Causereaction

I Didn't Write This, But I Wish I Had (Aamer Rahman)

2013-12-10T10:28:00.001-05:00

There are times when the gods pass by and send an insightful comedic message to another kindred spirit. This time, Aamer Rahman (my new favorite) delivered a precisely bit on Reverse Racism - ENJOY and Re-post Please

Thanksgiving, The Story of Gentrification

2013-11-27T15:19:00.004-05:00

I am preparing to make dinner with my family – just my immediate family, the husband, child and the wife (me). I toyed with the idea of going out to dinner, because, I really hate to waste food; but then that didn’t really feel right. Husband said, we can get a small bird and you could make a potpie with the remainders. That excited me, so I decided to cook.

Husband CHILD Wife

1 dead bird, potatoes, cranberries, kale, dressing (also known as “stuffing”)and sweet potato pie. But wait, husband is an odd black man - for he doesn’t fully appreciate a delicious sweet potato, with nutmeg and cinnamon on a flaky crust – I mean, have you ever heard of that? Poor thing – so this year, I will make husband his favorite, apple pie.

Then that decision got me thinking, “There nothing more American than apple –right?” (I asked myself lots of questions). Then, I challenged myself to think a little deeper – what is more American than apple pie? Hmm, Hmm, Hmm

Eureka! I know, I know, I know

Gentrification! That’s classic American!

Captured from:
http://www.stayfreemagazine.org/images/23/23backcover.jpg

I came to this conclusion as I selected my apples for my pie. I was thinking, about how I would explain this celebration to my daughter. Shall I use the limp explanation “This is a time of year to give thanks.” I imagined her future response, “But you tell me everyday to be thankful and recognize my privileges” So that didn’t seem right.

I need to put this in context, so I revisited a recent conversation with my little brother who is Chinese and lives in Japan. We were discussing the ineptitude with some “gentrifiers” who relocated to communities of color, placed their flag down in a new home, and first cheerfully believe that they are allies with a shared vision. But that vision slowly starts to corrode, as the newcomers realize that they are as closely aligned in their mutual goal. The newcomers start to commandeer the area resources, which ultimately drives up the prices and force those original inhabitants to march a trail of tears to a more affordable, much farther community.

Then once 80% of the community is “re-purposed” the newcomers start to regale stories of what it was like when they first erected their flag. How they tried to work on a collaborative community, but somehow it didn’t work out and the “original” inhabitants just sort of moved away. The tale of the community becomes their story, their struggle and suddenly they are chatting about a time of past, at places like “Bus Boys & Poets” in DC or in the “Millennium Towers” in “Chinatown” Boston.

Check this out: http://www.urbanhabitat.org/node/1815

So you see, over our American apple pie, I will describe thanksgiving to my three year old, as the story of gentrification – highlighting a new community every year at Thanksgiving.

Happy Holidays - please listen:

It’s not me - It’s you

2013-10-28T17:34:00.001-04:00

For some reason over the past several weeks, I have been receiving unsolicited hair tips and it has me feeling some type of way. Imagine getting up every day, grooming and double-checking your look in the mirror and smile at your beautiful self and stroll out the door only to be asked by a dear friend, “Have you considered just getting locks?” (Dread locks for those outside the natural hair community) “Um, I kind of think this looks good, don’t you” I respond. Dear friend, “Um, sure – but I think your hair would look great in locks.” “Oh? OK… maybe.”

I decided to mix things up and dye my hair at home. I chose copper to match my skin. It didn’t really turn out like the woman on the box, but my momma said it looked good. So, I got all dolled up to meet my friend for a concert and after thirty minutes together and no comments on my new color, I had to ask, “Hey, do you like the color?” She responds, “I thought that there was something new.” I smiled and said with glee, “I did it all by myself.” “Yes,” she responds.

Her non-response would have been a clue for some people, but not me. I thought I took a big risk in dying my hair and I don’t have any bald spots, so I think it was a success.

A week later, I was chatting on-line with an acquaintance about preparing for presentations and interviews and he says something like, “Are you going to get some extensions, braids, or maybe a wig.” And I thought to myself, HOW RUDE! and then politely responded, “Well, I haven’t considered it.” He said, “GURRL, why not?”

I thought hard on the matter for about one solid, undistracted hour, in which I g-chatted anyone with a green light on and solicited opinions about my hair. Everyone one all agreed – I have fabulous hair. So decided – It’s not me, It’s everyone else.

Sure – I wake up in the morning looking like this:

But I SEE this:

Ok - I may look more like Cornell West than Joie Lee - but isn't really about how I feel on the inside?

Anyway, I shrugged off my “friends” and kept trucking along until the host of the weekly radio show I work for, suggested we do a segment on black women hair, and then I nearly lost it. “What more could we possibly say about black/African hair? Hasn’t it all been done,” I questioned. He went on to explain that it is more than natural vs. perms, ideal beauty vs. self-discovery and evaluation of the billion dollar global industry, it’s very complex. “Yes, yes, yes – but I have been natural for a very long time and I have managed without a support group or spending upwards of 100 bucks on individual twist.” Then he said something like, “Yes, I know you are evolved, but everyone hasn’t gotten there yet.” I responded, “Fair point, ok – I suppose it will be a good show.”

To be honest, I began to feel like the universe was staging some grand intervention. The random comments, the upcoming show and an odd text from a friend asking if I saw the documentary – “You Can Touch My Hair.” I was really thinking, “Dear God, It’s me Chanda – why do you hate my hair style?”

I have been natural for the better part of 13 years and in all honesty, being natural at times feels like being in Alcohol Anonymous or even Narcotics Anonymous. You have to confess how long you have been off the "creamy crack." It’s dumb, I know. I like straight hair, I like weaves on some folks just depends on how you wear it – confidence and all.

ANGRY BLACK Woman Sidebar: Its annoying when so many white AND black girl/boyfriends say, "I love your natural hair!" I get that they wish to support me, kinky knots and all, but I am a grown woman and if I decide to go for the matted, disheveled looked or a hot comb, up-do, I don't need any unsolicited affirmations.

Can you imagine someone telling this lady: "Your straight hair is perfect, don't change it! Be yourself":

As if, Sandra B would opt for a kinky, short fro and society would accept that look as the norm.

But I digress...

Sassy Black Woman SIDE BAR: It is not me, it is you – you seem to be much more interested in my hair than I am. By you, I mean everyone except me. It took me a long time to arrive to this conclusion, but then I realized – people are mesmerized and transfixed on African hair – black hair, my hair - and why not? It is glorious and comes in some many variations – sometimes all on one scalp. One African American woman once told me, “I got good hair in the back?” And I thought, how interesting, her mental conditioning made her segregate sections of hair as good and bad, which was disturbing and fascinating.

Anyway, this was all just a rouse to plug the one song that sums it all:

‘Nough said – let’s move on.

Can we talk about cow-necks? they look odd on everyone, I'm I right?

The Two Yoots

2013-09-28T21:37:00.001-04:00

Picture it, Silver Spring, M.D. 2013, an African American family walking down a residential street, mom, dad and an adorable two-year old in stroller. The family is dreaming about dinner and preparing the evening bath for the outdoorsy smelling child. The parents are chattering and the little girl is singing, "La La – suit and tie, La la la." Then all of a sudden, two teenage boys are approaching in the distance one on a skateboard and one on a bicycle.

