5 Inexplicable Rules That Now Make Sense...

My parent's were strict. No sleepovers before 10. No dangly earrings before 13. No phone calls from boys before 14. No make up before 15. No dates before 16. No mini skirts, night clubs, cleavage or swearing...EVER! (See how well I turned out?). My parent's weren't strict. We had the freedom to watch Benny Hill, listen to Redd Foxx AND Richard Pryor and understood the ins and outs of sex (no pun intended...or was there?) well before 12. My parent's were a bit schizophrenic in their rearing style. The voices they heard, they categorically ignored. The voices they didn't hear set the rules. Dichotomy is NOT too strong a word. They were consistent, even when I (sliding through opened windows, applying make up on the way to school, having my girl friends call 3~way) was not. You didn't talk back. You maintained eye contact. You protested to open ears (and hearts). It was a wonderful life...in hindsight.

All of this is building up to the parachute jump, so are you strapped in? Great. I'm the same way. My Suns are granted liberties that make their peers look at me with painstaking admiration. They sing arias and do little dances around my feet. They like me and stuff. But asks my Suns about me and I'm pretty sure, they've got their own stories to tell of unfair punishments and ridiculous rules. And all that I can say to that is:
One day it'll all make sense...

1. Speak when you enter the room.
Then: If there is one thing (amongst millions) that I absolutely have NO use for...it's small talk. I've had office jobs (and subsequent employee reviews) that detail my unwillingness to enter a room and share trifles of conversation with random people. For years, I'd scratch my head puzzled about the importance of saying "Good morning" to somebody I'd JUST SEEN the night before. It seemed useless, random and a waste of my ever important time. And telling me that it's "rude" to enter a room without speaking did little to persuade me that I had a problem, and much to convince me that YOU did.
Now: I enter rooms tossing rose petals, butterfly wings and bon mots at random strangers. I'm lying. But I do speak when I enter a room...even if I shared the entire roof with you the night before. Why? I've discovered in my "old age" that I'm actually glad to see you standing on this side of the dirt instead of lying beneath it. We've known each other for a while, so I can admit that even as I typed it...I hate that cliche! But some of the best generalizations are based in a truth, so yeah...I'm glad you're alive. Saying hello...good morning is one way to acknowledge that.



2. When visiting friends, ask for "the tour" before wandering from room to room.
Then: Visiting my friends (and the friends of my parents) was like a field trip that required a passport and inoculations. As soon as the door cracked open, the smells were different. The textures foreign. Even the language wasn't quite the same as at my house. (Who says "icebox" when they mean "refrigerator"...weirdoes!). Why should I not take advantage of cultural immersion and become finely acquainted with their customs and traditions by looking beneath the bed and rifling through their clothes hamper?
Now: There is nothing that irks my left nerve ending more than a child randomly opening drawers, closets and cabinets. (Yes, there are people who allow their children this "freedom"). When I was a child, I thought it was yet another effort to curtail my magnet school programmed curiosities by mere peasants. As an adult, I see it for what it is: Civil lawsuit prevention. Look, I don't mind little Charquonishettitia asking me a billion questions about the African masks in my sacred space. I have no problem addressing Quentarianolia when it comes to the random wafts of incense and sage. I even invite your precious little MercedesLexusQuantus to peruse my jewelry, refrigerator and handmade soaps...but I draw the line when your lovelies decide to go prospecting for gold amongst my cowry shells. Can you reign them in, please?! Because trust me, the moment any of my homemade pieces are broken, you ARE going to pay me.

3. Stay out of "grown folks" conversation.
Then: “Are you honestly trying to tell me that my witty repartee is unwanted?!! My point of view on all things dope, fly and def are not needed?” (Don't judge me...#80's baby). What do you mean, "stay out of grown folks conversation?!!!" I'm almost grown!
Now: "If you don't get your fresh face, narrow tail out of my mouth...we gonna have a discrepancy!!!" Yep, just like that! After rearing my own Suns did I realize the error of involving children in adult conversation. They are irrational. Really. Children are an amazing, interesting, delightful bag of flesh and bone selfishness that rarely employs censorship, courtesy or etiquette. True, it's refreshing endearing...when it's YOUR children! But the rest of us think your kid is an obnoxious windbag and we want you to pelt them with Flintstones vitamins until they shut the hell up. You know those people in your Facebook/Twitter world with a snarky response to EVERYTHING? Yeah...those are YOUR kids and we blame you!

4. Did you just call me by my first name?
Then: "Mommy!" "Momma!!!" "Mama!!" "Mom!" "Mum!!!" "Lois".... *thwap!* And there I was giving my Mother the side eye and wondering if "Lois*" had become some vile swear word overnight and nobody told me. My Mother took a NO NONSENSE approach when it came to what we're were to call her. A woman who, for all intents and purposes (that's the correct way to use that, BTW), appeared sane, revered, respected and loved by all would turn into something akin to a less playful, slightly rabid Tasmanian Devil in a psychotic fugue when called by her first name. **
Now: While I stifle the urge to rip out throat boxes and grind my teeth into chiclets sized dental plates, I HATE hearing my Suns call me by my first name. So they don't. When I hear other parents being referred to by their first name, I've found gripping something bolted into the floor helps me to remain seated and smiling vacuously. I have no other explanation for this phenomenon besides the pain of labor and the inconsistency that are accompanying hormones. It's scientific. Don't question science, heathen!



5. Don't put that fish grease in there!!!.
Then: It's all grease. Uggh, I've got a tummy ache and why do my eggs taste funny?!
Now: Get that crap outta here!

*Yes, my mother's name is Lois. No, she wasn't that bad. Yes, the therapy bills are ENORMOUS!
**I'm kidding, people! My mom is the awesomeness...which explains me! ;^)

How To Keep Them Coming Back...

