It's Halloween Again

What's the scariest book/story you've ever read? My top three would be:

1) Dracula by Bram Stoker

2) Salem's Lot by Stephen King

3) The Fall of the House of Usher by Edgar Allen Poe

And that's about it because I don't usually read scary things.

What about you?

So, Why Exactly IS Your Town Called Knightsville?

Over the past two days, I've been in Indiana for work. It's flat. It's cold. However, the leaves are changing and falling from the trees and that's really pretty. Plus, prices here are fairly reasonable.

That got me thinking...

Recent statistics have revealed that 80% of people that live in LA cannot afford to buy a home in LA. So, all the fat squirrels running across the lawns here made me wonder what it would be like to move back to the Midwest. Would my husband and two sons be happy in Indiana?

Hmm?

Many folks don't know that Indiana, not Alabama or Mississippi, was home to the largest numbers of Ku Klux Klan members in the US. In the 1920's, one in three white males in Indiana were part of the Klan and female membership was even higher.

Just in case you think that's just the tarnished past of our nation, when I was in undergrad at Northwestern, I remember my mom telling me about the Klan marching in Michigan City, Indiana, only an hour away from Chicago.

Over the past couple of days, while driving from Chicago to Indianapolis and then on to South Bend, I kept thinking what a good scary movie it would make to have someone from the big city have their rental car break down in the middle of nowhere and then they get some "assistance" from their local Klansman.

I especially thought about this when I drove past a sign for a town called Knightsville.

I bet I could afford a house there. But would I be welcome in Knightsville? The place has a population of 625 and is 99% white. If you know anything about the Klan, then you can connect the dots on why I'd be wary of someplace called Knightsville.

But you feel free to visit there and tell me how it goes.

Late to Bed, Early to Rise

I'm catching a flight to Chicago this morning-- and it leaves at six am.

In the past, I would just pull an all-nighter and sleep on the plane, but since I actually have to pick up a car and drive once I land, I figured I should have more than four hours of sleep. So, I decided to go to bed around 11:30...but I didn't fall asleep until sometime after one. I just kept thinking about that stupid Laguna Beach show. I watched alot of it for the first time ever this weekend since I was sick and had nothing to do but zone out.

There are quite a few things about the show that are bugging me. Here are my top five questions about Laguna Beach:

1) How come Cami, the one black person we've seen on Laguna Beach, never has any guys interested in her? She seems to spend most of her time shopping and sniping at other folks because she's getting no play herself. Maybe Laguna Beach should get a little real and ask "the guys" why none of them are dating her or interested in her. She has the biggest boobs out of all the girls so one of these shallow boys should be after her. But, they aren't. Hmm...I would say it's because she's rude, spoiled and gossipy, but all the girls are like that so I am left to throw out that "race card" and say it's because she's black.

2) Why do they only play bubblegum pop and emo rock on Laguna Beach? The theme song is by Hillary Duff. Are we supposed to believe these teens aren't banging 50 Cent in their Range Rovers? C'mon, these kids are the target audience of most rap records these days.

3) What's in the little red cups? Are we supposed to believe they are drinking Pepsi outta those?

4) And why is it always a party or a night out at a restaurant? These kids are weird. They don't seem to be involved in any kind of extra-curricular activities like sports or Amnesty International. Gosh, even the most uninvolved kid at my high school did something.

5) Where are the fathers? We see some mothers hovering around and passing out the red cups. But there are never any fathers around. What's up with that?

Now that I have all that off my chest, I'm going to get myself to LAX so I can sleep peacefully on the plane!

Plan of Attack! NyQuil + Garlic = Defeating the Cold Virus

I'm sick.

I'd take a picture of myself to prove that this is not just some hypochondriac episode but I don't want to scare you. Although we are rolling up on Halloween, you might not be quite ready to witness this fright-fest.

Instead you get the photo of my friend, NyQuil.

Why did I get sick? Is it because I haven't hosed down my bathroom sink with Lysol? Is it because I don't wash my hands enough? No, I think it must be the extremes in temperature here in Los Angeles that really did me in. This past week, we went from a high of 65 degrees on Sunday to a high of 90 on Friday.

