OD'ing On Love

After a weekend of totally OD'ing on my friends and family, let me start out by saying that I'd totally forgotten about how much mosquitoes like me. I mean, given that I haven't been out to this part of the world during the heat and humidity of July in like four years, it's a shock to suddenly have these swollen, itchy bug bites all over my body. It looks like Mount Vesuvius is on my ankle.

Why didn't I spray myself with bug spay? Because we don't have mosquitoes like that in LA and I forget about their existence. They really went to town on me in Grant Park yesterday.

I'm also going to have to buy myself an umbrella. Summertime does not equal "umbrella" in Los Angeles. But in the Midwest, those big fluffy clouds turn into rain in a heartbeat and before you know it, the sky is black, gloomy and heaving out buckets of wetness onto my head. When it's not raining, it's... steaming! So, my hair is standing vertically a good six or seven inches off my head. It's not the 80's but darn it, big hair is back in style!

Saturday I went to Navy Pier with my dear friends Kemba and Dena... and my husband's brother. I'm glad the kids got to hang out with him because he's a nice guy, but it's like being around all of my husband's extreme CP Time tendencies, magnified by 1000. If you tell him, "Let's meet at 12:30 on the platform at the Dempster Street El," that means he's gonna show up at 1:00, or maybe 1:30. And for this recovering Type A personality who worked 101 hours this time last year, I wanted to swallow arsenic and throw myself in front of the El.

But it was all good because when we finally got down to Navy Pier, we had a ball. We headed over to the Taste of Chicago to see Stevie Wonder and eat some food but the crowds were insane. It was wall to wall people, a total bust. After standing for 30 minutes in a line for food tickets, we were just done! I could not believe it when we found ourselves collapsed in a Cosi across from Grant Park, but it was just too much.

It was a good lesson in remembering that it's not so much what you're doing as it is who (or is it whom??) you're doing it with. It's the people that matter, not the events or the places. You could put me in the Artic Circle with Dena and Kemba and I'd still have fun.

The fun continued yesterday when I found myself going to brunch at a fabulous place in the South Loop called Yolk. First of all, when the heck did restaurants start opening in the South Loop? South Loop = run down homes and crack heads in my book. But not anymore. Times are changing and I can order an egg white omelet in the South Loop.

Second of all, I went to lunch with about 75% of my closest friends in Chicago. With all our kids there were 18 of us. I kept getting all teary-eyed because it was so nice to have so many people I really love all in one place. It was fabulous.

I think I OD'd on love.

No Death for Molesters

When I was in college, one of my sociology professors shared a shocking statistic with my class. She stated that one in four girls in this country is sexually abused as a child.

I often thought about that statistic in the days following that particular class, especially as I engaged in the typical conversations and interactions with the various women I knew. Indeed, a few days after that class, I went out with the group of young women and men that I spent most of my time with. I looked around at all the women and reflected on the fact that as much time as we spent with each other, we really didn't know each other well enough to talk about such things. Yet I wondered, if, within our group of friends, that statistic was true.

The guys we were hanging out with were being really juvenile (we were all around 18 or 19) and trying to get all the girls to say whether we were virgins or not. If a girl did not want to say, the guys were being all, "So you must not be a virgin if you don't wanna say anything."

I began to think about how such a question is so complicated for the victim of sexual assault. How does a girl say, "No, I'm not a virgin because I was raped as a child?"

And really, how does one begin to share that they have been raped as a child? Or as a teen? Or whenever?

When I became a teacher, I learned about some common signs that a child is being sexually abused. And in my first year teaching, my heart broke when I found out about the abuse one of my young, eight year-old students was enduring. My heart broke again a few months later when one of my male students confessed to me that his mom had had it out with her boyfriend because his two young sisters said they'd been molested by him.

Then it came out that the boyfriend was touching my student too, but he didn't want to say anything because this guy sometimes took him to the Bank of America on Long Beach Boulevard. No big deal to you and I, but a big deal to an eight year old in Compton. He claimed that his sisters were just jealous because they didn't get to go to the bank and said, "They just don't want me to have a daddy."

Now that I've had my own children, one of my biggest fears is that they'll whisper in my ear that they have something to tell me and they'll say that someone has been molesting them. Quite frankly, I worry less about strangers trying to get at them. Instead, I worry about the relative, the friend of the family, the next door neighbor, a coach or someone at their school.

I worry about both the physical effects and the psychological effects such abuse could have on my boys, and I also worry about what I might do to any potential abuser. As in, I worry that I might be that parent who loses it and hires a hit man to take the abuser out.

I've said for many years that I think the death penalty should be a possible punishment for rape, and that's whether someone's been a victim of rape as a child or as an adult. I know there are so many who don't believe in the death penalty and feel that as corrupt as our justice system is, how can we sentence someone to death?

To me it's simple: you rape a child, you die. The jail thing doesn't work for me as adequate punishment because we live in a society where Michael Vick got more jail time than the average child molester or rapist -- because being nice to dogs is more important than honoring and protecting children.

Of course, our Supreme Court disagrees with me. I read today that the Court has rejected the death penalty as a possible punishment for raping a child. Sex offenders don't get rehabilitated in jail and we all know it, that's why we don't want them living next door when they get out. We know the chances of them repeating are pretty high.

I'm sure to millions of victims of childhood rape, this decision feels like it's saying the life of the rapist is more important than the horrors inflicted on the life of the child. I think we culturally have an attitude where we believe it's awful, but we also believe that the child will eventually get over it.

One thing's for sure, the child victims of sexual abuse do not just "get over it". Look at the drug abusers, alcoholics, compulsive eaters, compulsive exercisers, sex addicts and child molesters in your midst. How many of those drug abusers, alcoholics and all the rest are trying to get rid of the pain, the trauma they experienced? How many adult victims have been in therapy for years, trying to get rid of the feelings of shame and worthlessness that plague every single thing they do?

Yeah, I am sure many folks will disagree, but I don't see how raping a child deserves anything less than death.

The "I Want" List

I was talking to a dear friend last week and she told me how someone recommended to her that she make a list of what she wants. My friend suggested that I also make this list and I'm finding that it's turning into an impossible task for me.

