Los Angelista

When Your Virtual Brother Turns Out Even Better in Person

noreply@blogger.com (Los Angelista) — Thu, 24 May 2012 07:22:00 +0000

Today I finally met one of my dearest online friends, my virtual brother Tafari Stevenson-Howard. I started reading his blog sometime in 2006 and even though we've never met, he's one of the few people that I broke my "I must actually know you and like you to be your friend on Facebook" rule for. No, I didn't know him in person but after reading his blog for years--and he read this one--I knew him virtually, and I've always liked him because he's funny, smart, honest, encouraging, and he goes for his dreams.

He's also an incredible photographer and as he's blown up in the photography world I've harassed him over the years about why he's always heading to New York City to shoot their fashion week but never comes visit us here in Los Angeles for our fashion week. Nevermind that LA fashion week is...yeah, well, sigh.

Anyway, this Memorial Day weekend, Tafari is in town! We went to dinner at Roscoes in Hollywood and it was just like hanging with an old friend who I've known forever but haven't seen in person for awhile. I really had a ball talking with him and wow, I'm so glad I worked out super early this morning because I ate WAY too much food. Seriously, my stomach is still hurting. Although that could be because we saw a big ass ROACH after we'd eaten and were just sitting at the table drinking iced tea lemonade and talking for awhile.

But, even a roach--and it's million cousins that you KNOW are hiding in the walls--can't spoil a good time with good people. We're gonna hang out again tomorrow. I can't wait!

Fourteen Years Later, a Hike to the Hollywood Sign

noreply@blogger.com (Los Angelista) — Wed, 23 May 2012 20:22:00 +0000

I don't know precisely when I first started wanting to hike to the Hollywood Sign. It certainly wasn't on my to-do list when I first moved to Los Angeles 14 years ago. Back then I hardly ever went to Hollywood--I spent the majority of my days 24 miles to the south, teaching in Compton. After work I'd go jog at the track at Compton Community College, and head home to my apartment 5 minutes away in North Long Beach to grade papers and prepare for the next day's lessons. There were no vistas of the Hollywood Sign in my existence, and I rarely thought about it.

But after my first year here I moved to the northeast side of Los Angeles and every day when I stepped out into my backyard I had a gorgeous view of two of the city's icons, the Griffith Park Observatory and the Hollywood Sign. The Observatory is easy to drive to, and I soon became a regular trekker on the trail behind it up to the top of Mount Hollywood. I asked someone if it was possible to hike to the sign from the Observatory. "Yeah, but the trail is confusing and there are snakes and if you try to get up close to the letters, you'll get arrested," was the reply.

Hmm...maybe it was the combination of danger and walking that did it, but somehow over the past few years walking to the Hollywood Sign has crept onto my bucket list. I've never attempted it alone because:
a. I didn't want to get jumped by a mountain lion or coyote, or be bitten by a rattle snake, and
b. I didn't want to take a wrong turn and then be one of those people who have to be rescued from Griffith Park by the park rangers, and
c. I didn't want to trip over something, hurt myself, and--because there's little cell phone service in the park--have either A or B happen.

Well, on Sunday afternoon, thanks to a trek organized by walking aficiandos, Big Parade LA, I finally accomplished my hike to the Hollywood Sign goal. I walked 9.62 miles roundtrip to the Hollywood Sign. Best of all, I did it with the Dynamic Duo, Mr. O and Mr. T.

My sons were so amped about getting to the sign that their enthusiasm made me step back and realize that being up on Mt. Lee, standing across a fence from the back of the sign--it's a big deal! No we don't have an Eiffel Tower or London Bridge in Los Angeles, but dangit, we have a sign!

I also got a little emotional when I took this photo with my boys because it made me think about how they are, at such young ages, doing really amazing things. When I picked them up after school yesterday, they were still talking about it. "Dude, have you hiked to the Hollywood Sign? It's AWESOME!"

They're right, it is pretty awesome. We only had a few minutes up there before it was dark--I wish we'd had more time to just enjoy the views of the city. I don't know how many Angelenos have hiked to the Hollywood Sign, but I bet it's less than 1 percent. If you want to walk up there but you're scared of being attacked by animals and getting lost like I was, hook up with the Big Parade folks next year. I promise, you'll make it to the top.

Tales of Unprotected Sex: The Man With 30 Children

noreply@blogger.com (Los Angelista) — Sun, 20 May 2012 06:54:00 +0000

Back in high school I knew a dude who had 11 kids--all by different girls. I heard that after we graduated he even got the sister of one of his baby mamas pregnant. Seriously.

I never understood how he convinced girls to have sex with him. He had super ashy hands and long, dirty fingernails. His lips were so chapped they looked like:

However, his seed-sowing prowess pales in comparison to that of 33-year-old Desmond Hatchett, a Knoxville, Tennessee man with 30 children by 11 different women. Hatchett's so productive in the baby-making arena that he's fathered nine kids in just the past three years. He's so fertile I'm scared I might get an eggo in my preggo just from typing his name.

But, unlike King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia--who has 25 kids by 13 wives but is a baller because his country is an oil cash cow--Hatchett only has a minimum wage job. Now he says he can't pay child support for all of them and actually wants the state to give him a break from paying.

Can Tennessee require him to get sterilized in exchange for helping out the kids? Nope. The L.A. Times says "Under the law, there's nothing officials can do to force Hatchett to keep his pants on."

I hate to be all, ladies keep your legs closed, but for real, if every woman in the world refused to have sex with him--or refused to have unprotected sex with him--Hatchett wouldn't be able to keep making babies.

I mean, that's a LOT of unprotected sex going on. Can someone refer all the baby mamas--actually, any lady in Knoxville that might trip across Hatchett--to this post by AIDS activist Rae Lewis Thornton. Sure, her language is pretty graphic but she's nearly 50 and has lived with both HIV/AIDS and herpes for most of her adult life. She doesn't mince words about what the stakes are:

"There's a lot of f****** out there and for as much f****** there is an equal amount of sexually transmitted diseases to match any kind of sex you could ever have. So Why, Why Why, would you put yourself at risk? I just don't get it. What's the f****** problem? AIDS is the number one killer of African-Americans between the ages of 25-44. 72% of all new cases of HIV in women are African-American women. African-Americans are about 48% of the HIV cases in the United States and we are only 14% of the population. So I just don't get it."

Yeah, I don't get it either.

Even if Hatchett isn't currently spreading disease, why keep bringing children into the world who are gonna be saying, yeah, that's my half brother over there but I forgot his name? Heck, at this rate he'll soon outpace Brigham Young's--55 children by 16 of his 57 wives--baby production factory. Hmm...I guess one good thing could come of Mitt Romney getting elected: He'd put a lock on Hatchett's penis just to keep that from happening.

My Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Depeche Mode Nightmare

noreply@blogger.com (Los Angelista) — Fri, 18 May 2012 05:43:00 +0000

Martin Gore, Dave Gahan, and Andrew Fletcher are Depeche Mode

Every Depeche Mode fan has a fantasy: We're at one of the concerts and then somehow, just like Bruce Springsteen pulled innocent Courtney Cox onto stage in his classic Dancin' in the Dark video, we're whisked out of the audience and given the chance to be up on stage with our favorite band in the whole wide world.

However, lets be clear, my fantasy involves me dancing on stage with Martin or Dave or pushing the buttons on Fletch's synth while he eats a banana. It does NOT involve me singing.

Nails scratching on a chalkboard and coyotes howling sound better than my singing. Not even autotune could make me sound human. To spare the world the pain of my voice, I generally only sing when I'm alone. When I go to a Depeche Mode concert, I sing along with the songs and pray that the people standing next to me are too enthralled with what's happening on stage--and singing along themselves--to pay me any attention.

Every night this week I've had nightmares--last night's featured people I went to high school with that I haven't talked to years (and were kinda mean to me back then) showing up at my door, claiming that I'd invited them to stay. As awful as that dream was, it pales in comparison to the doozy that was Monday night's fright fest. It was so terrible, horrible, no good, and very bad that I can't stop thinking about it.

In the dream, I somehow got the chance to be on the stage with Depeche Mode and SHOCKER frontman Dave Gahan asked me to sing along with him. He was perfectly charming when he asked, Martin Gore was winking at me, Fletch was clapping, Depeche Mode's manager Kessler was standing to the side--looking pissed as usual--and the entire stadium erupted in cheers.

I did the whole bashful, "Who, me? Sing with you? But OF COURSE!" thing. So Dave asks me what song I want to sing. I tell him whatever he wants. "Well then, let's do Personal Jesus!" The music starts just as I'm thinking to myself, "Personal what???"

It's too late though. Dave hands me a mic, and just when I'm supposed to belt out, "Your own...personal...Jesus..." I can't because...er, ah, um...in the dream I didn't know the song.

You know that screech sound when the needle falls off the record? Yeah, that happened. Dave and Martin looked shocked. The crowd booed. Dave says, "OK, she missed her cue--stage fright, eh? Let's try it again!"

Ah one, ah two, a one, two, three...and I am once more unable to sing the song.

I actually had to confess to them,"Um, I don't think I know that song." (Which, for the record, isn't true. I could probably sing it backwards for you if you paid me.) They stopped the concert, pulled out a list of ALL their songs and went through them, one by one.

"Enjoy the Silence? Goodnight Lovers? Precious? Just Can't Get Enough?" .

"Nope, I don't know that one. Never heard of that one," I'd replied, every single time, cringing from the shocked look on their faces.

The crowd turned into this:

That's when I woke up, absolutely terrified. After my chest stopped pounding, I sang the first verse of Personal Jesus from memory just so I could be sure that I did actually still know it.

So what does this dream mean? I have no idea. All I know is I don't want it to become a recurring one. And Dave, Mart, Andy, if I ever do get up on stage, just ask me to wipe sweat off your brow, hold a guitar, bang a gong--peel Fletch's bananas. Just don't ask me to sing.

Avoid Memorial Day Traffic and Win Total Rewards Prizes

noreply@blogger.com (Los Angelista) — Thu, 17 May 2012 07:08:00 +0000

There is nothing worse than trying to get out of town on Memorial Day weekend—and then realizing everyone else sitting in traffic had the same plan. So, how about you have a little fun this weekend instead? There have been plenty of amazing Total Rewards giveaways and events happening over the past few months and this weekend, May 18-20 is the icing on the cake. Every Total Rewards Property from coast to coast—we’re talking spots like Paris Las Vegas and Caesars Palace—will be giving some pretty amazing prizes away to Total Rewards loyalty program members.

Not a member? It’s freeeee to join and then when you use your card at Total Rewards properties you get cool perks and special hookups. And, if you join and you, for example, head, to any of the Las Vegas spots, you have a chance at $120,000 in prizes.

In Southern California but not feeling driving to Vegas but you’re still down to win something? You can hit up the Rincon Casino and Resort-and if you’re Chicago, Kansas City, Lake Tahoe, New Orleans, New York, and Saint Louis, there are also amazing giveways going on, too. All without being driven insane by Memorial Day traffic.

Alas, if you’ll be swamped by kiddie baseball games and chores like me, you can still play the Total Rewards game online. You can win a boatload of prizes—like 90,000 prizes. And, as always, here’s a special code just for Los Angelista readers to gain even more entries into the game: 9YKCCW

Disclosure: I am honored to be an Influencer for the Total Rewards brand. Material and/or financial incentives may be received as a result of my involvement.

Twas the Night Before State Testing: My Son Wants Me to Exempt Him

noreply@blogger.com (Los Angelista) — Tue, 15 May 2012 07:06:00 +0000

Mr. O and Mr. T have their first day of state testing tomorrow and they are STRESSED. They had a tough time going to sleep--well, only one of them is sleeping. Mr. O has popped out of their room several times since their 9 p.m. quarantine time.

"Do I have to take the test tomorrow?" he asked.

"Yep, you do."

After a minute of back and forth--him saying "but why?" and me saying "because"--he asked, "Can't you just write that letter saying I don't have to take it?"

Yeah, Mr. O wants me to write a letter exempting him and send it to school with him tomorrow. "I feel like I'm going to throw up," he said. I made him some tea and sat with him for a little while. He told me he's just tired of test prep and hearing about the test and how nervous the teachers are.

Me too. And it doesn't matter how much I tell him to do his best and just "show what you know", he just looks checked out of the whole thing. "Shouldn't school be over after we take it? It's all the schools care about anyway."

Now he's trying to go back to sleep and I'm asking myself, how exactly did we get to this place where one test becomes the end-all-be-all of an entire year? The kids don't like the tests. The teachers don't like it. Why can't we just get rid of them--scale them back so my kid and everyone else's can reconnect with learning, not testing.

The Darth Vader Twins AKA Why It's Awesome to Be a Nerd Mom

noreply@blogger.com (Los Angelista) — Mon, 14 May 2012 04:27:00 +0000

I know it's Mother's Day 'cos I found out that there are TWO Darth Vader masks in my house. Really, could someone--moi--who flys her nerd flag pretty high ask for a better Mother's Day present than this?

They even wore the masks out to the Indian restaurant they took me to for dinner. Yes, they took them off at the table. What kind of no-manners-having momma do you think I am?

BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE: They made me a video!

Clearly, The Darth Vader twins--Mr. O and Mr. T--have been watching WAY too much wrestling. But for real, thank you to them both for making me laugh, loving me, helping me be a better person, and being the reason I had a Mother's Day I'll never forget.

The Day Darth Vader Threatened Me

noreply@blogger.com (Los Angelista) — Sun, 13 May 2012 06:08:00 +0000

When Darth Vader rolls up on you, you better do what he tells you...at least, until he passes out in the grass because, as he told me, it's "hard" to be so evil. Exhausting, even. That's your chance to snap photos of him that you'll be able to use for blackmail in the future.

The Day After the World Exploded Because of a Mom, a Kid, and BOOBS

noreply@blogger.com (Los Angelista) — Fri, 11 May 2012 07:39:00 +0000

Put a woman's breasts on the cover of a magazine and have her nearly 4-year-old son standing on a chair nursing and America--which, in true First World Problems fashion, has the luxury of treating a photo of a kid nursing like it's the fall of the Berlin Wall--goes insane.

In corner number one is the "OMG this is, like, soooo disgusting" posse. Their arguments:

1. What About the Future Bullies? Just wait till lil homie gets to middle school and gets bullied because all the kids will remember the mag cover he and his mom were on 10 years earlier and start fake coughing and saying BOOBS when he raises his hand class.

And how will any teacher be able to have a parent-teacher conference without staring this mom in the face and saying, "Your son really needs to BOOB--I, uh, I mean, BRING his math grade up."

Hmm...I can't remember what happened last week. I don't think I'm gonna remember this cover in a decade--quick, ask yourself how many times a day you think about Demi Moore's controversial, butt naked and preggo mag cover? I bet you don't.

I doubt my sons will think about this cover either. We kinda have more important things going on, and as far as teachers, have you seen how stressed they are? Seriously, they have more important things to worry about, too. And gosh, we must not believe in all the anti-bullying messaging out there because clearly--get ready for a depressing takeaway--we think bullying will still go down in our schools in a decade.

2. That Mom Has Issues: What mom DOESN'T have issues? We're supposed to have issues so our kids can grow up, go to therapy, and blame how jacked up their life is on us. Trust me, you don't want moms without issues. All the people going to grad school to become therapists wouldn't be able to find jobs and they'd end up on unemployment and food stamps and crash the economy. Yes, it would be their fault if we land in a recession again, NOT J.P. Morgan types and their oops-we-just-lost-$2 billion drama.

3. It's Kiddie Ornpay: If you are a pedo masturbating to this photo, I think that's your sickness, not this mom's. You probably also masturbate to photos of underage, hungry looking models strutting down the catwalk at a Chanel show:

Even Karl Lagerfeld is disgusted by you. We both hope you’re busted by law enforcement.

In corner number two we find the "That mom with her kid sucking on her boob on a national mag is my new shero! YOU GO GIRL!" crowd. Their arguments:

1. No One Can Tell Any Woman When to Start or Stop Breastfeeding: I agree. And I'll take it to the next level. You wanna breastfeed while dressed up like Darth Vader, DO YOU, girl. Wanna feed your baby Similac before he's born, go for it. Just don't ask me why your baby has three eyes and 2 heads after he's born, mmkay?

Yeah, I bet if Similac executives could make in vitro baby formula happen they would. They'd tell us, "Moms, it's just as healthy as the stuff traveling from your umbilical cord to your baby."

Can't you hear Similac's strategy meetings? "Look people, we gotta get these babies hooked as formula customers by the time they're 0-years-old."

2. Screw You, TIME Magazine, For Suggesting I'm Not Enough: Yeah, TIME has brought on the wrath of moms who are sick of the mommy wars. These moms are tired of being wracked with guilt over not being--or doing--enough for their kids. Oh, and the editor who came up with this cover line is an asshole.

I don't spend a lot of time beating up on myself for not doing enough for my sons. They have a bed to sleep in, I fed them dinner, it's the Friday night before Mother's Day and I watched two whole hours of wrestling--Friday night RAW! Go, John Cena and Randy Orton--with them. I deserve a medal just for that. They better not ask me for a thing the rest of this weekend.

That said, when my boys were babies I would've been willing to write "I'm Not Enough" 100 times in neat cursive--just like Sister Paula taught me--if I could've had the paid maternity leave they have everywhere else in the industrialized world. Moms in freakin' Bulgaria get one year of paid--100 percent of their salary--maternity leave. What is wrong with the U.S.?

And as far as that editor? Can you blame him? If he doesn't move this magazine off shelves or drive more users to the TIME website, the hammer is coming down.

3. I'm SOOO Proud of that mom! I know a lot of women are super proud of her, but I bet half of them are telling their husbands, baby daddies, parents, and coworkers "Hell to the NO, I wouldn't have taken that picture. Are you freakin' crazy?" I'm with them. I can't fathom taking a photo like this and putting it out there for the whole world to see but then again, I also couldn't be Lady Gaga in a bubble dress, either. Do what you will with that tidbit of information.

Of course, what's really sad to me is that all of the moms TIME chose for this story--and the cover--are white. The mom is white, the nursing boy is white--even though she has an adopted son from Ethiopia who is older and also still nurses. Given all the drama this cover caused, can you even imagine how people would've flipped out if this mom had her black adopted child in this pose? America would have imploded due to the mass hysteria.

I'm disappointed that TIME couldn't be bothered to show a more diverse group of nursing moms--we are out there. I nursed one of my kids till he was 18 months, and the other one till his third birthday. I didn't know what attachment parenting was or who Doctor Sears was back then. I just didn't have a lot of money for baby formula so the free, nutritious milk coming from my body was a no-brainer.

Plus, I did those Bradley natural childbirth classes and the instructor told me about La Leche League's support for nursing moms and how Similac made baby poo smell so much worse. Yep, that particular detail sold me on breastfeeding.

All this drama over this picture really has me wondering: Does this mean we're over Janet Jackson's two-second Super Bowl nipple flash? C'mon, give Janet a break. At least she didn't have a kid hanging off of it.

When Your Black Male Kids Assume Black Males On the Street Are Drug Dealers

noreply@blogger.com (Los Angelista) — Thu, 10 May 2012 18:42:00 +0000

"I'm not a racist."

We love to point the finger at someone else and say that what that person did or said is racist. And if someone calls us a racist, well, those are fighting words.

But being racist isn't just calling someone the n-word or burning a cross on someone's lawn. If you grow up in this country, you can't help but pick up on the racist attitudes that are so prevalent in our society. We just don't notice how those attitudes subtly permeate so much of what we say and do.