The mom smiled at the teenagers as she reminisced about her days as a wanna-be skater and avid cyclist. The dad paid no attention to the kids, he was too focused on his own child UNTIL … until the kids conversation came into earshot.

Relevant Detail: “The two yoots” who could not have been no more than 13, maybe 14 tops, one was Mestizo, Latino in appearance with short black hair on the bicycle. The other kid was white, American in appearance with shoulder length reddish hair, kick pushing his skateboard.

OK, so that conversation the dad and then the mom perked up to hear was the following:

Mestizo Latino on bicycle: “Some people just don’t give a FU%$ and you got to be prepared my NIGER” (but not the country - add another “g” AND also not the percent and dollar sign either)

White, American boy: Nods head, reflects upon the valuable piece of wisdom imposed upon him, and looks away from the family with the kid in the stroller.

The African American dad smirks and then says, “Did you hear that?”

The African American woman thought to herself for a moment and in her mind, she remembered when that word was fighting words when spoken by non-blacks. She also remembered when she used that word recklessly. She remembered when hip-hop left the community and became a free commodity for all to take pieces from and then that word became open for public consumption, then she grew to despise that word. Then she thought about all the people who had written about the subject and then the word became known as the “N-word” and people, media, started to use it more. So then she wondered what the white, American kid would have said if he did not receive those valuable words of wisdom while facing an African American family in the middle of the suburbs.

Finally, she shrugged, and said, “Hmm, that’s worth a blog entry.”

Time To Let It Go

2013-09-19T16:57:00.000-04:00

I am not the one for dramatic breakups, I like things to end naturally – you know, both parties agreeing that things have run there due course and we both part, with dignity and respect still intact. But I am in a relationship that is unlike no other. This relationship knows every person in my life and therefore ending this relationship has been akin to ending the US war in Iraq, in which I plot out steps, but the ultimate end seems elusive.

In the beginning, my lover was attentive and introduced me to things I had never conceived. I learned so much about myself, met new friends through their many connections and reconnected with some important people from my past. I was open and all in – I shared all the movies, books and stories that shaped my life. I shared pictures, ideas, hopes and all the things you impart with a partner

Then I got sloppy.

I got too comfortable, like most people do in long-term relationships, I started to let it all hang out – and got real. I became obsessed with communicating my point-of-view on food, clothes, wars, race and anything you can imagine - pedantic at times and at other times narrowly focused on one issue, waiting for my lover to agree and join in … but nothing.

We started to fall apart. I wanted and needed something more serious – but my lover could not grow beyond our first date in 2007. I saw the writing on the wall … literally, and I knew it was time to say, farewell.

Like many in troubled relationships, I met up with my friends in bars to complain about the many ways this relationship has ruined my life, how my lover introduced me to habits I can’t break and reconnected me with people I never liked. Now that I have a child, I want something better for her – so now, it’s time to move on. It wasn't until I was driving down a long winding road when the Commodores came on and Lionel Richie spoke to my soul, like a God guiding me out of the depths of sorrow:

YES! Yes! I am looking for a good time! I want to be FREE! I used to be fun, happy and FIT! This relationship made me fat, weak and marginally uninteresting – SAIL ON Facebook, Sail On – Good Times Never felt so good!

Recently, I’ve started exploring new relationships and went to an art exhibit, facilitated a community meeting and went on bike rides with my daughter and didn’t tell my lover. The secrecy brought me a sensation of self-intimacy and awareness. I realized that all I needed was a little Lionel Richie to help me end the toxic relationship that destroyed my sanity and pant size.

Lionel Richie helped articulate what I need to say to my lover:

Photography Exhibit and Community Discussion - 9/13/2013

2013-09-05T15:36:00.004-04:00

Go tell your Mama and everyone you know!

This will be a good time.

How many Koreans are equal to one Dr. Dre?

2013-08-05T18:55:00.001-04:00

I am cheap.

My husband would prefer I said “Frugal” but no - I am super cheap and I really hate spending money on anything… unless it is for good booze. So, last week - the day after my birthday, a friend invited me out for a birthday brunch and I thought, sure! He wanted to go to a trendy spot for black hipsters and my knee jerk reaction was no. No, just in general, because I am cheap and would never pay for a bougie brunch in the new U street area, but hey, if that is how you wish to celebrate me, then I am all in!

The service was slow and unresponsive and the food was sub-par. I brought my daughter along with me, because I was under the impression the place was kid friendly and it was, if you call couches and coffee tables appropriate for an over active toddler. She was sleepy and bored and at one point removed her shirt while dancing to entertain a neighboring table. I was losing my mind trying to maintain an adult conversation and witnessing my worse dreams of a stripping daughter manifest before my very eyes.

The bill came after the third request and I discovered that this was not a birthday brunch but just a regular old brunch - we were going dutch! Dang it!

Now you are asking? “What does this have to do with Koreans and Dr. Dre?”

Nothing! Just stay with me

OK – so the brunch was a loss, but this piece is really about the death of my friend and business partner, because on that faithful day of the brunch, my phone committed suicide when he jumped from the roof of my station wagon and onto the street of Florida Avenue. My dear iPhone 4 had cracked in several pieces.

Now, this goes back to me being cheap - I had canceled my insurance on the phone to save 11 bucks per month, 132 per year. That was equal to one six pack per week.

While my phone lay in pieces on the ground, I was the one dying on the inside, because I knew I would have to buy a new phone and I hate spending money.

I picked up my phone and assessed the many ways in which it was cracked and then recalled the MSN article “Cracked phone screens are apparently a weird new status symbol”Could this be cool? Could I make this work? I tried for several days to continue using my new status symbol, but after removing shards of glass from my fingers I realized that this relationship could be no more, I had to lay my iPhone 4 to rest.

So About those Koreans …

I decided that a glass-encased phone wasn’t the right fit for me, because I am too cheap to buy a case. I narrowed my choices down to the HTC One and a Samsung 4. They both seemed great, far more advanced than my old business partner did, but I just couldn’t decide so I needed the valuable advice from the much more knowledgeable salesperson. Here is an excerpt from our conversation:

ME: “I just can’t decide, who are the backers of HTC One and Samsung”

SALESPERSON: “Go with HTC ONE, Dr. Dre and Facebook backs them; Samsung is just a bunch of Koreans”

ME: “That’s Racist”

At this point, the salesperson is in fear that he will lose the sale, or I would report him, so he starts to panic and search for things to calm the situation

SALESPERSON: “Nah, nah, I have a bunch of Korean friends”

ME: “That’s sort of worse”

The scene is getting awkward, and I am at home with awkwardness, but not most people and certainly not this guy. For he doesn’t know what to say next

SALESPERSON: “Well me and my Korean friends always go to Northern Virginia for Korean food and ...”

I decide to cut him off

ME: “The Korean barbecue spot in Annandale?”

Salesperson: “Yes, that place is good.”

At this moment, he doesn’t know how to recover and turns to his manager for a look of “Please help!” eye gesture. And his “higher up” (his words not mine) says ..

SALESPERSON 2: “I love Dre, he is dope!”

ME: “I don’t really like Dre so much”

Now, like I said, I am at home with akwarness. And I decided on the phone, but this little back and forth was very entertaining.

SALESPERSON 2: “Really? You don’t like Dre? What about Kanye?”

ME: “Nah, my brother calls him an EMO rapper, but it seems you like this phone for music and not the Korean phone.”

