that affects their adult relationships. As we know, this Queen was born to a woman who had her head lopped off by her husband. He, who, in turn, had several other wives many of which didn't survive his acquaintance. As a result, Queen Elizabeth didn't have good relations with her father. After that, can one blame her for never copulating, marrying or reproducing? Instead, she became mother to her people. Very Virgo-like, indeed!

My parental relationships aren't as dramatic but a parallel exists. Even some of my contemporary Virgo friends share parallel existences or experiences to mine. So, the connection is there and definitely worth a look-see to get to know yourself a little better if you haven't been thusfar inclined.

Happy Birthday to my special Virgo pals:

Terrance Dean (noted author and real-life gaydar and all 'round mentor), Michelle McClymont (fabulously terrific and beautiful person), Tarana Burke (balls-out activist and salt-of-the-Earth -Bah, earth!- type), Eric Raddatz (filmmaker and clever jokster), Chris Jones (equally courageous young brother), Robbie Morganfield (the Webster's definition of excellence!) and, I know, there are others...

Write back and tell me about your celebrity-zodiac likenesses and how you exihibit the best of your sign. Oh yeah, Virgos also have a penchant toward the mystical and the spiritual. Shoulda known, eh?

The Antichrist Obama

2009-09-02T01:40:00Z

The other day I was fiddling around on Facebook, which I like to do to fool myself into thinking I'm working when I should be writing but not, when I stumbled upon the most curious of conspiracy theories. Oh boy, do I love a good conspiracy: Oswald didn't shoot JFK, dinosaurs are fake and 9/11 was grand theater orchestrated by Darth Vader and the Devil.

Oh, no, wait a minute. That last one can't be right because what I read yesterday implied that our current President Barack Hussein Obama is actually, the Devil. So, I guess Bush was just a minion. Unlike the aforementioned theories, this last one is based on a weak straw man argument. But before I attack it, let me give you the information, so you can decide what to believe.

"And he said unto them, "I beheld Satan as lightning fall from heaven." -- The Bible, King James Version

That's it. It's not even the entire sentence that has people's panties in a bunch, slandering the President all over the Internet. It's the last five innocuous words: As lightning fall from heaven. It could be an actual lightning strike. It could be a meteor. It could be a missile. It could even be airplanes shot out of the sky by military aircraft. I digress. Fanning this fire, or igniting it, I'm not sure, is an anonymous video posted on YouTube. If you haven't seen it, don't worry, I've got that for you too.

Take a deep breath. I know, I know. If the pimping of language wasn't enough to send you over the edge, the voice that sounds a lot like Glenn Beck chanting the faux news, uh, I mean Fox News, mantra, should be. Actually, I think the voice is that of Alex Jones, a noted documentarian of conspiracy theories of all types. However, Jones usually puts his face and name on his efforts. So why not this one?

It's a straw man argument to the nth degree. First, let's look at the fact that people are referring to a language that has been out of print and use for centuries. Then, let's ask why would you translate half a sentence and not the other half. In the video, the first half of the sentence is in English and the second half is believed to be in Aramaic. The obvious answer: It's convenient to their argument.

Let's start with the fact that Barack Hussein Obama's name stems from his Kenyan heritage. Barack, spelled as seen, means, 'blessing.' Obama, spelled as seen, means 'slightly bent' from a rare Kenyan word that means baby born with a bent limb or, perhaps, a baby born breech. This is taken from Babynames.com.

What the man in the video has done, in great Glenn Beck fashion, is mix language and meanings to force fit them into his argument. Of course, the phrase 'baraq O-bamah' sounds like the president's name but it's not. And, there is no way you can take a phonetic similarity and twist it into an interpretation. The plain fact is, that phrase in that sentence is not a name. It's akin to saying the burning bush in the fabled Bible story was George Bush because they both contain the sequence of lettters that sound like b-u-s-h.

Beyond that, what does the rest of the verse say in Aramaic? What's the Aramaic word for Satan? To further prove my point, I went looking for other sources of information. On TruthorFiction.com, I found an article that shed light on my frustration with the straw man argument that mixes languages and plays with interpretation to make its point:

"Dr. (Tom) Finley (Professor of Old Testament and Semitics and Chair at Talbot Theological Seminary in Ca) said that in Hebrew "bama" means "back," "hill," or "high place, place of worship" (Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament). In Isaiah 14:14 the term refers to "the heights of the clouds" (KJV) or "the back of a cloud" (a Jewish translation called Tanakh) or "the tops of the clouds" (NRSV).

However, he said that the normal word for "heavens" in Hebrew is "shamayim," and that is the word used in Isaiah 14:12 ("How you are fallen from heaven.")

“Even if we granted that bama could mean "heaven" by itself (that is, without adding a word like "clouds" after it),” Dr. Finley said, “the combination that the video makes, "baraq u/o bama," could only mean "lightning and heaven," not "lightening from heaven" or "the heights").

