Bait and Switch: Reflections on Outsourcing and Name Changes

For those of you who are uninformed, I also do technical writing. I get emails and phone calls from recruiters all over the country for jobs...well, all over the country. They pull my contact info from the IT resume databases that are online, shoot me an email and/or give me a call, and hope for the best.

Within the past four hours I have received three emails for the same position, each one more personalized than the last. The final one was from a guy we'll call Josh Brady*, personalized with my name, his phone number, and a plea to call him since the position needs to be filled ASAP.

(for this particular position, since it's a state government position, your name can only be submitted by ONE recruitment agency or else you're disqualified for a YEAR from being submitted again, so choosing the right recruiter is key).

I figured, what the hay, and called, and got his voicemail. And got a surprise.

Josh Brady sounded like his name should have been Jakinpur Bhaddisatva...and I know his mama didn't name him Josh, and I doubt seriously that his father's last name was Brady (unless Dad rolled out during "Josh"'s formative years and Mom was the primary influence).

*sigh*

We all know that US companies, in the never-ending quest to keep a tight bottom line, have been outsourcing certain services overseas to India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, etc. because they don't have to pay as much to workers there in order to get the job done. I've noticed that when I contact customer service for a company (even via chat) names have been Americanized, perhaps in a pithy attempt to lessen the backlash from people such as myself who want to speak to someone AMERICAN, and who resent the whole outsourcing movement.

(we resent the whole H1-B visa thing too, but that's another story for another day).

I can't front: I did choose to contact this recruiter because his name sounded American. Yet and still, I didn't appreciate the bait-and-switch when I heard his voicemail message. I mean, if you're not American, that's cool; it is what it is. But faking the funk is unacceptable.

I may just give one of those other recruiters a chance, because they didn't try to misrepresent themselves.

BRING JOBS BACK TO THE USA!!

Thanks for stopping by.

T.

*names changed to protect the shady

What Were They Smoking? Reflections on Not-So-Smart Food Trends

"Advertising tells you what's wrong with you, and then tells you how to cure it."
--"I'm Still Waiting" by Colin Channer, Got To Be Real (anthology)

Back on the food thing again: as I walked through the grocery store in a sticker shock-induced fog, I did notice some of the oddest things. I've seen some of these things before but, in the grand scheme of things, I had to ask myself: WHY? Who thought these things up? And how much money did they get to do so?

• Salad spray. You've seen these: they are flavored sprays of salad dressing that you spray on your salad. Allegedly, they have a lot less calories than actually pouring regular salad dressing from a bottle onto your salad.

Okay, someone help me out here. First of all, WHY would I want to spray my salad? What sense does that make? Isn't spraying a form of washing? I don't like the taste of lettuce that much that I want to experience it in a way that is one step up from the experience of a rabbit. And the price of that salad spray is comparable to, if not more than, that of an actual bottle of salad dressing.

• 100-calorie packs of cookies and crackers. These are little bags of cookies and crackers that add up to a 100-calorie serving. They are all prepackaged for your convenience in boxes of a certain number of bags.

Okay. Just come out and say that people who eat more than a 100-calorie serving of cookies and crackers are just undisciplined slobs who deserve their extra poundage. Those packs use a reverse psychology type of thing: smaller portions and smaller sizes...mini-cookies instead of a regular-sized cookie. And again, it's a marketing gimmick because if you add up the price of those 100-packs, you might as well buy a regular pack of your favorite snack and bag them up yourself (you can get sandwich bags from the dollar store), especially since those portions of mini-sizes usually are equivalent to the size of two or three regular-sized cookies, anyway. The calories per serving are listed on the back of any food item: do the math yourself and don't be fooled into thinking that eating a bunch of mini-Oreos is going to result in less calories because the cookies are smaller.

• Coke Zero.

Coca-Cola has a soda that has zero calories, which can be yours for the low, low price of about $2.00 per 2-liter bottle, or more if you buy six-packs or 12-packs.

Zero calories. Wow. I can get the same effect from drinking...water! And guess what: water's free (from the tap, that is)!

(this was promptly and hilariously pointed out by that classic movie, The Princess Bride. Watch it sometime).

Folks get caught up in that zero-calorie kick, forgetting about little things like artificial coloring and flavoring, cancer-causing aspartame and its spinoffs, and the teeny fact that Coke products contain phosphoric acid and thus will literally remove the enamel from your teeth...along with rust from a car battery, rings from a toilet, and stains from your clothing. If you don't believe me, do a Google search and find out.

There are probably more things that my fogged brain missed, but these were the ones that stood out. I wonder how many of these gimmicks will fall by the wayside as the recession creeps along? Who knows...maybe one day they will end up on informercials, sandwiched between pleas for Anushka cellulite cream, Ginsu knives, and psychic hotlines.

Thanks for stopping by.

T.

Grow Your Own: Reflections on the Economy vs. Food Prices

...and you know it's never funny
when you're shoes are run through
and there's a rumble in your tummy...
--Neneh Cherry, "Buffalo Stance"

I'd heard about the drastic changes in food prices as a result of the unholy combination of spiked gas prices, severe global weather patterns, and the (still unspoken) recession of the US economy. I had been blissfully ignorant until I went to the store today and got a dose of reality.

My flabber was gasted.
My dumb was founded.
My as(s) was tonished.

A box of Lipton Black Pearl tea: $3.79. A 5-lb. bag of granulated (white) sugar: $3.19. Bananas: 69 cents per pound. A head of iceberg lettuce: $1.99 (we won't even discuss romaine lettuce). A 5-lb bag of potatoes: $3.99. An 8-oz. jar of store-brand mayonnaise: $2.88. A 24-oz. loaf of store-brand wheat bread: $2.79.

Jesus, keep me near the cross.

I had a Lil John moment, and started screaming "WHAT?!" each time I examined the shelf tag of a particular item. I think I scared the stocker who was nearby.

I quickly revised my shopping list and got the bare basics, paying close attention to the clearance and sale items. I bought 5 items, and my bill came to $8.55. And that was with the use of the store savings club card.

Jesus wept.

