LoisLane's Metropolis

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.

Woman

2008-05-09T07:52:00Z

Today, I'm sitting here thinking to myself, when I gave my mother her nickname: Woman.

I can't remember when I did it. It was, at least, 10 years ago. Yeah, yeah I know. It sounds a little weird but our relationship is anything but typical. It's different though, which is why I think she hated it, at first. I keep having to explain it is not demeaning or perjorative. In my strange way, it's meant as a term of endearment. Finally, it grew on her but I still don't think she actually gets it.

Woman knows what I will say and do before I do. This is quite a feat as I would like to believe my decisions are either quite spontaneous or individual. But every time she predicts my thoughts or feelings on a subject with extreme accuracy. Me and Woman have been through some rough and tumble times together. No need re-hash all that stuff here. It just should be noted.

What feels like most recently, she gave us all a cancer scare. Gladly, gratefully, she came through it and has been free of the 'Big C' for two years now. YAY! So why am I thinking about all this today?

Well, it's her birthday.

Back on Valentine's Day a good friend of mine sent me a video clip of John Lennon. When I heard it, it resonated with me for reasons I think you'll get. It's precisely why I named her, Woman. She is special to all who know her. For me, she is the woman in my life who means everything to me and will forever remain the only woman who does.

Since I haven't been able to convince her of the profound meaning behind her name, I figured, I'd let the genius who put it into song sing it for me, especially since I can't carry a tune two steps. I think it's a language she'll finally understand.

Happy Birthday, Woman.

Music Video:WOMAN (by John Lennon)

Music Video Code provided by Video Code Zone

Goal!

2008-05-07T08:57:00Z

It's been a while since I've written about my travel adventures. I couldn't let today go by without giving it a mention. Why? Because today marks a year that I left the US to travel and live abroad.

It was my goal to stay gone one year. It was my hope not to return for an indefinite period of time. For those of you who may not know, my journey carried me through the fjords in the land of the midnight sun in Norway, the ghettos of Paris along with the jardins of the Louvre, the pink sunrises, super yachts and fresh food of Antibes, the walls of Berlin, wild nights smoking shisha in Frankfurt, the hellish heat of Roma, hearing sex on my balcony in Barcelona, delectable paella and sangria in Valencia, a primitive yet enchanting existence in Morocco and a two-week party in Malaga. I can't tell you about it all because I would be typing for days and you woudn't read it all.

The year finished, surprisingly, with what has come to be life here in Prague. I have a growing network of friends like Kat and Kingsley. And it's starting to feel a bit like home.

This year has given me the greatest gifts: life experiences I will forever treasure. The traveling has slowed and I am learning what patience is.

After my doomed trip to Bratislava where the Czech Embassy was closed, a week later I learned the Czech government swooped in to seize all the paperwork there. Apparently, the embassy officials were extorting money from foreigners like me who wanted and needed work/residential Visas. Arrests have been made. Like I stated, papers were seized. Had I filed there, I would be at back at square one. So, the curse turned out to be a blessing.

However, another issue has presented itself. Now, I will be going to Dresden where the Czech embassy does things by appointment only. The trouble now is, I am not the only person being re-routed from Bratislava to Dresden where there are only a certain number of appointments to be had each week. So I am still waiting and waiting and waiting. I don't know how much longer I can take this because patience is not a virtue I possess in abundance. This must be the lesson I am meant to learn.

As I wait, I make good use of the time by writing and writing and writing. Some for money to pay the rent but most for free as I am planting seeds for my harvest. That was a lesson learned last year and it stuck.

As I gave up the life I had in search of the life I wanted, I now have it to some degree. I feel I am better for it in mind, body and, most importantly, spirit. Every year I should grow as much as I did during the year of my reckoning. I have a lot of people to thank for their love and support during the last year. You know who you are, so know I am extremely grateful.

Thank you. Tusen Takk. Merci Bo coup. Danke. Grazie. Gracias. Dekujeme. <---- (I told you Czech was hard to learn.)

BLACKed Out

2008-05-05T12:11:00Z

Although I live on foreign soil, my heart and mind is back home in the States. Why? Because our impending election will shape not just our future but how the rest of the world views us.

Whether you realize it or not, you--we are seen as warmonging, imperialists who push our beliefs on smaller nations for profit. They believe this because of how our country is governed. Given that evidence, they would be correct.

The conservative right has a lot at stake to make sure they maintain the current power structure. Enter John McCain. What's more is they, at the very least, need someone in power who buys into the govern by fear and warmonging ideology. An insurance policy, if you will. Enter Hillary Clinton.

What they don't need or want, is someone who will lead this nation by truth, honesty and with a disdain for everything the current power structure represents. Someone with an understanding of how they have manipulated our economy to line their own pockets. Enter in the campaign to destroy Barack Obama.

The fact of the matter is, Obama is their worst nightmare because he IS black. I'm not agreeing with Geraldine Ferraro. But when blacks are united against a cause we create a very powerful voting bloc. That means that we--blacks have power. We have the power to impact the election, any election. It's imperative the GOP, the current power structure, stops us. They do this at every cost.

How can they do that? By disenfranchising black voters. There are laws prohibiting convicted felons from voting. So they turn as many blacks as they can, even those committing misdemeanors, into convicted felons or worse, those who haven't ever broken a law.

Another tactic would be to have less voting machines in the precincts with more registered black voters, who tend to vote Democratic.

Yet, another would be to claim people's names aren't on the voter rolls for any number of reasons.

Even another is to list a law-abiding citizen as a felon.

Sounds impossible? Huh. It's happened.

In the movie American Blackout, we see how the GOP machine came after and destroyed the political career of Cynthia McKinney. She spoke out against government lies regarding Sept. 11, 2001. The GOP worked within the political system to legally marginalize unwitting voters. They backed a black woman to run against McKinney because it was Atlanta. A white candidate wouldn't have won in that congressional district.

On a larger scale, Clinton is getting the backing of the same GOP members. The GOP strategists convince Republicans to crossover and vote for her. So they can dictate who the Dem candidate will be. Again, this marginalizes the votes of those in the Dem party and, thus, keeping us from having the candidate we want. That's why she hasn't dropped out yet.