I'm a blogger. I think we've covered that extensively and you're pretty well versed on the subject by now, so I can cease with the introductions. I'm an article picker. What does that mean? That means I spend at least an hour a day trolling the "interwebs" perusing stories, articles, pictures...and the like. It's reasonable entertainment and usually nets me juicy tidbits on trends in marketing, finance, technology and the latest antics of whatever butt implanted pop star is currently doing something "butt-implantish". With that said and an adequate amount of frustration mounting, I thought I'd attack point out some of the most annoying things done in the name of supposed web savvy that keep me from ever visiting your site AGAIN!


1. Misleading tags.

Tags identify the information we, your faithful readers, are searching for. The goal of a tag is to let me know I'm in the right place to find whatever subject I came flying down the information superhighway for in the first place. If your tags are misspelled, unrelated or a part of some inside joke, I'm sure to miss the reference and feel slightly duped. Think of your site this way: How often would you visit your local drugstore for their DVD collection?
Aspirin? Yes.
Prescriptions? Of course!
But DVD's? Not so much!

2. Widget parade.

There's only so much information my itty bitty brain decides to process and comprehend. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. So, if your page is inundated (and yes, I mean INUNDATED) with clocks, temperature, spinning fairies and a veritable animal farm of widgetry, I'm looking for the "X" in the corner like a woman seeking a life raft in Lake Superior .  Not only are the widgets a bit of sensory overkill (which we'll discuss a bit more, later), it slows the loading of the page. If I can brew a cup of coffee, engage in a small battle of wits on Twitter and check email all before your page loads...guess what? It DOESN'T! Buh~bye!


3. Preachy, plain rarely updated content.

Barrel of laughs, ain't she?

Yeah, I know I just said to tone things down a bit, but leaving me with a largely blank page and simple text, is a creativity red flag! It makes me think your site is boring, your ability to cut and past is nonexistent or that you've failed to pay a web designer. All of the prior does little to endear me to your what brought me in the first place: your content. Likewise, unless accompanied by a finger wagging graphic, your reader should rarely feel scolded or judged. This is especially true in the blogosphere. Except mine...because you KNOW I'm right. Of course I am...don't be ridiculous! (See what I did there?).

4. It hurts my EYES/EARS!!!
I get it that your inner Barbie Dream House school of webdesign begs for hot pink excessively curlicue text on a neon lime green background, but some of us are concerned with the ongoing developement of our eyesight. And while your favorite song may involve some variation of random lyrics about illicit body parts, violence and escaping the police unscathed...to hear it blasting from your desktop as you hurriedly close the window before your boss hears it, is a violation of common sense, if not decency. Seriously, with as much time as most of us spend online (or gazing at handheld devices) it should be pretty obvious that the experience is supposed to be a comfortable one that doesn't jeopardize our ability to maintain gainful employment. Tone down the neon flashing colors, don't saddle your site with revenue driving pop ups and make the volume button one touch and easily identifiable so that I'll return.

Visiting your site should be similar to a visit to your home. As I sit on your couch is it necessary for me to move loud garish pillows about? Am I busy emptying your wastebaskets and tidying your magazines? Am I placed in a corner with a dunce cap and gruel? Or is it warm, welcoming and inviting enough for me to make myself comfortable. The idea is to inspire the desire to bookmark YOU for a return visit.

Cliche Busters

I realize we adopt and use cliche's for a variety of reasons. Sometimes they're apropos, fit the situation or circumstance and provide an adequate response to life's little quandries. Other times, they're just annoying. In fact, most of the time...they're annoying. Why? Because frankly, there are times when these time weary turns of phrases are just plain off the mark. Need examples? That's why I'm here...

1. It's the thought that counts.
When confronted with a person ready to "tally up points" during gift giving time, the thought only counts if it comes with the disconnected head of the person who gave you the homemade card and last minute chocolates. The idea behind "it's the thought that counts" is this: At least the giver thought of me. Unacceptable as most of us appreciate being a forethought, not an afterthought. And this is the only warning you're goimg to get since Valentine's Day is just a hop, skip and jump away.

2. Any friend of yours is a friend of mine.
Not only is this a bad cliche...it's pretty dangerous. I mean think about it...Charles Manson had friends too, right?

3. Can't judge a book by it's cover.

I'm pretty sure this made lots of sense before graphic designers and test marketing became a booming business. Nowadays, though, you can tell ALOT about the contents of a book by it's cover. Large gothic print and dripping blood usually implies horror. Wispy, ethereal seeming fonts and women cloaked in breath constricting bodices are romantic novels. And whimsical text coupled with a pair of high heels or a shopping bag...some type of mind numbing chic~lit. See how easy that was?

4. Crime doesn't pay.

This leads me to believe you don't know any lawyers, celebrities, politicians...

(Or maybe you do and you're just good at keeping secrets.)

5. Do unto others as you would have other do unto you.

I've seen the way some of you treat yourselves. Do me a favor...don't. This cliche only applies to a person steeped in self love and healthy adjustment principles. In fact, I'll give you a little test...play along. On the average day, how many times do you refer to yourself as "stupid" or "crazy". Multiply that by the number of times you think, tweet, update FML and that's the number of light years I'd like you away from me. Thanks!

From time to time, I'll be posting these "cliche busters" because...well, it's enjoyable and it makes us all laugh. See? Sharing is caring...

A Bit Of Cynical Wisdom

You Are Not India Arie...

I often hear people lament their single status and say they're ready to "settle down" and be in a relationship. Then they cue India Arie's I Am Ready For Love and walk off slowly into the sunset.
Let me be the first to snap you back to reality and say NOT SO FAST...
You are not ready for love and you're not India Arie. This is the thing, love has defied tangible definition since dinosaurs produced huge endangered offspring, so before one begins believing they are "ready", it may be a great idea to know what your personal definition entails. Trust me, there won't be a test at the end of this entry...but there will be one in life.So, lets have a bit of fun with the lyrics and do a critical analysis of what "ready" could mean to/for you.


I am ready for love
Why are you hiding from me
Technically, love doesn't hide from anyone. Most of the time, it's standing at the end of your nose and fairly close to a mirror. That's right! It begins with you, so if you're hiding from yourself, guess what? You're not ready for love...