Further, according to Dr. Finley, “What Jesus said in Luke 10:18 was, in the KJV, "Satan as lightning fall from heaven." If he spoke it in Aramaic, then "from heaven" should be "min shemayya." If Hebrew it should be "mehashamayim." It is impossible that he would have used "bama" for "heaven," whether in Hebrew or Aramaic. In Greek it is "ek tou ouranou." And of course this doesn't address how to account for "and" in the alleged name "baraq u/o bama."

Dr. Finley concluded, “Someone has been playing around with these languages in a rather silly way.”"

Ok, so even though the video claims to be using an Aramaic interpretation only the word 'baraq' is Aramaic. The rest is a misinterpretation rooted in other languages. Hmph. There are so many ways The Bible can be (mis)interpreted. This is why I disdain religion and religious zealots and fanatics alike. Everyone's version is the correct one. Everyone else is going to Hell because they don't do as the other one does.

I will say, the thing that pissed me off the most is, this bandwagon of hate mongering disguised as religious zealotry is propagated on the Internet by black people. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I think we are above such things. It's not. I'm angry that we finally have a President that the nation rallies around and then there's this hysteria of the right wingers and those stuck equally in the middle of the country and the middle ages to equate him with the most Evil. But I expected it from the extreme right. What I didn't expect, was it to come from my own neighborhood. It's as saddening as it is sickening.

To make sure I wasn't off track, I reached out my mentor (as I often do), Robbie Morganfield, who just so happens to be a pastor in the Washington D.C. area. (Note: I'm a believer in the Trinity but not a proponent of any one religion.) Here's what he had to say:

"I looked at the video and found it to be utter non-sense: Someone claiming some knowledge of ancient Scripture without any credentials,etc. So we are just supposed to take their word for it. Also, after listening to the video, I'm really not sure what they are trying to say. If Obama's name means lightning and heaven, so what?" My point exactly. He goes on:

"The video ends with a disclaimer saying it is not saying that BHO is the Antichrist but just stating facts about the meaning of the name or some non-sense like that.... again, I don't get it." Neither do I.

Black people, especially black men, should see this moment as the next plateau to success and equality for all mankind. Obama wants to do great things for all the people in this country at great personal risk. The Secret Service publicly stated Obama gets an average of 30 death threats daily. I wonder if it's from the same people who are sending this vitriol around cyberspace. It seems like they won't be happy until this country buries another young--

This scenario sounds woefully familiar to another but with a different ending. But we don't have to worry about a hysterical mob crucifying anyone...

Do we?

Without any prodding, Morganfield thought there was a similarity too.

"l'll say this...: If they thought that George Bush-- who lied and deceived us into war, causing thousands to die needlessly and ruined the economy in the process and then denied a problem existed and the list could go on and on -- was sent by God then it is no wonder they think Obama is of the devil. They are largely polar opposites," he said.

It reminds me of the scribes in Mark 3 and Matthew 12. They accused Jesus of being of the devil because he cast out devils... Jesus responded by saying the devil would not cast out the devil. My question is what evil has Obama done?"

I say forgive them for they know not what they do. That was directed toward Jesus. It's not as if there could be any confusion, though. The days of Obama being hailed as a messiah are, indeed, over.

10,000 Hours

2009-08-31T01:47:00Z

I've started reading a new book, Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell. In a nutshell, it's a study about outlying factors that make people successful.

He starts off with an anecdote about these Italian immigrants, who in the late 1950s and 60s avoided heart disease. Curious about how these people became the medical miracle of the time, doctors started to study them to find the reason. All the medical indicators of good health showed that these people were the same as others in nearby towns, therefore, their habits weren't the cause. In fact, they ate more fat, did less exercise and more of them were fighting obesity. Yet, no heart disease. They determined that the way these people lived, communally, was an outlying factor in why they were different from the normal standard. Hence, outliers.

From there, he goes on to state European footballers, Canadian hockey and American baseball players get a leg up on their rival competition from the start based on their birth dates and how the sports select players. I'm being overly simplistic but those who have birthdays closest to the cut off are bigger, stronger and more capable than those included in the same level but because their birthdays are farther away haven't reached the same maturity or physical capability yet. Due to this outward appearance, coaches tend to perceive these 11 month older kids as better players. At first it's not really true but after years of more practice and coaching, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

And I mean years more of practice. What starts off as a few months' advantage turns into 10 years more playing time.

Gladwell posits that it takes 10,000 hours of practice for someone to be great at anything. He looks at Bill Gates, The Beatles, classical musicians and these athletes to prove his point. The best of us get our 10,000 hours clocked by the time we reach adulthood. In Gladwell's eyes, that's what sets them a part from the herd.

This is all done with the aid of statistical proof and a look at the birth dates of the most successful aforementioned athletes.

Although, I recognize and even agree with Gladwell's hypothesis on one level, it leaves no room for other routes to success. What happens to the late bloomers? What happens to those who choose one career only to be unfilfulled and go in search of their true calling? Does he really think these people who change in midstream will take 10 years before they can stand out in the crowd of their new profession?

It does explain why we cultivate child prodegies with such vigor. In his book, he acknowledges only one person reached this pinnacle of success without the required 10,000 hours of practice, chess grandmaster Bobby Fisher. He was nine. But hasn't the rest of his life been spent in isolation?