Don't forget this same power structure is in bed with corporate America. One of the biggest corporations in America is a media company. Now, consider the press' role in the Wright scandal, which had nothing to do with Obama himself.

It's a game people. They play to win. When will we?

Here's the whole movie. Watch it. You will see parallels between what they did to McKinney and what they are now using the media to do to Obama. In knowledge there is power. Now that we know we posses it, what will we--you do to claim it back?

AMERICAN BLACKOUT

Let's talk about it.

The Favour Bank

2008-05-04T10:55:00Z

Tom Wolfe was the genius who invented it. Of course, he did so to paint a picture of how the 'old boy system' in 1980s New York worked but it was genius nonetheless.

Don't worry if you haven't read Wolfe's masterpiece, Bonfire of the Vanities, perhaps you've seen the movie, Pay It Forward or read another masterpiece by litery fiction writer, Paulo Coelho, The Zahir. Wolfe invented The Favour Bank, and Coelho made it a rule to live and love by.

The idea is simple: do things to help others without expecting things in return. In the 'bank' ideology that is called a deposit. People can make deposits into their accounts in a myriad of ways from the simplistic to the grandiose.

One of my favorite ways of making deposits is by using my networking skills. Over the years I have amassed a great web of friends and colleagues throughout several countries now and all from different walks of life. As the theory goes, if you righteously make deposits into your account when the time comes for you to make a withdrawal, somebody will make a deposit on your behalf. Most likely, it's not the person(s) whom you've helped. I'm not as genius as Wolfe or Coelho, at least not yet, so I hope that you get the idea.

Many of us live our lives like this without calling it anything. We help people because we are just good people. Those who are like that have the biggest accounts in The Favour Bank. Those are people I'm telling you about today.

I have written about Terrance Dean before, so you should know I am biased when it comes to him. He is a wonderful soul but beyond that, an extremely brave one. Dean has written a memoir, which coincidentally outs a great deal of Hip Hop moguls and personalities as being homosexual. His story is riveting, heartfelt and will change the level of acceptance in the music industry as it pertains to those with alternative lifestyles.

Visit his Web site, www.TerranceDean.blogspot.com. His latest book, Hiding in HIP HOP is available on Amazon.com and later this month, wherever books are sold.

I also would like to point you toward a new blog about the life of a young woman and her dating adventures. The blog is penned by five different women, albeit, anonymously. One of my friends is a contributor, although, she swore me to secrecy. It's fun and funny, so take a peek at The O Spot.

Finally, check out Bryant Monteilh, another good friend, who recently launched a video newscast for his radio station. Monteilh is a news radio announcer on the Michigan-Indiana border, known as Michiana. Check out his latest video clip, here. The pink poodle story is worth the click alone! LOL. A pink poodle, seriously.

You don't know these people and most of you reading this, don't even know me.

But ask yourself: What would it hurt to take a few minutes of your time by visiting these three Web sites and perhaps *gasp* leaving a comment?

You may learn something. You may even laugh. Most importantly, you will do something positive to help someone else. That positive energy will come back to you when least expect it but need it most.

If you have been keeping up with this blog (I thank you as I learned yesterday, my own mother does not *sighs*), you may know I needed desperately to edit my manuscript before sending it to an agent who requested it. I went to a message board to seek editing help where some evil critters ate me up before they spit me out.

This week, I went back to that site for the first time since that episode to delete my account. Waiting for me, was an email from a former English/creative writing teacher and editor to several published book authors. She offered to read my first few pages. She gave me fabulous notes and pointed me in the right direction to polish my writing. As if that wasn't enough, this godsend, fell in love with my book (it wasn't as bad as I thought!! woo-hoo!!) and offered to read and help me edit the entire 83,000-word manuscript. She offered this at no charge. Funny thing is, she said she was repaying all the countless hours her mentor put into her.

Welcome to The Favour Bank.

The Dutch Debate

2008-04-17T10:58:00Z

Ok, ok, ok, here's my take on the Dutch Debate. *yawns*

First off, let me tell you I feel compelled to write about last night's Pennsylvania debate because it's technically news, although, nothing new was said in, or, resulted from it. Yeah, so what Ol' Hen Hill backhandedly admitted Egg Obama was fit for the White House. Um, last I checked, it isn't her approval he needs and it was something we already knew. Yeah, she apologized for 'misspeaking' about her arrival in Bosnia. Again, so what. Oh yeah, 'The Boss' endorsed Obama. Great! Is he a PA superdelegate? No? Well then, it's nice and all but who cares?

What everybody keeps missing, and I keep writing, is while these two do their prolonged dance, which has devolved into a pathetic shuffle, Egg McCain gains.

THEIR PROLONGED DANCE HELPS MCCAIN: "LOOK MA, WE CAN PLAY NICE."

Photo courtesy of Reuters

This Associated Press article, sadly stated this Democratic Primary could last for several more months. Oh lawd, please end it now! Just because it can, doesn't mean it should. The people are growing bored of these two and the longer they campaign against each other, the more opportunity they will have for gaffes like Obama's idiotic 'faith and guns' statement.

The idea he would say that about small town America while in big city San Francisco, proves he can pander, which as the headlines showed was his biggest mistake to date. It was, indeed, the gaffe the GOP waited for; a bigger gift than the Wright debacle because it fell from the loquacious lips of Egg Obama himself.

Meanwhile, back at the shit-kicker ranch, Egg McCain goes to those same, rural, small towns, where folks pray to God before hunting down the deer He created with some rifle approved by the other supreme entity worthy of their worship, the National Rifle Association, to campaign, not to the likes of blue-collar GOP voters, but to Dems who crossed party lines more than 20 years ago.

As I said in "Caught Up in the Packaging," McCain will get votes of centrist Dems and as another AP article confirms, not only was I right but he's started long before the Dem candidate is even decided. McCain and his troops are looking for some mythical specimens, who once sent that *ahem* 'great' Republican President Ronald Reagan to the White House, er, the "Reagan Democrats." Um, told ya.