I'd quickly give my freedom
To be held in your captivity
Are we talking about love here, or jail time? Actually, both. While being in love with another human being (yourself included) isn't the equivalent of doing a bid, an amount of freedom IS relinquished. Consider this for a second... If you didn't love yourself (at least a little), you'd be free to do any and every variation of dysfunctional, harmful and downright death inducing things to yourself because *shrug* who cares?!! It's only worthless little old you! Instead, even at our most base, parts of human nature (and self love) require a bit more thought and responsibility...which can compromise your freedom to self destruct at will. Still with me? Good, because this is the thing about being in a loving relationship...it requires two people willing to relent to each other occasionally. And once there, you're somewhat captive to the idea of remaining "in love".

I am ready for love
All of the joy and the pain
And all the time that it takes
Just to stay in your good grace
I'm sure there is someone right this very minute rolling their eyes heavenward and exclaming loudly, "love isn't supposed to hurt" because they saw it on Oprah. And while I agree, in theory, in practice (and this wonderful little place called reality), love is uncomfortable at best and somewhat painful at worst. The brain has to contort itself in a pretzel shape called insanity to even come up with the idea of love, much less make it work and that is the source of discomfort. It's not all walks in the park, slow dancing along the rings of Saturn and weddings in the south of Spain. Sometimes it requires time, patience, bribery, incantations, prayer, sweat, weeping, gnashing of teeth, alcohol consumption and (here's the big one) COMMITTMENT to make it work! Committment is painful and change sucks.




Lately I've been thinking
Maybe you're not ready for me
Maybe you think I need to learn maturity
They say watch what you ask for
Cause you might receive
But if you ask me tomorrow
I'll say the same thing

This one will shock and amaze you. Love is a redundant mofo! Put the needle on the record and watch it spin in circles and presto! A visual manifestation of what love actually is. It's not a spark. It's not a fluffy feeling. It's not a sunrise or a poem. Love is picking up the same 5 pairs of underwear and socks for 5 years straight, while mumbling under your breath about laziness and sloth. Love is knocking on the door of your own place for the 7583rd time because your significant other ALWAYS locks doors despite the short length of your trip to the end of the driveway. Love is looking at his/her favorite meal cooked for the 12 millionth time despite the fact that you wanted to try a more adventurous cuisine. Love is rolling over and contemplating the snoring mass next to you at 3 a.m., kissing them and fighting your way back into dreamland, despite the fact that they sound like a freight train running through your bedroom.

I am ready for love
Would you please lend me your ear?
I promise I won't complain
I just need you to acknowledge I am here
If you're ready for love, you're going to have to SHUT UP! (Yeah, I said it!) True Confession Time: I'm a bit persnickety. Some of my favorite things in life are watching the lines left in my carpet by the vacuum cleaner, swooning over a completely clean kitchen and tossing out old things that I no longer use. My "partner in time" ...not at all... not so much. My choices here are only two. Become a stark raving nag when he drags his feet over my freshly vacuumed carpet, complain like a harpy about the truckload of "memorabilia" he keeps in the closet and shriek like night terrors everytime he uses a bowl, knife and cutting board to eat a single apple...OR, revacuum, rewash and organize his "memorabilia". Depending on the day, I do both...but I prefer the former. Every gesture committed by your loved one isn't some measured tactic to get on your last good nerve. Sometimes, it's just they way THEY like to do things. And it's not the end of the world, so get over it...QUIETLY. One of my favorite Ossie Davis quotes mentions walking through a room and touching your loved one on the shoulder. Small acknowledgements, not grandiose gestures will have to do.

If you give me half a chance
I'll prove this to you
I will be patient, kind, faithful and true
To a man who loves music
A man who loves art
Respect's the spirit world
And thinks with his heart
I mentioned this briefly, but lets expound, shall we? This is India's DEFINITION! At some point in your life, you're going to have to turn off the music and create your own song. Personally, a man who thinks with his heart would be STEAMROLLED by yours truly. I'm impatient, spoiled and strident...and left to handle a man whose brain and heart have changed places would only leave both of us damaged. Someone who is ready for love, realizes what they want their version of love to be. My song would be a bit different and involve 50 year old Scotch, clean fingernails and planned spontenaity. What's yours?

I am ready for love

If you'll take me in your hands

I will learn what you teach

And do the best that I can
If you've somehow found yourself in a relationship and you want to figure out if it's love, here's the easiest test. What have/did you learn? I'll wait...

I am ready for love
Here with an offering of
My voice
My Eyes
My soul
My mind
Tell me what is enough
To prove I am ready for love

Another simple love test? What are you willing to give of yourself? Again, I'll wait...

I am ready...
Are you?

You Ought To Be In Pictures...

So, you've prepared your spontaneous poses and preset the camera to capture your endless love in 5, 4, 3, 2...
Or perhaps, you two are attending a function and your shutter happy friend insists on snapping photographs of you unaware preparing for their life as a member of the paparazzi. Or may, it's just something that happened and once again, yourself and your mate are freeze framed into the annals of time for family, friends, and facebook to fawn over. Either way, at some point in your relationship, there will be pictures of you with your significant other (and if there isn't...well, that's another post for another day). You'd be surprised by what your pictures are saying...

It's pretty simple to deduce that couples who have multiple face to face photos probably spend the majority of their time gazing longingly, lovingly and lastingly into each other's countenances...but not so fast. Watch what those eyes are doing before you assume ever lasting adoration. This is the thing. Couples who enjoy each other, tend to look directly at each other. Not over shoulders, at some random point to the left, right, above or beneath of their paramores.

A couple that exudes contentment is pictures are none other than our POTUS and the First Lady. A genuine smile, whether facing the cameras or each other, casual touches seem to reassure each other of their great fortune at having found each other and open, receptive body postures that point to their ease and contentment whether staged or captured unaware. Likewise, photos of Ossie Davis and Ruby Dee with their heads and smiles inclined towards each other bespeak a timeless love.

Ugh...
Body language speaks volumes.