Awkward smile from both, and assessing that I had thoroughly shamed them; I decided to drop the issue. I think that that will be the last time that they use “Bunch of Koreans” as a selling tactic

About My Best Friend

2013-07-17T17:45:00.000-04:00

My best friend is a wonderful person and has many glowing attributes that makes her a great, contributing member of society. She has worked for some of the most important progressive organizations in the US. She is well connected, well traveled and a caring friend. Those are all great qualities, but those aren’t the ones that necessarily attracts me to her.

What I love about my dear, dear friend is that she is very strange and at times, seems completely oblivious to social norms. She lingers a tad too long when saying goodbye, she eats food scraps off of strangers plates in restaurants, she has a bit of a staring problem and all of these things are equally odd and hilarious to me. To be fair, I am a tad weird myself, but she ups the ante on my weirdness and makes me feel like a “normal” well-adjusted person.

I love her very much. Here is a recent photo of us:

I'm the Brown one

I am the brown one and this is very relevant to this story. Last week she invited me to join her for her friend’s play entitled, “Wigger Lover” a one-man play about growing up white with a black stepfather in Chicago. I thought about it for about half a second and responded “No.” But no is never enough for my tenacious friend, it’s like she doesn’t hear the word at all. She continued to ask me, posted articles and pleaded her case over the next five days. I explained that the word Wigger or drop the W and add an N had no place in comedy in my opinion and I wasn't offended - just not interested. She even went as far as to reach out to her friend about the usage of the word in his play and he responded, “We all know what "wigger" means, but WIGGERLOVER" really means, to me, anyway, is that my black step-dad loved me & took the time & energy to raise me right. The whole show is sort of an open love letter to my dad…”

This was getting out of hand, if I didn’t come clean about who I am, I would have to go to this play. It was finally time to tell her that I am black. I explained, “I don't just have a black dad, I have a black family, and born and raised in the south, so white folks just tossing their musing around that word, isn't all that funny ... for me.” She thought about it for a few moments and concluded that she had not considered any of that and agreed to stop forcing the issue. In all honesty, the whole thing was sort of my fault, I never really told her I was black, I just assumed that she would figure it out.

Two days later … she texted, “FYI – the audiences have been half or predominantly Af-Am – just sayin …”

When it Rains ...

2013-06-03T13:36:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, I was sitting in the park with a friend from West Africa, watching our children play in the open space. The day was cloudy and rain was imminent, when all of a sudden, the sun reappeared, bright and full of all of its glory. The heat was shining down on us hard, when my friend said, “the sun too bright, would you like to move to the shade?” I replied, “No. A long time ago, my dear friend Kanae told me that ‘When the sun shines on me, it’s like God is smiling on me’ and since that time, I've grown to share that view.”

Then the sun grew extremely warm and it made more sense to move to the shade with her infant baby. As we walked to the new spot she said, “We have a different view in West Africa, we appreciate the rain, for God is cleansing us - growing the crops and washing our soul. So if you are having too many things going wrong in life, it’s time for a wash or a cleansing.” Cool – that’s deep. I can get down with that too.

All last night and the early morning it rained and I was thinking, “Yes – going to start this week, refreshed and “cleansed.” My daughter slept past her 6:30 a.m. schedule, so I was able to clean the kitchen, pack her lunch, and plan my day before she awoke at the unusual time of 8:20 a.m. I dropped her off at daycare and completed a project for a client and was ready to get started on some personal writing, when all of a sudden – I heard a “drip, drip, drip” sound coming from the kitchen.

I look around, faucet off? CHECK

Is it raining outside? NOPE

Still – Drip, Drip, Drip grew louder.

Then I looked up and water was beginning to rush down the walls of my kitchen (my clean kitchen).

Crap! It is raining in my apartment. Oh God – I don’t need to be this cleansed.

Water was rushing everywhere, when Santiago the building manager, rushed in and said, “It’s the old lady upstairs!”

He rushed into her apartment to find her sitting on her sofa watching TV and smoking a ciggie. She said to Santiago, upon entry, “There is water everywhere!” To which Santiago responded, “Yes, your kitchen faucet is running and you have the sink plugged.” “Oh?” She said. I repeat, she said, “oh” so casually. She was sitting in a puddle of water watching TV – poor thing. The mind can get away from you in advancing years.

Santiago returned to my apartment and cleaned most of the “rain drops” from the floor, counter and cabinets. He started laughing to himself and I said “What’s so funny?” and he responded, “You were probably in here asking God, ‘Why me God, I am a good person’” Ha! Jerk! Apparently, in my haste to contact him for repair, I frantically yelled, “Come quick, it’s raining in my apartment!” Given that my apartment is on the second floor of a five story building, raining in the middle of the kitchen is highly unlikely – Unless – you have an old woman with dementia as a spiritual sage, only following God’s/Universe orders.

On Being Black Checked

2013-03-27T14:12:00.000-04:00

Yo! Have you ever been black checked? Or variations of black/brown checked? You know when someone feels compelled to let you know that you are acting out of character with her or his perceived notions of blackness. I remember the first time this happened to me, I was in the 9^th grade and was one of the five persons of color (any color) attending my high school. After chatting with some folks about my weekend camping, an obnoxious white boy said, “You talk like a white person,” and I felt dissed and said something like “F—K you,” just to prove I was hard and had some street-cred, but secretly felt awkward about dropping the F-bomb. But dang, I was crushed, and searched the school to find another person of color to complain about this situation.

I mean, clearly I was/am black - but I needed someone to say, “Yo, that was wack but that didn't happen. I found my Asian home girl and fellow outsider, and retold her the situation. I was deflated when she said, “yeah, you kind of do act white.” Damn, she up the ante on the whole situation. He only said I “talked” white – now my home girl said I was acting white. I was so pissed. I think I went home a re-read Malcolm X, Black Boy and starting chatting CB40’s lyrics to “I’m Black Ya’ll” every morning before school

To say that I went all out on my proving my blackness is a gross understatement. I transferred schools, joined the history club and invited the Nation of Islam to speak at our school for black history month. They stated that black people created everything and white people should apologize. This may or may not have caused the race riot the following day, (perhaps that was already in the works) but my point for sharing is to underscore my commitment to blackness.

Things died down after the 90’s and people decided that I was just a weirdo/nerd (which I fully embrace) and stopped black checking me. That is, until recently. Black checking is starting to make a comeback in my life. Occasionally, I will receive a phone call from a friend from my past, who calls me for the sole purpose of stating, “You act like a white woman,” or my favorite, “You talk about the black experience from a studied point of view, you haven’t really lived it.” On the one hand, I feel sorry for him – he clearly has a narrow view of blackness or perhaps he has incredibly lowered expectations for black people and that’s a shame. On the other, it makes me question if I am doing enough black things, do I need to return to my daily chatting:

“Cuz I'm black ya'll

Cuz I’m Black ya’ll

Cuz I'm black black blackidy black

Cuz I'm black and I'm Back ya’ll

Cuz I’m a BLACK MAN" (insert Woman/Person if needed) hehe

Oh – this is hard, because I decided to focus on being a mom and thinking deeply about feminist issues, but now I got this black thing on my back.