Ah, yes, Friday morning...was it only yesterday that I woke up feeling like death warmed over and then went ahead and got in my car and drove out to a school in Huntington Park?

Yes, I suppose it was only yesterday that I proceeded to sneeze so frequently that people stopped saying, "God Bless You" and probably started thinking, "Bitch, go home before you make me sick!" -- Go home? Nah, I needed to save the world and so I still worked till 6 pm.

Big mistake.

By the time I got home, I was dragging and my bouncing children were not particularly sympathetic.

"You look like the Corpse Bride, Mommy!" my eldest said.
"Mommy the Corpse Bride!" my youngest repeated.

Great. I look like a dead character from a Tim Burton movie.

"I'm not feeling so good." I replied.

"You don't feel good, Mommy? Ok, well do you want to throw this football with me? I'm sure that will make you feel better."

A day later, memories of barely being able to toss the football seem so far away. I'm reclining on the couch, propped up by some pillows, typing while a thermometer is sticking out of my mouth. Wait, the thermometer just beeped and it reads 101.4. This is progress! We're down from our afternoon high of 103!

I'm also eating my share of chopped up garlic. Last night, I woke up at around 2:30 in the morning because I couldn't breathe, even though I'd already downed NyQuil. I ate a couple of cloves of garlic and ta-da! Miracle of miracles! About ten minutes later, I could breathe again!

I may have burned a hole in my stomach, but at least I could breathe.

Think about it: If it wards off vampires, surely garlic can kill a pesky cold virus. That logic makes sense, doesn't it? It does to me, but for all the doubting Thomases out there, the science behind it is that garlic kills a cold because of it's antimicrobial properties.

It'll also kill your sex life --unless the person you're trying to have sex with is turned on by that sensual garlicky smell. But if you can't breathe and you have tissues hanging out of your nostrils, do you really care about sex anyway?

In fact, if you do not want to have sex anymore, you could just pretend you have a cold and then eat tons of garlic to keep folks away.

Hmm. I'm going to go eat some more garlic and ponder that.

Superficial/Reality

I got up this morning thinking about extremely superficial things such as:

• I'm excited that tonight is the Project Runway finale. Will spoiled rich New Yorker Laura win (please, God, NO!) or will it be former drug addict Jeffrey? My vote is Jeffrey. His sob story and his cute kid are the cincher. I don't think Michael Knight will win. (Sorry, brotha but everyone's too busy speculating on whether you're gay or dating Brandy or both!) and Uli's clothes are pretty but...is pretty enough?
  
  
• I'm feeling the dancing in the Justin Timberlake video to "Let Me Talk To You/My Love" -- even if I do think Timbaland is the real genius behind the song, not JT.
  
  
• I need to take some clothes to the drycleaners. But my schedule is packed so when is this going to happen?

And then I got in my car and drove to reality.

I drove to "South-Central" or "South LA" or whatever we're calling the ever-spreading low-income areas of Los Angeles these days.

Today I passed the all-too familiar sight of a shrine to the fallen.

The candles. The flowers. The teddy bears. All homage to someone who is no longer here because of a random act of violence.

Maybe Madonna will decide that she wants to adopt some poor Latino and Black kids from South LA...to keep them from having a shrine on the street like the one in this photo.

Somehow, I think not.

Poor kids living in foster care or in orphanages in the U.S. are never exotic enough for celebrities or the average rich family flying to China to buy a baby.

Who cares about the children here in the U.S. who supposedly have the opportunity to pull themselves up by the bootstraps? Let's see, what opportunities do they have?

• The opportunity to be denied an excellent education. Teachers are NOT teaching these kids like they'd be teaching them if they came from a wealthy area.
  
  
• The opportunity to be sexually abused by the sex offenders that populate low-income areas because poor parents lack the clout to get them out of the neighborhood
  
  
• The opportunity to be recruited into gangs. Yeah, that's a great opportunity.

Ah, reality in all her harshness. Now I'm going home and I'm going to forget about reality for a little while while I watch the superficial Project Runway finale.

I'm telling you, Jeffrey's going to win.