This last one can be a tad tough to decipher. On the one hand, a picture of a couple all snuggled together can signal their complete rapture with their union. But there are one or two hallmarks that can point to a couple's possessiveness. An arm casually slung over a partners shoulder? Cute. An encircling body blocking, semi~suffocating gestue? Scary.

One thing's for sure...you'll never view Facebook photo albums the same...

More Than A Crush...

On a daily basis we walk a fine line between what's acceptable, extraneous and downright crazy, so it's understandable that occasionally, our opinions about what's acceptable can be brought into question. How do you know how your intentions will be judged. Are you successfully initiating the "meet cute" story that the two of you will eventually tell your children's children at the family reunion... Or are you prefilling your arrest warrant?   Here's a list of three potential types of stalkers...


1. The Work Place Stalker
Monday morning is difficult enough to face without being concerned about an obsessive pair of eyes hovering over the edges of your cubicle or that a knock on the door is going to put you face to face with the one person who makes you more uncomfortable than R. Kelly at a Junior High School dance. The workplace stalker demonstrates his/her slightly offputting behavior based on how contrived his/her reasons for visiting your work area more than 12 times a day. The work place stalker is there with your morning cup of coffee with the perfect cream to sugar substitute ratio because they've watched you measure the concoction every morning for the previous 6 months. Instead of sending an email communicating due dates or scheduled team meetings, they find every reason to travel down 14 rows of cubes and 5 closed office doors to deliver the message in person...often reading from said memo in a sweaty shaking hand, while making the smallest of small talk and inquiring about your day, children, dog, goldfish, paper boy...which wouldn't be so bad, if they didn't do the same thing EVERY Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

2. The Internet Stalker
This type is far more difficult to spot if he/she is content with simply lurking around your favorite social media networks. The problem is, this type is usually progressive in their stalker tendencies. It starts with quiet, little harmless mooning over your profile picture. A bit of lurking never harmed fair maiden nor gent. But then it gets worse. They've finally worked up the nerve to type a "LOL" after some random, hastily flung witticism and you responded! The flood gates of passion can't be contained in the internet stalker when you employ the smiley face. At that point, your pictures, inbox and status are all subject to the one person in the world who can't seem to get enough of you...besides yourself. Before you know it, your friend's list becomes his/her friends list and every comment is mysteriously followed by their comment and the picture you posted of the kitty hanging by it's paws is somehow the funniest thing on Earth.

3. The Emotional Stalker
The emo stalker comes with paperwork. Ever have that one friend who makes the weirdest sexually inappropriate jokes, but you're willing to overlook it because when you need to vent, they're the "go to" person? Here's a clue: That person ACTUALLY thinks you're the beeknees and is too afraid/crazy/delusional,  shy to let you know. Where's the harm in that? I'll tell ya! The same hand that's there to wipe your tears is attached to an arm that is blocking any additional interactions in your life. Isolation is a stalkers bread and butter. How can we test this theory? I'm glad you asked. Present Loopy Du Jour with a scenario in which you are a complete and unrepentant rogue. Some sort of cross between Mengle and Lindsay Lohan...you know a complete screw up who punches baby ducks for jollies. If you present your utterly disturbing scenario and they blame the "witless victim" rationalizing that ducks have all those feathers and can take a punch...you could have a potential emo~stalker or an overly supportive friend. If however, they suggest that you two team up and punch ducks because they need to be taken down a notch...run!

It's easy to let the object of your desire and a dash of fantsy run away with you. In fact, our society encourages it. (How else do you explain "scripted reality shows"?!). The key is to realize when you may have obliterated stepped over the line. If you recognize yourself in any of the above...its time for a vacation...in the country...alone!


And what if you're the person being ardently pursued? Stop being so damned alluring, witty, charming and irresistible...and if all else fails, wear something comfy. That trunk ride to the country can get pretty bumpy!

Monster ~ A Review

Let the Illuminati rumors resurface.
Kanye West ft Nicki Minaj, Rick Ross, Jay-Z - Monster 
collaborate to re~ignite the viral waves with their Monster video.

Opening with a body hanging from a noose, the talk will begin to decipher when, where and how these artists are related to the "dark underworld" of the Illuminati. 

But once again, simpler explanations can be inferred.  Let's dissect it, shall we?



Kanye specializes in the "stylized" video concept for this millenium, so the images go without question.  Combine the visual "shock value" of hanging mannequins and the lyrics and what you get is typical Kanye. 
00:37 ~ Gossipping hands grasping his frame.
01:15 ~ Kanye positions his fans.
01:51 ~ Kanye loves his fans and their voyeurism *see Twitter*.
02:15 ~ Love me, DAMNIT!
02:25 ~ Enter Jay Z...*in his Hova voice*  Let's play with these images...yeah...haha.
03:03 ~ Insert typical Dame Dash Diss *chuckle*.
03:40 ~ Enter Minaj and her random eye movements and quirky voice.
04:06 ~ Try and recall a Nikki line without rewinding... (I'll wait).
04:50 ~ Nikki fights herself without Lil Kim's assistance.  Weaveologist around the world cheer.
05:29 ~ Kanye reminds you that he may or may not be affiliated with the Illuminati *allegedly*.
05:52 ~ We're all entertained and 4 more rappers head to the bank...

Good show!

Hard To Get, Don't Get Got!

I get it. Trust me. Even in this day and age of advanced, intelligent and independent women, a bit of traditionalism can be considered cute. Just don't over do it. I can hear the chorus of voices asking, "Over do it? Whatever do you mean?" I mean that ever so fun game of cat and mouse that we sometimes employ because we've been led to believe that men "only enjoy the chase". (They DO, but thats another story for another day...)

This is the thing, don't play so hard to get that you never get got...get it?

How does one keep themselves forever out of a relationship? These are five things women do to ensure that they don't get "chose".

Somebody doesn't need to
be on this date...