I keep thinking about this in regard to my two sons. They're both sweet, thoughtful boys, but as we were driving down Santa Monica Boulevard yesterday, they spied two black men huddled up with a white woman--she kinda looked like that crazy tanning mom.

Okay, maybe she wasn't that tan, but still, you get the point.

Anyway, while we were stopped at the stoplight we had a good view of this trio's activities. My eldest, Mr. O, says, "Look at those black guys. They're probably drug dealers" and my youngest son, Mr. T, agreed with him.

To me, all three of them looked kinda shifty--like they were up to no good but trying to pass for wholesome, sweet-baby-Jesus types. So it fascinated me--and concerned me--that my sons assumed that only the two black guys were the criminals.

It makes sense that they'd think so. After all, the War on Drugs effectively created a solid association in our minds between black males and criminal behavior. On the other hand, I'm not one to let such comments pass. So, I asked them about it.

"Why do you think those two black guys are drug dealers?"

"They just look like it," Mr. O replied.

"What specifically makes them look like dealers?" I asked as the light turned green and we left the trio behind.

"I don't know. They just do," Mr. O answered. "They look suspicious."

"Oh really?" This was getting good. "Suspicious as in Trayvon Martin suspicious?"

"What's that mean?" he asked.

"Suspicious as in you're black so you're automatically suspicious and someone might come and decide to shoot you," I replied.

"Are you trying to say I'm a racist against black males?" he shot back with all the 11-year-old outrage he could muster. "Because I'm a black male and I can't be racist against myself.

"Yes you can," I said. Mr. T--in full annoying little brother mode--decided to chime in before I could continue.

"That is kinda racist to say a black man looks like a drug dealer," he said to Mr. O. "Did you see any drugs? Huh? Did you? DID YOU?" Mr. T was conveniently forgetting that he had, just moments before, agreed that the guys looked like dealers.

Mr. O was automatically defensive. Just like everyone else in America when conversations like this go down.

I could tell he was getting upset as he and Mr. T debated whether it was racist to say the guys were dealers so I interrupted.

"I just think it's interesting that out of the three people standing on the corner, you both initially thought the black guys are the dealers," I said. "How do you know the white lady isn't the one selling the drugs and they're her customers?"

They'd never thought about that before.

The rest of the ride home we talked about how in a few years when they're older the two of them could be walking down the street--or standing on the corner waiting for the bus--and someone will be inclined to think that they're also drug dealers, simply because they're black and male.

"But mom, do you really think they were just innocent guys?" Mr. O asked me as we pulled into the garage.

"It doesn't matter what I think," I told him. "In this country we have a principle called innocent until proven guilty. I can't say those guys are dealers until they offer me some drugs. Then I know for sure."

I didn't tell them that before they'd gone on their drug dealer tangent, given where we were and the time of day, I'd assumed the white lady was a prostitute, one of the guys was a john, and the other was her pimp.

Is that any better than assuming the two guys are drug dealers? Probably not. Those three could just be a trio of friends who are down on their luck and in need of assistance. But, I'm aware of my assumption and that it might have its roots in attitudes that aren't positive. Admitting my faults and getting honest about them instead of acting like they don't exist is the first step to doing something about it.

A Los Angelista Giveaway: Honor Your Mom, Win Goodies from Olay

noreply@blogger.com (Los Angelista) — Sat, 05 May 2012 06:59:00 +0000

It's only a week till Mother's Day and the commercials about what gift you're going to get your mom--flowers, diamonds, A NEW CAR--are everywhere. While there are plenty of presents I'd love to give my mom, I can't help but think of the many things she's given me.

Indeed, it's tough to pinpoint how my mom has most inspired me, but one thing I've learned from her is that I should always try to be better, learn something new, and apply that knowledge to improve myself and the world around me. She taught me to read and love all kinds of literature--every time I pick up a book I'm reminded of what a wonderful gift that is that she's given me.

And, as you can see from this picture of the two of us—which is one of my favorites—on top of being an inspiration, my mom also has loads of physical beauty, too. To me she’s the epitome of Olay’s “Beauty by Example” campaign, which lets people publicly acknowledge the ways their moms are beautiful and inspiring—both inside and out.

If you want to participate, you can head over to the Olay Facebook page, sign an online declaration and share with the world why your mom is a “Beauty by Example”. The great thing is that with every signature, Olay's parent company Proctor & Gamble will donate one ounce of Olay product, up to one million ounces, to a nonprofit called Look Good Feel Better, which works to improve the self-esteem and quality of life of women undergoing treatment for cancer.

I have several friends whose moms have battled various forms of cancer--or who are moms themselves and have battled cancer. I feel so thankful that my own mom hasn't had to deal with that kind of health issue, and it's nice to know organizations like this help women out who have had to deal with it.

Want an idea what kinds of products P&G will be donating? You can enter to win an awesome surprise box of fabulous beauty products that you can either keep for yourself or share with another mom in your life.

Mandatory Entry: Leave a comment and a valid email on this post by 11:59 PM PST on Monday, May 7, 2012 telling me how your mom has inspired you.

Extra Entries:

Tweet the following: "@LosAngelista My mom is an inspiration because______ #BeautyByExample" Each tweet will be a separate entry, so the more you tweet, the more chances you have! Let me know your twitter handle in the comments on this post.
Like the Los Angelista Facebook Page: Leave another comment letting me know you liked it.

The Fine Print:

If you leave an anonymous comment or one that doesn't have a valid email attached to it, you'll get disqualified. (How am I supposed to tell who you are in case you win?)
The winner will be chosen randomly. If the winner does not respond to my efforts to contact him/her via email, Facebook or Twitter by 5 p.m. on Tuesday, May 8th, another winner will be chosen.
Here are more rules you are agreeing to abide by if you enter—All here because I don't want to be sued by anybody who gets to thinking that just because they enter, they've automatically won. I mean, I do live in California!

Good Luck!

Update: We have a winner! Congrats to Los Angelista reader JaTara!

The Hardest Workout I've Ever Done

noreply@blogger.com (Los Angelista) — Thu, 03 May 2012 07:24:00 +0000

I have two words for you: leg warmers.

They say the '80s are back in fashion so I'm doing my part to fit in with the trend by working out to an exercise video that was made in 1986. This very first video by exercise gurus The Firm is the hardest workout I've ever done. All the exercisers in it are wearing leg warmers and dated leotards--I would DIE if I saw someone in one of these leotards at my local gym--but once you start praying for the set of reps you're on to end, you won't even notice the big hair and 80s makeup.

Back in the day I remember seeing the VHS tape of this video available for $50 in the back of the fitness mags like Shape that my mom subscribed to. And then, a few weeks ago, I was trolling workout DVDs on Amazon and this one popped up in the options that other people had purchased.