Even with the frequent use of various savings club cards, folks are going to come out of pocket mightily. Word on the curb is that food banks are actually being depleted to record levels; people can't afford to eat and charitable organizations can't afford to feed people; a lot of these places count on food donations but nowadays, people need that food for themselves (especially staples such as rice).

There has also been a serious increase in the number of people applying for public assistance (also known as welfare), in order to get food stamps. And here's a news flash for you: all of these folks are not black or Hispanic/Latino, and quite a few of them have full-time jobs.

I had a discussion with the supervisor of the store deli and she talked about driving ten miles from her home in a rural part of the city, in order to take advantage of deeply discounted produce. She is willing to burn up gas in order to get those better prices so her family could be fed longer.

I understand that areas of the world upon which the US imports produce, rice, etc. has been hit with some horrific weather that has affected the crops; even Iowa, a mass producer of corn and soybeans, is under water due to broken levees (hmm...they sure are getting a lot of timely press...more than the Katrina victims did. Skin privilege strikes again! And I wonder who built their levees? Was it the same military people who made the New Orleans levees?). But there has to be some sort of surplus, somewhere, to help people out...just like all of that oil that has been sitting off the coast of Alaska for the past 27 years, and has been protected by a no-drill treaty.

Mmph.

Before I checked out, I just wandered around the store in a kind of culture shock. I just couldn't believe the prices. I need to find a nice patch of grass and grow my own produce (and maybe some herbs to numb the pain of the recession). In the meantime, I may have to take it back to my college days and stock up on ramen noodles and the macaroni in a box, with the powdered cheese sauce. Sure, my blood pressure will be sky high due to all the sodium in those items, and my tongue may end up a permanent shade of Day-Glo orange (from the powdered cheese sauce), but at least I could afford to eat.

Thanks for stopping by.

T.

Here We Go Again: Are HBCUs Still Relevant?

I've been writing and rewriting my response for the past ten minutes but no matter how I say it, I'm going to ruffle some feathers. But what else is new? :D

****DISCLAIMER: the views expressed here are solely those of my somewhat bougie, pseudo-elitist, quasi-militant, bluntly outspoken self.*****

I graduated from a PWI (predominately white institution) and if I had to do it all over again, I would do the same thing.

Why? Because the way we regard our HBCUs (historically black colleges and universities) is a microcosm of how we regard our community: we do not seem to have an overall comittment to excellence these days. Some may say that I think the white man's ice is colder; it's not a question of the white man's ice being colder, but of the white man usually having ice in the first place.

Back in the day, it used to really mean something to attend an HBCU, especially the "major" ones like Howard, Fisk, Hampton, Spelman, Morehouse, Tuskegee (shoot, my mother attended Spelman). The Talented Tenth attended these schools and during a time when education was a priority and upward mobility was expected (honest trades, doctors, lawyers, teachers, accountants).

(and if you don't know what the Talented Tenth is, look it up)

Nowadays, HBCUs seem to be synonymous with marching bands and step shows; School Daze,Drumline, and Stomp the Yard may have done our community more harm than good...and we as a people haven't done much of a job in dissuading those who will be hiring students from those colleges, from this particular point of view. We as a people already have a mythical reputation of being lazy, partygoing (to the exclusion of all else), underachieving, and hypersexed...and don't forget loving to dance. *rolling eyes* Why add fuel to the fire?

Then there is the financial aid issue. I remember my senior year and while some classmates (those whose parents weren't paying for their education) were struggling to get money and housing from HBCUs so that they could attend, I and other classmates who attended PWIs had our education paid for by those institutions...and on-campus housing too.

Secondly: giving back. Why are endowments so low across the board? A college education used to be considered like a prize pearl; so why are HBCUs not maintained to reflect that prized status (since campus upgrades, etc.are largely funded by alumni donations)? Why do we have to wait for a Bill and Camille Cosby to drop a few million here and there, especially when the doors are threatening to be closed on an institution? The alumni of PWIs come out of pocket on the regular, and it shows: better stocked libraries, recent technology, maintained and updated grounds, research programs, and yes: scholarships for need-based students such as myself.

Which brings up the topic of admissions. With all due respect, the admissions requirements for most HBCUs tend to be lower than comparable institutions. Perhaps this is to give ALL students a chance at an education, and I'm not mad about that, but people tend to take for granted that which is easily obtained. We are not a stupid people, so why are we not challenged to show that off the break? Okay, everyone may not want a challenge and just want to go through life without rocking the boat, and that's your business. But if we want to retain the best and the brightest who do, we've got to give them something to sink their teeth into. Raising the required SAT scores and/or GPAs isn't going to kill us.

Someone brought up a good point: organization and customer service. The same argument of HBCUs vs. PWIs can be applied to BOBOs (black owned/black operated) businesses vs. white businesses. We seem to think that the color of our skin is a predicate for automatic support--regardless of the way we handle things--and that thinking is across the board: businesses, marriages, politics. Look at how we as a community blindly support Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton, and the Democratic Party (but that's a whole 'nother discussion).

Which brings me to my final point: are HBCUs still relevant? Perhaps, but they need to first treat themselves as relevant, which means investing in curricula and not aesthetics (new buildings, etc.). Pretty campuses are all well and good, but that's just putting a dress on a pig. Everything ain't for everybody, and everybody isn't built for a PWI. But until HBCUs step up their game and make a conscious effort to provide a viable alternative to PWIs, things won't really change.

Thanks for stopping by.

T.

Between God and Gangsta Rap

Father, help your children
And don't let them fall by the side
Of the road...
---Commodores, "Jesus is Love"

I recently visited the graves of my grandparents, who are buried in Glenview Cemetery in Durham. Unfortunately, I had an unwitting soundtrack to my homage, courtesy of whomever lived behind the trees that bordered the cemetery.

It's kinda hard to commune with one's ancestors to the tunes of "Shake That Booty Meat", "Bust It Baby", and "She rocks her hips/and waves/and sips".

Perhaps I witnessed the ever-increasing gap between this generation and the next. There are those who do not understand certain customs that are inherent among the black community, especially if they were never taught. Indeed, those who may have taught them are either unable (via illness or death) or are ignorant themselves. One might argue that things such as not blasting rather lewd lyrics in the immediate vicinity of a cemetery is common sense but as someone once told me, "Common sense ain't common."