1. The Triangle
The Female "Rationale" ~ letting him know you're desired by many.
Now, I know what you're saying, but hear me out. The idea of dating is to enjoy various experiences. So on Monday, you may be at dinner with Thomas. On Wednesday, it's a walk through the park with Leroy. On Saturday, a late night movie with Juan. Which is perfectly fine. Unless you find it necessary to bring up the other men on your current date. No guy who is, ostensibly, shelling out cold hard cash on your date wants to hear what Tyrone did the last time HE brought you to the same restaurant. Leave the competition to the Beauty Pageants.


2. The "Too Busy" Game
The Female "Rationale" ~ I'm not going to let him think I'm waiting by the phone.
Newsflash! You can take your phone with you! So maybe it's okay to let him know you're glad he called by actually ANSWERING the phone. It's not the end of your "upper hand". It's the truth. And based on a completely unscientific poll guys like girls who tell the truth...and bring sandwiches and beer after sex .

3. The Test
The Female "Rationale" ~ If he wants to be with me he'll do a, b, c and d...all of the above.
The thing about taking a test is, sometimes, no matter how hard you've studied, eaten right and practiced...you can still fail. I realize that setting irrational hurdles and ever moving finish lines seems like a bit of flirty fun, but how long do you expect the average, sane man to participate in your emotional marathon before deciding to throw in the towel and go after your homegirl? He's a man...not a dog participating in the Iditarod.


Would you buy a suit from this man?
Then why are you
taking his advice?!!!

4.  The "Steve Harvey" Effect

The Female "Rationale" ~ Steve Harvey is a man. He knows what men want, so his advice is good.

Whooooaaa! Not so fast with those assumptions. Harvey's book "Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man: What Men Really Think About Love, Relationships, Intimacy, and Commitment", may offer tidbits of sage advice. Advice on how to pick up a Steve Harvey. So unless your intention is to pick up and date a 53 year old Capricorn comedian of questionable talent, game show host, working on his second marriage, perhaps it's best to think like a human and act like a human!

5. The Rom-Comedy of Errors aka "I just want a friend" Effect

The Female "Rationale" ~ It worked for "insert quirky but cute rom-com actress here"...

In much the same way as fairy tales, Santa Claus and a well adjusted convict with a heart of gold tell a partial truth, romantic comedies have doomed this generation of women to the idea that a "meet~cute" story is essential to a happy relationship. So what do we do? We have the heart to heart conversation where we convince "the perfect man" that he's better as our friend, hoping that he'll cross the previous four points to win us over as the sun rises over the Potomac. It's a pointless chase, because it'll never happen.

One thing is a for sure when playing the "hard to get" game. Everybody loses. Now go get got...get it?

Spectacle Or Substance

Once upon a time in a land of soft lighting, demur glances and bodies clutched in silhouette there existed a mystical creature called celebrity. How celebrity spent its moments away from the celluloid dream screen were shrouded in a bit of mystery and noire. Extravagances were hinted at through tastefully decorated attire, homes and cars without excess. Even rollicking good times dressed themselves in metaphor and strolled down rain slick streets without pretense. It didn't require flash, open mouthed stares or spectacle to sell itself. Celebrity was a height to be reached by the most subtle of means.

Somewhere between counting the casualties of the war between the sexes and reinventing civil liberties celebrity found itself at the beginning of a life crisis and determining a newer, more liberated identity. Something that didn't adhere like cement glue to the notion of traditionalized roles or oppression. In short, something that didn't look like its parent's celebrity. In finding, it's twinkle dimmed, it's shine lacked a bit of luster...but struggled against the stimulant induced mania of the 80's and staggered broken and bewildered into the 90's. And as the page turns to 2011...celebrity is on life support.

Welcome to the age of garish attentions, gross spectacle and obnoxiously blatant gestures. Shiny, intangible objects dance in overlit rooms to inexplicably loud audial porn disguised as "love songs". Every moment devoted to intimacy is open to precisioned vivisection and less than tasteful staging...then ran repeatedly to effectively anesthetize the viewing public. We in turn, immortalize the tacky and hand it over to our much beleaguered friend, "celebrity".

It's fascinatingly sick and I'm as much patron as protester of this mishandling. My Sunday night postings about the RHOA notwithstanding, I've fallen victim to the phenomena of spectacle over substance. I'm lofty in my rationalization. I tell myself it's research for the next blog post or a sociological experiment to test the bounds mature thinking. I'm spiritual in my approach to my vice. I watch so that I'm able to pray for these poor misguided souls and gather wisdom about the importance of a Higher Power. I'm even in denial about my semi-obsession with Phaedra's delusions and Kim's inscrutable wig choices. "I don't watch it EVERYTIME it's on...and when I do... it is to give my huge, cynical, analytical brain a rest from solving the world's problems  it's only entertainment! Geeesh...

Or it would be...if we didn't call these reality show camera hounds, celebrities.

Thunder Soul At Discovery Green

Houston, Texas 1975 in the heart of the Trinity Garden neighborhood, a small high school made history without even trying. Thunder Soul is a tribute to the band director who made it possible and documents their story. Discovery Green Houston plays host to the Houston Cinema Arts Festival and will feature an introduction by film director Mark Landsman, an outdoor screening of Thunder Soul and a follow up performance by the nationally known Kashmere Reunion Band on Saturday, November 13th at 6:45 p.m.




The documentary celebrates the Kashmere Stage Band's rise to prominence in the mid 7's despite facing poverty and limited notoriety as a band. Inspired by an Otis Redding concert, Conrad Johnson, known as "Prof" to his students, translated a jazzy the performance style to the Kashmere Stage Band. Under Johnson's tutelage, the KSB earned awards and accolades on a local, regional and national level.

Complete with file footage, photos and interviews with contributing members of the band known as Thunder Soul, viewers are transported to a time of afros and bellbottoms and treated to soul funk sounds that are currently lauded by hip hop dj's such as Handsome Boy Modeling School and DJ Shadow, who contributed to the film's soundtrack.


In February of 2008, Thunder Soul staged a reunion to honor the inimitable Johnson, who was 92 at the time. Participants ranged from members of the band who were still actively pursuing their musical aspirations to those who hadn't picked up their instruments in more than 2 decades, but all shared the common desire to pay homage to their mentor and leader.