THE ELEPHANT AND HIS 'HERO'

Photo courtesy of AFP/Getty Images/Joshua Lott

So while Ol' Hen Hill and Egg Obama were going around in circles last night, McCain was cleverly sneaking about in Pennsylvania Dutch Country too, however, his speeches didn't fall on the ears of the bored and distracted. Instead, his words were gobbled up by the disenfranchised, blue-collar whites, who believe Obama to be that Harvard elitist they wanted him to be. These folks, who largely support Ol' Hen Hill according to one university poll, eagerly awaited a reason not to vote for Obama and he gave it to them. Now, McCain will benefit by having gone places where no other presidential candidate has gone before.

That's one in the win for the GOP. The herd eyes the big picture while the donkeys focus on minutae. It's a sure-fire way to squander the leverage eight years of Reigning Cracked Egg Supreme gifted to the Dems. Makes you wonder if the Dems even deserve the White House.

Egg Hatches Hen

2008-04-12T19:20:00Z

It was on Oprah. That was the first clue I wasn't reading something straight out of the National Enquirer. A line in the short and cryptic email read,

"What must God be thinking."

Well, um, if you believe in God then you are aware He doesn't think. He knows. Thus, whatever it is, He saw it coming. Remarkably, I was able to push my snarkiness aside for the moment and clicked on the link. What did I find, praytell? That, yes, indeed, hell has frozen over and women have lost their end-all, be-all of bragging rights.

A man is pregnant.

Oh, yes, lawdy. He's knocked up and worried about what the hell he's going to wear in the coming months because clothing designers don't make 'man-ternity'. Yeah, he said that.

THOMAS IS WORRIED ABOUT WHAT HE'S GOING TO WEAR

Photo courtesy of oprah.com

Here's the thing though before all of you start reciting the 'Hail Mary' and get your lips a-flappin'... Dude really isn't a he. He's a she, or a she-he or a he-she. Wait a sec, let me back up.

Apparently, at one point and time, he was a woman. That should calm you right down. Thomas, the first pregnant 'man' was born a female. However, for reasons I don't feel I need to get into here, he, um, er, she suffered a gender identity crisis. As an adult she had her first lesbian relationship and then started dressing as a man. Then she, or he, researched a gender transformation. It's important you stay with me here...His, uh, her lover then wondered why didn't she want to just be a lesbian. Now, that would have kept it quite simple for the retelling...but then there would be no reason to retell it. *smh*

Moving on, Thomas found another woman, who is now his wife, and after -- get this -- taking pills his clitoris is permanently enlarged to the size of a penis. Here's what he told the good people over at Oprah:

"It looks like a penis," s/he says. "I can have intercourse with my wife."

Oh, holy clit, Batman! What must sex be like for them! Now, there's one for the porno collection.

In 2002, his breasts were removed and Thomas was legally acknowledged as a man. However, he never had his female reproductive organs removed. So, although, he never felt like a woman and went through the long process of a gender transformation, he refused to part with his female plumbing. As a woman, I get that. But I thought this was because he was convinced he really wasn't a woman? *Ahem* Makes no sense to moi, but OK it doesn't have to. Get this funny bit, all the men who know him, now say, they thought he was just a caring and sensitive man but definitely a man. Yeah, uh huh. Any man who thinks another man is caring and sensitive is telling his wife, "Yo, hon. That dude is gay." Being a woman, that's what the hell I would think. (Press tongue to side of cheek.)

Anywho, this couple now wants a baby. Being his wife has two grown children and no uterus --da-da-da dummm-- they decide to borrow some sperm and try invitro. After a failed attempt with the doctor, of which they had trouble finding one (Out of all the things in this story, that truly surprised me. Those doctor types like setting themselves apart by breaking new ground. *shrugs shoulders*) they decided to do the process themselves at home. Now, I don't know exactly what that entailed between two people with the same reproductive wiring but low and behold, Thomas is now pregnant and showing! See?

THOMAS, THE FIRST PREGNANT 'MAN'

Photo courtesy of oprah.com

If you can't get enough, see a video of one of his ultrasounds, here.

So my question to you is, how do you feel about all this? In the record books, technically, a man will have given birth to a baby girl in the coming months. Is this in fact the first sign of the apocalyspe? Or is it just a funny coinky-dink and we should refrain from getting our panties in a bunch? It's really not much different from two lesbians having a child, actually that is what it is, isn't it?

THE EXPECTANT COUPLE

Photo courtesy of oprah.com

Seriously, he only looks like a man but he is biologically a woman. The mere fact her biological clock kicked in so severely that he went against all male instincts ultimately deciding to carry a baby to term, for me, casts his entire claim of a gender identity crisis in doubt. If he were really a man, he would not want to carry a baby. That is a woman's desire...along with proper maternity wear and a clitoris the size of a penis. Oh yeah! (Remove tongue from cheek to let it loll outside of mouth.)

March Madness

2008-04-01T10:18:00Z

I usually don't write long entries, but I am sounding off here, so this entry is longer than any other I have ever written. I understand if you can't sit through it and appreciate it if you do.

Whew! I barely survived March. Not sure what the planets were up to but they were certainly not in conjunction with my own natal chart. The month started out well enough with the expectation of blooming friendships and my manuscript being read by two separate agents in New York.

Before the second week was over, however, both friendships screeched to a halt as I realized neither was for me, despite how much I wanted them to be. Around the same time, one agent notified me she was passing on the opportunity to represent my book. Less than a week later, as my personal life began its terrific implosion, the other sent an email stating the manuscript's (ms) strong points--there were many--but admitted, she just didn't love the writing. Ugh. That's bad and earned my deepest concern.

I consulted an actual friend, a published author, who comforted me by telling me her opinion was totally subjective and I shouldn't change my story based on passing agents because there will be many who pass compared to the one who eventually signs me. I returned from the ledge to query some more. The ms submission process is frustrating, isolating and disappointing, at best. Then the Ides of March arrived, and Leah, my former roommate, packed her bags and left Prague for some little spot called Sophia. Reportedly, this place is the pinnacle of European violent crime but her time was up and she needed to get out of the Schengen, so to my chagrin, we bid each other farewell.