(I'm probably trampling all over someone's First Amendment rights, but I don't care. It was a cemetery, y'all.)

The area, as has much of Durham, has changed; or perhaps I never noticed the slow creep of...shall we say, a certain element. It bothered me that I didn't feel that safe visiting graves in broad daylight. It bothered me that I kept looking over my shoulder as I entered the Kangaroo/BP store on the corner to get something to drink. It was especially worrisome to see a police car parked across the street at the Pure gas station, and cops posted up in the laundromat next door. Are people jacking washing machines for coins now? Is that's what's hot in the streets? But I digress.

As I just stated, it's a free country and if someone wants to blast Young Jeezy or Ne-Yo or whomever is the flavor of the airwaves this month, that's their business. I agree with that normally, but when it comes to showing respect for the dead, that's a whole 'nother issue. Cemeteries are hallowed, if not holy. Despite one's religious/afterlife beliefs, there is a certain reverence to witness when faced with the tangible markers of mortality. It deserves a certain level of circumspectness, restraint, and morality. It would be too much like right for some sort of noise ordinance to be in effect around cemeteries, yet alone enforced; if there is one in place, then I am not aware of it.

I shudder to think what happens in Glenview when the sun sets; there is no true barrier to the cemetery except for a chain across the entrances. That will keep out cars, but not foot traffic. Then again, maybe the most hardened gangster draws a line at partying in a graveyard. On the other hand, someone who shows such disrespect for the deceased probably doesn't care one way or another.

Yet and still, this is further evidence that the village that we used to rely upon to raise a child needs desperately to be reinstated. Each one, teach one.

Thanks for stopping by.

T.

Reflections on Alumni Weekend 2008

This past weekend, I attended my first Old School Alumni Weekend. I didn't go to all of the events, just the basketball game and the cookout. Still, those two events were enough for me.

I wasn't sure what to expect: after all, there were schools other than Hillside being targeted in the alumni population. Still, I did want to see what some of the hype was about, and why this event has been a Durham staple for the past 7 or so years. What I did realize was that the more things change, the more they remain the same.

Once Lucy and I made our way past the flossers (you know...the line of expensive cars parked near the building--which I hope weren't rented just for the weekend) and entered the building for the basketball game, I was almost knocked out by all of the testosterone. Literally. I'm only 5'2", and there were plenty of much taller guys with builds like those of football players gone to seed, giving each other enthusiastic high fives and soul shakes...most of which took place in the general area around my head. I had to bob and weave in order to make it to the bleachers without a concussion.

I saw some people I hadn't seen in a looong time, and it was good to do so. Shout outs to Reggie Davis, Coach Marshall, Anthony Burnette, Carl Farmer, LaManda Chestnut, Melodie Richardson, Abosede Copeland, Antonia Evans, Mike Brooks, and Earl Starks. I also saw an ex (he went to Northern...bless his heart), and we'll just leave it at that. :D

The basketball game was...interesting: a bunch of guys (re)living their hoop dreams. I saw more botched alley-oops and pick-and-rolls than a little bit. I appreciate people trying to add spice to what may be seen as a rather mundane affair (I mean, why just go in for a guaranteed lay-up when you can try to dunk...and miss), but sometimes you just need to do what you need to do and skip all the extra stuff (yes, Larry Johnson, I'm talking to you). I was disappointed that T-Tot (that's Rodney Rogers for the uninformed) didn't play. On a side note, I have to give props to #10 on Jordan's team. Dude was nice with his.

(another side note: even though the concessions were overall way too overpriced, that red velvet cake was the truth--and worth every penny.)

The day after the game and the rather, um, entertaining Old School Dance Contest, I went to the alumni cookout. It was Africa hot...I saw the Devil sitting on a block of ice with a funeral home fan (you know...the ones with MLK on one side and a wooden handle), trying to cool off. It was the cookout that recapped most of my personal observations about the weekend.

The more things change, the more they stay the same. Alumni Weekend, for me, was a time capsule of our high school years, and not necessarily in a good way. Yes, it was a time for reconnection, but I didn't see much of that, perhaps because I don't live in Durham on a full-time basis and only visit once or twice a year. What I saw were adults in arrested development: the "cool" kids still hung with other "cool" kids; the athletes rolled with the athletes; the band rolled with the band. There were those whose claim to fame was having a child or two (or even three) by one of the "cool" kids. There were others who were still seeking an MRS degree (like the women who attended the cookout in 100-degree heat, wearing yeast infection-tight jeans, tight shirts, and HEELS), desperate to be noticed in the wrong way. There were those who were determined to put Durham on the map, for whatever reason, and try to show that we are not just a poor relation of Raleigh or Chapel Hill.

Alumni Weekend helped me see how much I have grown. I'm not the same person who once walked the halls of the 1900 Concord St. I've had to come to terms with a lot of things about myself, and while it's been a rather daunting task, it was necessary. The best thing about Alumni Weekend was realizing that I no longer had anything to prove, even to myself.

Thanks for stopping by.

T.

Reflections on Growing Older

Back in the day, when I was young
I'm not a kid anymore
But some days, I sit and wish I was a kid again...
-- Dred Scott, "Back In the Day"

All this nostalgia has a sister thinking on how it was, how it is, and how it may be.

I recently turned 35 in April.

35.

3-5.

Five years from 40.

Wow.

As I reflect on how I've grown and matured (physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually), I have to sit and laugh about the things I used to be able to do and no longer can (or rather, the things I used to be able to do with no consequences and still can, but perhaps should not).


In high school, I was 97 lbs. wore a size 3, and shopped at 3-5-7 (that's a shop for little people like me). Now? Well, let's just say that I'm no longer 97 lbs and I'm larger than a size 3. LOL I dress to camouflage the pinchable inch around my middle. Juniors department? HA! A few years ago, I actually tried on a pair of Levis 501 jeans, like I used to wear (in a larger size, though LOL). Um...couldn't get them past my thighs. No joke. And I don't even have any kids yet.


I could go to school or work, five days a week, complete with extracurricular activities, hit parties and whatnot all weekend, catch a few hours sleep, and roll to work or class on Monday morning; sometimes, I'd roll straight to work after arriving from out of town and survive on coffee to keep me awake during the day.