I want to know what you think.

Does greatness begin before we have a chance to decide who and what we really want to be?
Does the chance for greatness get lost because of arbitrary circumstances like birth dates?
Can one rise to greatness without 10,000 hours (this is estimated to be 10 years) worth of practice?
Is there hope for the rest of us, who change direction midstream, sometimes more than once?

And all this just in Gladwell's first chapter. He goes on to talk about other outliers of success like intelligence quotients and family history. I'll bring you more on that as I get to it. I'm still stuck on this 10,000 hours by the time we're 21. And he's not even talking about talent. Talent is ancillary in Gladwell's view. Talent can only ensure success if it's cultivated at the right time by the right set of outliers.

What say you?

Chocolate-Dipped Adonis

2009-08-27T17:47:00Z

Like a good girl, after one hardworking day, my script's outlined. As I look ahead to the dialogue, I figure, keeping you posted will keep me honest. And don't worry, I don't plan to give you a writer's blow-by-blow. What fun would that be?

Instead, I've decided to invite you in on my newest, latest, greatest and most favorite distraction: Idris Elba. MMM lekker!

As I was weening down on my working hours yesterday, I got a blessed tweet from this chocolate-dipped Adonis. If you don't know what a tweet is, here's a hint: it has nothing to do with birds and everything to do with Apples. Anywho, the aforementioned tweet was a picture of Elba from the set of his latest project, The Losers.

Elba as Roque on the set of his latest project: The Losers.

Photo courtesy of Idris Elba via Yfrog.

If you are like my friend, Cal, and you don't know who he is, I ask: Hast thou lain in coma for all of the 2000s? Here's something to enlighten thee beyond yonder Elba link.

He played Stringer Bell in HBO's, The Wire...

he caught a bullet from Denzel Washington in American Gangster...

he was the subject of Ali Larter's psychotic break in Obsessed...

and he played Mumbles, the daper don draped in green in Guy Ritchie's RocknRolla.

I do hope that Adonis Elba gets more scenes in the teased The Real RocknRolla. Being a bigGuy Ritchie fan, I've got a couple of questions about that rock salt bit but I'll save that for later. If you haven't seen any of these, you should. He's been hailed as the coming of the next Denzel. Those aren't my words, didn't you hear the newscaster say that, or were you taken in by his blue rebeka and his uber-sexy English accent? Play it again.

I don't know if he's Denzel v. 2.0.09, nor, do I care. He's a fine distraction anytime. And, I'm not the only one who feels this way. He has 10,000 followers on Twitter, 7,000 more on Facebook and a whooping 19,500 on MySpace, which sets him apart from his Denzelesque counterparts. By the way, those hyperlinks are to his pages. Today's breed of heartthrob and 'Most Eligible Bachelor' as Elba has been christened, is scarily accessible and interacts with his fans via social media Web sites. (All hail to the geeks! This was an unforeseen bene.)

True to Virgo form, chocolate-dipped Adonis Elba, as I have crowned him, has more than one God-given talent. He's a DJ and a good one. He has an artist's MySpace page, so you can hear lots of his music there. It seems impossible to me that anyone can be conscious and not know who he is, especially after last month's Essence cover story. But if that is you, take some time out to get acquainted. You'll be glad you did.

I have a distinct feeling he's going to be around for a long, long time. Obsessed is out on DVD. The Losers is scheduled for release in 2010.

Adaptation

2009-08-25T19:37:00Z

It's been 136 days since my last entry, and a lot has happened. I've trimmed a bit of fat from my life since that day in April. Some of it was forced, some not but all of it better off in the rubbish bin of life because it's not productive to carry dead weight. In these nearly four months, I've been struggling to find the best niche for myself. It's funny returning 'home' after being gone for a long stretch. The things and people I loved then are not necessarily the same things or people I love now. I realized I've grown quite accustomed to that unique level of freedom that exists when you live in a country where no one knows you before coming to live there. It's a freedom without boundaries or other people's expectations. Come to find out, I prefer it.

As journalism jobs are scarce, I've been forced to think outside the proverbial box and take my 'talent' to new frontiers. I guess I'm pretty typical among artists who fluctuate in the level of confidence during the long days and months or years between production to publication. Good for me, that I have the uncanny ability to swing with the punches while swinging for the fences. I've been drawn back to the blog for the same reason I started it: nowhere else to vent.

I'm not short of story ideas or ideas period and have amassed quite a library of plot outlines. However, as the literary world has proved impenetrable, I'm embarking on new vehicles on which to try my craft: the stage/screenplay. This, because I am obviously not getting abused enough by the high brows of the written word, so I feel the need to subject myself to the hells of Hollywood. Those who read my manuscript said it would be good a movie, so logic follows. Again, I have not opted for even this, the simplest of career segues. Although I do plan to adapt my novel into a screenplay, that's not the one I'll work on first.

