Chai and Concerts in the New Year

Around noon today I'm going to roll over to Starbucks and buy a grande soy chai with a shot of sugar free vanilla. And then I'm going to drink it very slowly.

I know you're probably like, "Why the heck should I care if you go to Starbucks and get a chai at noon? What's the big deal about that?"

No, I'm not trying to do my patriotic duty by trying to help Starbuck's bottom line. Despite the recession, (that may or may not officially be happening depending on who you're talking to) I have a firm belief that Starbucks is still making plenty of moolah. They don't need my sympathy. So the real reason I'm so psyched about this chai in the afternoon scenario is that I'm celebrating the fact that today is Baha'i New Year (Also known as Naw Ruz) and that means it's the end of the Baha'i Fast! Yee-haw!

Yes, for the past 19 days, I haven't been eating or drinking anything between sunrise and sunset. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. No food, no water and no chai all day long. I meant to blog about fasting while I was doing it and I found I just couldn't. Every post started out with, "I'm really hungry. I'd like to eat ____ (insert ANY food) right now." And then I'd start listing out all the stuff I wanted to eat. Really, the best way for me to get through the days was to not think about it at all and to keep myself busy doing/writing about other things.

As the days went by though, it did get easier. Your stomach shrinks a lot so even though you think you're going to eat a ton of food in the morning before sunrise or in the evening after sunset, you quickly realize that you're stuffing yourself and you'll feel like you overate. Plus, it becomes apparent that the Baha'i Fast is not really about food. It's ultimately about sacrifice and spiritual development.

Our society is one where instant gratification is the norm. We can revert to that sort of childish behavior where we think we should have what we want when we want it, no matter what. And then we wonder why we have such huge problems with addictions of all kinds: food, alcohol, drugs, shopping, gossip, political bickering, and on and on. So the Fast (like Ramadan, Lent and Yom Kippur) is a time to step back from all the selfishness we surround ourselves with.

It really is a good thing to ask myself whether I can really resist the temptation of the chocolate my son is waving in front of me. Who's in control of the decisions I make about my life? Am I in control or is fleeting desire for something really in charge?

Yes, those are great questions to ponder, but today, I'll ponder while eating lunch and drinking some chai!

And, to start the Baha'i New Year off right, I'm going to a show tonight!

I'm going to go see Guy, Tony Toni Tone, Al B. Sure!, After 7 and Johnny Gill. Whoo hoo! This concert is going to be RIDICULOUS! There are going to be some folks throwing their backs out trying to get their new jack swing on again! I seriously think my husband might pass out and lose his mind during Guy's performance. As for me, I just want to see if Al B. Sure is still hot, and I am a huge fan of Tony Toni Tone. I really want to hear them perform this one:


Gosh, I love that song. If they don't sing that tonight I might throw something at the stage -- all of which just goes to show that I probably should have prayed and meditated a bit more during the Fast because clearly, I have learned nothing!

Starbucks Lesson 187: Don't Ask Who I Voted For!

I proudly wore my "I voted" sticker all day yesterday. When I switched jackets later in the afternoon, I noticed it was losing it's ability to stick so I put a little piece of tape on the back of it so I could continue to sport it all night.

It's still stuck to the jacket I have on this morning, but I'd forgotten all about it's presence. At least, until the blond woman in front of me in a very long line at Starbucks interrupted my daydreams by saying, "Wow, you still have on your "I voted" sticker."

I am, as I noted yesterday, a very excited, proud voter so I was all smiles when I replied, "Oh, I guess I do! I wore this jacket yesterday."

She nodded her head and then snidely asked, "Who'd you go for? Obama?"

First of all, I'm sorry, but folks should know better than to flat out ask people who they voted for. That's just rude. I don't know you and you are not an exit poller. And even if you were, I'm not telling you who I voted for!

Second of all, I'm at Starbucks for crying out loud! I'm just there to get my chai and be out. And doesn't she know it's dangerous to talk to people at Starbucks in the morning? Most of them have not had their caffeine fix and they will snap at you in a heartbeat if you even look at them funny!

Finally, why was she assuming that I voted for Obama? Last time I checked, there are a whole gang of folks still running for the Presidency.

Let me make some "assumptions" back about her. I doubt she assumed this because she believes Obama's so darn awesome and she thinks everybody should vote for him. Nope, she was looking at my skin color and thinking that because it's similar to Barack Obama's that he automatically got my vote.