Nowadays, I need to get at least 6-8 hours of straight sleep. I'm doing good to only hit the snooze alarm three times before I finally wake up in the morning. At one point, "sleeping late" meant waking up somewhere between 12 and 2 pm. Now, I sleep late if I wake up at 8 or 9 am.


About a week ago I was in Durham and hit the Dog House (when did Dog House dogs start costing so much?). I ordered 2 Bull Dogs and while it was good going down, those onions had me clutching my chest after a couple of bites. I almost wanted to scream, "'Lizabeth! I'm comin' to join ya, honey!"


I used to be able to eat anything I wanted, anytime I wanted. Now? I actually read the labels on the back of stuff in the grocery store. I buy "lite" instead of regular. I buy items lower in sodium. I make a point to buy fresh fruits and vegetables, and to order salad or another vegetable (instead of fries) when I'm at a restaurant.


I look at my thighs and notice cellulite (!) for the first time.


My hair is rather gray, once I stopped coloring it (but I still have a box of Feria in the closet. Don't sleep.). And I noticed gray hair...elsewhere. I needed a drink after that.


I also think about my family health history. Like most black folks, I have a family history (on both sides) of diabetes, high blood pressure, and elevated cholesterol. I knew that if I wanted to stay on this earth as long as I hoped, I would need to make some changes. I cut back on fast food, which wasn't a hardship because I love to cook--and I baked chicken, fish, etc. instead of frying it. I cut back on bread. I increased my water, fruit, and vegetable intake. I make a conscious effort to exercise, and I walk at least a mile every day. Plus, walking helps me think. I miss being in an area where I got to walk most places; it kept my weight down.


I am loving my matured body, though; I kinda have hips for the first time in my life! And my walk apparently can still stop traffic. ;)


Thanks for stopping by.

T.

Keep It Moving

As life progresses, we grow (hopefully). This usually includes the mastering of old lessons in preparation for new ones; new challenges; new levels of faith.When you go to another level in your life, it is necessary to leave some people behind. Not because they did you dirty or are bad people, but because they just are not going the same way you are. Likewise for places and things. It's a sad but true fact of life.

Surrounding yourself with like-minded people can be a blessing and a curse. A blessing in that they will understand why you do what you do, because they are often doing the same or similar things. A curse in that when you are ready to do something different, something that is not within the insular world in which you all comfortably inhabit, you will find yourself on the outside.

Comfort is nice to have, but it too often leads to complacency. And when you lose your edge in this life, you tend to miss out on a lot of good things, and you also fail to realize just how far you can go. This is especially hard to discern when one has been through turbulent situations and is just glad to gain some measure of peace (or rather, non-turbulence. The two are not necessarily synonymous). Sometimes what one may perceive to be a destination is merely a rest stop; this is especially true when the rest stop spans a time period of years (which implies permanence) rather than months or weeks (which implies impermanence).

A pool of water quickly grows stagnant, especially if it is not replenished with fresh water. Moving water remains fresh. Let it marinate.

I have a hard time letting go: people, places, things, situations. It is a hallmark of my sign; in fact, many moons ago I read a birthday horoscope which said, "learning when to let go will be one of your life lessons." I've gotten better as I've gotten older, but I am still a work in progress. As a result, I find it hard to differentiate between seasonal and permanent. It's easy to figure out if one is referring to a retail job, but not when dealing with life.

For the past few days, my daily devotionals have been hitting me in the gut. Wednesday's stated, "If you are struggling to make things happen and they are not happening, it's you, not God, running the show." Today's devotional read, "Until today, you may not have been aware that you can do too much. In fact, you may have been a stumbling block on your own path." This speaks to recent events in my life, and makes me wonder if I need to let go of yet another thing.

I admit to having a vision of how my life is to be and the things I wish to accomplish; but one thing I have learned is that prayers are always answered, but not in the way we think they should be answered. Which means that perhaps I should let go of my preconceived notions of how/when/where I should realize my particular life vision. This means broadening my horizons and realizing that perhaps I am merely at a rest stop, not my permanent destination. This also means that I may once again be on the outside should my path end up diverging in a direction which others in my life are not upon, and may not be able to follow.

Oh well. I'll figure it out by and by. Thanks for stopping by.

The Song Lives On

Last night I watched the HBO debut of Life Support, the movie with Queen Latifah in which she stars as Anna, a woman living with HIV, and her subsequent community activisim and dealing with her personal demons as a result of said illness (and the events that led up to it).It was a pretty good flick, even if it was only one hour. The movie was produced by Jamie Foxx, and I was glad to see his name behind the scenes for once. I think he even sang on the soundtrack.

There was a lot of quality star power in the movie besides Queen Latifah: Wendell Pierce (Anna's husband, Slick), Anna Deavere Smith (who played Anna's mother. If you don't know who she is, then go outside and kill yo'self...after you Google her), Gloria Reuben (a fellow Life Support group leader and staff member). Evan Ross did a very credible job as Amare, a gay crackhead with full-blown AIDS. Tracee Ellis Ross, as his sister Tonya, did an unconvincing job as a reformed hood rat who still lived in the projects. Even when she was speaking Ebonics, she still sounded like she was delivering a speech to an audience of professors. And she was supposed to be in/from the Brooklyn projects? Nah, son.

However...I kinda understood her point of view. It's hard watching someone die, especially when you were close to that person and knew that their behavior got them to this point...they didn't have to die.Wendell Pierce was very poignant. I mean...to watch someone have to dose up on 12 horse pills a day because of something you did or did not do...that is some serious karma for you.

Anywho...the movie addressed the complexities of living with HIV from a woman's perspective, and the impact the virus has on relationships (and/or lack thereof) within a woman's life. The movie also brought back some memories, particularly when I heard some of the commentary of the folks who were watching the movie with me.

My aunt died of complications due to AIDS in 1995; she was diagnosed in January 1994 and dead by August 1995. Her ex-husband was a heroin addict. She left him due to his addiction but contracted the disease when she decided to reconcile. My cousin, their daughter, was and remains HIV-negative (she is 23 now). She was one of my favorite aunts and it was difficult to watch her die.She struggled with many of the things that the women in the Life Support group spoke of: anger; depression; simply wanting to be touched without fear; dating.

