Monday, July 25, 2011


I'm not sure if I've ever written about this but I'm pretty sure I haven't. Last night I went out with some coworkers and awaited to hear comments I knew were brewing behind curious eyes. Bar settings seem to be a breeding ground for socially-charged conversation that is normally a little uncomfortable/awkward? The conversation got interesting when we started talking about guys, what type of guys we were into and other fun dating-related subject matter. When I tell people my "preference"it doesn't seem to be met with too much surprise, but it is met with unbridled assumption that I somehow hate myself or think I'm disconnected from my heritage, which is I assure you not the case. It's an understandable conclusion to draw, but it simply is not true. However, this was not what got under my skin. What really irritated me is the notion that every single black person is a spokesperson for their entire race. I was asked why a lot of gay black men prefer white men. Um. Ok. I have no idea. Number one I am not a gay black man, but even if I was there is no possible way for me to conceive the thoughts and actions of all gay black men no matter how smart or informed I thought I was. I honestly enjoy talking about race, but in a situation like this with a presumptuous (unintentional I know) leaning it's hard to have a desire to continue the discourse.

I had a conversation with one of my friends about how the world perceives me and my ongoing battle with my indifference towards the world's perception. I am me. I can be no one else and considering how short life is I don't want to be anyone else. It's too hard to conform when conforming means losing yourself. And I'm not saying by any means that I'm "different" or "better" in any way shape or form. All I'm saying is that I can be nothing else or more than who I am. It's devastating to realize that individuality is a privilege- a privilege denied to many, many people. My face is suppose to represent every African American person (not even just women apparently) without question or doubt. My utterances carry the weight of my entire race- my history, my ancestors, strangers, people I know, people I'll never meet, people who hate me, people who love me, etc. You get it. Imagine having THAT much pressure on yourself every day you present yourself to the world.

I forget not everyone took race/sociology classes in college and aren't aware of certain societal constructs, rules, stupid "normalcy" that we're taught oh so subtlety. So I am by no means mad at this person for asking me such a loaded question, more disheartened by the reality that most people see nothing wrong with asking questions like that in mixed company... or ever really.

And as a tribute to the late Amy Winehouse...

RIP girl.

I'm out.

Friday, July 8, 2011

Subway Social

Ok. Let's talk about it. Subway etiquette- rules that aren't written down anywhere, an unspeakable code with which to carry yourself on public transportation that should be inherently known, but is often ignored. Countless times I have seen people effectively ruin other people's days by choosing to exclude themselves from common decency. There are a few subway faux pas that really grind my gears. What are they you ask? Well, don't mind if i tell you...

Space Hog
Listen buddy, it's 7am, everyone is delirious and wondering why the hell they even got up for work at such an ungodly hour to get to some terrible job they hate. These people don't need you to make their lives any worse. You, leaning on the subway pole so no one else may be allowed to balance themselves as they whiz through dark tunnels underground, rocking back and forth like a newborn deer. You who sit with your legs so wide open it's as though you're performing some kind of cirque de soleil feat. You who puts their newspaper on the seat next to you instead of rolling it up and putting away like a normal human being. Nobody likes you. We are all staring at you on the subway car in sheer disbelief and disgust. You are a selfish, ridiculous piece of work. A piece of work I'd like to punch in the stomach.

The Seat Grinch
I see you standing there, eye-balling the subway car like some deranged animal, anxiously awaiting a seat vacancy that should be given to the decrepit old man standing next to you. No. No, you don't see him do you or you just don't care. Once on that train you lose respect for yourself and others and become a flagrant asshole, diving into seats, shoving innocent people, and just being a self-centered cretin.