I downloaded CELTX, a pre-production, open source screenwriting software, and as I looked at the blinking cursor on the empty screen, suddenly, I have much Twittering, Facebooking and, even, after 136 days, urgent blogging to do. Ah, the joys and sorrows of procrastination. It's just my way of dialing up the courage to do the thing I've never done before. Not unlike the day, I started my ms. I've already started a stageplay, so now when I procrastinate on my screenplay, I can work on the stageplay. There are a lot of other things going on around me that's not fit to print, so I won't.

It all boils down to one word, as many things can and do: instincts. This is something Aphrodite reminded me about just today. Everytime I look at her, I see this housebroken, declawed and spayed little kitty. We've tried to domesticate every survival instinct right out of her. She eats when she's fed and comes when called. Until she sees something move at lightening speed, and then, she's on a mission. She hunts around furniture and stakes out corners. Just when I think she's off her rocker, she plops a dead animal at my feet. Like her, I've been trained towards domestication. I think we all are. We feel safer in predictable situations. Work: Mon-Fri.; Paycheck: every two weeks. Stuff like that. However, we shouldn't underestimate our ability to adapt at a moment's notice to spot the very thing we want. Nor should we forget it's in our souls to keep going until we get it.

Let's hope in 136 days from today, I've turned my plot outline into some very clever dialogue.

Ain't What It Used To Be

2009-04-11T18:02:00Z

Ever since I've returned from Prague, I've been in flux. I'm perpetually hovering on decisions based completely on events I cannot control.

What job will I get? Where will I get it? WHEN the hell will I get it?

I came back to New York City partly because getting work here for me has always been easy. Well, not this time. At least, not yet.

More importantly, since returning to NYC, I've made an important discovery: I'm not entirely sure I even want to be here.

This is a surprising revelation considering I've always been about the city: the diverse food, the tumultuous vibe, the fabulous fashion and, especially, the lekker men. But not even they are the same. I know over time, cities and the people in them can change but what I'm discovering is, some changes are not necessarily for the better. Not even in New York. Punctuating that thought is the notion that Mr. Big is gay, or is probably gay and men who fit in that same category, unfortunately for them are painted with the same brush and are then more-than-likely gay. That dubious status is quite enough for me.

And the club scene, the CLUB scene has been completely wack. It's inexplicable. It's all about paying $20 to get in, which I don't, $15 for a cocktail, which I refuse to do and music that blows instead of bumps.

Another annoying thing about my city -- get this, it's not the tourists but the transplants. New York has become an interpretation of what people born elsewhere percieve it to be. So by that logic, the city is, relatively, FAKE. It's become a real-life television version of itself. This idea first came to me when I went to the premiere of the BET show, Harlem Heights, a loosely-termed 'reality' show about twenty-somethings living it up in my neighborhood, Harlem. The thing that got on my last nerve was just one of the main players were actually from New York let alone Harlemworld.

How can these people have an understanding of this city, that neighborhood beyond its surface, which in the last decade has been gentrified to be more palatable to the non-diverse part of our population? Right, they can't.

Take that notion and magnify it by 8 million and what you get is an unrealistic interpretation that is quickly becoming the standard by how people view what used to easily be one of the greatest cities on Earth.

After returning from three weeks in warm Atlanta during March, I was even more dejected about New York and what it's currently offering. By contrast, Atlanta's vibe, fashion and food hit the spot. Not to mention, its quality of life. The jury is still out on the men as it has one of the most concentrated populations of gay black men outside of San Francisco. But, at least, most of them are openly gay. And don't we know what havoc the closeted ones wreak on people's lives? Anyway, according to some of the relationships I've been witnessing lately, I don't know if a steady man is something I want or need. They seem to complicate rather than compliment the average woman's life. Maybe that's just me? Uh, no.

Believe you me, the irony that Atlanta is probably as cool as it is because of all the New York transplants isn't lost on me. Perhaps, that's what it is: all of the cool people from up top relocated to The Dirty leaving New York without and Hotlanta absolutely peachy.

My decision where to live isn't the only one in flux. I've reconsidered reinventing my career once again. Not in the Madonna sense of pointy bras and and a gay entourage, although that wouldn't be bad, considering recent events. One could use the counsel. But in the way she continually redefines herself to keep her career on track.

Technical writing isn't as sexy as a Madonna switch-a-roo, which includes suspect relationships with women. But it will keep me in the game and pad my pocket all at once. That's a game I'm bound to win, sooner rather than later.

Not So Sweet and Downlow

2009-03-30T18:57:00Z

My life has morphed into the Sex in the City episode that never was. In the latest turn of events, Mr. Big's sexuality is in a high state of doubt.

This is a twist that me in all my fabulousness didn't see coming. It was one of those associations where someone's behavior never matched what they said. I think everyone has experienced that and usually you find it's because that person is into someone else. All's fair in love and dating, right?

The whole thing started when my good friend, Terrance Dean, who coincidentally authored Hiding in Hip Hop, an expose about the downlow life wrapped in the hyper masculinity of the rap world, called me. We were talking about someone he knows who is in his late 40s, attractive, well educated with a good job who stays single. Never been married, and has no kids. Nothing. He routinely explained away his status by stating he was picky when it came to women. Turns out he's gay.