In the movie, Queen Latifah's character Anna said that when her husband Slick called her from prison and suggested that she be tested for HIV, she knew that not only did he have it, but she probably did too. My aunt once said that when she got a call telling her that her ex-husband was in the hospital and he was dying due to AIDS, she knew that she may have been infected as well. I suspect that she knew long before that, but I digress. Anywho...her decision to go back to her husband may have been deemed stupid on her part, especially since she paid the ultimate price for her decision.

She did not adhere to her HIV treatment. Her behavior and mindset was much like that of Amare, who pretty much gave up on himself and his life when a series of bad choices led to people giving him tough love and letting him sink or swim on his own. He chose to sink, but he tried to enjoy himself as much as possible as he drowned.

We did not give my aunt tough love, but rather unconditional love. Still, she got sick and tired of being sick and tired. And while we tried our best to shield her, the world is very cruel to that which it does not understand. Because she willingly went back to her HIV-infected husband (even if she didn't know), she was seen as being at fault for her illness; however, she would have been seen as blameless had she contracted HIV via a blood transfusion, or something like that.

Gotta love the skewed view of the world.

Anywho, the movie brought back the complicated emotions present when dealing with a loved one who has HIV/AIDS. I hope people watch the movie and take what they need from it, especially black women: we are now the demographic with the highest incidence of HIV/AIDS infection in the United States.

Ladies, use your head as well as your heart. Let's protect ourselves. Let's protect each other. And while love is not enough, it is certainly important.Thanks for stopping by.

The "MAMA NOOOOO!!!"Award of the Week

We are kicking it off early, thanks to singer Monica. While she goes through her hood rat phase (at least, we hope it's a phase), she continues to keep it "real" (*rolling eyes*) as she promotes her latest single, "Sideline Ho."

(Y'all, I can't make this stuff up. Truth is sho'nuff stranger than fiction!).

Anywho...yes, you too can have your triflingness immortalized for posterity. Just enter the "Sideline Ho" contest and have your entry picked as the winning one!

http://www.monica.com/sideline.html

Oh, but it gets better. This coonery is co-signed and co-sponsored by YouTube, that bastion of foolishness.

(That YouTube would be down with this nonsense, yet yank all the bomb old-school music videos due to "copyright violation", is just wack. But I digress.)

The Sideline Ho of the Year will win an all-expense paid trip to attend the Soul Train Awards with Monica on March 10. Also-rans will receive a video iPod.

*insert straight-faced Yahoo emoticon here*

All you have to do is make a short video of your Sideline Ho story (e.g., "that bastard had the nerve to sleep with his wife, while I was home all alone.") and upload it to YouTube. Bonus points will be given for extra drama (tears, screams, moans, church runs up and down your domicile. Think Nettie from The Color Purple when Mister drives her off his property with the rocks).

Jesus put his head down and bawled.

Unfortunately, I'm quite sure there have been hundreds (if not thousands) of YouTube uploads. Sharing men (especially black men) has been the new black for quite some time now. Plus, Superhead has demonstrated that women can get paid (legally) by exploiting their sexual prowess and immorality. For many black girls, this may be their only claim to fame ("My name is LaShaMaquonda Malika Natrika Jones, but you can call me Ebony. I won a video iPod and was favorited on YouTube 2,456 times as a contestant in the 2007 Give Up Your Sideline Ho contest, sponsored by Monica and YouTube.")

I wonder if this will spin off into a reality TV show? I can see it now: SURVIVOR: Sideline Hoes. Or maybe MTV True Life: I'm a Sideline Ho!. Set your TiVOs now, folks.

In the immortal words of Cedric the Entertainer: "Now what is we gon' do?"

Thanks for stopping by.

Back on the Block

As you can see from my last entry, it's been a year and some change since I used this blog. I've been doing a lot of blogging on MySpace. The control freak in me likes the restricted audience, etc.

Keep in mind that I'm an artist, and I'm sensitive about my s**t. My thoughts, somewhat twisted though they may be, are still my thoughts. Anyone who doesn't believe that the mind is a powerful thing obviously hasn't read or watched any sci-fi/fantasy/speculative fiction over the past 30 years...and I highly suggest that they cue up The Matrix immediately, if not sooner.

That being said: perhaps I'm ready to get back into the public blog of things. After all...who's going to pay attention to little ol' me? I'm just a minor blip on the vast radar that is cyberspace. And there are so many more interesting blogs out there...then again, none of them are me.

So here I am...back on the block and bringing my personal blend of snark and diversatility (it's a newly-adopted AfroSaxonism) to the masses.

Fasten your seatbelts and make sure your table trays are in their upright positions. Prepare for liftoff.

Thanks for stopping by.

Juvenile's Listening Party

I was invited by my friend Butta to the listening party for Juvenile's upcoming release, Reality Check. Hey...free food and libations? I'm widdit! Plus, the event was listed as being sponsored by Washington National Liquors, so I knew it was gonna be pure comedy.

Attending this event made me realize how short my fuse is, the older I get.

First off...I almost cursed out the security guard at the front desk. Now mind you, perhaps I wasn't speaking clearly enough or making my point clear, especially since the guard was not from this country. I simply asked him to call upstairs for Butta, as she is an employee of this company. He asked if I were there for the listening party. I answered in the affirmative. He sent me over to a woman who was handing out passes to get into the event. She, in turn, sent me back over to the guard. Again, I asked him to call Butta. He actually asked me if I had her work number!

Um...no...because she and I both WORK during the day and do not have phone marathons like we did in college. But I digress.

He pulls out the employee directory, seemingly under duress. By this time I had called Butta on her cell and told her that the guard wasn't trying to call her, and that I was in the lobby. She must have heard the tone in my voice that indicated there was about to be an international incident, as she came to the lobby post haste. She vouched for me (as she was wearing her employee badge) and the guard told me to sign in. Then, he had the nerve to snipe at me, saying, "You said you were here for the listening party."

Jesus keep me near the cross.

I snapped back that I told him I was here to see an employee who invited me to the listening party, but that he couldn't be bothered to look up her damn number. Butta calmly escorted me away from the guard's desk, picked up our passes, and we went to the event. Then she suggested that I get an adult beverage to calm my ass down.