Immediately after she left, I arranged to go to Slovakia. Now, this isn't the grand trip it may sound like. I needed to do a turnaround just to file my paperwork for my Visa, so I can start pulling down some dollars and cease living like a pauper. I checked the Web for directions to the Czech Embassy with no luck but, at least, I confirmed their weird hours and was lucky that they were open all day. I bought my ticket, the price of which increased exponentially due to the spike in gas, so before I left I was over budget.

After the five-hour trip, I arrived in Bratislava and found there were no tourist maps or an information booth to get directions to the embassy. There wasn't even a bus map. The English-speaking woman at the ticket counter pretended she didn't know what an embassy was, or what/who/where Czech was either. This is obviously crap as the two countries were one until the early 90s. She directed me to the taxi stand. Being a hard-boiled New Yorker, I know better than to trust a friggin' cab driver. However, I was in a pinch, and obviously a foreigner, so I couldn't expect real help. I won't even tell you how much this bitch--yes, bitch--charged me. I tried my best to follow my big-city rules. I told her where I was going and asked how long it would take to drive there. Her answer: five minutes. Right. I know she got me.

The worst part of the entire episode is, less than five minutes later, AFTER I paid her, got out of the cab and tried the door to the embassy, it was locked. Locked! I checked the address then carefully studied the red, white and blue flag hanging outside of the building. Yep, I was in the right place. Then I heard this bitch behind me:

"Oh, you know, today is holiday in Slovakia. The embassy is closed."

WTF! She knew this BEFORE I got in the cab. As I sat behind her on the way back, I thought seriously about choking the life out of this woman. It was the first time I considered unleashing my frustration out on a person to the point of murder, and as a former Gannett employee, I promise, the situation presented itself more than once. Rage aside, I was dumbfounded on how people really abuse foreigners just to get their money. Forget the fact, I spent my grocery money to travel there without getting anything accomplished.

Like I said, March was a hell of a month.

So imagine my delight when I was invited to a party thrown by the Czech magazine I write for. *CLAPS* I was all too thrilled to get my mind off my life and immerse myself in food (YAY!), drink and...models? Oh-effing-pooh. I didn't think about WHO would be at this thing until I committed to going. I pulled some sad outfit out of my wardrobe, which looked the least of what I owned like a road map. As you may suspect, Prague is an up-and-coming fashion mecca. In my opinion, it's no longer coming but is one. The young women, opening the door at the swank venue were impeccable and there I was in my thrift-shop coat and wrinkled trousers. gee-SUS! Um, before you question, I don't own an iron and nobody in Czech owns a dryer.

I mustered up the courage to make it inside and ran for the coat check, which of course, was nowhere near the front door but through the main room and downstairs. Helpfully, the coat check was free as was the drink, of which I helped myself to plenty, and food. Not knowing anyone, I looked for the two who invited me.

My assigning editor wasn't there but the guy who brought me on board was. Embarrassingly, he was busy with the models and told me so right before turning his back to my face. Great. Now, I was to go out and be social with a bunch of people who didn't speak English. As I walked into the main room, I forced myself to dwell on the positives. I was in this great place, among the beautiful people even if I wasn't one of them. While gulping my red wine thingy (I don't know exactly what it was because it had bubbles in it and no one could tell me), I kept getting several STARES. This is not unusual, as it is perfectly OK in Czech culture to stare at one another. Being that I was the only black person (no Africans, Indians, Arabs AT ALL), I felt even more under study. Then this lovely man started talking to me in Czech.

"Anglasky? I asked pathetically.

"Oh, you speak English?"

YAY! There is almost nothing better than a person who speaks another language and finds someone they can practice their English with. As it turns out, Ales Lang, is some sort of semi-famous Czech photographer, who loved my look. Baaah! He is scheduled for an exhibition in May and started commenting on how exotic/beautiful I am and wants to shoot me. Um, ok? Doesn't matter if it's true, he made me feel like I belonged. After his test shots in the middle of the great room with plenty of onlookers, another man asked me:

"Escuse me but who are you?"

I cringed inside at my answer but said it because it seemed easier:

"Oh, I'm nobody. I'm not a model or anything."

"I don't care if you are not a model but who are you? You are simply breathtaking."

Bless you, Adriano. Bless Italian men, everywhere. You know what, Sumari? That alone is enough for me to give Roma another go. Adriano co-owns the swanky venue and made the rest of my night a dream. Glasses of red wine, special salmon (omw, protein?) from the kitchen and, most importantly, English introductions.

I have rambled on but I will finish my little story without the hope or expectation you will finish reading it.

As if Adriano wasn't enough, another highlight of the evening--month--was when I met Nick the Brit. (The aforementioned guy who was busy, later told me to find him because he spoke English. Thanks.) Nick has lived in Prague for 16 years and has a Czech girlfriend, who was just as friendly. He also plays chess every Tuesday and I am keen to go. My own little, Tuesdays with, well, Nick. At the end of my night, I ran for the last train like some absurd version of Cinderella. Brandy and Whitney were nowhere in sight. That was Thursday.

On Saturday, I received a request from another agent interested in my book. Feeling on the upswing, I decided to get a critique of my mss first five pages. Why I did this on the last day of a horrific month, I cannot say. Although, both critiques were bad, one of the two is the stuff suicides are based. No, I'm not back on that ledge. Truthfully, I rather get a bad critique now than after publication. I further realized if a few readers had problems maybe, just maybe, more might. I'm revising the beginning with the hopes of making it shine by April 10th, which is a feat now that I know I can barely string a sentence together. *SMH* After that, I will revise the rest of the ms.

As for March, it was the worst month I experienced since 2006, which was a historically bad year. I'll end with what I'm taking away from this madness: You can't be published if you don't write OR submit--to editors, agents or critters (slang for writing critics and quite fitting, I might add). You will never meet the Langs, Adrianos or the Nicks, if you never go to the party. You will never appreciate your real friends, if you don't ferret out the bad ones. And, you most definitely, won't recognize love when it shows up, if you never get your heartbroken.