I know how to make lists of things to do. Some days, like today, the list of things I needed to do seemed endless. I crossed off the mundane things like "go to grocery store" and "renew library books". Yet for every item I crossed off, something else seemed to be added. And I kept wondering if everything I was crossing off had anything to do with what I really want.

So, I pulled out my journal and wrote at the top of a page, "What I Want". At first I wrote things like, "A pair of stilettos with metal heels," and "A personal trainer." But after I got past those sorts of surface level wants, the crickets started chirping.

I've come to the conclusion that I don't know how to make lists of things I want.

Naturally, after my massive list failure, I spent some time today psychoanalyzing myself reflecting on the process. One huge problem with making this list is that I know there's a part of me that truly believes what I want most I cannot have. And so I wonder, what's the point of making this list?

Even with small things, I think about how what I want is irrelevant or not going to happen. For example, I may want my husband to put his dirty dishes in the sink. It would be very nice to not see a knife covered with peanut butter and jelly on the kitchen counter after he makes himself a sandwich because it pisses me off like you wouldn't believe. But if he doesn't want that too, well, seriously, what's the point or my wanting that? Should I then change what I want to, "I want to not be so angry about a dirty knife on the counter?"

It also feels so selfish to make a list of what I want. When my friend first suggested that I make this "I want" list, the very first thing I told her was that I knew it would be hard for me since, "Who cares what I want? Life isn't about me."

Technically, that is true. In the grand scheme of things, my individual desires and wants are not the end all be all of planet Earth. We've already got too many people sitting around only thinking about their own individual desires. On the other hand, when I think about it, my saying that explains so much about me and the way I've lived my life that it's a bit horrifying.

I'm going to take another crack at this list tomorrow because I'm not a quitter, even when something is difficult. But what about you? Have you ever made an "I Want" list?

When Disaster Strikes

It feels like there have been too many disasters lately, doesn't it? Fires in Florida, the Cyclone in Myanmar, tornadoes all over the place, and now, the earthquake in Sichuan Province.

Last night I was chatting online with my dear friend Joanna about the awful disaster in Sichuan Province. I know Joanna because while I was living in Guangzhou, Joanna was studying in Beijing. We met while we were both traveling in Guanxi Province. I can't remember where exactly, because I tend to have an awful memory (which means I can't lie because I simply can't remember long-term what I've said). But, I do recall saying to myself when I first saw her in the little "motel" I was staying at, "Hey, there's somebody who looks like me, in China!"

Anyway, we lost touch a few years ago but, thankfully, Joanna found me through this blog and now we also keep in touch on Facebook. So, last night we were chatting online, and of course, given our experience in China and what's happened there, we got to talking about construction, rampant non-compliance with building codes, and the experience of living in a cinder block building just like the ones that have crumpled under the impact of a 7.9 earthquake.

When I first went to China I had no idea that such huge earthquakes could happen there. Then I learned all about the big quake of 1976 that killed hundreds of thousands. Some Chinese people feel it also predicted the death of Chairman Mao. All psychic or superstitious speculations aside (and there are already some interesting ones about this quake), I seriously don't know what I would have done if one had happened when I was there.

But of course, my mind immediately turns to my current home, Los Angeles, the place I know very well has earthquakes all the time. Folks are even saying what happened in Sichuan Province could be a worst case scenario for us. And if the ground isn't shaking, as you know, we have wildfires too.

I don't have a real disaster plan in place in case something happens, which is totally inexcusable because, unlike China being about to send 50,000 troops to the aid of people in Sichuan Province, are there even 50,000 soldiers around here that are able to be mobilized within 24 hours to help? Think about Hurricane Katrina before you answer that question.

A couple of weeks ago, I got an email from a woman named Amanda and she asked me to be a part of the State of California's emergency preparedness pilot program. Of course, I agreed. I was supposed to be sitting down with my family to do our disaster plan and I've been putting it off. Gosh, I feel like I better hustle and get on it! The first step is to assess your family's risk.

You really should click on that link because, gosh, you can think you have no risk but then when you find yourself answering "no" to some of the questions, well... you need to make a plan.

So, I'm going to make a plan with the family tonight. I think all this going down is a "sign" of some sort. I'll let you know how my plan turns out. What about you? Are you going to make a plan too?

Why Phillipe Copeland is a Genius

Who'd have thought a post on my serious challenges with anger management would evolve into such a great conversation about so many other issues?

I really appreciated this comment left yesterday by Phillipe Copeland from Baha'i Thought. He really shifted the lens through which I was seeing the conversation and took it to a whole other level. Clearly, we can see why he's a genius. Phillipe says:

"The Sean Bell thing is tragic on so many levels, not just for him but for the police officers as well. What do I mean? We have a society that is grossly unjust but very clever at keeping things that way. One way is to create a class of folks, most of whom come from working class and poor backgrounds themselves to "police" other poor and working class people. Meanwhile people with ridiculous amounts of wealth go on accumulating it all the while being protected by the sons and daughters of people less well off, both domestically (the police) and internationally (the military). The wheel just keeps turning and Sean Bells keep ending up dead, while the cops get attacked reinforcing their lack of consciousness of their own exploitation further fueling the process. I think part of what must happen is rather than attacking the police is to engage in a critical dialog that will assist at least some of them to wake up to their location in the social hierarchy so that they could start to work towards changing that. Otherwise you essentially have the same old game which is working class and poor folks divided against each other so that they cannot effectively unite for a better society. Just a thought."

You see why I read his blog? You see why he's getting a Ph.D.? Thanks for keeping it real, Phillipe.

Sexy April Fool's Day

I know it's April Fool's Day when I try to log onto one of the many Depeche Mode message boards I'm a part of and I get this message:

"Sorry los.angelista, you are banned from using this forum!

You've been banned!

"Why", I hear you asking? I'll tell you why! Because it's April Fools Day, of course!! See you tomorrow ;)"

I read that first sentence and freaked out! Banned? And just when I was about to cry, my eyes read more and thankfully saw that it was an April Fools Day joke. Whew.

I should have known April Fool's Day was rolling around though because I heard that the LA City Council is banning homicides in the city for 40 hours. But then I read the same story in the LA Times so I figured that bit of wishful thinking must actually be true, unlike last week's fake Tupac story.

Come to think of it, all Hillary Clinton needs to say about the whole "I was shot at by snipers in Bosnia" lie is that it was all an early April Fool's Day joke. Hah hah! Right?