Who cares about issues or anything like that. If I'm black, I must just love Barack Obama because, well, he's black too. Black people don't care about anything else, right? We don't care about Iraq even though we've got sons, daughters and cousins over there fighting. We don't care about education even though our children disproportionately go to jacked up, failing schools. And we don't care about the economy either even though unemployment rates for black men are ridiculous. No, we're not thinking about any of that stuff. We just wanna see a black man in the White House so we can say we've arrived and Dr. King's dream has finally been realized.

Whatever.

How does she know I'm not one of the over 166,000 California idiots who voted for John Edwards even though he isn't even in the race anymore? And don't get me started on the folks who still voted for Kucinich! Hello! Vote for someone who's still actually running next time, m'kay?

Why be so quick to assume a black woman didn't vote for Hillary Clinton? Maya Angelou loves Hillary Clinton. Maybe I love Maya and therefore love Hillary by extension. And let's not forget about how Hillary was the first black First Lady since her husband was the first black President. Neither one have ever had the experience of trying to catch a cab while black, but that's just semantics, right?

If I'm not for Hillary, maybe I'm wearing John McCain t-shirts when I sleep at night. Maybe I've contributed hundreds of dollars to his campaign because I admire all he's tried to do for campaign finance reform.

And how come she thinks I'm not enamored with Mitt Romney? I mean, I might get sold on Mitt Romney just because I think his campaign press secretary, Kevin Madden, is pretty hot! I mean, Kevin's a nice Irish boy (score ten twenty points right there) and if votes were cast solely on how fly the press secretaries are, well, Mitt Romney beats the other campaigns hands down, no recount needed.

So I decided to mess with Miss Rude Starbucks Know-It-All a little bit.

"No, I didn't vote for Barack Obama," I replied. "Did you vote for him?"

Her face totally lit up and she began to gush. "You didn't vote for... Gosh, you voted for Hillary? I totally thought... Well, I did too! I'm so relieved she won California."

I nodded my head and smiled as she talked. She gave me a conspiratorial grin back as she continued. "It looked sort of scary there for a minute with Maria Shriver and Oprah both backing Barack."

And that's when I dropped my mischievous bomb on her. "Oh I didn't vote for Hillary Clinton. I voted for Ron Paul."

The look on her face was priceless! I thought her head was gonna spin around like she was Linda Blair in "The Exorcist"!

"Oh. Ron Paul. That's an interesting choice," was all she could say.

Yeah, real "interesting".

"Yes, I think he's a new hope for a new generation," I said. I thought my head was going to explode from holding both my anger and my laughter in, but I kept going. "Every time he talks. I just feel so inspired, moved to tears even."

She began to look down as I spoke.

I gave her the clincher. "I know he won't win, but I just love the man!"

She fumbled in her bag, grabbed her cell phone and said, "Oh sorry, I have a call." Then she turned away and began talking into her phone.

Hah hah! Was she faking a cell phone conversation just to get away from talking to yours truly, the black, female, Ron Paul supporter?

Regardless, I hope next time she'll think twice before assuming who voted for certain candidates and then asking people who they voted for.

It's just not polite and besides, she might run into crazy people like moi who will say equally off the wall things just to deal with the wackness being shoveled my way.

Christmas + Chai + Candied Yams = Happiness

Merry Christmas to each of you! I hope you had a fantastic day yesterday whether or not you observe the holiday.

I've noticed that sometimes people think that just because I'm a Baha'i that I'm anti-Christian and therefore a Christmas hater or something. This is so not true.

In some ways I "get" this misunderstanding because so many of the problems in our world are caused by people fighting over religious differences. Everyone seems to want to hit everyone else over the head with their "my religion is right" stick. However I truly believe all religion has the same fundamental truth and comes from the same source. It's all good until we quite fallible humans get interpretive and corrupt things to suit our own desires.

So, even though the Baha'i gift giving and celebration season, Ayyam-i-ha, is at the end of February, I definitely don't mind being a part of the celebrations of my friends and family who are Christian. As a matter of fact, I went to a fun Christmas Eve party and yesterday morning my two boys had a fun time opening the generous presents sent from Christian aunts, cousins and friends.

The boys turned our living room into a sea of wrapping paper and then I helped my youngest put together some Legos. After that, I figured I'd head to Starbucks for some Christmas "breakfast": a grande soy chai with a shot of vanilla.