And white people try to black check me too, just in a less direct way. For example, some friends suggested we go out for chicken and waffles and I stated, “I’ve never had chicken and waffles.” You should have seen the looks on their faces, it was as if my mom created the concoctions and I never bother eating some of her delicious creation or I was just too damn uppity. They wanted to say, “You’re black, how is that possible?” But they thought better about it and said, “How is that possible?” To my knowledge, chicken and waffles aren’t sweeping the east coast, so, I just haven’t had the chance.

But any way – you get the point. So for all you black nerds who thought that that stuff was a thing of the past, just watch out, I think black checking is making a comeback.

Black History - Hip Hop Style

2013-02-28T14:21:00.000-05:00

This is the last day of Black History month and I didn’t get to do anything – I didn’t watch Roots, I didn’t go to that Jazz Concert, I didn’t even join the natural sisters happy hour. I feel like I wasted the whole month, so today I need to share a black history retrospective – video style.

But wait – I need to give you some back story first

Ok – as I have mentioned repeatedly, I grew up a long time ago and during those days, black history education in public schools, in the south, in particular, was limited to five talking points, which were:

1.) There were once African slaves

2.) Harriet Tubman helped some slaves escape to freedom

3.) President Abraham Lincoln, by way of the Emancipation Proclamation, freed the slaves

Then many years went by and nothing much happened – until

4.) Martin Luther King, Jr. had a dream about black people, white people, and all people sitting together, eating in the same restaurants and learning new things together and

5.) President John F. Kennedy supported civil rights for all.

In a class full of mostly white kids, I felt a little embarrassed by my people’s lack of work ethic - after thousands of years, we only have four people to tell our story and two of them were white men. Dang it!

Thankfully, I grew up in a time when rap “artist” actually meant that they were artist, in the sense that they could weave stories rhythmically and actually connected the Black experience to something more than just... I do not know, T &A or cash.

But I digress – back to the retrospective. My point is I didn’t learn a lot about Black history in school (parents and family helped), but I learned a ton from hip hop videos in the 1980/1990s

1 The Boogie Down Production told me that I must learn about my history

Key lyrics: “I believe that if you're teaching history/ Filled with straight up facts no mystery /Teach the student what needs to be taught' /Cause Black and White kids both take shorts /When one doesn't know about the other ones' culture /Ignorance swoops down like a vulture'Cause you don't know that you ain't just a janitor /No one told you about Benjamin Banneker /A brilliant Black man that invented the almanac /Can't you see where KRS is coming at /With Elie Whitney, Holly Selosy, Grand Bill Woods made the walky-talky/ Lewis Latterman improved on Edisonn /Charles Drew did a lot for medicine /Garrett Morgan made the traffic lights.."

Stetsasonic told me about the unrest in A.F.R.I.C.A. and got me eager to learn about the anti-apartheid movement … in elementary.

Key Lyrics:"Aparheid, it's nothin less than conspicuous/Anti-black and pro-ridiculous/Feel it in ya heart, cause it's so for real/But in the mind it develops and becomes the deal/As the struggle survives South Africans rely/On us and u-n-i-t-y/Thinkin back as a slave bonded on those chains/The thoughts of bein free was never the same/Some committed suicide, cause times was harsh/And the ones who survived, they got brainwashed/From lightin and thunder hails the storm/We can never forget, cause the struggle lives on/Release the chains, or history will burst/Mandela, Mugabe, he's first freedom's power/This here is Africa's hour, the unforgotten people in our.."

Side Bar – this was such an understated song, I know the lyrics are basic, but I believe that this was a pretty important contribution to spreading the word of anti-apartheid among young African Americans.

Then Public Enemy told me that I Can’t Truss It – which only deepened my paranoia.

Key lyrics:

"Years ago he woulda been
The ships captain
Gettin' me bruised on a cruise
What I got to lose, lost all contact
Got me layin' on my back
Rollin' in my own leftover
When I roll over, I roll over in somebody else's
90 F--kin' days on a slave ship
Count 'em fallin' off 2, 3, 4 hun'ed at a time
Blood in the wood and it's mine
I'm chokin' on spit feelin' pain
Like my brain bein' chained
Still gotta give it what I got
But it's hot in the day, cold in the night
But I thrive to survive, I pray to god to stay alive..."

Then Arrested Development told me a dream about Tennessee. No joke, I love this group and I even wore tie die, but at that time, I simply refused to live without perming my hair. HEHEHE

Key lyrics: "Now I see the importance of history
Why people be in the mess that they be
Many journeys to freedom made in vain
By brothers on the corner playin ghetto games
I ask you lord why you enlightened me
Without the enlightment of all my folks
He said cuz I set myself on a quest for truth
And he was there to quench my thirst
But I am still thirsty..."

Ok – so this is just a tangent, but so worthy of sharing. I wish that music was thoughtful and sparked conversation and reflection today, as these songs did for me all those years ago.

But there is hope – last year the lovely Esperanza Spaulding shared Black Gold! In it she writes, “Now maybe no one else has ever told you so/But you're golden, baby/Black Gold with a diamond soul/Think of all the strength you have in you/From the blood you carry within you/Ancient men, powerful men/Builders of civilization/They'll be folks hell-bent on putting you down/Don't get burned'Cause not necessarily everyone will know your worth…”

Happy Black History Month!

He's with her?

2013-02-20T10:37:00.000-05:00

“How did you land your husband?” she said, and smiled awkwardly and giggled. She responded, “No, seriously, what steps did you take to land your husband?” I honestly didn't know how to respond. If she had been any other person than my good mate, I would have made up something fictitious like, “I made him pot roast,” “I watch football in lingerie,” or better yet, “The key to man’s heart is clipping his toe nails!”

But I didn't say any of those things, because I could see in her eyes she was being vulnerable and needed some answers – any special word of advice. She had had a serious of random hook ups that ended badly, so I said, “Just be yourself – you are so much fun!”

That was thoughtful, sincere and supportive, right?

Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!

She disagreed with me and said I was out of touch with the ways of dating in a digital world, then went over a list of things other people suggested she should do to “land a husband” I thought to myself, “JERK! I always offer you advice and you never take it OR you get angry with me!” But I didn’t say that, I just said “oh ok – that sounds great!” But I was thinking, time to hang out with some grown women, who don’t obsess about men.

While at a party with my husband and child, I met some new women who seemed confident and enjoyed conversations about worldly events and not the pros and cons of OK Cupid. They asked me for my number so that we “can hang” Awesome and I imagined that we would spend time talking about progressive ideas, maybe go for a bike ride or start a nonprofit … you know something like that, so I agreed to a date.

We met at a swanky restaurant in downtown DC, a sort of foodie spot. We had great conversation about the distribution of wealth in urban cities, I made some jokes, they laughed; I was thrilled that we had so much in common … and then it happened.

They said, “It’s so hard to find a man in this city!” Then they went on to list the good, the bad, the ugly AND the foul of the dating life in DC. Then the one woman turned to me and said, “How did you land Hal?” Given that this was the first time she asked, and we were just getting to know one another, I didn’t take it personal, I just said, “Oh, I met him while we both were in NC.” And they both let out a huge “OOHHHHH!”

I thought to myself, “What does that mean?” and then I said, “What does that mean?” She said, “Oh nothing, but it’s hard to find single guys in DC, even drop dead gorgeous women date fat balding guys with bad breath.” Oh snap – did I just get dissed by my new girlfriend on the sneak tip? No – no , no way – just a random observation with a mediocre supporting argument.