Anyway, I thought my eyes were playing early April Fool's Day tricks on me when I saw I've been given the Sexy Blogger Award not once, but TWICE in the past two days! Let me bust out a Prince CD and play "U Got the Look" right now!

To tell you the truth, I generally do not think of myself as sexy. Hot, yes. Sexy, no. But wowzer, check my Sexy Blogger Award out! Needless to say, that is not my bootay. I will spare us all a multitude of embarrassment and refrain from describing the differences between my rear and the one in the photo. But I will say a prayer that the woman featured in this picture learns to wear a thong sometime soon. I mean, if you're going to have your underwear up your butt, you might as well go for a thong and dispense with the granny panties once and for all.

In any case, now that I'm finished talking about badonk-a-donks, I'll tell you how I got this award. The ever-fabulous and positive Claudia from On a Limb With Claudia was the first to give me the Sexy Blogger Award. Claudia said she gave it to me because I have "sexy hair!"

I don't think I've heard my hair described as sexy in recent years months days so I'm pretty excited and flattered by this, especially since my hair has been driving me nuts lately. Come to think of it, I need to write a whole post about what's going on with my hair because it's much too complex for me to write about in the same post as a picture of a butt. Let me put "Write post about hair drama" on my to-do list for tomorrow.

Just when I was really contemplating my hair sexiness, Cajunvegan over at one of my newly favorite blogs, "I Read Banned Books", also gave me the Sexy Blogger Award for my "dead sexiness".

Hopefully "dead sexiness" is a synonym for all over sexiness because otherwise, I need to have a call in to a casting director so I can star in a zombie flick with Milla Jovovich.

Of course, in the spirit of dead sexiness, I'm dying to pass on this Sexy Blogger Award, complete with the pancake booty shot. Some of you that I want to give this award to have already gotten it, but don't worry, you're still sexy. (Jameil, I'm talkin' to you!)

Sooo, I'm going to give it to eleven of y'all:

• Bygbaby for having sexy brotherlocks and forever making me laugh every time I think about last year's Alexyys K. Tylor post
• Keith over at African American Dad for sexy fatherhood and doing the darn thing when it comes to being a parent in NYC.
• Shelly at Boring Black Chick for her sexy book and movie reviews.
• Jen at A2EatWrite for knowing when to take a sexy break from blogging and handle her business.
• Nerd Girl for being a sexy mommy who had a sexy voting date with Barack Obama.
• Kate and Jon at Homestead Harvest for making Idaho and sustainable living sexy.
• 1969 for being the sexiest working mom blogger out there ever.
  
• Kari at If I Only Had a Blog for having sexy dream interpretations
• Sundry for her sexy pictures and for her sexy motivation around getting up so early to write every day.
• Laura Harley for creating and singing a sexy mashup. Battlestar Galactica + Depeche Mode's "Enjoy the Silence" = "Enjoy the Cylons"

And an extra special mention goes to Ian over at Or So I Thought. I seriously figured he'd gotten this award before for being the sexiest Canadian on the planet, but he hasn't. So Ian, you now get it for putting the sexy back into something very commendable and close to my heart, addictions counseling.

I know some of you aren't going to put the booty picture on your blogs and might not even want your sexiness to be acknowledged, but hey, it's April Fool's Day so I'm going for it. Hope your April Fool's Day is wonderfully tricky!

Getting Out Of What You Want Me To Do

Even though I like to think of myself as extroverted, sometimes the weekend comes and I just want to hang out in my house with my family. I don't want to go anywhere. I don't want to see anybody. I don't want to come to your party. I don't want to go see your friend's band. I don't want to do anything.

I become quite anti-social.

Like right now, it's a bit after 2:00 in the afternoon and I don't want to do anything with my Friday night but come home, order some red curry with tofu from Leela Thai, and read a nice thick book. It's been the kind of day where I want to put a movie on for the kids the minute they walk in the house so they won't bug me. And then when that movie's over, I'm going to put them to bed early and start reading my book again.

The hard thing is that people who know me sometimes don't seem to be able to accept that I would love to come over but I really don't feel like it. At all. It's terrible but I've sometimes found myself making up random excuses about why I can't go to a party, show, hang out...whatever.

Why can't I just say, "Thanks but not tonight," and not be harassed with a, "Oh come on. It'll be fun!"

Of course, how nice is it to know that people really want the pleasure of my company. Usually I go. Usually I have a decent time. But there's a part of me that wishes I didn't have to.

Do you ever feel this way too?

Klingon and Orama go to Disneyland

After a few days away, I'm finally landing back on Planet Blog.

I've missed you all! I've had so many things I've wanted to post about but I haven't and I've neglected coming over to visit everyone else's blogs. Tsk. Tsk. Shame on me.

It's just that spending 16 hours at Disneyland on Saturday left me exhausted and my dear friend Jane and her five year-old daughter were here visiting. I felt like it would not be polite to have company come all the way from Michigan and then be like, "Excuse me while I go catch up on my blogging." That, and we were running around having fun so I wasn't even home most of the time! Whew! The house feels so super quiet without her cute little girl around.

Anyway, Disneyland on Saturday was cool. We got there at 9 AM, stayed till midnight, rode everything worth riding because I am the type to go to Disneyland with a plan and a schedule. I mean, you better have a plan to get all the bang for your buck you can since it's like $56 per person to get into the park!

Yes, Disneyland is fun but the only diversity there is in the crowd. I guess they've missed out on MLK's dream in their hiring practices. Do they have an unspoken rule there to not hire more than one black, Latino or Asian actor or actress for the entire park? I mean, the only time I saw a significant number of black cast members was during the "Jungle Cruise" when the "guide" pointed out the cannibals.

Oh wait, those weren't even real people. Nope, the cannibals are just wax statues.

Even in the "Parade of Dreams" where actors and actresses dress up as the characters and march down Disney's Main Street, the only non-white performers seemed to be on the "Lion King" float. I guess those Disneyland execs can't find a diverse group of performers for those roles. Poor things. I know they've got to be trying! There must be no one qualified in all of Southern California!

Where could those execs find some qualified talent? Hmm... Oh, I know! I'm sure there were lots of fab performers at LA's Kingdom Day parade yesterday! Maybe some Disney scouts need to go hang out there to get some fresh and diverse talent.