Once at the Starbucks, I ordered and then observed that there were three other people ahead of me waiting for their drinks. It was going to be a minute since there were only two people behind the counter. But this was no problem since I started entertaining myself by analyzing the bright red, pointy-toed cowboy boots on the feet of the man standing to my right. I mean, seriously, what kind of guy wears boots like that on Christmas Day in LA?

My ruminations abruptly skidded to a halt when a voice at the order counter responded to the barista's usual, "What can I get you?" with a loud, "Give me whatever drink has the most caffeine!"

I turned to observe a man with a graying ZZ Top-ish type beard standing at the front of the line After a bit of back and forth banter between the barista and this man, it became clear that the requested high caffeine drink would not include any shots of espresso, pumps of syrup or even a smidgen of chocolate.

"So it sounds like a regular coffee is what you're looking for?" asked the barista. Both he and the growing line behind ZZ Top Beard looked decidedly hopeful that an ordering decision seemed to be nigh.

"Sure, what's the biggest size you've got?" asked ZZ Top Beard.

I took in his brown corduroy pants, crumpled white button-down shirt and wire rimmed glasses. It was a stereotypical hippie turned crusty academic outfit. I figured he'd just recently woken up out of a publish or perish coma and had decided to investigate the Starbucks phenomenon for the first time ever.

"A venti," said the barista, reaching out to grab a large cup.

"Venti?" ZZ Top Beard rubbed his chin, er, beard, before continuing. "What language is that?"

"Italian," replied the barista. He pursed his lips a bit and then offered, "Would you like a venti coffee, sir?"

"Italian?" queried ZZ Top Beard. "Now that's really interesting! Why not just call it a 'large?'"

ZZ Top Beard appeared to mull over his own question for a few seconds and then asked a doozy.

" Was Starbucks started in Italy because I lived in Italy for 30 years?" He sighed with regret. "I don't remember how to speak any Italian though. Only "Ciao"."

At this point, the red cowboy boot wearing guy next to me uttered a completely un-Christmaslike question: "Are you f*%king kidding me?"

This exact sentiment had just run through my mind as well but it seemed so blasphemous to even think such a profanity laced thought on Christmas Day. Plus, I figured ZZ Top Beard was either 1) a bit drunk 2) off his medication or 3) an actor and we were all on some sort of twisted Candid Camera type show and would get money for staying calm.

I began to hope I'd go home with a crisp $20 bill, compliments of some TV crew.

As for the barista, he seemed fully immune from the desire to swear out loud. There was not even a hint of sarcasm in his voice as he shot back, "That's too bad you don't remember Italian, sir, but, no, Starbucks wasn't started in Italy." He smiled a bit before adding, "It was started in Seattle. Now, can I get you that venti drip?"

Of course, ZZ Top Beard asked what "drip" was. Then he had to inquire about what kind of coffee beans were included in the holiday blend. And as the line behind him expanded to at least eleven mutinous looking patrons, he started up on a tangent about how he only drinks caffeine once a year so when he does, he really, "Goes all out!"

Red boots guy next to me got his drink, a venti chai with a shot of valencia. He stormed out, muttering unholy oaths to himself along the way.

In contrast, Saint Barista nodded and smiled as he poured ZZ Top Beard's coffee and handed it across the counter. ZZ Top Beard paid and moved to the side to pour some cream into his coffee. And then, before I knew it, he was out the door too.

I waited for the TV crews to jump out with their cameras.

Nothing. There was no Ashton Kutcher look alike shouting, "You've been punk'd!"

"Grande soy chai with a shot of vanilla," called the barista.

Ah, yes, my drink. There was no $20 bill to be had. It was all just life in LA on Christmas Day.

I came home, talked to friends and family on the phone, watched movies, made my awesome candied yams, took a nap, watched the family devour the candied yams, and refused to wash dishes.

Yes, it was a wonderful Christmas Day. Except for the dishes. Sadly, they're still in the sink. If you feel like coming over to wash them for me, let me know.

I'll take you to Starbucks as a thank you.

The Glow of Flames and the Moon

The sun has set on another day of fire in Southern California.

My eyes and my sinuses are irritated by both the dryness of the air and the faint, acrid odor of ash. As awful as the fires that have raged continue to be, the smell reminds me of those early November days from my childhood, days spent raking leaves and then burning them.

Every Fall we enjoyed a colorful carpet of red, orange and gold leaves. They fell from the big oak and maple trees in our yard, shielding the slowly browning grass from the increasingly frosty evenings. As the weeks passed, we threw them at each other, rolled in them, stuffed them down shirts, watched them wither around the edges and, finally, turn brown under bushes.