That piqued my interest because it was a refrain I'd heard before from my Mr. Big. Now, for those of you who know me, and those who don't, I love tall men. I mean I am a runway model-type myself, so it's only befitting that I date someone who is taller. Mr. Big is above average height, very attractive, with his own house, car, a top position, and no kids. Surely these are all the trappings to make a good husband, so he has a right to be picky. And clearly, the same soon-to-be 38-year-old, Caribbean man who can't find one woman to be in a relationship with in the whole Tri-State Area where the ratio of men to women favors men is the textbook definition of picky. Terrance countered that no man who actually wants a woman is THAT picky. *chuckle*

I sat in the reclined chair and played everything back. Could Terrance be right? I mean, can my Mr. Big possibly, maybe, somehow be gay?

There were a lot of small things. Mr. Big's personally designed house is fly and meticulously decorated the same way. His clothes are fly. His nails are immaculate. I am talking about better than mine immaculate. His life is compartmentalized. Everything and everyone has their place and none of the two shall meet. He is always with a guy or going to meet a guy. He has face soap and shower puffs and girly hair cream. All of those facts added up to put him in the suspect but not flaming category. Maybe Mr. Big is metrosexual. Yes, that's it! He is a metrosexual.

Then I remembered our first date nearly a decade ago, which occurred three years after I met him. Yes, it took three years for us to finally have a date....hmmm. I remember primping and dressing in a very sexy mini skirt and orange cami. I shaved everywhere and oiled up my long legs before slipping on my favorite pair of Kenneth Cole pump sandals. I was looking good, smelling better and it showed. I was finally going to be alone with my Mr. Big. After three years of emails and phone calls, hell, I wanted to make sure that I was ready. I wanted to be devoured, ravaged, and swept off my feet. *fans self* Is it getting hot in here?

We had planned to meet early and see where the day took us. So imagine my surprise as I am deliciously waiting in the heart of New York City, otherwise known as Times Square, excitedly anticipating our first rendezvous and Mr. Big comes prancing gleefully in with a guy. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, he brought along a guy to the date. No, he hadn't told me that his friend would be joining us. No, we never discussed the possibility of one of his friends coming on our FIRST date.

This is a good place to pause for a second: Who does that? What man brings another man on a date where there is only one woman?

His equally good-looking Greek (as in the country not a fraternity) friend went everywhere with us from the beginning until the night's end. Not to mention, they took me to some club where the doorman was in drag. Not RuPaul drag, but drag nonetheless.

Now, fast forward 10 years and who do I see arm-and-arm with Mr. Big in a photo taken at a 2008 BBQ at Mr. Big's place? Yup, you guessed it. Apparently, the also in his late 30s good-looking Greek, "Mr. Date Crasher," is 'damn near married' according to Mr. Big.

But nothing, and I do mean nothing, proved my point better than the man himself. In the final stretch of my rekindling a flickering hopeless flame (I am not being facetious in saying flame, by the way), Mr. Big became unresponsive to communication. The tear the sheets off the bed, wall climbing, toe-curling sex he promised: Uhm, that's it? Sweet nothings we women love to hear: nothing. How ya doing?: nothing. What are you doing?: nothing. It wasn't until I hit the nail on the head. You are 100-percent gay!: Booyah. My phone lit up like the Rockfeller Center Christmas Tree during the first week of December.

Not only did he respond, he called. And when I hung up, he called back. And when I didn't answer, he sent me four texts that used the maximum capacity of characters each. I am sure his fingers were in a flurry typing those messages on his tiny iPhone. All of this from the same man who said he never had time to text.

And, it was what he didn't say that was heard the loudest. Mr. Big had all sorts of names and adjectives for me, but in all his typing he never questioned how I came to that conclusion, or that I was wrong, or that he wasn't gay. It wasn't until I pointed out that he didn't deny it that he denied it while leveling all manner of insults. Well, tell me how you really feel, girlfriend. *snaps fingers*

Finally, he signed off: P.S. I guess you are gay too...

For Mr. Big to even say that is so totally gay.

Monkey Business

2009-02-18T22:24:00Z

By now everybody knows that two cops were called upon to gun down an errant chimp on Monday night in Stamford, Connecticut. What you may or may not know is that the New York Post today ran a cartoon by their in-house artist, Sean Delonas, depicting that scene.

In true NYPost and Delonas fashion, the publication did not miss the opportunity to tie it in to the new administration. See for yourself:

Photo Courtesy of New York Post, News Corp.

Your eyes are not deceiving you. Delonas' caption makes a not-so-subtle comparison of our new POTUS to the dead chimp. Grant it, Obama didn't pen the stimulus package but after Tuesday's speech in Denver, he owns it.

I have been privy to several conversations about this cartoon. Most are outraged. Some have understood it and defended it without championing it. This isn't the first time Delonas and the Post have printed a racially offensive cartoon. Nor is it the first time that the parent company of the Post, News Corp., supported racially offensive commentary. After all, it is the same company that owns FOX News.