I do feel sort of guilty that I didn't attend any observances but at least I didn't do like I did in 1996 and end up going to the Jerry Springer show on MLK Day. One of these days I'll have to tell you that story, but today, alas, will not be that day. I will only absolve myself of all blame by saying that at the time I had no idea who or what Jerry Springer was.

Speaking of Springer, I did feel a little like I was watching an "edumacated" version of that infamous show during last night's CNN Democratic debate. I was just waiting to see who was going to jump from behind a podium and start throwing blows.

My eldest son kept asking me, "Do Hillary Klingon and Orack Orama need to go to time out?"

Nah, they don't need a time out. They just need to go to Disneyland. The next debate clearly needs to be held at Disneyland. Just think what a positive effect debating in the "Happiest place on earth" would have on the candidates!

I can picture it now...Klingon and Orama holding hands while riding Space Mountain. Klingon and Orama eating ice cream while standing in line for the Pirates of the Caribbean. Klingon and Orama buying matching mouse ear hats...

Coming back down to reality, my eldest son asked me this morning, "Mommy, do you think Hillary Klingon is going to vote for Orack Orama?"

Um, yeah. Disneyland or no, my son might have to hold his breath on that one.

What Do You Do All Day?

The next time someone asks me, "What do you do all day?" or says, ""I can't believe you're such a stay-at-home mom these days. Don't you get bored?" I'm going to scream!

Or if they're right in front of me, instead of screaming, I'm gonna stab them with a...with a...

Well, I'm sure I'll find something nice, sharp and painful to stab with. Like my keyboard.

Do these people not know what my life used to be like? Do they not know that if I never have an office job again, I have paid my dues and then some! Last year I was taking tests to determine if I was a workaholic and if I'd answered every question honestly, (which I didn't because it was too damn depressing) I would've scored a perfect 100%. I was considering going to therapy. Have they not read my post on working 101 hours in ONE WEEK?

But the truth is also that if I wanted to get everything done at my job that I needed to, there was no possibility of not working the hours I did. It's not a good or bad thing. It's just the way it was. We all know 40 hours a week is a joke for most people these days. It's not right, but it's the way it is.

What really bugs me that more women than men say these things to me. There's always an insinuation that I was the last person they ever thought they'd see leading such a "boring" existence.

I guess they liked me better when I was working all the time. I guess that made me more exciting. I guess I had value then and now I don't. Maybe it's not status-y enough to say that your friend stays home and writes? Is that the problem?

Because yes, I write and I get paid for it. I want to write more stuff and get paid for it. I like writing. No, I love writing and I'm happier when I'm writing than when I'm doing anything else. Want to hire me to write something for you?

Sure, the money's not as much as what I was making before, but I'm not working the hours I was and I'm fine with that. Even if I decide to go back to an office job next year, I will never ever again say, "Yeah, I worked 87 hours this week." I might not even be willing to ever again say, "I worked 57 hours."

I used to pay someone thousands of dollars a year to watch my sons. She was awesome and I think a huge part of the sweet, very polite and happy boys my sons are today is owed to her. But no one would have said she wasn't working when she was taking care of them. So how come I'm not working when I'm taking care of my own kids?

I 'm writing. I'm reading. I'm on three committees at my kid's school. I'm actually cooking dinner. I bury deceased hamsters. I read to my children. I do crazy things like organize my books alphabetically and call the LAPD about drunks loitering down the hill.

But what if I did nothing but lounge on the couch and eat chocolate covered strawberries? What if I just went to a spa all day, watched the maid do the laundry and made my chauffeur drive me to Fred Segal to shop?

Whose business would that be?

Inhale. Exhale. Do a yoga pose. Repeat out loud: "Violence is a tool of the ignorant.

But seriously, whoever has a problem with what I'm doing right now, step off.

Because None of Us Want a Kenyan Genocide

A couple of days ago I received a most distressing email from some friends, a lovely couple named Auntieclare and Jon. They've been married for about a year now and are some of the most wonderful people you ever want to meet.

Auntieclare is from Kenya and if you follow the news at all, you know that there has been major drama going on there due to protests over their recent election. I forwarded their email to a bunch of my friends and family and one of them wrote me this morning and suggested that I post Jon and Auntieclare's request for help right here on my blog. It's a genius idea because the more of us that are aware and then take action, the quicker this situation will change.

Dear Friends, Family, and Associates,

I am writing to request your assistance with an extremely challenging issue.... As some of you are aware my wife is from Kenya. Our family lives their now.. and are in grave danger...

Within the the last 3 days there has erupted a huge campaign of violence, ethnic cleansing and tribal warfare from the alleged rigging of the presidential election leading to the re-election of Kibaki. I will not relate the details as they are all readily available on the websites I include at the bottom of this email... but the basic reality is that the country is entering a state of warfare... Martial law has been declared by the president... a curfew... riot police are out in streets throughout the country... if you are out past curfew you are beaten or shot... looting and rioting has decimated many of the shops in the town centers... many I and my family would frequent...leaving many without basic supplies to live. The President has shut off all the radio stations... all you hear is the eerie sound of static as you scan the airwaves... The television stations are only broadcasting un-interrupted movies... no news.. no announcements...Everyone in Kenya uses pre-paid calling cards for cell phones.. and the president has ordered them to stop being sold... He has stopped all flow of information internally... We had to ask our mom not to call her friends and conserve what little credit she has.. we now have to call regularly to check on the situation... even the phone networks have been going down... He has shut the water supply off to Nairobi City (the largest and most developed city in east Africa)... There are frequent blackouts.

The two major tribes representing the presidential opponents are Kikuyu and Luo. My Wife and Family are Luo. Kikuyus are attacking and killing Luos en-masse throughout the country... and Luo are killing Kikuyu around the country... within the last day.. mass killings have begun.. In Lou towns Kikuyus have begun killing Luos....locking Luo social clubs while people are inside and burning them down... over 50 Kikuyu women and children sought refuge in a church after their homes were burned and an angry mob of youth locked them in the church and set fire to it killing 35... those who escaped were met on the outside with the mob... beaten... and burned to death in a kitchen garden outside the church... decimation of neighborhoods, slums, and villages where supporters of either candidate are being burned to the ground.. with people inside....These atrocities are reminiscent of the beginnings of the Genocide which took place in Rwanda (The next Door neighbor to Kenya)...My Mother In Law in Kenya received word from a friend in government that Kibaki was about to be announced the winner off the election and that she should rush to the grocery store because it was about to get very bad... she sent my cousins to the store to buy what food she could afford... that night 3 local social spots where my family would regularly hang out were locked up and burnt down with people inside...