Once the browning began, the day of reckoning was inevitable. We raked the leaves into piles and carried them bit by bit to a big oil drum of fire set securely in the center of the driveway.

I'd watch the flames from a distance, watch them lick and curl around the mouth of the barrel. They'd devour every scrap of fuel till the leaves that had covered four or five big trees in our yard were mere inches of gray, lifeless ash.

And now, my car has a light dusting of gray ash on the hood from leaves I have never seen, never touched, never thrown over my head while spinning in circles. The closest fires, flames that have burned leaves, trees, animals and homes, are at least a thirty minute drive away, not counting traffic. My family is safe. So, trust me, I'm not complaining too much about my eyes and sinuses.

But there are plenty of people out there who are complaining. There were a couple of firefighters in my local Starbucks this morning and I found myself wanting to say something encouraging to them. I wanted to give them some sort of verbal high-five. But before I could collect my thoughts and open my mouth, one of the other patrons decided to throw her two cents into the mix.

"Maybe if some people weren't sitting up in Starbucks ordering lattes, folks wouldn't be losing their homes!"

What, what, what??? Wow. I guess every single firefighter in LA is supposed to abandon their posts and head out to the boondocks. Never mind that they may eventually be called to duty putting out a fire in the city.

But the two firefighters classily ignored her as they waited for their drinks. Everyone else also ignored her as she continued to sputter about firefighters being a, "waste of tax dollars."

One heavily tattooed customer complained to her friend that she might have to buy a gas mask, "Because this air is so f***ed up."

He consoled her by telling her how at least we Californians know how to handle a disaster better than, "those people" in New Orleans. He started to talk about how only five or six people here in Cali have died as opposed to the, "dummies in New Orleans who wouldn't evacuate".

Was he trying to say "Those people" + "dummies" = black people??? Hmm...

I came home tonight and turned on the TV, only to see that the political grandstanding and finger pointing about these fires has definitely begun. And in the meantime, leaves, trees and homes are still burning.

Now the almost full moon is rising above Los Angeles. According to NASA, tomorrow when it's completely full, it's supposed to be the biggest and brightest full moon of 2007. But to my eyes, it's a bit yellow, surely tinged a bit by the ash floating through the atmosphere.

I hope it's glow is a bit brighter for you.

A Tale of Los Angeles: Smog, Racism and Police Brutality

Oh, Los Angeles. You're supposed to be the star of this little production called "City of Angels". What are you thinking? What are you doing? What in tarnation is going on?!

Los Angeles, your agent might refuse to represent you anymore if you keep acting out like this.

The first headline I read yesterday morning was, "Los Angeles Remains Most Polluted US City".

Great, just great. I'm sure my two sons are going to have the lungs of a pack a day smoker by the time they're 18. I can't say I was totally surprised about this given the brown haze that hangs over this city, particularly during the summertime. But by the end of the day, I started to wonder if it's the bad air that clouds folks judgment out here.

After reading about my reduced lung capacity, I went and clicked on the 7 am broadcast of the KTLA morning news. I wanted to see what was brewing with our scheduled immigration reform marches. A reporter standing on the corner of Broadway and Olympic in downtown popped onto my screen, saying, "I think the turnout is going to be pretty small this year. I've only seen a few protesters so far this morning." Um, yeah, moron. If it's 7 am and the march didn't start till like 10 in the morning, who's going to come down 3 hours early?

Tuesday is normally the day I'm in the office for meetings. However, since our office is located in downtown LA, we had to shut down for the day due to the marches. Never fear though, it wasn't a day off. It was a "work remotely" kind of day. So, around 10:15, I headed up Vermont to the Starbucks in Los Feliz, met with my boss, and then stayed to get a few things done.

While 10,000 people were busy marching in downtown, I got the "pleasure" of overhearing a conversation between what I'm guessing was a realtor (R) and her friend (F). I sat right next to these two and typed their conversation as they talked:

Realtor: You know what, I know I work very well with the Europeans and civilized people from New York and Chicago.

Friend: I LOVE Europe.

R: Exactly. I mean, this lady yesterday wanted me to drive around the neighborhood so she could see if she liked it, and then asked me, where are the black people?

F: Are you serious?

R: I told her, "Honey, this is Beverly Hills, there are no black people!"

F: laughing out loud at this comment.