I try not to show out in my friend's places of employment, but damn.

Okay...onto the listening party.

First off: the bar was late opening. The guy behind the bar was only serving sodas (after multiple requests for the hard stuff), saying that they had to get permission from whomever was in charge of the bar to start serving liquor.

WTF?!

Now, my nerves were already frayed, and a rum and Coke would have smoothed me out something lovely. So I did not need to hear that bullshit. Butta suggested that we check out the nibbles, and we did so. I think she was more afraid that I was going to kirk the eff out (as they say here in the DC urrea).

Wow...they had an eclectic spread! The requisite chicken wings; potato puffs; crab puffs; mini egg rolls; little pigs-in-blankets; rolls; potato salad; veggie and cheese platters. We got the business card of the caterer; should have known something was up when he listed the types of events that he catered and "Cabarets" were first on the list.

So we get our food and finally notice that the bar was open. OF course, this being a rap event, the Hen-dawg (that's Hennessy to those in the know) was in effect. Washington National Liquors pulled out the stops and had premium liquors up in there: Hennessy, Ciroc, 10 Cane Rum, Navan. And it was all FREE!! I was impressed. I get my rum and Coke and Butta and I sit to the side and nosh.

I get very talkative when I drink and my normal polite/civil veneer tends to erode. So I had commentary as the evening went on. Included in my sotto voce rantings were:

• The two broads in front of us who thought they were on a fashion shoot, and were wearing the camera out in the digital camera. The sad thing is, the one who kept posing had the nerve to wear a sheer white top and a FUSCHIA bra underneath. *shaking head* Just TACKY. And from the way she was posing, I suspected that she was trying to get down with Juvenile's camp in some way, maybe get in a video or something. Her aura gave me the vibe that she probably strips on weekends or something and thought she was the next Trina.
• The chick who wore these big, furry white boots. I was like, damn: someone killed the Coca-Cola polar bear!
• The young boys who were in the mix. I was like, did someone bus over a load of kids from Sursum Corda?
• The guy who had a video screen sewn into the back of his jacket...and it had sound. The feature was a Juvenile video. Another guy had a similar screen sewn into the back of a knapsack. He really stood out in my memory because he had a faux iced-out chain and was doing the Runing Man at one point. My flabber was so gasted. Just COLORED.
• One guy looked like a long lost member of the Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E. (If you were born after 1975, you don't know nothing 'bout that. LOL).
• Miss Kitty (a radio personality) is not cute. At all. She looked like Busta Douglas.
• Juvenile was still blinging, but he wouldn't flash the ice grill when I snapped a pic of him and Butta. Said one needed to crack a joke to get him to do that. Oh well...his iced-out shades and rings were enough.
• Oh, and I got a contact high from the weed smokers.

Juvenile, of course, gave commentary on every new cut that was played from Reality Check, including the song that straight jacked "Posse On Broadway" by Sir Mix-a-Lot (At least he admitted it up front. The young heads wouldn't remember that cut but Butta and I sho'nuff did...we jammed enough to it back in the day!). And one song had the lyrics "Wanna see you shake it like a dog." Mind you, Juvie made it a point to say that his mama loved that song.

Jesus wept.

He and Miss Kitty seemed perplexed that no one was dropping it like it was hot, but I guess they failed to understand that the listening party was not at a club, but at a place of business, and most folks stayed late to work to attend. Now, if he wanted to see some assets shaking, he should have had it at Avenue...he would have fit in lovely with their club clientele.

All in all, the evening was entertaining and I can play my complimentary Juvenile CD, and weep at the fact that there is a cut on there with Aretha Franklin. ARETHA FRANKLIN.

Have times gotten that hard, Re-Re? Well, at least she ain't on the pole. Yet.

T.

Bring Back The Days Pt. 3: Geno Young

The final installment of the music trifecta of the past week was Geno Young at Takoma Station. As I mentioned in part 2, he did a cameo in W. Ellington Felton's portion of the show at the Black Cat on Saturday night.

Y'all...this Dallas brother can SANG!

Dub Ell was the DJ and host for this event (Cotton Club Sundays). He did "Admit It" and an organic freestyle song that included the bassist from YaMama'Nym.

He did his song "Touch the Sky", which he performed at the Black Cat. He also sang songs from and promoted his album, Ghetto Symphony. He also sang a funny hook that alluded to some writing/arrangement credit issues with Jill Scott's song "Living My Life (Like It's Golden)". I hope he works that out; it may help that he stop talking about it in public, though.

Bilal Saleem sang background again (why are you surprised--he'd been in the mix all weekend LOL). And there was a guest appearance by the songstress Wanya. I'd heard of her, but never heard her sing. She riffed for maybe thirty seconds and made me a believer! You can hear snippets of her album Moments of Clarity. She'll be at the 9:30 club with Fertile Ground on Feb. 10. YEAH!!!

I now have CDs out the yang (independently done, but very nice quality. They don't look like the ones you buy on the street for $5) and met some positive brothers and sisters who are taking their musical artistry to the next level. It's truly inspiring and refreshing. Please take the time to visit their websites, listen, enjoy, and purchase.

T.

Bring Back The Days Pt. 2: W. Ellington Felton/Eric Roberson

Saturday night I took an impromptu journey to the Black Cat Club to hear W. Ellington Felton (Dub Ell to those in the know) and Eric Roberson. I 'm a fan of Dub Ell, but had never heard of Eric Roberson, so I decided to roll.

Oh...my...Gawd...Becky!

First off, let me say how I enjoyed the positive atmosphere of the Black Cat (well, where I was, anyway LOL). Not much smoke, people were chill, Buppies were posted up next to Afro-sporting/dreadlock-wearing/natural-hair-having BoHos. Dashikis next to Donna Karan. FUBU next to Fossil. And the bar actually served Reed's Ginger Beer! I'm a fan for life.

Now onto the show...which was treat upon treat!

Dub Ell opened and did a great job! He was showcasing cuts from his current album, Postcards from the Edge. My favorite cuts were "Admit It" and "Postcards From The Edge". There were surprise cameos by Raheem Devaughn (who apparently was late and was called out by Dub Ell about that. Hilarious.) and Eric Roberson, tboth of whom did a duet with Dub, then Dub Ell showcased one of his background singers, Bilal Saleem (who has an album coming out soon). Geno Young was in town for his Sunday night performance (he'll be in part three of my musings), and sang his song "Touch the Sky".