Luckily my family was all at home anticipating the violence to come...They are locked in their small apartment.. 2 small bedrooms in a stone apartment structure. They have a small security gate before the front door which they have padlocked shut... My brother in law...lost track of his family when their neighborhood was attacked, people killed, and burnt to the ground... he ran around searching all night and luckily he was able to locate them... they rushed to my mother in laws home... He, His Wife, and Small children had to pass through streets littered with bodies... there are now over 14 people in this tiny apartment... they only have food for a couple more days... the stores are dangerous if impossible to get to... most stores have been shut or ransacked so there is no food anyway... what food is left is being sold at very high costs... Gunshots are heard round the clock and throughout the night...

I paint this picture to give an idea of the severity of the situation... I watch and feel helpless... Many who have watched Hotel Rwanda can remember that feeling of "What did we / could we have done to prevent this..." This is a similar situation... I am not sure of the best remedy for it.. but it is apparent that something needs to be done before the violence, civil unrest and massacres extend any further...

How can I sit by and watch another Rwanda or Somalia take place without so much as opening my mouth... and the fact that my family is directly involved impels me to act with determination. Things may get better on their own... maybe in a few days... a few weeks... a few months... but for each day it doesn't... lives are lost.. families shattered.. and we inch closer to genocide... how many times did people assume that it would probably work itself out in Rwanda or Somalia.... and thereby delay their own action... inaction enabled a spark to become a flame and a flame into an inferno.

I am writing to my congress people in Los Angeles... imploring them to press the US govt. and the UN to intervene... The only way to ensure my families safety is to ensure peace in Kenya... Please take a moment to do something... write to your congress person or call them and urge them to address the issue of the unrest in Kenya with haste... Each day that passes people are dying and being ripped from their homes...only 250 people have been documented killed so far... thousands injured and over 70,000 made homeless in 3 days... This does not include those who are fleeing and are undocumented by the statistics. I mentioned hotel Rwanda.. and the vivid picture it painted which brought us all a bit of shame... now picture your family in that hotel... being left to die as other countries get their own people out... this is more than a movie... My family is at serious risk...and I am praying for their safety. Please take a moment and help be a part of bringing about peace... not only for my own families but for all of Kenya... And Above All Pray For Them...

Sincerely,

Jon and Auntieclare R____

SITES WITH INFO ABOUT THE SITUATION IN KENYA:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/default.stm
http://www.nationmedia.com/
http://www.guardian.co.uk/kenya
http://www.cnn.com/WORLD/

HOW TO FIND YOUR CONGRESS PERSON:
http://www.house.gov/house/MemberWWW_by_State.shtml

**********
And I'm going add a link on how to find your senator as well because you can be sure I sent an email off to Barbara Boxer, Dianne Feinstein... and Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton.

Here's what my girl Suzy wrote to her representative in case you need some ideas of what to put in those email forms:

Dear Representative Waxman,
I am writing to express my concern over current atrocities in Kenya following that country's national election. I support U.S. and/or U.N. intervention immediately to avoid more senseless killing. Recent events in Kenya echo the genocides in Rwanda and Zimbabwe - abhorrent history that should not be repeated.

And of course, if you are not one to write to a politician, please do pray for them. Whatever your beliefs, we can all pray.

The Morning After The Wedding

Hopefully, the beautiful bride, my dear sister, Priscilla, is sleeping in this morning.

I clearly am not sleeping in. I came home and fell asleep on the couch around 3 AM, in my dress! AAGH! And I've been up since 6 AM so I'm clearly going to need a nap later on today.

Thank goodness the dress I bought has long sleeves because it was an unseasonably cool 42 degrees here last night. Here's one of the few shots where you can see more than two seconds of my dress. I love it so I suppose it was totally worth the shopping drama.

But, despite loving it, I kept my coat on most of the night because I was freezing. The outdooor wedding and reception were both in the courtyard of the Pacific Asia Museum in Pasadena. Even though there were heat lamps, it was ridiculously cold.

Did I already mention that it was COLD?

That's how I know Priscilla was the bride...only sheer adrenaline-charged happiness can keep a woman from putting on a coat when it's biting cold outside.

Priscilla and I taught at the same school in Compton. We started the same year and our rooms were right across from each other. I remember when she got bit on the leg by a crazy little girl named Brandy. She remembers when girls in my class and hers were paying 5o cents to sit next to a boy named Patrick at lunch. We both were not so great at managing our classrooms in the beginning. And the kids used to ask, "Are y'all sisters?" even though we really look nothing alike. Besides she talks waaay faster than I do because she's from New York City. I'm like the slow country cousin in comparison.

She's also a crazy New York driver. My second year out here, I moved to her apartment building and we lived next door to each other, which meant we could carpool back and forth to school. She'd laugh when she'd catch me riding in the passenger side, pushing my foot down like I was pressing a brake pedal. I'll give it to her though. That girl can work a stick shift like nothing else. I can drive stick, but not like that!

I remember when she met her now husband, Daniel. After a couple years, he moved next door with Priscilla, and then his sister moved downstairs with her boyfriend. We had a little community going on for awhile here. And then four years ago Priscilla abandoned us and headed back to New York, taking Daniel with her.

After that, it was clearly just a matter of time till I was at their wedding trying not to cry. (Trust me, liquid eyeliner is not pretty when it's running down your face.)

Now that they're married, I'm ready for a baby mini-Priscilla to come along because I need to line up the prospects for my sons. Hurry up and get pregnant! But, no pressure because all that will come when the time is right.

In the meantime, off to the gym to work off some of that wedding cake.

NBC Will "Educate" You About Black Women

For the past few days my email in-boxes have been bursting with reminders from my fellow black women to watch NBC Nightly News every evening this week.