Sense of Smell

I rode the train to the office today and had the misfortune of sitting next to a woman who had on way too much perfume. The heaviness of it permeated my nostrils, and had the young women standing next to us with their overstuffed FIDM bags giggling with condescension. I kept hoping the over-perfumed woman would get off the train before I hit the 7th St. stop, but no such luck. (Hey, it's Friday the 13th!)

I'm sure she walked into her job and everyone she works with probably ran for a window.

This got me thinking, what does a woman's perfume say about her? The woman that wears Poison isn't going to be wearing Britney Spear's latest scent. It also says something if a woman only wears Chanel No. 5, no matter where she may be going or what she may be doing.

What are my favorite perfumes? Here's my list:

1. Je Reviens by Worth. I fell in love with this perfume in high school. I can't remember when I first smelled it but it's always been one of my favorites. It's been around since 1932 and, unfortunately, it's a little hard to find. You have to get it off of Amazon or something. What's it smell like? It's a romantic mix of sandalwood, vetiver, jasmine and orange blossoms.

2) Allure by Chanel (what I'm currently wearing.) My husband decided to experiment a couple of years ago and buy me a bottle of perfume for a birthday. He came home with a beautifully wrapped bottle of Allure and I've been wearing this one ever since. When I wear Allure, someone always comments, "You smell so good. What's that perfume?"

3) Shalimar by Guerlain. This is another long-standing love of mine. The funny thing is that I think I first started to like Shalimar because it reminded me of the 80's R & B group, Shalamar that featured Jody Watley as their lead singer. I wanted to be Jody for a good part of the '80s. Shalimar does smell wonderful, and although I haven't bought a bottle in a couple of years, I still can't resist sniffing it when I walk through Macys.

4) Dazzling Silver by Estee Lauder. Dazzling is an exotic floral scent with a slight touch of vanilla. I think I like it because it gives just the right right balance of chic elegance and luminous adventurousness. I wore Dazzling on my wedding day.

What do these four perfumes supposedly say about moi?

The Wink

Even though I spend seventy-five percent of my time here in Los Angeles out in public, I almost never notice celebrities.

In the land of paparazzi, why don't I notice celebrities?

Maybe it's just that my work takes me to neighborhoods celebrities only visit if they're looking to get a feel good story about themselves into People. Maybe it's simply a case of bad luck. I'm almost always feeling like I'm the one that's busy tying my shoe when Orlando Bloom walks by.

All that changed tonight when I was sitting by the fountain/pond at The Grove, trying to keep my youngest son from diving into the water. Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone that looks familiar walking toward me

I said to myself, "Gosh, he looks just like Chris Rock."

That turned into, "Wow, it IS Chris Rock!"

Chris Rock looked me straight in the eye and winked at me. Then he kept walking by and headed to the movie theatre.

What did that wink mean? Did it mean:

A) You're such a great mom, good for you for trying to keep your son from drowning himself.
B) You're so hot sitting there on that faux marble ledge, if we weren't both married, I'd be tryin' to get your number!
C) I wink at everybody so don't trip.
D) Heffa you better not start yelling, "Look everybody it's Chris Rock!"

For some reason, I think it's a combination of option C and D.

Batman, Is That Facial Hair?

I've been too busy at work this week and I haven't taken the time to update here about the rest of my visit to NYC. It was a fantastic trip and I had a wonderful time with the Kim family. You see here left to right, Leslyn Kim, David Kim and David's mom.

I've known Leslyn since 1995 and she's one of my personal heroines. She's someone who keeps her faith first despite all the challenges and curve balls that come her way. She's also whip smart and accomplished...but she's really humble about it all. She's also the cutest pregnant woman on earth...look at her! She's in her eighth month and she's all belly and just as stylish as she ever was!

Clearly, no trip to NYC is complete without a trip to Times Square and I headed down there with the rest of the babyshower attending crew on Saturday night. Although the Naked Cowboy was nowhere in sight, I did have the privilege of meeting Batman.

As we're taking the picture he asked me, "You Puerto Rican?"
"No," I replied. "Are you?"
"Yeah."
Without skipping a beat he asked the next logical question, " You Dominican?"
"No."

Ah, only in New York.

Seriously, what a fantastic hustle! I paid two dollars to take pictures with this guy who has the same Halloween costume my five year-old son has.

Thanks for the picture, Batman.