I own March 2008 because it taught me valuable lessons and will make me a better writer and a braver person. I guess, I'd rather be an April Fool than a year round jackass.

The Dunbar Four

2008-03-25T10:16:00Z

Just when you think Al Sharpton is done with missteps he goes and makes a terrific gaffe of epic proportions.

The latest off-tempo move by Rev. Press-n-Curl involves a yet another rape case. This time, however, instead of being a teenage girl it involved a single mother, her young son and four teenaged boys. The setting is Dunbar Village in West Palm Beach, Florida.

As I come from the Roosevelt Houses in Brooklyn, let me explain how government housing gets named. To make them sound less like the hell on Earth they are, somewhere along the line, city officials decided to give them tags like, gardens, houses, or, village. These places do not resemble anything like the connotation that their names imply. Here's another helpful hint: West Palm Beach is the black bastard brother to Boca Raton, a rich, suburban white enclave just a stone's throw away.

Now that I have set the scene, let me fill you in on the details. This woman was gang-raped and sodomized in her own home, then forced by gunpoint to have sex with her own son. Her own, young son. Then, as if that wasn't enough, these monsters, poured nail polish remover, ammonia among other flammable liquids with the intent on setting their vicitms afire in the bathtub. But these geniuses couldn't find anything to set the blaze but did capture the episode on a cell phone video camera. I don't know about you, but this give me such high hopes for the future. Right.

Although they survived--I'm not sure I would want to--her son is now blind. Reportedly, neighbors heard her cries but no one moved to action or even pick up their fucking phones to call the police. The culprits were apprehended and are being held without bail. Thank the Almighty, for that one. So, why has Rev. Press-n-Curl opened his fat trap on this? Is it to come to the aid of the single mother and her son? Oh no, that would be too much like right.

CALL REV. PRESS-N-CURL, HIS INFO IS AT THE END OF THIS SHORT CLIP

In his desperate search for the next Jena Six, he descended on Dunbar Village announcing these black boys are being unfairly treated because in Boca Raton, where a similar crime was allegedly committed by non-black youths, those boys are out on bail.

OH MY FUCK! Rev. Press-n-Curl has finally lost his damn mind! Now, I'm not so simple to miss the point about a precedent. Once you let one injustice go without being challenged, it paves the way for others to escape correction. However, did it ever occur to Rev. P-n-C or the NAACP, that's helping him, the injustice here is the fact that the Boca Raton boys should never have gotten offered bail?

CONTACT THE NAACP, WHO SAYS BLACK-ON-BLACK CRIME ISN'T THEIR AGENDA. INFO IS AT END OF CLIP

So we are left with boys who allegedly raped an incapacitated person free to do the same again and Rev. P-n-C and the esteemed NAACP wants the black boys to be able to do the same. *SMH*

Here's what I think: Take all of these bastard raping mofos, slice their penises off and make them eat them in a soup. Ok, ok, that's not justice either. But neither is, setting them free because the boys next door are--if only for the time being. Here's another idea: How about picking up the banner and calling for the bail in the Boca Raton case to be revoked? Stop focusing on the color of the defendants and seek resolution to the real issue. Tragically, Rev. P-n-C and the NAACP have sunk to a new low. Where's the justice for the mother and her blinded son? The entire scenario reminds me of parts in one of my favorite books: Tom Wolfe's Bonfire of the Vanities.

In our grand quest for equality, we have forgotten about the real victims of crime and in my book, those are the ones we should be screaming from the mountaintop to help. Call Rev. Press-n-Curl (um, don't call him that when you ring him) and the NAACP to tell them what you think of this dastardly plan to set those boys free.

Wright is Right

2008-03-23T13:34:00Z

The more I think about it, the more pissed off I get.

All these pundits and 'intellectuals' get on my fucking, got-damned nerves. They are granted a voice of which they are blessed with the masses' rapt attention and they forever use it do to what, exactly? Spin to play politics and not very well is what they do. This latest hubbub over Rev. Jeremiah Wright's sermons are not taken out of context but they are misunderstood under the veil of the white majority's misplaced righteous indignation.

Well, it's my turn to be a little fucking indignant. I have white people in my family, whom I love but, let me tell you, the minute they--white or black--ever, if ever, step to me with anything remotely similar to what the talking heads on Fox or, even, black, Uncle Thomas Sowell has said about Wright and Obama, I will be the first to put them in their place. So, why not check a bunch of strangers? Couldn't find a reason not to, so here goes.

Wright's sermons have been dug up, gone through and carefully vetted for ammunition to use against Obama. We all know this as it is painfully obvious that the GOP political machine is gearing up for the fight to retain its White House. All this rhetoric about the man who mentored Obama for 20 years, officiated his wedding and blessed his children is a smoke screen. Before you get hung up on Wright's line of "God Damn America" let's peel this onion and actually THINK about how he got there.

The following video is the full segment of one of the most aired 15-second clips from one of his parishoners.

REV. JEREMIAH WRIGHT'S INFAMOUS SERMON (9 MINS 57 SECS)

Wright quoted Malcolm X's infamous, "Chickens have come home to roost." But has anybody stopped to think: did Wright lie? He said WE stole this country, WE did. He said, WE bombed Grenada, um, WE did that too. He said, WE started wars, yup. WE killed pregnant mothers and children, erm, yeah. He said, WE, WE, WE. Yup, yup, yup. The fact of the matter is, America did do all those things. And no, WE never batted any eyelashes while WE did it.

So, he gets called a divisive racist for speaking the truth. Yes, lawdy, the end times are near. Then he gets castigated on national television for calling out white mainstream America for putting both crack and AIDS in the African-American communities.

If you don't know, the war on drugs is a war on poor people of color. (Thanks to Reagan a president white people love and black people abhor for several reasons including trickle-down economics.) That's why the prison penalties for possessing as little as five grams of crack is about 10 years while the penalty for selling the cocaine crack is made from is the jail time equivalent of a slap on the wrist.