For more information...
http://www.discoverygreen.com/
http://thundersoulmovie.com/

There’s something intriguing about the ability to be hot, cool, relevant, smart and real, simultaneously. So the fact that you find yourself slightly hypnotized by the hip hop stylings of H.I.S.D, don’t be surprised. In fact, be elated, because authentic music is making a comeback in the Space City. With a language, style and true substance of their own, enter the world according to The Houston Independent Spit District…(and by all means, don’t forget your Lando!).


Third Ward natives and long time friends, Savvi, L Da Voice, Scottie Spitten and Equality, collaborate with Golden Corner in the Golden Room, to present an odyssey between the space/time continuum, and it’s good. The basic story line, involves young men headed out for a night on the town, when approached by a mob identifying them as “something different”. Unexplained flashing lights and forward progression find our heroes in a tunnel of light and headed for the unknown.

Luckily for us, they take us along, where we learn their fate. Experiencing the Space City anew, they head to the District to get their space up. The Weakend is near.

H.I.S.D’S third release is rich in jazzy overtones without becoming lazy and monotonous. After multiple listens, you’ll find more than one lyric, sample, idea and layer that didn’t seem to be there the last time you heard it. And this, is what makes this album worth far more than the asking price. No place for “dumbed down” lyricism, repetitive themes or stereotypical euphemisms, there are tracks where you can pick any two who exemplify classic status.



During the Critical Analysis of The Weakend (talk about a concept album), audience members were treated to a list of terms and ideas to accurately portray how the Weakends. Being seen green, maintaining your Lando and getting your Space Up are all characteristics of inhabitants of The District. The explanations are as enriching as the music and you are the lucky recipient. Treat yourself to the Weakend! But before you do…

1) Be Seen Green
2) Don’t forget your Lando
3) Take your Cranberry
4) Keep Rockin
5) Beware of the Automatics

And visit www.peaceuvmine.com
http://www.theweakend.com/

Our Image Fall Film & Arts Celebration

Our Image Festival appeals to the sense of "there is more to the movie going experience than explosions, popcorn, tears and hackneyed love~comedies" while refusing to diminish any of the above. The two day film festival featured highlights such as the African short Pumzi, local Houston performances, screenings of Canadian film, “NURSE.FIGHTER.BOY”, and novel reading of “DARK RAIN: A New Orleans Story” by author Mat Johnson, salsa dancing demonstrations and the documentary films, Welcome To The Terrordome and Black August. Our Image strives to provide consistent, uplifting images of ethnic groups who are too often typecast in negative portrayals. Through cooperative efforts, they are achieving positivity through film media.

Pumzi, a futuristic film set in Africa, 35 years after The Water War (WWIII), is reminiscent of Octavia Butler's sci-fi themes. In a place where water is scarce, the citizenry find themselves valued by the amount of water their bodies can produce and convert into a potable substance. Access is granted, employment gained and productivity measured in terms of water as currency. Main character and heroine, Asha discovers a mysterious soil sample that points to the world's ability to sustain life, despite the sterility of her water deprived compound. Requesting an exit visa to pursue life outside, Asha is denied and takes matters into her own hands. Pumzi's cinematography, costuming and set are rich in design and depth. A definite must see for science fiction buffs.




Welcome To The Terrordome, features behind the scenes footage of Public Enemy and includes interviews with fellow musicians Talib Kweli, Henry Rollins, Tom Morello and the Beastie Boys. Directed by Robert Patton-Spruill, Terrordome explores rap music prior to its current obsession with fame, notoriety and shiny objects. Interspersed with concert footage and discussions about the distinct personalities of Chuck D, Flava Flav and Professor Griff, and an honest discussion about the role of the S1W's collaborate to share a face beyond the music's message.

Black August, directed by dream hampton explores the relationship between hip hop, culture and revolution in the form of the non-profit organization Malcolm X Grassroots Movement. Highlights include interviews with Talib Kweli, Dead Prez, Common and spreads awareness and support for political prisoners in the US with performances in New York, Cuba, and South Africa. Rare interview footage of exiled activist Assata Shakur, former Black Panther Kathleen Cleaver, political prisoner Mutulu Shakur, and others provides a backdrop of purpose behind the performance.




Black August Hip-Hop Project Trailer from dream hampton on Vimeo.


More than a spectator event, Q&A's and panel discussions followed, focused Using entertainment and media for activism, social change and progression. Panelists included "conscious" hip hop musician Talib Kweli, Los Angeles based film director Christopher Erskin, noted novelist Mat Johnson, MC/DJ and host of SOS Radio MC Zin, journalist professor and new media producer of KTSU radio Serbino Sandifer Walker.

Be on the lookout for more events by Our Image as they are sure to lift and enlighten!
(Many thanks to Moni Henderson and Marc Furi for a fantastic event!)

Madea, Leave Us Alone!

I’d be lying if I said I was walking into this darkened theater unbiased. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t already have a definitive predilection towards Ntozake Shange’s choreopoem, For Colored Girls Who’ve Considered Suicide, When The Rainbow Is Enuf. I’d be lying if I said I was a die hard Tyler Perry fan. And lastly, I’d be lying if I told you I had high hopes for this film and it’s Oscar worthiness. Since I’m not a liar, allow me to tell you the absolute truth from the outset. I read Ms. Shange’s tome in grade school and every year for the past two decades since. I remember being riveted to the American Playhouse TV movie in 1982, featuring Shange with a cast that included Alfre Woodard, Tony Award winner Trazana Beverley, former principal dancer of the Alvin Ailey Dance Theater, Sarita Allen, and an early performance by Lynn Whitfield. And finally, there is at least one female director on my wish list to bring this play to life: Kasi Lemmons (director of Eve’s Bayou).

 Preconceived ideals are my strong suit.