It is clearly apparent with this quote (borrowed from Dick Prince's column) from the Post's editor, Col Allan, there is no remorse or even a recognition of them doing anything wrong.

"The cartoon is a clear parody of a current news event, to wit the shooting of a violent chimpanzee in Connecticut. It broadly mocks Washington's efforts to revive the economy. Again, Al Sharpton reveals himself as nothing more than a publicity opportunist," Karen Matthews reported for the Associated Press.

I say, it is not a clear parody when so many people are offended and outraged. It is not a clear parody when it is common knowledge that racists Americans have always compared blacks to monkeys. It is a clear parody of the strides this nation is attempting to make beyond the color barrier.

So what now? How do we stop it?

Some recommended that we ignore it. That its blatant quality renders it ineffectual. I disagree. The blatant nature is what disturbs me the most. This is exactly how I thought racist whites would respond to a President Obama.

Now that we have a black POTUS they say, that there is no more need for Black History Month. They will say that there is no need for affirmative action in hiring and admission practices. They will say that everything is fair and their is no such thing as racial profiling.

Don't be mislead. There will be a need for Black History Month as long as the companies who write the textbooks are controlled by the ruling class and present only their version of events long passed.

There will be a need for affirmative action in hiring and admission practices as long as those doing the hiring and admitting are white and male. And, I don't think my industry is the only one still dominated by those two demographics.

There will be a need for justice as long as young brothers like Robbie Tolan, a former minor league baseball player and son of a major leaguer, are shot while standing in their own driveways for driving their own cars.

Tolan and his cousin drove home, parked and were walking toward the front door when a police officer questioned whether the SUV they got out of belonged to Tolan. It did. The 23-year-old's mother emerged from the house, rightfully questioning what the police officer wanted with her son, the cop allegedly shoved her, which is when Tolan, who was down on the ground, told the officer to keep his hand off his mother. That's when the cop allegedly shot him.

Let's be offended by the cartoonish images published by rightwing tabloids to sell hardcopies and garner clicks. If you are in New York, don't buy the Post. If the cartoon offends you, don't visit their site and call your cable or satellite provider and ask them to discontinue FOX networks. But let's not lose sight of the real issues. The ones that can take away our freedoms and our lives. We have a black President but our fight to end the monkey business of racism is far from over.

Sexual Closure

2009-02-01T14:22:00Z

I've been home almost two weeks and between the reunions and job interviews, all I can say: It's been interesting.

It took me about four days to get into the swing and vibe of the city. It first came last Saturday when I went shopping with my cousin at the Macy's Department store in Herald Square. I was trying to convince her that she needed to branch out and buy a pair of heels for no other reason than they were elevated and pretty. At this precise moment, a woman butted into our conversation from nowhere to offer her two cents.

Ah, it's good to be home.

Then, I left my cousin to go to what we call, 'The Spot.' This is the affectionate name we have for the hectic Dominican hair salon where you can go from having a happy, nappy kitchen to china doll straight hair all in a matter of half a day on a good Saturday. It's here where they wash, condition, roll and blow out every woman on the Upper West Side who puts down $20 + $5 + $5. If you've ever been to a Dominican shop you know about the   $5 add-ons.

Back in the day, I spent many a Saturday morning putting down my $20 + $5 + $5. When I walked in, I found my old stylist, Idalia. It took her a minute before the lost gaze on her face turned to recognition. Her reaction: "You're so skinny."

Ah, it's good to be home.

An amazing two hours later, I left feeling like my old self after two years of braids and otherwise less desired coifs.

It feels good to be home.

But the best New York moment came from an old friend. Now, even though I've decided not to use his name, I must supply the backstory. About a decade ago, we used to 'date' but he wasn't ever my boyfriend. Anyway, in the years since, we've moved onto a platonic friendship -- or, so I thought.

I met up with this particular old friend for dinner at his place. I was glad to see him and this guy can burn, so I was excited about the visit. With bellies full and Kona coffee poured, we got to talking about our love lives. I explained that I'm interested in someone, yada, yada, yada. Genuinely surprised by the timing (so soon after my return), he had the following suggestion to cap the evening:

"Before you do that, we should have sexual closure on our relationship."

Dear God, I have now heard it all. Thank you for this last bit of comedy before I close my eyes and die, laughing.

He, however, was serious. He went on to explain how, although our friendship would continue that he would like to share this with me one, last, time. When I overcame my shock, I explained I was uninterested in revisiting that part of our history. He continued with how I would regret it once I was settled into a routine. Don't think so. And that when I did regret it, he might not be able to help me out.

"Aw, come on. You know you want to."

No, I don't. I figured the time we 'colorful sexual euphemism here' and it turned out to be the last that was all the closure our sexual relationship needed. And I'm positive I'm not wrong.

My close circle of friends, thought it was true hilarity and one for the record books. One person said, it actually belongs on a t-shirt:

                                                                           Sexual Closure
                                                                                  get some

What do you think? Are there people whom you need to have sex with one last time before committing to the idea of someone else? If you are in a relationship, you do regret not having sex with someone once more?