Dub Ell's band was actually a local DC act called YaMama'Nym. The bass player was LIKE THAT, JOE (as they say in DC parlance)!

Oh, and Dub Ell will be having his album listening party/official release on Jan. 31 at Mirrors (33 New York Avenue, DC). $7 with flyer, $10 without.


*We now return you to your regularly scheduled blog entry, already in progress*



There was a break, then Eric Roberson came on to perform.

What can I say...I was in shock and awe...that man can not only sing, but he can PERFORM! He connects with the audience and makes it an experience. He sang cuts from his album The Appetizer and his latest album, The Vault 1.5.

I didn't realize that I'd heard him before until he sang one of my favorite songs of the evening, "The Moon", which WHUR used to keep in heavy rotation back in '94 (yes, I'm dating myself...that was my senior year in college).

I'll love you to the moon and down again
Around the world and back again
I'll love you to the sun and down again
Around the stars and back again
I'll love you to the moon and down again
Around the world and back again
There's no greater love than mine...

BTW: "The Moon" is on The Appetizer. COP IT!!

His spiel on how he used to try and pick up girls by singing his order at McDonald's was pure comedy. Then later on in the show, he flipped the script and rocked out for about 20 min. The diversity was wonderful! They jammed so hard, the drummer broke the kick drum. And the crowd was loving it! We were some headbanging fools...I know a couple of folks had to pop some Advil later on, or maybe give their necks a quick rubdown with Ben-Gay. :)

I will take this moment to say that Eric's band is TIGHTER than a new rubber band! My God...and the backbone is the keyboardist/guitarist, Curtis. He is not only talented, but sexy (those eyes...that beard...those arms and lips...)!! I will go on record as saying that he could get it twice a day and three times on Sunday. :) When he played guitar, I thought he was channeling Jimi Hendrix. I mean, he WENT THERE. And when he and Eric sang a song that had snippets of "Hey Ya" in it...man-o-manimal!!

Oh, and Bilal Saleem sang backup on some stuff, too. I love how these artists stick together and support each other.

If you have never seen either Dub Ell or Eric perform, then make sure you do if you ever get the chance! BTW: Eric will be performing with Raheem Devaughn at Zanzibar in DC on Feb. 12.

Next up: Geno Young at Takoma Station.

T.

Bring Back The Days Pt 1: Heather Headley

My soul must have been crying out for some TRUE music, because I have been reveling in pure artistry within the past week. These people have brought back the days when people could SANG (not just sing), and it was all about the first instrument and not about how many rap collaborations and sampling can fit on an album. I'm going to break it down into three parts. Wanna hear it? Here it go!



Heather Headley @ Avenue

Last Tuesday (Jan. 17), I went to see Heather Headley at Avenue Nightclub. She was promoting her upcoming album In My Mind, which hits stores Jan. 31 (please send up a prayer that Circuit City will have it for $7.99!).


Drama with the Avenue staff aside (please see Butta's blog for more detail), Heather ripped it! She sounds so much better live than on a CD, but that's those stage chops for you. She kicked off the show with "He Is" from her first album, then went into songs from her new album: "Losing You," "I Didn't Mean It" (which was an excellent song written by the R&B artist Ne-Yo), and two others. She also did covers of "Back to Life" by Soul II Soul; "Whip Appeal" by Babyface; and damn near brought the house down with "Superwoman" by Karyn White.

She ended the show with "In My Mind", the title track from her upcoming album. This song took her back to her chuuch (yes, "chuuch" LOL) roots. She was wailing like the Lord was waiting for her backstage. :)

Heather is a performer and she was one of those rare singers (like Lalah Hathaway) who came out without pretense or fanfare, and understood that people came to hear her sing, and that 's just what she did. She was dressed down in jeans, a sweater, boots, and her wedding ring BLINGING. Her microbraids were pulled back into a high chignon and her makeup was flawless and understated. And her smile...chile, she really needs to do endorsements for Crest Strips. I mean...simply beautiful!

Cop the album when it comes out.

Next up: W. Ellington Felton and Eric Roberson at The Black Cat.

Virtual (Un)Reality

I've had the most...interesting 48 hours, and it's all due to the Internet.

I am a member of a rather popular, DC-area message board. On this board are many club promoters who do events at popular watering holes in Washington, DC (I shall not name said watering holes because then said promoters would be instantly recognized. But I digress.).

Well...last Tuesday, at the Heather Headley listening event, I was invited to play pool on Saturday at one of these watering holes. I accepted the invite and asked to be put on the guest list. Later on that day, someone asked about the crowd at this particular spot. I commented that there were lots of chickenheads and drunkards there.

Man, what I say that for?

One would have thought I'd insulted someone's mother! I was called everything but a child of God by the promoters, including hypocritical (because I'd asked to be put on the guest list to mingle with such chickenheads and drunkards, and seemed to have had a good time at the watering holes I'd visited--and was always on the guest list).

Now...color me clueless, but that comment was applicable to any club in the DC metropolitan area...shoot, in the world! And I didn't see how my random comment would cut into their numbers, being that most people (especially those on that board) were club regulars and were going regardless of my two cents.

Later on that night I caught two of my favorite artists at the Black Cat club. I saw one of the bitch-like promoters but ignored him. One of the artists is also a member of this message board and after the show, inquired as to whether or not I was going by the watering hole. When I replied in the negative, he actually asked me if I was "scared" to go.

Ooh...the bullies were waiting in the yard after school for me...I was trembling. *rolling eyes*

Last night, I caught another favorite artist at Takoma Station and saw yet another board member (and the other venomous promoter, who obviously ignored me...I'd say that walking directly in front of me and even stepping over my feet, all without even saying "hello", qualifies as a deliberate ig. But I digress.). HE asked me why I wasn't on the board and hadnt' responded, and actually said that this whole thing was a "test" to see how thick-skinned I was.

What is this? School Daze II? Is Spike Lee in a corner somewhere, filming?