To up the ante on this matter, the other night my husband and I were having drinks, when the waitress asked us, “So, how do you two know each other?” – Slick, very slick – I said, “I just met him” and he smiled graciously and said, “She’s, my wife.” She awkwardly responded, “Oh- oh ok.” At that moment, I realized that what my girlfriend was really asking was– “How are you married to him?”

This is me - I got the Coolio hair cut

My husband and baby

So, to answer the question I thought was rhetorical, here is my answer: I wasn’t too eager – When my husband and I first exchanged numbers, I told him I would call … but I didn’t – I lack follow through. He called me, and I thought his name was Gary, so then he had to tell me his name again. We finally went out a month later … but then I made it clear that I was not interested in dating him. So he agreed and decided to be my hiking buddy. And the rest is herstory.

I suppose the real question should be - How did Hal land Chanda? and not the other way around. So ladies, put yourself first and the worthy men/women will follow.

Do you have a single friend?

2012-12-17T16:47:00.000-05:00

So - I love to play match-maker, but I have trouble making connections for various reason. Here is a video "inspired" by real life events. I'm currently negotiating the rights to publish with Lifetime - more to come...

Do you have a single friend?
by: chachacauser

Many ways of becoming and being a parent

2012-11-28T10:04:00.000-05:00

Fascinating video on trans parenting - Canada is way more progressive in thought than the U.S. (in parts) Take a moment, watch and share your thoughts

The Lighter the Berry

2012-11-19T22:18:00.002-05:00

Do you love white skin? I mean - really covet that pale pigmentation. Do you think to yourself, “Man, my life would sure be better if only I could lighten up my skin?”

If so, you are not alone, non-whites obsess about lighter skin color. We may not always admit, but we do, we love it! We can’t help it, we have been programmed to love whiteness. Whiteness is good, whiteness is jobs, whiteness is security and most importantly - whiteness is never feeling uncomfortable because whiteness rules.

In an effort to support my comprehensive research, I Googled some "random" words/terms and look at the images I found:

American People

Happy People

Poverty

Unemployed People

My pale pals know that they have it made, they tan and/or where orange glow just to taunt colored folks. Like, "Ha Ha - I am a part-time Negro! But I can get a job."

Important SIDE NOTE: Some delusional colored folks feel the need to tan to show that they are in solidarity with whiteness, but I’m not talking to those people, they are a lost cause. I am talking to those who recognize that they are dark and need to take action.

Turns out that Chinese people have been thinking about whiteness for some time, in fact they prefer translucent skin as the ideal beauty and have been working on a new process. As reported in a recent CBS Sunday Morning blog post, "At the EverCare plastic surgery center in downtown Beijing, Dr. Chang Weiling shows off before-and-after pictures of saggy skin tightened, noses reshaped, and skin lightened with freckles gone, thanks to laser treatments and whitening injections."You know, no one would like to be called a 'yellow-face woman,' so you have to get rid of brown spots in order to maintain a fair color," said Dr. Chang, through an interpreter."

See! Global phenomena! Which leads me to the point of this story - My child has a slightly lighter complexion than me and people, mostly white, often compliment her by saying “what a great complexion”. This is an odd observation – If I say thank you, then I am affirming that this fair complexion is some sort of achievement. So I typically just smile and say, “I see,” which is also problematic.

So, I found a new solution ...

We are raising her as Asian.

My husband and I both agree that this is the only reasonable solution to the problem with her yellowish complexion. So the next time someone says, "What great skin she has!" I will simply respond, "She's Asian!"

And so that she will not be burdened by my dark skin, I am jumping on the Chinese skin lightening method right now!

Now I want to hear from you! If your crazy aunt or mean-spirited, grandmother told you that you would never make it with that skin, nose, hair, whatever - how you are changing to become a better, happier, lighter person!

What came first? The action or the stereotype?

2012-10-12T13:07:00.001-04:00

About stereotypes

Everyone - YES everyone apply stereotypes to situations; whether consciously or unconscious, we do it for a multitude of reasons. I do it too and I am a raceavenger! Before I expose myself, allow me to share a story.

A few years ago, my husband and I were having a drink in Arlington, Va., the bar was filled with the Arlington types, mostly young, wealthy, obnoxious white folks – wondering why we were there? Having an identity crisis, but back to the story.

Our bartender was a young Asian American woman, who appeared to be in her early twenties. While pouring drinks she told stories of how she was a terrible driver, and went on to state that “All Asians are terrible drivers!” The frat boys from UVA ate it up, tossing in their own examples of poor Asian drivers.Up until this point, I was unfamiliar with that stereotype and the commentary angered me. I wondered why this POC would open herself up to that sort of feedback from white men?

I was so uncomfortable. I didn’t agree, and she was pissing me off.

Could this type of self-hating garner more tips? Imagine me pouring drinks to an all white male crowd, saying, “What you looking at fool?” Wait, this has been done.

At that time I was unaware that Asians were considered bad drivers, since that time however, I hear it often -on TV shows,cartoons, other Asians; it still felt weird to just state it as a fact, that is…until last weekend.

Last weekend I was in the car with my best pals (who shall not be exposed) and my daughter, driving to Oktoberfest in Northern Virginia. We were driving along GW Parkway, when from the rear-view mirror I saw I car barreling down the highway at top speed. The car kept getting closer and closer and I was afraid that they were going to hit me, on the side where my toddler was sitting I drove my car into the large orange and white barrels (not cones).

I was scared! My hands were shaking, but then suddenly something “clicked” in my head and I grew angry (I know what you are thinking, you are a black woman, aren't you always angry - let's hold that for another time).

In less than 30 seconds, I got back on the highway at top speed trying to catch that “crazy” person who nearly killed us. We caught up to the woman very quickly, and she turned to look at us like a deer in headlights. Once we saw the woman driving, we all calmed down and I drove on past the woman.

Why?

(a) we were embarrassed by our actions?

(b) realized that we were not wearing our masks?

Ha! None of the above. Its (d) we are racist!

After about 10 minutes of self-reflection, my dear friend in the backseat said, “Humph, I suppose Asians can’t drive.” Awkward laughter ensued and then I asked, “Is that what we all were thinking?” It was as though we were all in agreement that, “Oh, well she can’t help it, she is Asian.”

Damn that's kind of racist, but something that made us a little more comfortable get run off the road by and Asian woman versus a red neck in a pick up truck.

If you enjoyed this poor, be on the lookout for more racist commentary, like, “Why are blacks such poor tippers?”

Boring Donkey and Friends

2012-10-04T10:50:00.001-04:00

I’d like to share some possible themes for last night’s Presidential debate: “Snooze Fest 2012,” “Beat it Big Bird!” “Jim Lehrer and the broken hologram!” I could go on and on, or at least one more, but overall that thing was dull, dull and dull, (a jab to all three participants). I grew up watching T.V. in the 80’s and, well, I know I should feel embarrassed to state, but I need some theatrics! Somebody needs to tell me how I feel or at least try to win me over. An occasional “Oohhh,” “Awww,” and a slight hiss or two, or even “You’re a liar” those types of reactions enable me to better shape my opinion of a candidate.

For instance, President Obama opened his first response by acknowledging that it was his 20^th wedding anniversary and then vowed to give Michelle a much more intimate setting next year. What did that mean? His face looked like he was speaking in code – will he be in office? What was happening next year? At that point, if we would have cut to Michelle’s face, perhaps we could have gained some insight, like – he is about to totally act out because the date was not changed and/or he is planning to “dial it in” so that he can ensure for a more private setting (if you know what I mean).