Things rarely work out according to plan, I worked hard to avoid reviews offered by critics who attended various early screenings nationwide. None of the above silenced the uneasy sensation dancing at the back of my mind at the idea that Tyler Perry, (he of the “gospel stage play”, cross dressing, wise cracking matriarch) would present a great work to the big screen. I cringed to think he would be shaping one of my favorite poems for a generation of young women who may (or may not) read the initial adaptation. I was concerned. I feared vignettes featuring heavily made up, yet tragically downtrodden colored girls. I feared melodramatic, heavy handed treatment of sensitive topics such as rape, abortion and domestic violence. I feared the voice of Madea smothering the words of the Ladies in Yellow, Red, Blue and trampling nuance by combining it with talk show psycho babble and reality show caricatures. I feared a dirge instead of a celebration amongst Women overcomers.

Again, in the interest of honesty and disclosure, there were stand out Oscar worthy performances. Anika Noni Rose, a cameo by Macy Gray, Loretta Devine and Phylicia Rashad breathe deeply into the lines Shange penned in the mid 70’s and give them weight, validity and life. Loretta Devine’s initial performance at the door of sometime lover “Frank” was delivered in a breathy nervous monologue meant to convey bravado filled courage, but came off as rushed. As the film progressed Devine’s pacing and intonation found perfection as she exclaims, “somebody almost walked off with alla my stuff!”. She recaptures her “stuff” as she transcends a desperate need for a barely there love, and we celebrate with her.

Without any assistance or guidance from you,

I have loved you assiduously for 8 months, 2 weeks, and a day. I been stood up 4 times, left 7 packages on your doorstep, 40 poems, 2 plants, 3 handmade notecards,
and I had to leave town to send them.
You call at 3 am in the morning on weekdays... charming, charming!
But you have been of NO assistance! I want you to know what this has been an experiment...
to see how selfish I could be.
To see if I could really carry on to snare a possible lover.
To see if I was capable of debasing myself for the love of another.
To see if I could stand not being wanted when I want to be wanted and I can not,
so without any further guidance or assistance from you,
I am ending this affair!



Anika Noni Rose’s ability to roll a multicultural dancer’s diaspora of joy at the fluid movements of her body bespeaks the definition of “owning” one’s self despite a wooden performance by Khalil Kain. As one of the few times when a smile is displayed in openness and hope, Rose allowed Shange’s dialect heavy poetry to become her own language. Gladly when she rolled the “R’s” strolling along Harlem streets, there was no affectation. We saw and joined her love of her own movement. The Lady In Yellow celebrates the roll of her hips, through merengue, salsa, stretching her own body to stand at full height she celebrates self (despite the end results) and we celebrate with her.

& poem is my thank-you for music

&i love you more than poem

more than aureliano buendia loved macondo
more than hector lavoe loved himself
more than the lady loved gardenias
more than celia loves cuba or graciela loves el son
more than the flamingoes shoo-do-n-doo-wah love bein pretty
oyeè neégro

te amo mas que te amo mas que
when you play
yr flute

Macy Gray’s role as backroom abortion “doctor” was absolutely chilling as it utilized her already raspy voice and notoriously lazy, world-weary drawl. An adjunct character, Gray appeared to consider and pour her whole self into each line before allowing it to escape her lips. And once released, her lines were inspected again, with her customary cock of the head and affirming chuckle. In a movie filled with gut wrenching scenes and tears, Gray’s quiet, almost introspective delivery, made me think she was talking to herself. She didn’t speak “at” me as the piece bespoke a woman alone, reminiscing on a more innocent time…and how that purity became jaded by day to day living. Haunting is not too strong a word.

Tessa Thompson also deserves an honorable mention in the opening sequence recounting the blush of virginity turned womanhood as she recounts “becoming woman” and this (amongst other areas) is where problems with Perry’s “adaptation” bleeds through. The women in Per’s world are punished for being women. His decision to splice and interplay monologues according to whim and “message” present a drastically altered view of what each poem can (and does) convey. Consider this: Thompson’s character travels from the blush of a mutual, enjoyable (if youthfully ignorant) sexual experience to pregnancy and abortion in short order and across the “rainbow” lines attributed to the initial poem. Rose’s dancer and her guarded glimmer of hope at new romance are diminished following an animalistic rape scene. Kimberly Elise and Phylicia Rashad pull double duty as nurturers, only to be rewarded by female dog epitaphs, beatings and infanticide.

My harshest criticism for this piece of work is for Whoopi Goldberg’s portrayal. An added character, Madea presents herself, sans wig and prosthetic breasts as a “cult” member replete with judgement steeped in sexual abuse pathos and moralizing. From the birth of her acting career, I’ve been a Goldberg fan. Her comedies, her ability to deliver (in obscurity such as The Telephone) endears me to her abilities as an actress, however, providing the fire and brimstone voice for Perry does her a distinct disservice. To be clear, Whoopi’s performance was equally stellar, but wholly unnecessary in this tome which appears intent on punishing Women for their audacity. What is the audacity in question? Being Woman, Black and celebrating it. Thandie Newton as the sometime indiscriminate, but “socially responsible”(she espouses condoms despite sleeping with married men) sex-a-holic doesn’t bear dissection except to say this. A woman will never be seen as a healthy sexual being without a tinge of judgement in Perry’s world. His decision to celebrate feminine sexuality through the pathos of a damaged woman speaks volumes about a patriarchal society designed to celebrate male conquest and female docility.

And as for the men in this “adaptation”…
There is no polite way to say this. Tyler Perry hates Black Men. It’s a common theme and quite Jim Crow of him, but it’s truly tiresome. The diminutive Hill Harper exists as the sole voice of a reasonable, hardworking, understanding Black Man, which is unreasonable to the point of ridiculousness. Omari Hardwick (the down low “brotha”), Khalil Kain (the rapist “brotha”), and Michael Ealy (the assaulting/murderous “brotha”) all serve as a catalyst for punishment and I have a problem with this portrayal. Ealy, beyond the other actors mentioned presents a complexity that allows me to appreciate the in actor, but leaves me cringing at the stereotype. He’s falls along the lines of Danny Glover as a “sympathetic Mr.” from The Color Purple until his climactic child-dangling scene.