Um...I didn't pledge a sorority in college for that very reason. Why the hell would I willingly be "hazed" on the Internet? And how can you call yourself hazing someone on the Worldwide Web? Am I gonna get letters to wear? Can I rock a T-shirt with the message board's insignia on it? I think not.

The high-school mentality of many on that board (and yes, that tars me with the same brush since I'm a member of said board) has disintegrated to my being called "thin-skinned" and a "coward" because I didn't respond to the venomous comments by club promoters, and because I didn't come to that watering hole that night (after reading such nastiness, I emailed privately and asked to be removed from the list). This is just what I've been told; I haven't logged onto the board to read the libel personally.

To top it all off, the latest word on the street is that those board members who have met me in person are now talking behind my back about me because (get this) I wear certain articles of jewelry.

Then again, there is a constantly circulating rumor that I'm sleeping/have slept with another board member, since we've known each other for almost twenty years (since our [HA!] high school days). Go figure.

I must have fallen into a time machine and got transported back to HHS in the late '80s. Maybe I need to look in my closet and check for my varsity cheerleading uniform and SAT study manual. And I need to look in the mirror and see if my hair has reverted back to an asymmetric cut that was so popular back then.

Really...is it THAT DEEP? If I don't let you into my world on a consistent basis, don't hate because you're nose is perpetually pressed up against the glass (c) DJ Kool. And don't hate because my jewels are real. Get your own or, barring that, I'm accepting donations from Harry Winston if you don't like it. I prefer sapphires, but my birthstone is the diamond, so I can work with that as well. :) The Internet is full of weirdoes and anyone can pretend to be anybody. So why would I just up and claim you as an friend based on your posting style? I mean a true friend, a ride-or-die/I-got-your-bail-money friend.

I have a dollar in my pocket. Anyone from that board is welcome to come and get it, go down to the local CVS, and buy a clue. Oh, and disconnect the Hatorade drip from your veins.

Readers, let this serve as a warning. If you don't know, now you know: the Internet is a haven for those who have not/cannot/will not work out their issues (or at least come to a comfortable arrangement with their respective demons) in real life. Don't get caught up.

I learned my lesson and have walked away from that board. It's not a question of cowardice, but rather one of maturity. It is impossible to defeat an ignorant man (or woman) in an argument.

T.

Out with the old, in with the new...

Saturday night I went to Republic Gardens. Mind you, I have not been since before it closed down...and that was a LONG time ago. So I was interested to see what the flavor was like now.

I was underwhelmed.

I was on the guest list, so I didn't have to pay to get in (yay!) and someone bought me a beverage (double yay), so my out-of-pocket expenses were nil. I got to see some good folks, always a bonus. But other than that, I could've had a V8 and stayed at home to finish watching The Thomas Crown Affair.

• Of course, the big draw of the night was the Jones/Tarver fight. I'm sorry, but Roy Jones will always be that mumbling ship captain in The Matrix Reloaded. "Shut your hole, Bane, 'fore I put you in one."
• It was in the 60s outside, so WHY was the A/C pumping like it was high noon on the first day of July? I was very frozen and was pleased that a gentleman allowed me to liberate his black velvet blazer to ward off the chill.
• I guess I'm showing/feeling my age these days, because I danced once the entire night. I didn't know what the DJ was playing! All these folks throwing their hands in the air, waving like they just don't care, and I played the wall with a clueless look on my face.
• I wish they would ban smoking in clubs here, like they do in NY and CA. I do not relish smelling like an ashtray, and thought those days were gladly behind me.

In addition to the above, my "date" was rude and my ankle hurt due to a mishap earlier that day. But those are other stories for other times. :)

I may have to return to the Gardens this Saturday in order to get my pool lessons...but that's okay, 'cause my "instructor" is a sexy MF. I'll keep you posted. ;)

Thanks for stopping by.

The new CVS?

As I meander the streets of DC, I keep stumbling across these Potbelly Sandwiches spots. Are they the CVS of sandwiches? There seems to be one on every corner (ironically, not far from a CVS).

Now all you DC metro heads: what is the hype about Potbelly? Someone once said that their sandwiches are *gasp* BETTER than Quizno's. Say it isn't so!

I must taste one of these alleged culinary wonders one of these days. In the interim, please share your thoughts. I'm always on the hunt for good eateries of all levels.

Much obliged.

T.

Stockholm (no, not the one in Sweden)

My first venture back into the DC metro club scene in over five years...

I attended a Stockholm1976 party on 18th & K (Kolumbia Cafe, I think, was the venue) on Friday, Sept. 14. It was thrown by the son of the woman who is a big dog at Sista 2 Sista magazine. I am skeptical about clubbing in general, since I tend to get extremely irritated by drunken crowds, but some cohorts raved about the previous party so I figured, why not?

My random thoughts:

• Are pink shirts what's hot in the streets for men? Was Thomas Pink having a sale?
• From the way the bartenders were hopping, I thought that Prohibition was about to return the next morning. I mean, folks were DEEP at the bar.
• The DJ needed to be shot. I know someone in there had a mix CD in their car...should have given it to the DJ so he could learn how to mix. I was tempted to suggest that he just turn the radio to PGC or KYS and call it a night.
• Women really are desperate to get a man (or, at the very least, a free beverage) around here. Wow. I used to be one of these women hoping to find a "good" man at the club and flashed my assets accordingly. Ah, the folly of youth...although some of my fellow thirtysomethings still didn't get the memo that men want a lady in the streets and a freak in the bedroom (ask your mama if you don't know LOL).
• I finally learned how to drop down and get my eagle on (never saw the video). You learn something new every day.
• The demographic was definitely under 30...*sigh*
• can I ever dance with/attract someone over 5'3" (although me and the next-to-last dude were cutting up to "Candy Girl")?
• can Black folks EVER have an event without the Electric Slide or a variation thereof (e.g. Cha Cha Slide)?
• Men: please, please, please...I don't care how good your (bamma) friends say you look, DO NOT leave the house in a shirt with French cuffs WITHOUT WEARING CUFFLINKS. I am still mad at the dude that was rocking that mess. I think his shirt was pink, too.

I am afraid of the DC club scene. I am VERY afraid.

Thank you for letting me share.

T.