No, black women haven't suddenly gone all fan girl on Brian Williams and his uber-orange Mystic tan. Instead, folks have been alerting me that this week NBC News is doing a five part report on the state of black women in America.

The emails have had a tinge of excitement, a little bit of the, "Hallelujah! The mainstream media is paying attention to us!" kind of vibe. I can read between the lines and sense that there's the hope that this will be the start of our nation sitting up and paying attention to black women even when some clown like Don Imus isn't spewing his venom.

Will crimes such as the disappearance of college student Natasha Norman suddenly be reported at the level of the Stacy Peterson story? Will the atrocity that is Dunbar Village be taken up by Nancy Grace and reported on every night until justice is served?

There's also hope that maybe the NBC News series will move beyond the stereotypical. After all, we'd like to think there's only so many times it can be debated in the media whether we're video hos, nappy-headed hos, or just hos who are so controlling and demanding that our men leave us for white women the minute they get a degree and an American Express card.

The emails have also had a little bit of dread to them, a little bit of, "I'm going to watch so I can see what b.s. they say." There's been a concern that NBC News is going to screw this "in-depth" reporting up and reinforce the countless stereotypes about black women. Why? Well since the little two or three minute segment is presented as the key to understanding what makes black women tick, millions of people will go to work thinking they know a little bit more about the one black woman in their office.

And what do black women have to worry about America thinking of us:

1) We're promiscuous.
2) We're bitches with attitudes and chips on our shoulder.
3) We're superwoman. We cook, we keep our hair looking fly, we throw down in the bedroom.
4) We have really big butts. And we like to shake them. And pose on the cover of King magazine.
5) Actually, we're big all over, not just in the behind, because we're drowning our superwoman sorrows in food.
6) We're church ladies.
7) We had a baby as a teenager and our mom is watching it. OR
8) We're single mothers with a gang of kids by different men.
9) We were dateless and bitter in college because there were no black men on campus.
10) We refuse to date or marry men who are not black because we don't want to be race traitors.
11) If the black man we're with doesn't have a degree, we're settling because we don't want to be alone.
12) We talk really loudly and dress in bright colors. And we know how to pop our gum and our neck.

So would these stereotypes be reinforced and rehashed by NBC News or would they be challenged?

Well, tonight's episode started out talking about how there's an "achievement gap" between black women and men. Here we go with the statistics on how 64% of black college students are women and at some schools black women are outnumbering men seven to one.

First of all, aren't there more women in college then men, period? Second of all, isn't it a good thing that so many black women are going to college only a generation or two after Jim Crow officially ended? We'll never know because NBC News isn't going to get into that right now.

Next, we meet the black woman who went to Stanford and she talks about how a degree from Stanford's a "stamp of approval" when she's out in the working world. But forget about asking her what's underneath that comment. Gosh, this "in-depth" news report can't even pause and talk about how she got to college, whether she was the first in her family to go to college or whether her people have been going to college since Reconstruction. NOPE!

And then the story shifts to explaining the low percentage of black males in college. Elementary schools are giving up on black boys. Hip hop reinforces bad boy images so many black males get the idea that it's okay to drop out.

Ahem. Wasn't this story supposed to be about black women?

I'm thinking, hold on, we only have like two or three minutes so why are we rehashing the same media voodoo about how no black men are educated? Do I really need to see another slow-mo rap video and a bunch of pants sagging teens hanging out on a street corner?

Oh, but let's go back to another stereotype: The black woman they profiled is a single mother! No explanation if she's widowed, divorced...just another single black mother. I guess they couldn't find any black women who are married.

The good thing is that this sista's started a business. And she's putting her daughter through Stanford. But suddenly the story launches into how many billions of dollars black women control in our economy.

Hmm. I wasn't thinking about the economy. I'm wondering if this woman feels like superwoman. How does she deal with the stress of doing it all? (Or is she doing it all?) Is she proud that she's putting her daughter through college and that her daughter is going to Stanford just like she did?

But we'll never know all that because "ding" time is up. Didn't you just learn a whole lot about black women?

Thank goodness I don't need to watch NBC News to find out how black women are doing. I can read the blogs of the many black female bloggers and find out more about what's going on with black women than what NBC News told me tonight.

I can pick up the phone, call some folks up and ask them, "Hey girl, how are you doing?"

If you don't have any black women you are close enough to do that with, guess what? Find some. We don't bite. We're friendly, normal people. So, before 2007 ends, get some black female friends and really be friends with them. I'm not talking water cooler friends. I'm talking about you know her drama and her joy and she knows yours too.

Heck, I could go stand in the mirror and talk to my reflection and I'd know more truth about black women than NBC News shared.

So, trust me, don't leave your education about black women to NBC.

I'm Never Drinking Rock Star Energy Drink Again!

I drank a can of that Rock Star energy drink about nine hours ago and I'm telling you, I'm still buzzed. I even went back to the park for a second jog and I swear, my right eyelid is twitching. I had no idea the stuff would affect me like this!

I have lost the ability to focus on just one thing...and that's totally fine since there's lots of things going through my head. Here are a few:

1) I'm Still Feeling Foster's Pig Tattoo: Almost a week later, I still think the pig is awesome. Only in NYC would I see this tattoo. I just can't picture a pig and a carrot going down as an LA tattoo. I'm also still loving Foster's explanation about these.

Come to think of it, my nickname as a child was "bunny". Maybe I should get a carrot like Foster's.

But I don't like pain and I've heard tattoos hurt...and two weeks later, I'd be trying to remember why exactly I decided to get a carrot on my shoulder.

So much for that idea. What else?

2) I hate Jay-Z: Even though I was in NYC last weekend, I did not go see the movie American Gangster. Yawn. Another glamorized drug dealer. Yawn again.

And I didn't buy Jay-Z's "American Gangster" cd either. But get me a bonfire and I'll toss one in there for you.

Every time I hear Jay-Z spitting his stories about how he came up selling drugs and committing other various criminal actions, I want that special prosecutor Patrick Fitzgerald to find something that the statute of limitations hasn't run out on. Next time he alludes to his drug money, someone arrest Shawn Carter. (And throw Beyonce in there with him. Sentence her to three months without hair weaves, okay!)

I'll keep it real and tell y'all that I believe drug dealers should get the death penalty. They're killing other people, aren't they?