The reviews are so glowing that at first I was skeptical. Were these reviews planted by a company? But, now that I have the DVD, I can understand them--although I'm not sure why the creators call this video "Body Sculpting Basics" 'cos there's nothing basic about it. It's 60 minutes of incredibly tough interval training--plenty of aerobics and weight lifting--and a floor work section that will make your legs BURN.

They tell you don't use weights the first time you attempt this workout. Pfft, I'm a marathoner, I'm not some beginning exerciser--so I ignored that and grabbed some dumbbells and hand weights.

After nine minutes I had to press pause. At the 23-minute mark I pressed stop and had to sit down. It was either sit down or faint in the middle of my living room.

But, after a few minutes of catching my breath--my ego humbled--I dropped the weights and got back to the workout. I've done it three times since and each time feel I can do a little more--and I feel like such a rockstar for finishing.

I am also in awe of the instructor, Susan Harris, and her team for being able to do the final section of floorwork with ankle weights. Just.Wow. You'll be in so much pain, like I said, you won't even notice the music or hair. You may end up feeling like you need some Icy Hot or Ben Gay, but if you want to feel the burn, this is the workout for you.

Fantasy Fun With "Martin Gore" in Vegas.

noreply@blogger.com (Los Angelista) — Sun, 29 Apr 2012 07:22:00 +0000

Look what we have here! Depeche Mode's Martin Gore has turned into a Chippendale dancer and is doing a little flexing in Las Vegas.

OK, not really. I'm just having a little fantasy fun with the Total Rewards Picture Your Escape app--making pictures with me and the founder/singer/songwriter of my favorite band. With the app you can upload any photo and then voila, magic happens and next thing you know, "Martin" is partying with a dude dressed up as a chicken...

and I'm chillin' with Elvis Presley and a showgirl:

Kinda fun--gives you some ideas of what you might end up doing when you go to Vegas--and wow, aren't we all glad that Martin Gore doesn't have this hair in real life. His real hair is sooo much better!

Of course, if you want to win some perks for your real future weekend there--or even a grand prize of a getaway--you can play the Escape to Total Rewards game--it's going on through the end of May. Enter the special code just for Los Angelista readers that helps you gain more entries: 9YKCCW.

Disclosure: I am honored to be an Influencer for the Total Rewards brand. Material and/or financial incentives may be received as a result of my involvement.

Going to Vegas? Go See LOBERACE

noreply@blogger.com (Los Angelista) — Sun, 29 Apr 2012 06:50:00 +0000

Los Angelista: What are you doing this weekend?
99 Percent of Los Angeles: Going to Vegas.

It's true, Vegas is on everybody's mind these days. Even people I know who don't live in LA are itching to go to Vegas. Well, even if you go now, save your pennies so you can make a return trip later year to catch LOBERACE.

"CeeLo Green Presents LOBERACE" is going down at the Planet Hollywood Resort & Casino. He was absolutely fab when he performed at the Total Rewards show here in Los Angeles at the end of February but this new show is exclusive to Planet Hollywood--I'm pretty curious about it because CeeLo's already over the top. Him in Vegas will surely be some next level stuff. Tickets are on sale and there are dates from the end of August through the beginning of December available, so go check him out.

Psst, if you're over 21, don't forget to sign up for the Total Rewards loyalty program to so you can earn some special perks when you go.

Disclosure: I am honored to be an Influencer for the Total Rewards brand. Material and/or financial incentives may be received as a result of my involvement.

Writing Music: What Happens When You Mash Yaz With Latin Acid House?

noreply@blogger.com (Los Angelista) — Sat, 28 Apr 2012 07:43:00 +0000

When I get into a writing groove I tend to listen to the same song over and over again. It just becomes a background that I don't even notice but depending on what I'm working on, the right song makes all the difference.

I wrote a short story over the past couple of days while listening to 1989's "Try Yazz" by Bronx natives Two Without Hats about 120 times-- I'm not counting the times I got up and danced because over 20 years after I first heard it on Chicago's WBMX Hot Mix 5 show, it still gets me going.

I've been a fan of Yaz since my brother brought home a copy of Upstairs at Eric's when I was 10, and I've loved house music as long as I can remember. This song was the best of both worlds because it mashes together Yaz's (or Yazoo if you prefer) "Don't Go" with acid house. There's plenty of amazing samples in this one, and I remember when this would play at parties, if you weren't dancing and screaming Esta Loca at the right part, it meant you had three left feet or were seriously anti social.

So why use THIS song to write a story? The way the beat is sped up creates a sense of urgency, and because there's always some slightly new sample layered in on the next 16 or 32-count of the beat, there are constant surprises. You see, in the story I wrote, one character is trying to hurry to keep the other from discovering something. It just fit--and it's a fun. So stand up and press play. I promise, you'll start to move.

Los Angelista Goes to the Movies: John Cusack and The Raven

noreply@blogger.com (Los Angelista) — Wed, 25 Apr 2012 08:45:00 +0000

I've been really sick at home with the flu this week but when you get an invite that says "Come and join actors John Cusack and Alive Eve at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery for an exclusive Screening of the upcoming movie THE RAVEN" you haul yourself out of bed, pull out the heavy duty MAC concealer, dose yourself up with DayQuil pills, and pray that you're not gonna pass out while grasping Cusack's hand and saying "Lloyd Dobler, I loooove you."

At least, that's what you do when you're me. I mean, even if I ended up giving him the flu, at least then I could tell everybody, yeah, one time I gave John Cusack the flu...

Alas, unless Cusack was lurking in the corner observing the burly dude next to me fling his popcorn all over me while jumping in terror during a scary part of the movie, Evanston's Finest was not in the house.

At least, not in person.

I did get to see Cusack on screen playing one of my favorite authors, Edgar Allan Poe. My mom had several books with Poe short stories and I remember reading all of them when I was maybe 10. I've seen all the Poe movies starring Vincent Price a bunch of times. And of course, Poe's mysterious death is positively prime fodder for a film like this.

So should you go see The Raven? I've been waiting for this movie to come out for AGES and found it to be pretty suspenseful and entertaining. I did have to hide behind my hands a couple of times during a few gruesome parts. But once you get past that, you'll be caught up in figuring out who the killer is.

Oh, and as you can see, I got to take a picture with a very scary real-life raven. I think that's my "please don't peck my eyes out" smile in that picture. Now I'm still left to wonder, will that raven in my life ever get replaced by Cusack?

What's the Worst Thing a Teacher Has Ever Said to You?

noreply@blogger.com (Los Angelista) — Thu, 19 Apr 2012 18:19:00 +0000

Yesterday afternoon I was writing for work about access to AP classes and I got to thinking about my senior year in high school. I took AP Physics, AP Calculus, AP History, and AP English. If they'd offered AP French and AP Art, I probably would've taken those too. Yeah, I fly my nerd flag HIGH.