Donkey and Bored Baby

Romney was a smiling, smirking robot. He didn’t give up anything … save for the fact that he would kick the sesame street gang and their leader Big Bird out on their ass … oh and Jim too, though Jim is really lovely.

But, hey hey, ho ho, PBS has got to go!

If we could have zoomed in on Jim Lehrer at that exact moment, and saw up close how shaken he was by this promise; we would have understood why he seemed to zone out and lost track of time. For the video montage, playing in his head, was recalling all the fun times he had over the years forcing unbiased information on people and educating the youth and then to the touch and go Bush years that promised to cut funds each year. And what about Downton Abbey?!?

Indeed it was a snooze fest! I must have blacked out during the part where they discussed the longest war in U.S. history and why we are still there. Wait, I think we are still in South Korean and parts of Japan – can we cut that for Downton Abbey and Elmo?

I don’t know much, but they were so polite and formal, I think I also missed the bit about the environmental concerns, like addressing off shore drilling, creating methods of sustainable transportation and stuff like that – right? I missed that part?

It all felt like a symbolic debate, no one giving up nothing. Just a scrimmage. Dang it, I hate I wasted money on beer and wings for that thing.

Take My Friend - Please!

2012-08-31T13:39:00.000-04:00

I was sitting in Dilworth’s coffee house on a warm summer day in Concord, N.C., and I encountered a tall, attractive, soft-spoken man in his early thirties. He sported a hipter-ish goatee and appeared gentle, kind, and given that he was the man serving the drinks, he was clearly employed. From the absent ring on his left finger, I presumed he was single or at least open to exploring new options. We made eye-contact and then he winked at me and said, "Café Mocha?" I girlishly giggled and said, “Sure! I can give it a try.” He winked at me, and strolled across the room and leaned in and said “Let me know if you need anything else.” Not only was he funny, he was witty and smelled nice. After several days of small talk and light banter, I decided to make my move, “Are you single? Are you straight? If so, are you interested in dating?”

Artist: Taylor Griffin

He seemed perplexed, given that my husband and child were standing next to me, he appeared very unsure as to how to respond. To calm his nerves, I quickly responded, “No, no – not for us, I have plenty of single girlfriends who would be interested in getting to know you.” And with that, I turned to my laptop and opened Facebook and began auctioning off my friends to the first nice single man I met in nearly a year. I literally described my friends in the following, “She’s thirty-five, never been married, well traveled and educated,” “This friend is a little older, but she is very active, politically minded and enjoys banter,” “This friend is young-ish, fun and a bit of a hipster turned entertainer.” By the end of the conversation, I was only able to garner a slight level of interest. He responded, “Your friends seem cool,” and then he returned to making mocha coolers.

Wait – no bite? I felt like a used car salesman, who was unable to close. I closed my laptop and sadly went home and wondered why I had reduced my friends down to bullet point advertisements. For the most part, they are much more than that – some of them are very dynamic, interesting people… just, sadly, unloved.

Moment of truth: Nothing is more universal than love; it’s something that unites everyone regardless of identity. Equally with love is often the pursuit of marriage and happily ever after. As women, we are often fed the idea of marriage from birth; and once we achieve that goal, the void is then replaced with a strong desire to “save” our sad, lonely, single friends from the perils of spinsterhood.

I have had countless conversations with other married ladies who discuss their single friends as if they are dying from some terminal illness – Save Our Single Girlfriends! Actual conversations, “Can you believe she is still single, so sad, she is such a nice person,” or “I am so glad that I met my husband in my twenties, I could not imagine being single now, seems so hard.” You would think that we were living in 1950’s with limited opportunities to pay our bills without a husband.

I decided to do some digging to gain a better understanding from some single ladies in my life. I first turned to my dear, delicious, beautiful friend “Kelly.” Kelly, 20 - something sex kitten with natural curly hair, smiles a ton and hates babies. She resides in a small town in NC, and has determined that the city itself presents an obstacle for dating. Most people living in her town found their husband between 8^th and 11^th grade. Poor, poor Kelly was unaware of this important detail when she chose to plant her roots here post-college. This is what she had to say about dating tips from married friends, “[I get annoyed] when my married friends give me advice that is totally impractical, like they have never been single before. They suggest things like keep calling someone who is obviously ignoring me.” In the interest of full disclosure, I am one of those friends who offer advice, but I am pretty sure I never gave her that tip… I think.

Kelly is not alone in receiving inadequate counsel from married hens. Julie, a 30- something, size four, super sporty single lady who is not above the occasional bar fight from Washington, D.C., explained that married friends simply offer conflicting advice in an effort to cover all bases. Julie’s married gal pals suggest that she spends time thinking about the qualities that she would desire in a mate, while keeping her mind open to meeting new types of people with different qualities. Many of her friends try to add a little spice to her life by suggesting that she attend a synagogue or other religious gathering in order to find a potential mate. Given that she is an atheist, this has the potential for certain conflict, which would be somewhat amusing for me to watch this all unfold, but I don’t understand how this could land her a man. Personally, I have always encouraged Julie to know who she is and what she wants, but going in opposite direction couldn’t hurt her odds.

Ideal husband and child

Divorced people often have extensive experience in dating and “securing” a mate and yet married women cannot resist the urge to aid these divorcees in their pursuit of happiness – part deux. Jenifer,30-something, curvy, funny Italian lady from Providence, R.I., who happens to be a divorced mother of two, says, "I don't like when my friends and I go out and they try to scope out guys for me. Now [scoping guys out on my behalf] is the most annoying thing - that is something any woman can do on herself!” She went on to explain that she would rather enjoy the time to reconnect with her friends versus them using her as a proxy to relive their single days and force her to approach guys that they find attractive.

Combine pushy friends and a determined mother, and single life may seem like purgatory for a single lady in the south. A young 20- something, Ellen DeGeneres-esq single gal with moxie from Raleigh, N.C., who we shall call, “Bonnie,” shares that, “I feel like I’m plenty happy doing my own thing and I’m sure I’d be happy married with children too - it just feels like to married people, there is only one way to be happy.” Bonnie “says” that she feels complete and satisfied alone or in a relationship, she is one with herself. However, her happy go lucky attitude causes undue stress on her married friends, who are simply happy, her find her way in life, get married and procreate.

While she would like to turn to her mom for comfort and support, her mother, a married woman, is also concerned with her daughter’s marital status. Bonnie’s mother is deeply disturbed by her appearance, as she constantly critiques Bonnie’s style of dress and her short hair cut; “My mom is always asking me why I act like such a dude. She was going through some old pictures [of me as a child] yesterday and was like ‘oh look! Your dead cousin!’” Bonnie’s mom was referring to Bonnie’s younger, more feminine style, which was well-crafted by her mother during her teenage years. She now exclusively wears menswear, which poses a problem in landing the man of her mother’s dream. While I have not counseled Bonnie in the past, I most add a footnote here – seems to me that Bonnie is cute, smart and well-balanced, I “feel” like she is purposely taunting married ladies with her cavalier view on marriage. There is no need for this lady to be single.