Plus, not only am I sick of Jay-Z's glamorization of drug dealing, I will also forever hate him because of his "Jigga, My Nigga" song. In case you're not familiar, here's the catchy chorus:

(Jigga) What's my motherfuckin name? (Jigga) And who I'm rollin with huh? (My niggaz) Uh-huh-uh-uhh-uhh-uhh Niggaz better get it right, bitches better get it right, WHO?

That song came out in the summer of 1999 and it was played all the time on the radio. The n-word was bleeped out on radio, but at parties, everyone, black, white, Latino and Asian, would sing it out loud. I really blame this song for the proliferation of the "n-word" in music. It made it mainstream. Jay-Z made it cool to say it. He's burning in hell for that one. For real.

Did I already say that I can't stand Jay-Z? Well, let's move on to Damon Wayans.

3) Someone PLEASE Slap Damon Wayans. Damon went on The View and agreed that those Rutgers women were "nappy headed hoes". Oh, he also thinks a woman's place is in the kitchen cooking. Don't believe he's really that dumb? Here's the proof:



Is he going to have to apologize for his remarks? Somehow, I highly doubt it because someone has passed around a memo that it's okay for black men to get up in public and disrespect black women. According to Damon, it's a "cultural thing". Yeah, let me make my foot in his ass a cultural thing too.

4) But, even though I wish Damon Wayans and Jay-Z would disappear, I'm proud of Chas Reynolds: Chas is one of my good friends out here in LA. He used to be a teacher in Compton and I was his supervisor through Teach For America. He was a great teacher but he was thankfully smart enough to follow his dreams into the entertainment business.

He's had a couple of very cool jobs with lots of cool perks, but after he started his blog, I became convinced that he needed to be writing for Rolling Stone. He's well on his way to doing just that with his latest gig writing for Artist Direct. Check out his thoughtful interview with up and coming hip hop artist, Gorilla Zoe. I'm so proud of him! Go Chas! And when you get the chance to interview Depeche Mode, remember your girl!

5) Speaking of Depeche Mode: There's going to be a Depeche Mode party next Saturday night the 17th at this place in Downtown LA. It's officially for some of the Depeche Mode albums that are being remastered. But really, it's a great excuse to come and dance to lots of great Mode remixes. I'll be there with one of my Depeche Mode shirts on:

The Grand Star Jazz Club (second floor)
943 North Broadway
Los Angeles (Chinatown), CA. 90012
10p-2a
$5 before 10p - $10 after - and no you can't bring your kids with you because it's 21+

Also, if you're some weird stalker, just stay home. Seriously, I really don't want to meet you and I'm not at all cute in person. Plus, I talk a lot and I like to dance so you'll never even get the chance to whisper your stalkery threats to me. And the slightly bored looking black guy with me...that'll be my husband.

Besides, there's plenty of great Depeche Mode music on YouTube. Stay home and watch/listen to those instead. Here's one to help you calm down. It's a rare acoustic version of "Nothing's Impossible". And come to think of it, as much as I really dislike Jay-Z, he did give Depeche Mode a shout out on his latest record. Maybe we shouldn't send him to the gallows after all.

Gosh, I promise, no more Rock Star energy drinks for me!

Possessed by the Santa Ana Winds

I'm watching news coverage of the fifteen fires that are at this moment raging through Southern California. Right now they're showing live footage of a trailer park in Santa Clarita that just started burning fifteen minutes ago. I can make out a lone fireman holding a hose on flames that are being blown by the gusting Santa Ana winds. It just looked like he had to run for his life as the flames came rushing towards him.

I am terribly afraid of fire. When my apartment building caught on fire this past spring I totally freaked and had nightmares about being trapped in a burning building for a few weeks afterwards.

Fire isn't picky. It doesn't matter if you live in a trailer or a Malibu castle, all those memories and cherished possessions will burn. My heart goes out to the hundreds of thousands of people that have been evacuated so far.

But there's something that has weighed on my mind today more than anything else. More than flames, more than the hot dry winds of the devil. It's something that makes me feel ill, sick to my stomach, and profoundly sad.

I was visiting someone today that I've known very well for several years. And, while she was out of the room, her husband started asking me questions about my workout regimen. I told him about my love affair with Violet Zaki tapes and jogs at the park. Then he said, "You look really good. Really strong."

"Okay. Um. Thanks." I was immediately on my guard. I felt a weird vibe in the way he said it, in the way he was looking at me.

Then he reached out, rubbed my arm, told me I looked sexy and asked, "So when can I take you out?"

I tried to make a joke. I said something like, "Hah hah. You're too funny. But I'm so busy, I have no time to go out anywhere."

Laughing uncomfortably when nothing is funny, when all I wanted to say was, "What the fuck is your problem?"

Surely I was wrong about what I was experiencing with this man while his wife, who I love and respect immeasurably, was out of the room? But no, he tried to grab on my arm again and said, "At least let me take you out to coffee."

I pulled my arm away and replied, "I quit drinking coffee last year after my brother's suicide."

He didn't give up. "So let me take you to dinner then. You like Italian food, right?"

I answered that the next time I go out for Italian food it'll be with my husband. I kept talking. Rambling, really as I elaborated on my husband by sharing, "You should see how in shape he is now! He's gone from a 34 waist to a 30 since February!" I kept on talking about my husband and how he needs to take me out on a date sometime soon. I tried to keep it light, tried to make sense of what I was experiencing, and then, praise God, a few seconds later, the wife came back.

I talked to her for a couple more minutes and then made up a lie so I could escape. She was wreathed in smiles, no worry in her eyes as she gave me a warm hug goodbye. No sign of having overhead the horrible words I'd just heard.

Hours later, I feel so personally violated. And what am I supposed to say the next time she asks me to come over and visit? I truly admire this woman and it just breaks my heart because I'm sure this can't be the first time her husband has pulled some crap like this.

I can't make any sense of it. I can only think that this misguided husband has been possessed by the Santa Ana winds, the Santana winds.

Yes, he must be possessed by the winds of Satan. Otherwise, what would cause him to behave in such a way?

Friendship and Fate

One of my many faults is that I don't always keep up with people I care about. It's not that I stop thinking about them. Indeed, I often wonder where they are and, more importantly, who they are now. But, I moved, they moved, we have kids -and those kids have activities to be driven to-, addresses seem to disappear, emails change, drama happens -- and before I knew it, people who were a part of my life are no longer around.