But, it wasn't all ponies and rainbows: I was the only black person in each of my AP classes. I also despised my English teacher. As I shared with my friends on Facebook:

Just had a flashback to my senior year English teacher telling me I was the worst writer he'd ever taught and he was only giving me an A because he felt sorry for me and I'd a) never make it as a writer and b) probably flunk out of Northwestern because I wasn't college material. It's been 20 years but I still wanna tell his ass HOW YA LIKE ME NOW???

As a 17-year-old senior, I wasn't a retiring wallflower, but if you attacked me back then, I was more likely to retreat than confront the situation. Indeed, I don't remember replying to this teacher, but I doubt I said anything. And, by the time I was in high school I'd learned that the education system wasn't always friendly to folks with my skin tone so his comments were, unfortunately, not unusual.

For example, my junior year history teacher started asking about who was going to prom. I was not. He then told me, in front of the entire class that I wasn't THAT pretty, which was too bad since it's all downhill from there for me.

Sophomore year, my math teacher said--again, in front of the whole class--are you too stupid to figure the answer out without a calculator? When I later asked him for help understanding something, he told me he was too busy teaching kids who wanted to learn and I should drop out of his class.

And of course, there's the yearbook teacher who allowed and participated in a discussion with other students about how I'd only gotten into college because of affirmative action.

Interestingly enough, in a profession that's majority female, all of those teachers were men. White men. Hmm...

My experiences isn't an anomaly, either. Too many of my black, brown, and female friends shared similar stories with me on Facebook of the horrible, discouraging things teachers said to them. They were also discouraged from achieving, were told they would never go to college, and would never be successful.

Did that English teacher's words motivate me to want to become some super star writer and shove my diploma into his face? Nope. He made reading and writing so boring--seriously, I wanted to stab myself in the eyeballs in his class--that being an economics major and investment banker started to sound more fun.

Anyway, I wonder, what's the WORST thing a teacher ever said to you? The thing that just sticks with you and still gets you fired up?

Sometimes You Really Can't Ignore Los Angeles' Pollution

noreply@blogger.com (Los Angelista) — Tue, 17 Apr 2012 14:53:00 +0000

I don't like when people diss Los Angeles. When they say this city is too plastic and superficial, I tell them they're just hanging out in the wrong part of town--if I'm feeling salty, I'll remind them of one of my favorite quotes: "Like seeketh like and taketh pleasure in the company of its kind."

When they complain there are too many cars on the road and traffic is horrible, I ask them why in the world they were trying to drive on the 405 through the Sepulveda Pass at rush hour. Common sense suggests that doing so is a BAD idea.

When they complain about all the stupid hipsters, I cross my fingers that they'll get an acting job so they can stop being bitter because they're only waiting tables instead of turning into the next Ashton Kutcher.

But yesterday as I looked east across the San Gabriel Valley, toward the gorgeous mountains covered with a blanket of fresh snow--snow that's almost completely obscured by a thick layer of brown haze--I found myself unable to ignore the myriad folks who have, over the years, told me they can't deal with Los Angeles' pollution.

Mr. T and Mr. O had the same reaction: "Eww. Is that what we're breathing?"

Unfortunately, kids, yes. Although, of course I told them that the air looked worse because we were so far inland. "It's not as bad where we live," I said.

Except, that's not the point, is it? Air shouldn't be like this anywhere--not in poor areas, not in areas further from the coast. Everybody should be able to breathe freely. Besides, I know that the hotter it gets, the less likely it is that we'll be able to see downtown from our house--and we're only three miles away with a clear view of the skyscrapers. At least, a clear view when it's not obscured by a brown cloud.

Wherever George Zimmerman Is, Don't Feel Sorry For Him

noreply@blogger.com (Los Angelista) — Wed, 11 Apr 2012 00:12:00 +0000

It's a good thing websites and blogs didn't exist back in the 1970s when Ted Bundy was killing women. If they had, I'm sure he would've started one proclaiming his innocence and framing himself as the victim. After all, that's what George Zimmerman, the man who shot and killed 17-year-old Trayvon Martin, 43 days ago has done.

If you think I'm going too far in comparing Zimmerman to Bundy, get this: Zimmerman's site includes a picture of Ohio State University's black cultural center, which was defaced with the words “Long Live Zimmerman” spray painted on the side. Who would post that other than a sociopath? If Zimmerman's trying to make us think that he's not only a murderer of a black teenager but also crazy, he's kinda succeeding.

Indeed, in Zimmerman's alternate online reality which went live yesterday, he writes:

"On Sunday February 26th, I was involved in a life altering event which led me to become the subject of intense media coverage. As a result of the incident and subsequent media coverage, I have been forced to leave my home, my school, my employer, my family and ultimately, my entire life. This website's sole purpose is to ensure my supporters they are receiving my full attention without any intermediaries."

Life altering event? Someone please tell this man the truth: YOU MURDERED A KID. He calls it a life altering event...I call it a life ENDING event. He ended Trayvon's life, ensuring that that child will never have the chance to go home and hug his mother again. Trayvon will never go to college, get a job, or start a family of his own.

Zimmerman subsequently asks people to donate money to his legal defense fund. "I would like to provide an avenue to thank my supporters peronally and ensure that any funds provided are used only for living expenses and legal defense, in lieu of my forced inability to maintain employment," he says.

So now I'm not only supposed to feel sorry for a murderer, I'm supposed to donate money because he no longer has a job?

**Blank stare**

Sadly, a recent USA Today Gallup poll shows a deep racial divide about the murder of Trayvon, revealing that only 11 percent of people who aren't black think Zimmerman is definitely guilty. That means he probably has plenty of contributions from sympathizers.

Zimmerman has wrapped himself in the flag--you see it flying patriotically on his site--making himself the symbol of the type of folks who are tired of pretending in public that they like black people. Exhibit A: the folks in Michigan who decided to hack a construction sign so that it says this:

Seriously. And now Zimmerman's supposed attorneys (how are they his lawyers if they've never met him and he never paid them?) have resigned because their client has disappeared. I guess Zimmerman no longer needs money to pay legal counsel, right?

Maybe Zimmerman's arrest is imminent and so he will be forced to resurface, but at this point, who knows what will happen. He could already be out of the country.

I would be dishonest if I didn't admit to feeling increasingly depressed and angry over this case. I've had to stop reading most mainstream media articles having to do with it because the comments oozing hatred for black people, the venom toward President Obama because he spoke up and demanded justice, the suggestion that Trayvon deserved to be shot--it takes a toll on the psyche.