Adventures in NYC

Incense sellers still sell their wares on the sidewalks and a man in a wheelchair rolled down the middle of the street on the yellow center dividing line. The General Grant Houses haven't been torn down. Yet.

Thank goodness these things haven't changed! (Well, maybe the housing projects should go.) Otherwise, I might not have known I was in New York City, riding the M60 bus down the legendary 125th St.

Harlem will still be Harlem as long as the Apollo Theatre still stands, but things have definitely changed in that corner of the world. Starbucks is on the corner of Malcolm X and 125th. There's an H & M, a M.A.C. store and an Aerosoles store. Aerosoles? Yes, Aerosoles!

Where do the people who can no longer afford to live in Harlem go now that Bill Clinton's set up shop and made it ok for white folks to come to the community and gut-rehab brownstones? Why do goods and services usually only come to urban neighborhoods after white folks move in?

Alas, I'll leave the pondering of such heavy questions for another post.

I'm here in NYC for such a happy reason. My dear friend, Leslyn Kim, is having her baby shower this weekend. It's a reunion of sorts, since our other friend, Daphne, also flew in from Chicago. We are all three together for the first time since my wedding. Now we're three married ladies with kids (or kids on the way)! We've come a long way from the days of Willard Hall at Northwestern.

What's so nice to see is that all the women in Leslyn's family have also flown in for the shower. Her grandmother is even here. What a nice example of a strong and functional African-American family. It's an image that doesn't get shown on TV or talked about in the paper too frequently. All of us had a great dinner at a great place called Josie's Restaurant. It's really healthy foods that have an eclectic twist. Nothing bland or boring on the menu. The food reminded me a little bit of the Newsroom Cafe in LA. I had vegetarian meatloaf and some bok choy.

Daphne's pregnant as well but despite that, at around 11 pm, I dragged her up Amsterdam to Cafe Lalo. If you've ever seen the Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan movie "You've Got Mail", you've seen Cafe Lalo. It's the location where Tom's character is supposed to finally meet Meg's character. It's a famous spot because of the movie, but that's not why I come. There's something about the atmosphere that's so enjoyable. It's the perfect place to sit down and have a nice cup of tea and a coze with a friend.

Really, what a day. One thing is for sure, I love to make new friends, but there's nothing like the old tried-and true friends you've had for ages.

Indeed, There Are Losers In LA

Saturday night I went out in Hollywood to see a friend's improv performance, Losers in LA. During my walk from the parking garage to the theatre I saw and heard some things I'm glad I don't see or hear on a regular basis.

Two scantily dressed women stood in front of me on the corner of Ivar, waiting to cross Selma. There was alot of skin showing. Too much skin in my opinion. But in Hollywood on a Saturday night you see alot of skin so these two women blended right in with the scenery.

A group of men approached the corner, joking and talking boisterously. I didn't look at them too much or acknowledge their presence at all since I didn't want to appear interested in them in the least. I just wanted the light to turn and the 'walk' sign to come on because I hate being late and I was worried I would miss the beginning of the show. Then one of the men did something that shocked me.

He spread his right index finger and his middle finger into a horizontal 'V', reached in front of me and touched the very visible ass-crack of the woman standing in front of me.

"Y'all see that dimple there?" he chuckled to his friends. "Yeah, that's 'back' right there!"

At first I thought he knew her. Except she didn't turn around or acknowledge him at all.

"Come on, girl! You know you want this," he continued. His friends laughed, slapping him on the back.

"I'll give you a hunnerd dollas if you come on over and fuck this."

What? Was he serious? What an ass! The woman still did not turn around nor make any reply. I was so angry, yet, although a dozen retorts were on the tip of my tongue, I did not say anything either. I didn't even look their way.

"Two hunnerd! You know you want to slide up and..."

Before he could finish his sentence, the light changed and the 'walk' sign came on. We all crossed the street together, behaving as if it hadn't happened. I sped up to pass the women and get away from those awful men.

I have two sons and all I could think about was how those awful men were once cute, sweet little boys like mine. Then those young boys learned from someone that it was ok to behave like that to women.

And we women, we've learned that it's in our best interests to not say anything when men behave that way.

When and how does this all change?