Having lived in many places around the globe, it's only in NYC do you even have to ponder situations like this. It really is great to be home.

A New Chapter

2009-01-19T10:03:00Z

It's so strange: Going home is proving harder than leaving it.

When I left in 2007, I was filled with anxious anticipation. I was nervous about what I would experience and how I would handle it. I was nervous about whether I could actually travel by myself in places like France, Spain and Italy. I proved I could. I proved that I could not only travel alone but make friends wherever I am. Beyond that, I proved that I could not only go to a place for a short period of time and survive but that I could become part of a new culture instead of just a voyeur of it.

So why is it now that I'm returning home to a place I know well, that I'm experiencing what I can only characterize as fear. The whole episode is quite unsettling, especially since I'm leaving tomorrow and the inevitable is finally here. I'm thinking about packing up and it's all that I can do not to tremble.

Don't get me wrong, I'm ready to go and I'm excited to see family and old friends. I remain certain that leaving Europe now is the right decision. But the unknown variables have gripped me in a way that can be crippling: There are times when I don't want to move.

It's probably because my family in Norway has been beyond good to me. Coming here from Prague was definitely what the doctor ordered but unlike there, I have good reasons to want to stay in Stavanger. I've grown to love this country -- as cold as it is -- and regard it as my home away from home.

I keep thinking, maybe I would feel better if I was going directly into a new job. But then, I wouldn't have time to reacquaint myself. This way, while I look for a job, I can catch up on what I've missed. I prefer the latter scenario over the former. So that's not it.

Then, I think maybe I would feel better if I went ahead and got a place of my own. But again, that would have increased the pressure to find a job. And while a modicum of pressure is good, that's the sort I can do without. So no.

I must remember I'm not returning to something unfinished. I don't have to pick up where I left off. I'm starting something brand new. So slowly, I'm coming to terms with this new unscripted chapter of my life. I know everything happens for a reason. There's something to be learned from my new found discomfort. It's my job to figure it out.

Until then, I should stop procrastinating on the Web and go pack.

Here I Go Again

2009-01-12T18:52:00Z

Hello? Is this thing on? *taps mike*

Yeah, well, I'm back. I moved to this here spot because I wanted a broader audience while I wrote about my travels on The Blog, which had caught on the year after I started it on MySpace. Funny thing is, I don't even use MySpace much anymore after swearing I would never switch. I use Facebook. It really goes to show how things change given a long enough time line.

When I left you Barack Obama was anything but a sure thing. The economy was on its last leg but not yet gasping for its last breath. Lehman Brothers was still considered a powerhouse on The Street. A few months before we parted, I said we were in the big 'R' already but no one wanted to admit it.

Since then, we've had TARP, Sarah Palin AND Tina Fey, AIG, the end of The Street as we know it and Obamanation. Today, soon-to-be POTUS Obama is indeed the man of the hour and one who needs no introduction. The paparazzi, as well as, mainstream media report on such infinitesimal details like Obama dropping his sunglasses and bending down to pick them up. The economy is in it's final death throes and, in December, the MSM proved me right when they admitted we've been in a recession since December 2007. Remember folks, you read it here first.

November 4th seems like eons ago but it's still fresh in my memory. Although, I voted for him and supported his win on international television here in Czech and in neighboring Germany, I still felt like I missed something grand. I shed tears as I watched my country jump a significant hurdle in the race toward equality, without me in it. Those next few days and weeks were quite critical in what came to be my final decision.

My international writing career had been on the upswing as I landed a recurring gig with The Prague Post and a one-time-could-be-more gig with EbonyJet.com. There were some ups-and-downs with my Czech flatmate, as a request for heat during the winter months resulted in the following:

"This is a cold country, you should expect to be cold."

She was dead serious. After that she will forever be known as the Crazy Czech Chick. On the whole however, things were super, as they like to say here.

Then the weeks began to drag on but so did the publications with my pay. Seems like that's been my history here in Czech: waiting around to get money due me. Then the company where I taught private lessons went bankrupt because they couldn't get credit. No need wondering why.

So it was time I weighed things. I've traveled a lot, seen much and done more. I've learned some Czech, ate some Czech food and even cooked a little bit of it. I've even earned a Czech name: Ailenka Torresova. I've hosted friends from the States and showed them around the Golden City. I've written for two international publications and one large American Web site. I've reconnected with friends and people I've known since I was five.

Today, the world doesn't seem so big. I've got friends who live in three of the four corners of the world. I feel older and wiser but wonder when these changes will manifest themselves in some tangible way.

For the umpteenth time in my life, I've packed up my things into a suitcase, a gym bag and a backpack. The rest I'm bequeathing to my gal pals, Wendy and Meggie. I'm going home. In a week, on Inauguration Day, I'm returning to the city of my birth for yet another re-birth. Truth is, I'm tired. I've been gone nearly two years and every six months I moved. Of course, that's not counting the first six months where I city or country hopped every other week or so. My next act has got to be one that lasts and lasts...