Still assuming you didn't know, people of color sell and use crack. Surburban middle, upper middle and upper class whites sell and use cocaine. It's that simple. Hence, Obama's record of not voting for stricter drug penalties because he knows they unfairly penalize people of color. (This will be one of the GOP's strongest arguments against Obama's bi-partianship claim. They will scream, "He's got a liberal record! He votes his party line!!" You watch.)

As recently as November, the US Sentencing Commission lowered the unduly harsh 10 years to 8 because prisons are busting at the seams. The GOP's plan actually worked. Now all those due to be released from prison, can NEVER vote in any election because they are convicted criminals although they have paid their debt to society.

The majority of America's white people from D.C. to L.A. freaked out and collectively, whether unspoken or outspoken, said, "Wright's crazy. Why would white people want to kill/destroy black people? That's just ludicrous!"

How easily the comfortable majority forgets the atrocities committed not that long ago. I know people experience selective recall but I'm not about to let our government with the help of these media buffoons forget these three words:

THE TUSKEGEE EXPERIMENT

Photo courtesy of minority-health.pitt.edu

Our government claimed to be administering a vaccine for spyhilis while dosing black patients with a placebo to merely observe how the disease spreads and kills. Other sufferers were given aid through treatment programs withheld from 399 black men who suffered. Our government only copped to this when the experiment was exposed.

This is the reality of America's black community. And when you hear blacks denounce our voting system, it stems from years of being subjected to poll taxes and literacy questionnaires whites weren't. And, the 2000 and 2004 elections weren't the only ones where blacks were disenfranchised. It happens in EVERY election and it will in 2008 too.

For those of you who buy into the idea Wright committed a wrong, I question how could you not understand? He spoke plainly with the vehement veracity of those who suffer injustice, generation after generation, yes. But when did he lie? Not once. The one thing on which we can all agree--from the ire his sermons have drawn--the truth still hurts.

We Shall Overcome

2008-03-22T13:16:00Z

Much has been made about Barack Obama's ethnicity during his run for the Democratic Nomination, but it wasn’t until Tuesday that the nation realized what his biracial identity can do for healing our nation’s persistent racial wounds.

OBAMA AND GRANDPARENTS IN NEW YORK CITY

Photo courtesy of classicvalues.com

In reading many articles analyzing his “A More Perfect Union” speech, where he was likened to Abraham Lincoln, this ABC News article, cites one Shelby Steele, a biracial writer who says Obama is confused about his heritage and can’t have any idea what it’s really like to be white despite his background. His reasoning for this is that people—obviously including him—see his skin color and stop there. Steele’s assessment of Obama’s balanced speech is antiquated and part of the problem that keeps us from a unified solution.

This issue hit home for me, as I am a biracial woman. My mother is black and my father is Puerto Rican. Yeah, it’s not much of a difference as I like to tell people insisting on knowing what I am “mixed with” (as if I am some type of effin' potion) that I am “black and blacker.” That’s my way of explaining it. But in Obama’s speech, he showed those of us born with dual ethnicities have a unique insight—that of the plights of two or more peoples and exposure to the prejudices of the same.

YouTube VIDEO OF "A MORE PERFECT UNION" SPEECH

As I watched the YouTube video of his speech, I nodded and felt my heart do—something. Does he know what it was like to be born in multicultural New York City then move to one-dimensional New Mexico where people openly and vocally questioned me and my last name?

“Torres? You don’t look Hispanic, how did you get that last name? You married?” This rhetorical question was asked of me by a Mexican-American woman with an afro kinker than my own nappy roots when I was in high school. After being subjected to that, upon return home to New York City, I was greeted with:

“You’re not Puerto Rican, you don’t speak Spanish.”

And those Nuyorican mofos, who barely spoke Spanish themselves were not kidding. Although rejected by my own, I was never confused about who I am or where I fit. I knew it was other people’s prejudices or perspectives that was the problem not me. The black community as a whole never rejected me—although there have been challenges—which led me to ignore my Hispanic heritage becoming militantly pro-black during my formative years. It wasn’t until my early 20s when I started going to the Latin Quarters in Harlem (a perfect mix for my perfect mix) that I began to proudly embrace the Latina in me, albeit solely through Salsa y Merengue for quite some time.

No, it’s not the same as Obama’s grandmother looking her black grandson in the face and telling him she was afraid of black men but the sentiment again hit home. My own PR grandmother didn’t care for blacks either. My mother once told me a story about how she described the way blacks looked while dancing: “like monkeys.” Ugh, how embarrassing that I am blood related to one who could even think that. I guess, it’s good she’s dead now as all of her grandchildren from my father—her son—are each more African-American than the one before. That was Obama’s point. These people were born in different times and raised with differing beliefs. It’s not an excuse, simply an explanation of the makeup that is America.

Being biracial is not a black-and-white issue. It is a discussion about inclusion, tolerance and rising above the ugly history coloring our nation’s past. So far, nothing has worked to heal those wounds. But before that cursed bullet took out Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., he dreamt of a future where we were all one. And I bet in his dream that future was led by a someone like Barack Obama.

In the same ABC News article, some suggest Obama’s perfect speech was only to appease white voters regarding his association with Rev. Jeremiah Wright. I agree it was his motivation for the scheduling the speech. However, his words went beyond appeasing bigoted, would-be voters. I rebutt with this article about the Clintons’ Washington machine playing up to the fears of white voters. Old Hen Hill’s tone has become increasingly more racially incensing and only because of recent backlash did she step lightly when addressing the comments made by Obama’s former pastor.

Even staunch Clinton supporter, NM Gov. Bill Richardson recognized either Clinton’s tendency to play to the fears of white voters or Obama’s unique ability to unify America by endorsing him earlier this week.

As for people like Steele, who believe there is no way to bridge this gap or move forward leaving our ugly history behind, you are simply not listening and definitely don't embrace your own biracial identity. Being of two worlds gives us the special ability to create a unified one rooted in understanding and mutual respect.

Obama’s words, eloquently characterized why the African-American community harbors such anger against the white establishment and, conversely, helped me understand why some whites resent that black anger. In this understanding lies the catalyst for progressive change. If Obama can get us to hear and understand one another, then he can lead the way forward—not so we can forget the past but to overcome it. The way Dr. King dreamed it.