The Loudspeaker
Not one person wants to hear your conversation other than the person you're yelling to on the phone or right next to you let alone an entire car of people. And your use of the English language is shameful and appalling. If it's not your skin-tingling use of colorful language it's the content itself- mind-numbing facts about obscure bands or a dumb story about some drunken antics the night before. NO ONE CARES HOW WASTED YOU WERE. Oh and you who are not saying anything, but are kind enough to turn your headphones up to extreme volumes so we could all enjoy the awful music that is deteriorating your ear drums and simultaneously pissing everyone off. And you're oblivious to it all, bopping your head along to some rhythm-less metal song, tapping your toes to a brainless pop song, or horrendously attempting to rap along with a hip hop song that you've learned the words to by listening to that one song on repeat for weeks. YOU'RE NOT IMPRESSING ANYONE, WE ALL WANT TO KILL YOU. So, kindly stfu.

There are more- MANY MORE inappropriate behaviors I can describe, but those are the most infuriating. I mean there's kids playing on the train like it's a jungle gym, guys doing pull ups on the bars, kids selling candy, mariachi bands, any kind of performer on the subway, train announcements about your belongings that freak out tourists, oh the list goes on and on. Stop being douche bags on the train people. Respect.

I'm out.

Thursday, July 7, 2011

Family Affair

So I had a huge dose of family this weekend and needless to say- it was an experience to remember. Never have I been so tense and annoyed in such effortmless succession as I was this weekend. Nary a day went by when I was with my mother that I didn't want, at some point, to tweeze my eye brows out one hair at a time, then move on to my eye lashes. This weekend helped me realize a few things about myself, 1. I have a strange a strange interest in kids shows (not in a gross way- promise), 2. I'm so lucky to have the best big sister anyone can ask for, and 3.- the most depressing of all- No matter how hard I fight the reality it's true that I am I different person around my mother. I'm a shell of myself, an echo, and afterthought. Anyway, it was an unfortunate discovery, but I've always felt that way, it's just now it's becoming a problem. I'll figure it out. I won't bore you with sappy details.

On a lighter note! I feel as though I have finally turned over a new leaf and have been writing more consistently for myself! Yay! Now it's time to go to shows and start reviewing the bageezus out of bands, going to bars and blabbing about my experience on here, and possibly reading books to review. The last one probably won't happen too often because I'm not really a fan of reviewing books, plus I hate reading. Oh I keed. I'm reading Hitchhiker's Guide right now and never realized how heavily that book has influenced pop culture. It really is tremendous. READ IT. 42.

I'm out.

Sunday, July 3, 2011

Newborn and Forlorn

Arriving, groggy, motion-sensitive, and exhausted, I made the trip to VA from Brooklyn with my uncle, aunt and two cousins along with an adorable dog named Daisy to see my sister and her family, namely my newborn niece. All in all it seemed like a sitcom on the way down. Before even getting into the car I was hounded by my uncle to pick up my phone while at work. After some heated text messaging there still didn't seem to be any understanding that there would be repercussions for picking up the phone on the clock, so I ignored the angry, loud buzzing notifications until I was off work which was oh, 20 min. later. The absurdity did not end there however, for I had about 5.5 hours to acquire some fantastic memories. For instance, the strange pang of guilt I felt for traveling with a small animal. Little Daisy was a champ throughout the entire ride, but her trip was far from over once I was released from the four-wheeled prison. Their ultimate destination was Miami.
Being in a packed car is hard enough without having to hear my uncle tell the same stories over and over and over again and then to top of the horrendous way he speaks to his wife, it felt like I was in some kind of terrible off Broadway drama about male dominance and dreams lost. It was depressing. All I could do was sit there and witness an unspeakable reality and be completely helpless in remedying the situation. It was a testament to the heartbreaking seriousness of volatile relationships and the painful affects of an unfulfilled life if you're not careful. All of these heinous thoughts vanished however after a good night's sleep and seeing my little niece for the first time.
There's something about a newborn child that gives you hope, a new life in this world of chaos and deceit. She is a ray of light, unknowing and innocent. Although, I fear for her as well for obvious reasons. It's so easy to be a cynic and succumb to negative thoughts and doubt. The world is a scary place, but there is beauty. It's an important thing to remember. It's not all bad. There are little miracles like life to remind you of the significance of family, friends, love, and the crazy, beautiful spontaneity of life.
Life is beautiful. She is beautiful.

I'm out.