It only makes sense to return to NYC to put down some roots. It's home and it's cosmopolitan. A lot like what living here in Europe has been like...but not. It still feels strange returning while unsure what I'm returning to. *scratches head*

But, at least I have a plan. And hey, I'm the multi-act kid. I've still got a book to publish.

Thanks, you've been a great audience!

###

Here's a list of Czech things I will miss:

Mattoni Perliva Bilych Hrozny a Hrusky -- sparkling water from the famed Karlovy Vary with hint of white grape and pear, respectively.
Zlate Syr -- some Czech cheese that was the complete bomb!
Fresh bread baked three times daily -- do I have to say more?
Petrin Hill -- the highest peak in Prague where I used to run almost daily.
Stromokov Park -- a hilly park where I'd run when the tourists at Petrin got too much.
Haje Park -- where I started my daily runs. I stopped running there once I moved to center.
The Trams -- Prague has the cutest and quite punctual tram system.
Chodov -- The mall with the Hypernova (a supermarket) that is my favorite Czech supermarket. Too bad it's not close to center.
The Squares -- Prague streets revolve around squares. Much like the system in Mexico, expect there each city revolves around one square. In Prague, each neighborhood has its own square. My neighborhood has two: Vaclavske Namesti and Staromestka Namesti.
Hearing Czech -- it will be good to hear English on the regular again, after all, it's been nearly two years. Czech is a really great language albeit difficult to learn. The native speakers remind me of Italians or Spaniards because they speak their language with lots of passion.

I don't think it needs to be said but I will miss all of the great friends I made here. For every difficult person or situation, there was a friendly face or two ready to offer a pivo to drink.

Things I most definitely will not miss:

Being a foreigner -- There truly is no place like home.
People staring -- This is commonplace, Czechs even stare at each other. It's not a social taboo, it's actually accepted. It didn't bother me but I am happy to get back to a place where eye contact from a stranger who is not trying to get to know you is frowned upon. *chuckles*
Cobblestoned streets -- Dear Lord Have Mercy. The person who invented those things was not a forward thinker. As romantic as it may seem (I wouldn't know), those things make it impossible to walk in heels. I have nearly broken an ankle trying to be cute...so I often opted for comfort rather than style because of those things. No more. Heels here I come!
Crazy Czech Chick -- I've got stories. If you are curious, look up my post, "Heard It All" (2007). It's not about her but it will give you an idea.

SMACKDOWN!

2008-05-26T09:58:00Z

When I first saw this clip, my jaw hit the floor. I still managed to clap in amazement. Not because it was anything really new but because it was being said on a public stage. Maybe those of you who watch Keith Olbermann religiously won't be surprised or have seen it. If you haven't, you must.

Olbermann singlehandedly takes on Reigning Cracked Egg Supreme in a no holds barred commentary that points to why this man should be impeached and then prosecuted for war crimes against humanity.

KEITH OLBERMANN VERBALLY SMACKS IDIOT BUSH

Olbermann has restored a bit of my faith when it comes to news networks and the world of journalism at large. As I said to someone whom I shared the video, Olbermann didn't do it in a vacuum. The shirts at MSNBC approved this message, which says volumes.

If you watched the clip, you no doubt got a kick out of his rant that called RCES' continued fear mongering 'bone-headed'. Or, perhaps you nodded in agreement when Olbermann pointed out the terrorism that exists in Iraq is American sponsored and his doing. Astonishingly, or not, years after being proved a liar, RCES still clings to the notion he was told that Iraq had WMDs. In a recent interview with Politico.com, he said he was told this by enigmatic 'people'. We the people have not been able to get a clear answer to this because it's a fallacy. Yet, Bush peddles that lie with impunity.

The best of the worst came when Olbermann called RCES on the carpet for lying about his golf game. When will this man stop lying to us and himself? Apparently, never. With the construction of his Presidential Library, it appears he will attempt to lie to future generations too. Anyway, in the same interview RCES claimed he quit GOLF (as if this should be significant) as a show of support to the fallen troops and their families.

That is about right for his family's history of support. Remember, dear old hag matriarch Bush and what she said about the people who were trapped in the Superdome after Katrina? Here's a paraphrased refresher. They've never had it so good. Pffft!

Not only is RCES' idea laughably insulting but it's another convenient lie, which was only too easy for the production staff on Countdown to prove. My personal favorite moment of the entire clip is, in fact, Olbermann's close. I thought he was going to use an expletive! I wish he had.

Olbermann used the RCES interview with Politico.com to show his viewers, who are staunchly Democratic, what a farce this administration continues to be. Sadly, he preaches to the choir.

Those of us with half a brain recognize how we were hoodwinked into a war that caused 4,000 of our countrymen and women to fall on foreign soil for foreign oil. Those who need to hear it, those elephants deeply entrenched in the GOP doctrine, let Olbermann's message and others like it fall on deaf ears. That's if they listen at all.

Still, my hat goes off to Olbermann and the Countdown team for having the balls to tell the unabashed truth. This administration is known to employ gangster tactics in administering its own brand of justice in the name of freedom and national security. So, those folks at MSNBC would be better to watch their backs.