Butt Ugly Slut

2008-03-14T17:42:00Z

It's not very often I blog twice in one day. But after Mojadeab left his comment on SpitFired!, I started poking around on the most famous piece-o-ass of the moment, Ashley Dupre's MySpace page. The hoe shit must be catchy because after 30 seconds there, I knew I was going to do two in one day.

The name of this entry is not what I think about her but the name of a profile song, done by an Ashley Dupre imposter. As a matter of fact, MySpace is flooded with Ashley wanna-bes. When exactly did people start aspiring to be outed puss peddlers? *SMH* Mojadeab, you are quite right. Dupre will be rich and famous just as sure as Steamrolling Spitzer is about to be flattened. The reason I can say that with such confidence is, Poynter Institute, a resource site for journalists, sent out, "Cashing in on the Governor's Call Girl" with tips on how to make this story sing! Thanks, Al.

Here's an excerpt from the "About Me" on Ashley's actual MySpace page, which logged 6.2 million hits since the story broke:

"It started when I moved in with a musician during my odyssey to New York. One day, I was in the shower singing “respect.” He and his lead guitarist burst in, had me repeat it and it started. We wrote, rehearsed and toured. After recording a bit with them, I decided to move to Manhattan to pursue my music career. I spent the first two years getting to know the music scene, networking in clubs and connecting with the industry. Now, it’s all about my music. It’s all about expressing me. I can sit here now, and knowingly tell you that life’s hard sometimes. But, I made it. I’m still here and I love who I am. If I never went through the hard times, I would not be able to appreciate the good ones. Cliché, yes, but I know it’s true. I have experienced just how hard it can be."

I'd say she's seen some HARD times alright. Given her profession, I'd say there are some dubious claims in the telling of her own story. It's HARD for me to believe what her brother claims, "She's just trying to get through this..."

HARD TIME HOOKA IN ST. TROPEZ!

Photo taken from Ashley's public MySpace page

But I have little pity for Dupre as she has YET to privatize her MySpace page. Instead, her publicist sent out media notifications about Dupre's music site. And, her 'music,' which includes a terrible song called, What We Want outsold Barenaked Ladies (baaah! appropriate company) and Radiohead in one day. America has truly lost its collective mind.

More to the point, if she were mortified her page would be closed to the general public and/or gone. Hell, I binned a rotten egg and closed my page to avoid attracting others. She most definitely wouldn't be trying to cash in. This broad fucked and sucked a disgraced governor who may have used the public funds of the most highly visible state in America to screw her and she's out front-and-center wanting sympathy? Simple-minded heifer.

ASHLEY ALEXANDRA DUPRE: HARD TIME HOE ON BIG EFFIN' YACHT IN ST. TROPEZ

Photo courtesy of AP via Ashley's public MySpace page. Btw, pic is still there.

On to the Ashley imposter. More prowling around the fake hoe's page, and one can clearly see he wasn't out to hide much. That Ashley lists her occupation as "Prick." I'd agree. On MySpace, most people would see this as cheek, claiming she loves being an ass but being that pricks are, in fact, her line of work, it would have been a level of honesty, Spitz could only admire.

Here are some other tidbits from that fake Ashley's MySpace page:

Status: Married
Education: Grad/Professional school

Here's the doozie I love most:

Ethnicity: Black/African descent. ("Where's my shotgun!" That's what the fuck Spitzer would say if he EVER found that to be true. There are plenty of us, who can pass for white, just ask Karen E. Quinones Miller, author of the novel Passin.) But fear not, Spitz. Your favorite piece-o-tail isn't African-American. If she were she might have chosen the E-V-E and Satisfaction as her profile song. Here's a lyric:

"This hoe shit/is my shit, bitch/and I'm the captain..."

I'd imagine this prick faked Ashley to cash in by getting more hits on his boring ass page. Or, like the rest of the fake Ashleys out there, who are so obessed with pop culture they will do anything to feel like they are a part of it.

I went to Ashley's page looking for evidence of her music, this supposed career that her sweat, semen and chastity were sacrified for, but sadly, what she calls music sounds like more digitized crap. While America gobbles it up, I think I actually preferred the Butt Ugly Slut.

Epiphany: A Year in the Making

2008-03-14T09:45:00Z

What a difference a year makes!

Can you believe it's been that long? I can't but on April 7, LoisLane's Metropolis is no longer in its infancy as she officially turns a year old. Truth be told, she's older than she looks as she was really born in February 2006 on MySpace. However, branching out on her own was a thing of beauty as she truly blossomed. I have learned a lot in this year, stepped on the soil of many countries all while writing -- for the second time in my life -- for free.

I have been struggling with a way to make the Met pay for itself and pay me. However, it wasn't until recently, when a dear, old friend -- at least, I thought he was, hope he is but I digress -- asked me:

"Um, Ailene?"

"Yeah?"

"How are you planning to make money from your blog?"

Ugh. It was a question I struggled answering myself and at that time still hadn't. But last Wednesday, while at the pub with my former roommate, I had an epiphany. For over a week now with the buy-in from investors and collaboration with my partner Web designer extraordinaire, Eric Raddatz (peep his link in my Blogroll), plans are underway to turn what you read here and more into an online magazine, Metropolis. It will be sharp, witty and unlike what you read elsewhere but very much what you are used to reading from me.

It will be all fact-based, three-sourced opinion pieces not just from me and not just about news and politics. There will be AmBiSEXtrous, a women's sex issues column, Baby Mama, about pregnancy and motherhood, Eye Candy, about silly fashion trends, Oh, Lawd!, a column debunking Biblical contradictions, Sick and Tired, about America's failed healthcare and why the pharmaceutical along with insurance companies keep hoodwinking the public and "Sex Tips from a Gay Man to Straight Women" titled after a book I owned in the 90s. In total, there will be eight subject experts contributing, plus myself.