One would ask, “Aren’t these just extreme cases of aggressive friends? Aren’t these women simply alienating close friendships?” According to Kelly, who explained that married women are often insensitive to her feelings and that they constantly size up her situation as a casualty of merely being single. “When I explain that I am sad about being dumped or sharing a story about a guy who is treating me poorly, they respond by saying ‘Oh I am so glad that I have a husband,’ this really negates my relationships and who I am as a person.”

Listen single ladies, us married ladies are simply attempting to be helpful in securing a marriage contract for your sad, sad, lonely lives. Our approach may be unconventional, but trust us – we are here to help and WE know what we are talking about! Friends to the end.

If you are interested in any of the women highlighted in this piece, please inbox me your information.

The aftermath of 1812

2012-07-31T14:11:00.000-04:00

I walked out of the museum in a ball of fury. My husband could tell that something went down from a block away. As I marched towards my family, I very hastily dialed the number Jackass provided, which was to the CEO of the museum. Given it was a Sunday afternoon I reached his voicemail and left a message that went something like:

Heavy breathing, “My name is … and my phone number is … I just had an encounter with Jackass your museum greeter and he denied me access to the restroom. I would like to confirm that this is standard practice.”

Pause for more heavy breathing – “Did I give you my number? I am so upset – my number is … please call. Thanks.”

By the end of the message, my husband and child are standing beside me and I begin to retell the story as we walk off in search of integrated facilities. By the time I finished the story we found another place for me to release my waste. I text another friend and retell the story to help me assess the situation as a happenstance or an act of discrimination – he confirms discrimination.I call another friend and retell the story and gain another opinion. He confirms my assumption as racist BS and applauds me for tackling the issue head on.

Husband, Friend 1 and Friend 2 all ask me the same question, “What are you going to do about it?”

NOTHING – too tired of fighting this cyclical battle. I continue on with my week.

Three days later – I am still thinking about the situation, so I decided to call the museum this time with some composure.

“Good morning my name is … and I am calling you in reference to a minor situation that occurred on Sunday afternoon regarding the usage of the restroom” I provide the context of what went down.

“I would like to learn if there is in fact a policy on the usage of your facilities by non-museum patrons. If there is, might I recommend placing some signage up so that your staff is not placed in another awkward situation?” (My husband gave me that tip)

Turns out that I was speaking directly to Jackass’ boss, who seemed to be shocked... she said, “I am shocked, we do not have any such policy, and our restrooms are available for public usage.” She went on about their facilities and apologized profusely. She offered a year membership to my family and me, to which, I respectfully declined. While I was relieved to learn that I was not just jumping to conclusions, I didn’t want to capitalize on the event.

The kind lady continued on about the diversity of the staff, the usage of the facilities by all people in the community. She was extremely proud of their facilities, they had been recently remodeled. This was all starting to make sense – perhaps he thought the restroom was a new exhibit; and he couldn’t have some random lady whizzing all over this new exhibit.

The whole situation was incredibly hard for me, but I did learn some new things that day:

These things seem to happen to me a lot, but no more than any other marginalized group. But unlike others, I just can’t let acts of discrimination or perceived discrimination go by without addressing it and I think more people need to have the courage to do this.

Another thing – museums are kind of racist.

Me as a Race Cop -thoughts?

Several years ago, I visited a museum in North Carolina with my friend Alejandro; and as we walked into the museum, I noticed that the greeter jotted down my “race” and the “race” of my friend. While we wandered throughout the unimpressive exhibit, I mentioned to my friend, “That guy jotted down our races.” Ale thought that I imagined the whole thing, because he long knew that I aspired to be a race cop and was always in search of crime to fight. When we walked out of the museum, he decided to amuse me and asked the greeter, “Did you write down our race when we walked into the museum?” The greeter, clearly uncomfortable with the policy, squirmed in his chair and reluctantly confirmed my suspicions. He said, “Oh they have us track people for some reason.” This angered Ale, but not because he was being tracked – the greeter listed him as white. My friend, who is proudly Latino, was totally pissed off.

Race – isn’t that a peculiar concept?

I digress

The third thing I learned is that I should stay away from museums.

1812 Discrimination Day

2012-07-26T12:43:00.004-04:00

Intro

I know that I talk about race and discrimination often, but mostly in an abstract, comical, metaphoric way. So when I am placed smack in the middle of an uncomfortable situation, the feeling is just too hard to verbalize. I process discrimination in the following way:

Shocked – did that just happen?
Enraged- it did just happen!
Sadness – why did this happen to me?
Denial - search for reasons why the incident may just be a misunderstanding.

I do the latter because as much as I know that we all have our biases, it’s often hard for me to believe that someone would actually act on their bias belief in such an overt manner.

The Situation

Last month, my family and I decided to partake in all of the 1812 celebration activities in Baltimore, MD. The activities included: viewing the massive sailboats from all over the world, walking around the harbor with hordes of other tourists and enjoying the tasty overpriced treats. After walking around the downtown area and drinking several gallons of water, my bladder had reached maximum capacity and I needed a quick release. Being situated in the museum district of the lovely Mt. Vernon neighborhood, I briskly walked into the nearest museum hoping that they offered a public restroom.

*Please note that I entered the museum wearing my tourist uniform, walking sandals, black Capri pants, tank top and carrying a messenger bag across my person.

I opened the door and looked to my left, then to my right … but no sign of a restroom. I really couldn’t hold it a second longer. The museum attendant must have noticed my frantic face when he said to me, “Can we help you ma’am?” I responded, “Yes, sir, I need to use the restroom, where is it located?” He responds, “Are you here to visit the museum?”

The Museum Attendant

“No sire, I am just visiting the area and this was the first place that was open,” I said. He impatiently stated, “Ok, you may use the restroom, but I will need to keep your bag”

I hesitated, and then I thought to myself, He wants to keep my bag? Well, ok – must be some sort of policy. I responded, “Ok, I will just need to remove my cell phone and wallet.”

He said, “Fine!”

Shut Yo Mouth

As I was about to hand him my bag, I took a visual scan of the room and I first noticed several middle-aged white women all carrying large purses. Second scan in reverse, I am the only person with a large amount of melanin. Third scan, there aren’t any cubbies to secure any bags/purses – OH Snap! I think I am being profiled.

I said to the Jackass, “Um wait, everyone else has their bags with them, why do you wish to retain my bag?

Jackass, “They paid the $5 dollars to visit the museum!”

I said, “Oh - ok – I will just go somewhere else!”

This is me

I was so upset – I no longer had to urinate like a race horse. I marched out and then stopped – what was I thinking, that was way too easy; like he is saddened not to have my urine in their facilities. I must go back and tell this man that I KNOW what just happened.

I returned to the counter trying to calmly articulate my frustrations with the situation.

Jackass: "Yes ma’am?"

Me:" I feel that you profiled me when you requested to retain my bag?"

Jackass: "Well we have valuable items here that people can place in their pockets and I am sorry you feel that way?"

Me: "No – no you are not sorry. I would like to speak with your supervisor."

Jackass: "I am the only person here today!"

Me: "Well I request to have their contact information."

Jackass: "NO"

Me: "No? Seriously? You are denying me free information? The cards are listed behind you? I request to have the number to your boss!"

Jackass: "Here!"

He hands me a business card to contact the CEO. Now I am making somewhat of a scene in front of those nice paying customers.

As I prepared to leave- I stated “If you do NOT have a public restroom, you should have stated that in the beginning and I would have been on my way. I am a visitor to your museum and your city – seems like you would have been more prepared for foot traffic given the 1812 celebration signs throughout the city.”