My last bone of contention with Perry’s adaptation lies in his willingness to borrow themes from Gloria Naylor’s The Women Of Brewster Place. For the uninitiated, those who don’t remember and those who haven’t read Ms. Naylor’s work an entire scene was lifted and placed firmly in the scene featuring Rashad and Neal. Am I suggesting that a Matriarchal healing can only take place in new and interesting ways? No. But to lift an entire theme of ownership, redemption and Sister~love…I’m sorry Mr. Perry, you’ve failed me.

But, you haven’t failed your fans or the public in general. I realize and value your growth in this area, Tyler Perry. You know EXACTLY which heartstrings to pull, twinge, pluck and strum for dramatic effect. You realize on some level that someone needs to speak to the hurt of African American Women and apparently, you want them to speak loudly and in broad strokes. You desire their speech in fashion, artful make up, teary scenes, lines and shouts of indignation and I understand that. There is capital to be made from suffering. Suffering without resolve, a wound reopened, dissected and unclosed is a well spring. A caricature heaped with eloquence is often confused as art. A departure from your own overt voice is admirable…but sir, this was not your film. My heart aches for the celebration and I’m concerned that your work, will banish Elder Shange’s work to soap oprah  opera~esqe levels that fail to do it justice.
As if it were unclear, I’ll re-state my point. Tyler Perry doesn’t speak for my family or me. For the record “Madea”, my Grandmother prefers the title Granny and she’s not some mash up of Lawanda Page’s “Aunt Esther” character dipped in Gospel overtones. She’s a colored girl.
Like me.
And we’ve both had enough!

What Does Your Profile Pic Say About You?

I have a secret to tell you. I’m ashamed, chagrined and chastised but I can’t stop. It calls me at 3 a.m. and use to cause problems in my relationship. When a 9 to 5 was my reality, it interfered with my work and frequently…~shhhh~ ,,, frequently…I dream about it’s greatness and potential. To reach my addiction more efficiently, I changed my phone plan, sleep habits and living arrangements (okay, that last piece was a fib…spanks my own hand). I’ve done some things in the name of my best distraction…
…And I don’t regret it!
...And it’s growing!!!

With tears and upraised palms grasping at desperation and despair…I’m addicted to social networks!!!!
I “Gator Dance” in front of the desktop, scratch nonexistent itches in front of borrowed laptops and had a religious experience the first time I laid my 10 inch laptop across my lap.

~deep satisfied sigh~

Dear Social Networks…


I’m joking, but not really. I’m the annoying little piece of your day with updates, shared news stories and alternating profile pics throughout your workday. Like a mosquito bite I am…scratch me!

Okay, let me get to the point. I’m floating along the feed and I see a story. “What Does Your Profile Picture Say About You?” Of course, I glance over at mine. At the time I was probably “solo dolo” with a barely perceptible grin, head cocked left and designed to not show too much of my background. Psychologically this speaks volumes about my personality. We’ll go over that in a minute. But this is what some of your profiles pics are saying about you…

Fake/Celebrity/Car/Flower Pics…

Tells me about your self-esteem. Everybody I know has at least one favorite feature. Even the dude/chick you met/tried to avoid at the club with the cocked~eyes and bad breath are rescuing the one part of their esteem that says their approach is welcome. Every cellphone company, $10 scanner and $15 camera in the contiguous United States has officially banned excuses like, “I don’t have any recent pictures”. And if there isn’t…you’re a felonious liar. No pic/no chat/no friend/you’re a spambot…crankwad!



Your Crusty Face Coupled With Money…
My journalistic integrity is now taking a backseat. (As if it wasn’t firmly located in the trunk before…). If you show me via the internet your bed, car, hands or the garage of your mama’s house littered with money it tells me one KEY thing about you. YOU DON’T HAVE A BANK ACCOUNT!!!! Honestly…get the hayull away from me with your reasons “why banks are the devil”. I know them…for a period in the early 90’s I TOLD THEM!!! Pay your student loans, pay your taxes and stop putting stuff in your potential baby’s name…it’s a felony now. It's called identify theft...(and horrible parenting!)

The Where Were They Then Pic...

So, we’ve finally seen you…at your reunion surrounded by the failures of your class/alone/or in some similar pose. I don’t know a clearer warning sign that says, “If I could, I’d still wear my letterman jacket, frat colors, class ring, gang insignia. Yeah…what are you doing now, hun? Oh…the same thing? Twirling a cane, stepping, hanging out, and living with mom? I pity the fool. And Sistren, it's important to be okay with who you are TODAY! Not who you were 10 years ago posing in club pics and showing off the last time you actually saw your feet! And for those of you who use your teenaged daughter’s pics…you are hereby kicked off my planet!!!


The Love In Da Club Pic...
I enjoy going out.  My semi~regular "girl's night" are moments of perfection. Going to concerts and random venues with Senor Snores~A~Lot can be the highlight in a long week, even though it's usually "work" for both of us.  My solamente forays on the town (or in other towns) is the stuff of personal legend.  Having said that, let me say this: If every one of your pictures features a disco ball, strobe light, bartender and can only be viewed via the local "party website"...it's time for you to find a hobby that doesn't involve a cover charge! The only exception to this is people who work in/for clubs; i.e. promoters, bartenders and dj's...The rest of ya'll, need to take a night off!

What does my less than prolific social network photo albums say about me? It says I’m out of my house FREQUENTLY doing random stuff. It says my locs are in that versatile stage. It says I have more than a dozen aliases. It says that I love my Suns. It says that I travel...frequently.   It says I value my circle of friends and am loyal no matter what. It says I have a boyfriend who snores so loud that I can’t sleep at night (hence I’m writing at the buttcrack of dawn).   It says that I'm in an interdependent relationship with a really tall dude.  It says, I hope, that I’m loving and enjoying the life placed with confidence by my Ancestors, Mentors, Loved Ones and the Universe firmly within my two hands…

Again, kindred…Love Free.