Don't worry because Under Current, about news and politics, Black Power, about the African-American influence on society, Times in Life, about varied social issues and the ever more popular, Misadventures in Cracked Eggland, expanded to include all of the downs of working in the world of journalism and The Egg Chronicles, about egg and hen relations will be featured monthly too and there is still lots more (think mixed media) I haven't mentioned. And the art for all this will simply put you there.

I owe you all a solid thank you for your support during the last year. Another look at my hits yesterday and I learned you have visited this blog 20,000 times in the last 11 months. Thank you ever so much, as I didn't do any site optimization or advertising, simply word of mouth, MySpace bulletins and email distribution lists.

This weekend, TheBlog@LLsMetropolis will move to a new host server as GoDaddy doesn't offer the FTP upload of custom designed pages. I am told it will look the same and there will be minimal to no downtime. Please bare with me as I move forward in this new direction and my blogging will be sporadic at best. (Unless, of course, more 'squeaky clean' steamrolling politicians are discovered doing dirt! LOL. Or more journalists decide to squat and shit anywhere but a toilet! *SMH* I'm still reeling over that one.) You will still be able to get here using http://blog.llmetropolis.com I think, at least, that's what I am told *crossing my fingers*.

After March 31, the domain 'LLMetropolis.com' will redirect readers to the new domain www.readthemet.net which will be under construction for the September launch of its premiere issue. You know I don't want to miss Election Day! Oh yeah, the Met will always be free to read as I am selling advertising space to generate revenue. So if you know anyone who would like to buy some space, tell them to get in while the getting is good.

My sincere thanks to you for reading,

Ailene Yasmin
writer, reporter, blogger -- and now, editor
Metropolis

All column names and ideas are the intellectual property of Ailene Torres and are protected under copyright. Duplication is strictly prohibited.

SpitFired!

2008-03-13T09:01:00Z

Content note: Please be warned today's entry contains graphic language.

Lawd, lawd, lawd. All I can do is just shake my head. Whom do I even start with? Disgraced Eliot Spitzer or the other scandal-ridden politico, Ol' Hen Hill.

Spitzer's grandiose fall from grace takes the cake, so I'll start with him. How many politicians will end their careers like this? Why can't they learn from each other's mistakes? When will the media stop calling average men and women, 'squeaky clean?' Hahaha. Never.

ELIOT SPITZER AND WIFE, SILDA (OOPS, I DID IT AGAIN!)

Photo courtesy of cache.boston.com

One of the problems I have with this entire scenario (besides the fact that I supported Spitzer from his glory days and apparently his first forays into percuring peddled puss), is that this man like all the others that get caught out there, didn't NEED to pay for the poonannie. He had a wife at home and probably several women willing to give it up for free. The idea he paid untold thousands for some 22-year-old ass is preposterously laughable.

ASHLEY ALEXANDRA DUPRE HIGH-PAID HOOKER ("YEAH, SUCKAS!!")

Photo courtesy of AP (They obtained photo from Dupre's own MySpace page. Ever heard of 'private'?)

There ain't no ass worth that much money. Well, perhaps mine but I'm not selling, so fahgedeboutit. His fascination for paying for the 'P' lay in the mere fact that he could. A man in power is a man corrupted. So what about him stepping down?

"I won't let my personal shortcomings get in the way of the people's work."

Hey, Spit! What about the people who elected you to do that job come hell or high water? Like that 22-year-old Ashley Alexandra Dupre, he just fucked 'em.

This is why the GOP has such a wonderful time kicking the ass of the liberal elite. Right when we convince the general population that Dems are God-fearing, rule-following sheep just like them, some rogue member of the male population pulls out his penis to swing the would-be, aisle-crossing GOP voters back to where they originated.

As if they actually needed help returning to whence they came, freaking loud-mouth turned outed racist, Geraldine Ferraro really screwed Ol' Hen Hill there. Hen Hill had just given the order to 'De-Spitzerize' her campaign's Web site of any evidence of her Superdelegate, when loser Ferraro says on freaking radio for all to hear that Egg Obama wouldn't be in the race if he were white.

"If Obama was a white man, he would not be in this position," Ferraro said.

NOW, this is a sore subject with me as I binned what I mistakenly felt was a kindred spirit over a similar statement.

While I was in Birmingham, this KS was in La Jolla trying to make a go at the whole journalism thing too. Unlike me, she followed a more traditional route. She went straight from college to an internship and then on to job search following graduation. As you know, I went from career, to career, to working at same paper FOR FREE where she did her internship for college credit (and I think some money), to the Freedom Forum program at Vanderbilt designed to diversify predominantly white newsrooms. After the program, I was hired for a job that I interviewed for within the same company I worked nearly a year for free.

During a transitional time for KS in 2004, while talking on the phone about her difficulty landing a job at a California newspaper, she said,

"I wish I were black so I could get a job. It's easier to get a job if you are black."

KS is probably the only natural blonde, blue-eyed, Nashville debutant to ever want to be black. But as if that wasn't enough, she continued ending with,

"Then I could get into a program too and be given a job."

Of course, her implication was the same as Ferraro's. I wouldn't have had the job I held at the time if I wasn't black. At that very moment, I realized my friend was going through some hard times. It was a long time after that, when we spoke again. But it wasn't until we met during my 2006 birthday weekend in Chicago when I asked her about what she said.

Surprisingly, but in hindsight, predictably, KS didn't apologize to me. Instead, she reaffirmed her prejudices saying in California it is easy to get a job if you are black. Oh, really? That must be the only state in the entire union where being black is a benefit. However, I fear KS has been drinking the 'Ask a Mexican' Kool-Aid the whites in California love so well. If you think I'm amiss, Google that column.

My point in the two scenarios is this. If you are white and in America you have no idea what it means to be black, so stop pretending you know. And, if you think we get anything because of systematic favors, um, that be YOU not US. Not only am I saying it again but many white-dominated op-ed news pages are chiming in. KS, I hope California hasn't drained you of all your intellect and that you can still read.

The mere fact Ferraro even thought that (and don't be fooled, Ol' Hen Hill supports the sentiment despite cutting Geri loose) means ALL she sees is color because Obama's MAMA is WHITE from Kansas. You don't get much whiter than that, except for maybe a debutante from Nashville.