What happened next? More to come …

Me and my pal, alcohol

2012-06-12T22:44:00.001-04:00

I love my pal alcohol, but sometimes I feel like we need to see other people. I've tried to discuss this matter with my friends who are also in a tortured relationship with alcohol and they always tell me "nah, you don’t have a problem -you don’t spend your whole pay check on booze" or "It’s not like you are always at the bar with your baby."

They set the barometer so low and for a second you think to yourself, "yeah – I’m good, I only spend half my pay check on alcohol." "I am not at all like the cast of "insert" reality show, so... I’m probably fine." Meanwhile your liver is dying and trying to jump out of your body.

If these thoughts resonate with you, then you will enjoy this clip I made:

Based on actual events

Ode to Marion Barry

2012-05-23T23:59:00.003-04:00

Growing up in the 80’s I enjoyed watching classic television re-runs on like “Archie Bunker” and its spin-off “The Jefferson’s.” Those shows really captured the matter of fact overt racism of the 1970s … and even the 1980s for that matter. Archie Bunker embodied the very essence of an aging white men suffering from the aftermath of the Civil Rights Movement and Women’s Liberation. Remember the opening theme song:

"Boy the way Glen Miller played, songs that made the hit parade, guys like us we had it made, those were the days, and you know where you were then, girls were girls and men were men, mister we could use a man like Herbert Hoover again, didn't need no welfare states everybody pulled his weight, gee our old Lasalle ran great, those were the days!"

Archie Bunker reminds me of my childhood neighbor, an incoherent Vietnam Vet who always wore tighty whities and a robe and sat in his back yard yelling at his cat and reminiscing about days of old. For some strange reason he was fascinating to me and my cousin, mostly due to the fact that we were only six and four respectively, and not accustomed to grown men wearing only underwear in the middle of the day. The 80’s were a different time, pre- “To Catch a Predator” days – but I digress.

My cousin and I discovered that we could get a reaction out of him if we ran through his garden at high speeds, “You darkies!” he would yell and we would laugh because we were bad ass kids. Every now and again he would pay us $5 bucks apiece to water his tomatoes and tell us a story about how he did something nice for the darkies back in the 50s /60s.

I thought about my old neighbor, Archie Bunker and George Jefferson last month when Marion Barry made national headlines with his comments about Asian Americans. After winning his primary election on April 3, he grabbed the mic to beguile his voters with a celebratory speech. What would he say? Maybe he would say something to highlight his history of redemption and compare it with the potential growth in his ward (the poorest in the District). Or perhaps he would shine a light on the low graduation rates in his ward and challenge the youth to make a commitment to increase graduation rates by a certain percentage point. So many choices he could consider to bring the community together … what would he say?

He said, “We got to do something about these Asians coming in and opening up businesses and dirty shops … They ought to go. I’m going to say that right now. But we need African-American businesspeople to be able to take their places, too.” Then after further reflection he followed up two weeks later with more insightful comment when he said, "In fact, it's so bad, that if you go to the hospital now, you find a number of immigrants who are nurses, particularly from the Philippines.”

The nearly eighty-year-old politician seemed confused that his comments could be perceived as racist and harmful. I marveled at how sitcom-like he appeared with his ambivalence. He initially refused to apologize due to the fact that the media was taking his comments “out of context,” but then he later acquiesced. So sad – I actually felt a bit of sympathy for the old man. I imagined that George Jefferson would have the same trouble calling someone a “honkie” or a “cracker” just doesn’t seem to be nearly as funny today.

We wrote this song for Barry, may he live on fighting the good fight:

"Boy the way Chuck Brown played, Bustin’ Loose made the hit parade, chocolate city had it made, those were the days, then the 80s came, and the hit was crack cocaine, we could sure use a man like Petey Green again, didn't need no intervention, even the mayor smoked back then, gee our old city ran great, those were the days!"

Chuck Brown - an end of an era

2012-05-16T21:21:00.000-04:00

A few years ago, a co-worker was moaning to my husband and I about the lack of culture in D.C. He went on to describe D.C. as, “too transient, no community, not a real city.” These are the usual comments that transplants make to fill the void of silence.

At that particular time, the city was in the midst of unprecedented gentrification. Whole Foods, bike lanes and hipsters were popping up all over town. A flood of newcomers were in the process of urban exploring and giving new aesthetics to communities like U Street, Shaw and Petworth.

I informed my hipster co-worker that D.C. does in fact have a fair share of rich history, culture and even their very own sound … Go-Go music. He stated that he taught a class on Go –Go and went on to say that Go-Go stood for, “the fact that the party goes on and on…” HA! – He was of course incredibly wrong. My husband, a native Washingtonian, corrected the sad poser and explained that the term Go-Go actually stood for the percussion beat, known to native Washingtonians as ‘the pocket,’ and the continuous beat of ‘the pocket’ is what goes on and on.

That conversation stayed with me, because that was the first time I witnessed a young white man, wearing a tweed vest and a scarf attempt to explain Go-Go music to a bunch of black folks. It struck me as odd, yet entertaining – but overall I was fully appreciating the fact that D.C. was in the midst of a metamorphosis.

The passing of Chuck Brown today, not only marks an end of a great musical talent, but for me, it marks the end of an era. Not only was Chuck the God-Father of Go-Go, he was also the honorary God-father of D.C. to some degree. He and his music represented the working man. Chuck will be missed, but his music will live on.

Hipsters in search of street cred, I encourage you to familiarize yourself with the following:

Need Your Love - Chuck Brown and Eva Cassidy

Run Joe - This explained why everyone in DC was saying "What up Joe?"

This was my momma's jam - Bustin Loose

Block Party - in my top five of summer jams

I'm Selling Stuff!

2012-04-17T12:21:00.000-04:00

Do you guys know about Hipswap? It's pretty awesome and I am selling some cool stuff... well at least I think my two little items are cool for you. Check it out - My Hipswap Page

DC Trayvon Martin Rally

2012-03-26T21:26:00.000-04:00

On March 24, 2012, my family, friends and I joined over 1000 people in DC to show our support for Trayvon Martin’s family.

Check out the video we made:

I can’t really convey the variety of emotions I have been experiencing over the last couple of weeks – but I believe this conversation with my fellow activist captures the perspective – Sister to Sister.

Heather: “hey lady - how did the rally go?”

Chanda: “it was good, I am about to post the video -searching for words to convey how I feel... but I can’t - i feel numb”

Heather: *nods* “I feel you”

Chanda: “i am so concerned about the narrative in the media -one of the speakers at the rally said "Our anger is at a certain level” and i think that's right

Heather: “I have had a few eruptions in small responses, but mostly it just feels like venting a pressure cooker”

Chanda: “right –exactly”

Heather: “And an overriding sense of exhaustion...like, I am too dammed tired to keep explaining this to y'all and I am too dammed young to feel so tired”

Chanda: “damn - shit ain't changing – it’s feeling very much like a "pre-racial" society =)

Heather: “Yeah. Times like this you understand the purpose of moaning. Sometimes, there are just no damn words”

Chanda: “Now they trying to say that Trayvon smoke weed -WTF does that have to do with being stalked and murdered. He may also have had flatulence - but WTF does that have to do with walking around your fathers neighborhood and a crazy, racist - stalks and murders you?”

Also read: www.halthecitizen.blogspot.com