On the one hand, as ridiculously superstitious as it is, I believe we meet the people we do for a particular reason. They're there to help us learn something about ourselves or the world. And maybe they're in our lives for some pre-ordained amount of time.

On the other hand, I believe we have free will and we decide who we want to make the effort to stay in touch with. That's why I don't have a problem with Facebook and MySpace. Pointless time wasters? Maybe. But the truth is that because of both I've managed to catch up with quite a few folks I've lost touch with over the years.

One of the friends I've connected with again, Jane, fortunately has a job that sometimes brings her here to LA. I saw her last Friday for the first time in a dozen years.

When we first connected on Facebook, it was funny for me to remember how when we were younger and I'd have my moments where I felt like an ugly duckling, I wanted to be Jane.

Sure, folks can say that everyone should just want to be themselves, and I can definitely say that now. But when you feel like a gangly, geeky preteen and teen, it's easy to want to be someone else. And to me, Jane always had such style, grace and personal warmth. She was creative, boys liked her a whole lot, and I remember her having the coolest pair of red jeans when we were teenagers. Don't ask why I remember random things like those jeans, but I do.

A dozen years later, she still has all those qualities. But now, she also has greater wisdom and maturity. I was so happy to give her a hug, and listen to what's been going on in her life, what her hopes and dreams are, the things that she's thinking about, and what moves her spiritually. She said some things I definitely needed to hear and it was easy to share some of what's in my heart. Indeed, our conversation picked up as if we've been talking a couple times a week. And she's generous enough to claim to have forgotten about the time I ate tons of oranges and then threw up in her bedroom.

So yes, it made me think about how important it is to keep up with the people who mean the most to me. It's something I need to commit to doing. I can't leave everything to fate.

To Show U Sum Love

A little after 1 pm yesterday, I stopped into the Starbucks in Kenneth Hahn Plaza in the Willowbrook/Compton area to get a chai and check my email. I was sitting there, sipping my chai, listening to the mellow sounds of Duke Ellington playing in the background and clicking through random work emails. Thinking too much, as I'm prone to do sometimes. And, just when I was starting to think that my day really sucked, that I should start a new blog entitled worst + day + ever = my life -- just as I thought I might actually cry (yes, it was a day like that), two teenagers came in the door. One of them was talking very loudly into one of those walkie-talkie type phones.

"Why you ain’t got no boyfriend?"

"What?" came back through the phone speaker.
He rephrased his question, "I said, you got a man? Yes or no?" His friend laughed and poked him good-naturedly in the arm as they strolled across the Starbucks.

They both took a seat the table right behind me. The back and forth dialogue with the girl continued. She eventually asked him what he was doing and he replied, "I ain’t doin’ nothing, just trying to come to your house!" -- to which his friend added, "Stop it, that's my ex, man!"

Good grief, I was hearing a teenage booty call and the first guy had already dated this girl? I really was not in the mood so I turned around and stared them down. You know, the teacher stare, the stare your mom gave you that let you know you were gonna get it when you got home.

They had the courtesy to end the conversation. "Sorry, miss."

I'll admit, they seemed contrite so I replied, "It's ok, but you know when you talk into those things, everybody can hear what you're saying. Some stuff should be private, you know?"

"Yeah, sorry," said the taller of the two boys, "but you hear how he was tryin' to get with my girl? What kind of friend is that?"

They started laughing back and forth and then approached the counter to ask for some water.

As they chatted with the barista, I got to thinking again about my day and it's suckitude. But, in case my thoughts got too maudlin, my teenage friends approached my table with their water, interrupting me once more.

"Hey, you got internet access on that laptop?"
I nodded yes so they continued, "Can we check our MySpaces?"

I asked the question you are certainly wondering...and if you're not, you should be.

"Aren't y'all supposed to be at school? Where do you go, Centennial?"

They exchanged glances and then the taller one spoke, "Yeah, but we're on lunch."

Now in my mind, I was thinking, yeah, right. Y'all aren't on lunch. It's too late for lunch. But what the heck...maybe they'd break my laptop in two by spilling their waters on it, thereby taking my day to the next level of worst.day.ever.

They told me their names were AJ and DJ and they've been friends for a whole grand three months. Both were sixteen, which explained the girl-crazy attitude.

Neither one had ever used a laptop before. They couldn't figure out how to use the little red mouse dot in the center so I had to show them how to work it. My desktop popped up and they wanted to know "Who are those white dudes in the picture?"

"Oh, that's Depeche Mode." They'd never heard of them but they fixated on the date in the photo, 1988.

"You were alive in 1988? You ever meet those dudes?"

Um, no.

Now that I felt seriously like a granny, I watched them access their MySpace pages where they each had several hundred friends. Mostly teenage girls in various provocative poses. Girls that left them comments like the utterly profound, "IM JUS STOPPIN BY TO SHOW U SUM LOVE ON YO PAGE. DO THE SAME".

"Do you actually know all these girls?" I asked

Of course, they didn't and when they asked me how many friends I had on my MySpace page, I had to tell them, "Not many but that's because I only accept friend requests from people I actually know." This concept baffled them and I found myself having to explain to them that if it's not someone that I believe would come rescue me if I had a car crash, someone that I actually know and can count on, then they aren't my friend. They thought this was completely dumb.

I started to think that maybe my day didn't suck as much as I thought. After all, I know that someone isn't truly a friend if they only leave flirtatious messages on my MySpace page or send me emails or call me on a walkie talkie phone. I know that someone that can just delete me off of a "friends" page or, without a second thought, delete my email address out of their contacts, is not really a friend.

AJ and DJ laughed as they said that a friend is, "A girl that looks good and gives us money." I guess that's why AJ was trying to get with DJ's ex...maybe they don't really have a concept of true friendship.

They hung out for awhile longer, bugging me and the barista (who finally gave them two free frappucinos.)

The girl started calling again and I had to get back to my emails so I told them I'd see them later. They wandered off to hang out in the outdoor seating area and I thought about the various friends I've had throughout my life and whether I've been a good friend.

I think I have been...and at the very least, I never tried to hook up with a friend's ex. That counts for something, right?