That said, I'm not giving up hope yet. I believe that justice will be served and Zimmerman will go to jail. I also keep thinking about how from the start of the fight for racial equality in this country, white folks and black folks have been there side by side. From the abolitionist movement to the Civil Rights movement to the present day, our history together is not all one of the George Zimmermans of the world shooting the Trayvon Martins.

Indeed, one of the benefits of growing up with a white father is that I got to see him speaking up for and challenging his white peers about the need for justice and racial equality. We need more of that. Dear white brothers and sisters, you need to talk to your peers because I'm not sure America's listening to black folks anymore. And, when you talk to those people, do me a favor: tell them that George Zimmerman doesn't deserve their empathy or financial support, wherever he may be.

Why Vacation Is Kinda Awesome

noreply@blogger.com (Los Angelista) — Sat, 07 Apr 2012 06:29:00 +0000

I took this week off--which, since I have workaholic tendencies, means I only worked a little bit. I know, I know. I just have a hard time relaxing. I'm terrible at vacation. But, I unplugged completely for four hours yesterday while hiking Seven Falls in Santa Barbara. There's not even cell phone service out there.

As my boys get older we're able to scramble up some of the steeper parts of the creek bed and the further up we went into the mountain, the deeper the pools of water got. Imagine 8-foot deep pools with water so clear that you can see the bottom. And the air was so clear, so crisp...I didn't miss civilization. I suppose that's the point of vacation, isn't it?

You Didn't Win the Lottery But You Can Still Reward Yourself

noreply@blogger.com (Los Angelista) — Sat, 31 Mar 2012 06:48:00 +0000

Sigh, you didn't win that gazillion dollar Megamillions jackpot. Yeah, no one I knew won it either--which is a shame because I was totally going to give them a congratulatory phone call and ask them if they'd like to invest in my next super awesome vacation.

For real, the number one thing I heard people saying they were going to do if they won was go someplace fantastic. Maybe you don't have the cash to head to a Bali, but you can still get in some relaxation anyway. Take yourself to a great resort. Or maybe go skiing--yes, there is still snow around. Or do like the rest of Los Angeles is doing since it's spring break--seriously, traffic was so light today--and go to Vegas and have a good time chillin' poolside and seeing some awesome shows.

Earlier this month when I went to the Total Rewards concert at Hollywood and Highland, Cee Lo announced that he's getting a permanent show at Planet Hollywood in Vegas. That doesn't open till August, but in the meantime, you can play the Escape to Total Rewards game--which enters you for a chance to win some fabulous grand prizes--including getaways! Because you know I love to hook you up, I have a special code just for Los Angelista readers that helps you gain more entries: 9YKCCW.

If you can't go to Vegas or you aren't feeling making that grueling drive, no worries, Total Rewards has like 40 resorts and casinos nationwide so there's always someplace fun to relax and have a good time. You can also use the Total Rewards Picture Your Escape app to upload pictures of you and your friends having a ball--virtually. I should go make one of myself at a resort getting an awesome massage! Who knows, once I tag my friends in my fantasy photos of me at a resort, they might get so inspired that they'll decide what they need to do is make the fantasy come to life and take meeee! Really, hanging with some great friends is priceless.

Disclosure: I am honored to be an Influencer for the Total Rewards brand. Material and/or financial incentives may be received as a result of my involvement.

George Zimmerman Is Still Free and America's Racists Are Losing Their Minds

noreply@blogger.com (Los Angelista) — Thu, 29 Mar 2012 20:58:00 +0000

"Is that guy who shot Trayvon Martin in jail yet?" My sons have asked me that question nearly every day for the past week and a half. And every day I have to tell them no, George Zimmerman isn't in jail.

Last night 11-year-old Mr. O got angry. "There's no justice in this country if he hasn't been arrested," he said. "You can't just shoot a kid and get away with it. That's just not right."He stormed out of the room when I told him how certain media outlets are attempting to paint Trayvon as a bad kid--one that probably was a suspect--the kind that deserve to be shot and killed.

We've been told, for example, that Trayvon may have used drugs--an empty sandwich bag with marijuana residue was supposedly found on him. Now, I'm no cheerleader of drug use, but seriously? Maybe that icon of the American high school experience, stoned-out Jeff Spicoli in Fast Times at Ridgemont High--look at him with his highly dangerous bong--also deserved to be shot?

If people smoking weed is so incredibly threatening and scary, why does Hollywood keep churning out stoner comedies like Dude, Where's My Car, Pineapple Express and Your Highness?

Gee, I guess that's only good American fun and completely nonthreatening when it's on film--and when the stoners are not 17-year-old black males.

Some outlets are even insinuating that Trayvon was a drug dealer. Gosh, who knew that a 17-year-old out to buy Skittles and a can of iced tea was straight out of New Jack City?

Yep, Trayvon is now Nino Brown. Never mind that he didn't have a gun and Zimmerman did. Black males are ALWAYS drug dealers, are always criminals in the eyes of too many Americans--They deserve to be shot because they might be dangerous. Never mind that this police video of Zimmerman with nary a bloody cut or bruise on him disproves his claim that Trayvon was beating him and so he shot him while fighting for his life.

Yesterday I overheard someone say, "I'm kinda sick of all this Trayvon Martin coverage. It's like, isn't there something less depressing to talk about?" Then I saw how the student newspaper at the University of Texas at Austin ran this incredibly racist cartoon portraying the attention the Trayvon Martin case is getting as simply the result of media hype:

And it gets worse: A friend posted on her Facebook page today that she saw a web comment saying "Thank you, Mr. Zimmerman, for protecting your community from the Obamas runnin' wild."

I don't need these kinds of comments and cartoons to know that racism still exists, but what fascinates me is how some of my fellow Americans insist that it doesn't. Even when the evidence hits them in the face, they can't admit that racism is real. I mean, that has to be most post-racial cartoon you've ever seen, right? Yes, it's fascinating how this situation has opened the closet door and put our skeletons on blast so everyone around the world can see just how insidious and deep-seated the racial sickness this nation suffers from really is.

That said, I'm thankful beyond measure for Kevin Cunningham, my Irish brother who first started the Change.org petition calling for George Zimmerman's arrest. Yes, a white man who didn't even know Trayvon believed that justice needed to be served.

After his petition got 10,000 signatures in just a few days, the organization reached out to him and asked him if he'd be cool with switching ownership of it over to Trayvon's parents. "When we heard about the petition, we were overwhelmed that someone we didn't know would take the time and effort to raise awareness about our son," Trayvon's mom, Sybrina Fulton, told MSNBC.

Now over 2 million people have signed--proof that there are plenty of people of all colors who, just like my sons, want justice. It's been 32 days. How much longer will Trayvon have to wait?

Do I Look Like a Suspect?

noreply@blogger.com (Los Angelista) — Wed, 21 Mar 2012 22:47:00 +0000

I have on a hoodie. I'm black. Do you think I look suspicious? Like I'm up to no good? Maybe I have my hand in my waistband...

While you're mulling that over, go read my latest for my day job about Trayvon Martin and how although he could be either of my sons, ultimately this story is not just a black issue. Here's an excerpt:

I don’t think my sons are safe anywhere, and I often feel extreme anxiety over what might happen to them when they walk out the door each morning. But my boys don’t believe they can be gunned down like Trayvon. "I don’t think anything like this would happen to us because of the place we live," my 8-year-old told me last night after watching updates about the investigation on the evening news. "We’ve never heard of anybody getting killed on our street."

I'm glad he believes he's safe, but Trayvon was in a gated community, not an urban ghetto. Ruha Benjamin, assistant professor of sociology and African American studies at Boston University, says middle-class black Americans cannot "buy our way out of racial violence." Benjamin, who has two boys of her own, says the reality is that our sons, "no matter how well-dressed, how well-spoken, might be in the wrong gated community with the wrong bag of threatening Skittles and get mowed down by someone who has decided, essentially, they are out of place."

Tears Streaming Down My Face: The Trayvon Martin 911 Call

noreply@blogger.com (Los Angelista) — Fri, 16 Mar 2012 07:27:00 +0000

Twenty minutes ago I got switched over to Facebook's horrible Timeline, and I started complaining to myself: This Timeline ^@*# is the worst thing ever.

I was wrong. The 911 call about the murder of 17-year-old Trayvon Martin is the worst. I just listened to the recording and I am horrified. Tears are streaming down my cheeks as I'm writing this. You can hear poor Trayvon screaming, BEGGING FOR HIS LIFE.

And then the gunshots. And then the screaming stops.

Every mother I know who is an active consumer of social media--no matter what the color of her skin--needs to stand up and say that what happened to Trayvon Martin is wrong. Light Twitter up. Blog about it. Hell, y'all were outraged over kids in Uganda getting murdered and turned into child soldiers--how about you get angry about how black children on THESE SHORES are treated?

Sign the petition started by Trayvon's parents that calls for the arrest of George Zimmerman, the man who claims he shot Trayvon in self-defense. Self-defense my ass. You can clearly hear on the tape just who is screaming for help.

And remember, what happened to Trayvon isn't an isolated incident of black people trying to 'play the race card'. When we say that we are afraid for our children's lives--that racism is not something in the past that has nothing to do with you--don't brush it off. After all, the NYPD recently shot and killed an unarmed black 18-year-old in his apartment. The NYC police commisioner just said that the way to make New York safer from guns is for the police to be able to stop and frisk people on the street. And who will those people be, I wonder? The people who look "suspicious"? Gee--could they be black? Probably carrying a bag of highly dangerous Skittles--just like Trayvon.

Why Is it Alright For a Neighborhood Watch Captain to Shoot an Unarmed Black Teenager?

noreply@blogger.com (Los Angelista) — Wed, 14 Mar 2012 20:13:00 +0000

Last month my mother told me something I never knew about our family: my grandmother—her mother—had a brother. This was a surprise to me since I’d never heard my grandmother talk about him—or heard either of her sisters mention him.

Apparently one day, nearly a century ago, he left their home in Georgia, and never returned. My mom said that my grandmother probably never talked about him—or his disappearance—because it was simply too painful to imagine what evil had befallen a young black man in America. Was he snatched up by the Ku Klux Klan and murdered, or forced onto a chain gang—guilty of nothing but walking down the street? They never found out.

That story of my great-uncle came to mind again over the weekend when I heard the horrible, present-day tale of 17-year-old Trayvon Martin, a black teen visiting his father in the Orlando, Florida area. Martin was allegedly shot to death on February 26th by the captain of the Neighborhood Watch, George Zimmerman.

Martin, like every other teen boy, got a little hungry while watching the NBA All Star Game with his dad, so he decided to walk to the local corner store for some Skittles. Zimmerman spotted Martin walking through the gated community and decided that the teen’s presence was worthy of a phone call to police. But, instead of waiting for police to arrive as instructed, Zimmerman, who was 100 pounds heavier, accosted Martin. They got into a physical altercation—I imagine Martin figured he was being mugged since Zimmerman had neither a badge nor a uniform, and so he attempted to defend himself. Zimmerman ended up shooting Martin to death—and was let go after he told the police that he did so in self-defense.

I have, of course, the same questions you probably have: Why exactly did the police let Zimmerman go? Self defense? Really? What, did the boy threaten him with the Skittles? Why was Zimmerman—who has been arrested before—allowed to be a Neighborhood Watch captain or carry a gun? Why haven't murder charges been filed against Zimmerman?

The Florida Attorney General has had to take over the case because of local police mishandling of it—improperly questioning and correcting witness statements, taking Zimmerman's word that he had no arrest record. But what is equally disturbing is that I've seen too many comments floating around the web saying that Martin—who had never been in trouble in school and had no criminal record—must’ve done something wrong to cause Zimmerman to shoot him.

Sadly, being a young black male is always 'wrong' in America. If Martin had been white instead of black, he'd still be alive. And, imagine what would have happened if Martin was a white teen who decided to take a stroll through a gated community and ended up being shot by a black Neighborhood Watch captain. One thing is for sure if Zimmerman was black, his assertion that he shot Martin in self defense wouldn't be accepted. That man would be under the jail.

What keeps coming to mind is that 100 years after my great-uncle disappeared, in modern so-called post-racial America, I am the mother of two black boys—who are, for now, still referred to as “adorable” and “so polite and well-mannered”. But when you look at the picture of Trayvon Martin, you can see that he was also adorable. Again, he'd never been in trouble at school so I'll bet he was also polite and well-mannered. When I look at his face, I see the faces of my sons.

I know the moment is soon at hand, especially for my 11-year-old, when "adorable" will be dropped in favor of "suspicious black male". Thanks to the target that racism has placed on their backs, I have to wonder, is getting shot by random Neighborhood Watch vigilantes because they're one of an endless supply of suspicious black males what the future holds for my sons?

I have high hopes for all that my sons will accomplish in the future. I'm sure Martin's mother, Sybrina Fulton had similar dreams for her son. I cried when I watched an ABC News interview with her talking about how Trayvon was her baby. "He meant a lot to me, I don't think the police department really understands that…I need justice for my family, I just want justice for my son."

I want justice for her son, too. Justice for him is justice for my boys.