R: Seriously, they come here and they want a nice neighborhood but they want "diversity". If they want diversity, move to Inglewood and get shot.

Sigh. I'll spare you all the verbatim of the rest of the conversation where the friend went on to discuss his three master's degrees and how he's trying to hire someone for a job, but he wants someone that is a recreational drug user. "Someone that can have a little fun on the weekend, you know." Clearly, book learning and letters behind your name doesn't mean anything.

I headed home for lunch and then drove over to another Starbucks by USC. I met with three of the teachers I supervise and it was finally time to head home again. As I drove north on Hoover Street, I heard the buzz of helicopters overhead. By the time I got to Hoover and Venice, northbound traffic was at a standstill. There was no southbound traffic.

Oh no, I'd forgotten about the afternoon march down to MacArthur Park.

Now, when I think of MacArthur Park, I don't think of a place to take my kids to play even though it's sort of pretty there. Instead, I think of drug deals, crime, fake ids, prostitution...you get the picture. It's also in one of the most congested, poor and heavily recent immigrant parts of the city, the Westlake district. Hoover Street drives by there.

Time for a u-turn and some creative driving to try to get around this march/rally.

As I drove, I turned on KNX AM1070 and heard that there was a scuffle going on with the police. The reporter said rubber bullets were being shot into the crowd, that the police were hitting reporters with their batons. It wasn't until I watched the 11 pm news that I saw the footage of what went down.

It made me feel sick. Maybe you don't come over to this blog regularly and you think I'm crazy. Maybe you come over and frequently share your thoughts. Maybe you're too shy and you never leave a comment. That's all fine. But, I want you to click this link and watch this footage.

Seeing that footage made me feel broken-hearted about this city of supposed angels. It made Los Angeles look sooo bad.

But I'm also a little bit glad.

I'm glad that we're being forced to pull back the veil, revealing once more the truths about what's really going on in this city. Change needs to happen and it needs to happen now. And I know it's not just my city. It's your city too, even if there's no media footage to show it.

Sunrise, Sunset,...And Finally... Naw Ruz!

Did you spend the last 19 days getting up before dawn to chug water?

Did you learn that it's better to eat protein in the morning instead of a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios?

Were you praying at around 3 in the afternoon, asking God to PLEASE remove the smell of microwave popcorn from your vicinity?

Were you ready to pass out when your colleague came over to your desk with the popcorn and said, "You want some of this? It's kettle corn popcorn. It's delish!"

If you answered yes to any of those questions, you just might be a Baha'i, and you are probably celebrating the end of the Baha'i month of fasting and the fact that today is Baha'i New Year...or Naw Ruz as we call it.

If you have no idea what the heck I'm talking about, that's ok. The long and short of it is that the last month of the Baha'i calendar, March 2-20th, is a fast. What does that mean, you ask? Well, for 19 days, Baha'is over the age of 15 don't eat or drink between sunrise and sunset. Yes, that means no food or water during the day. No midday soy chai lattes with a shot of sugar-free vanilla.

Of course, anyone who's pregnant, nursing a baby, sick, over the age of 70, travelling or working at a job that requires really heavy labor (more than pushing the green button on the copier), is exempt from fasting. While I was travelling to New Orleans I was exempt, but the rest of the time, I was pretty hungry and pretty cranky at around 3 in the afternoon. And at 4. And 5...after the time change, I was a bit annoyed that sunset didn't happen till like 7 pm.

Every year, I talk to quite a few other Baha'is who tell me how the just LOVE fasting and it's their favorite time of year. I am not one of those people and I don't know if I ever will be. Fasting is a really hard thing for me to do. I don't know if it's because deep down I'm super individualistic and I think I deserve to have what I want when I want it, regardless of the consequences for anyone else. I don't know if I lack discipline and so when I do fast, I mentally rebel. I don't know but I find that I can only write about it now that it's over. I guess I just didn't want to whine about wanting to kill whoever made the microwave popcorn.

If I don't really enjoy it, why fast at all? Well because it's not really about the food. Or at least, half of it's not about food...and that's the half that I actually do like. You see, it's equally about prayer and meditation and becoming reacquainted with where I am spiritually. It's about being less selfish and less focused on all the materialistic aspects of the world. Fasting made me pay attention to what I was doing, raised my consciousness of how I was spending my time, what I was thinking about, what was going on in the world and what I need to be doing to be a positive force for change instead of a lethargic complainer.

Plus, it's really an interesting exercise in resisting temptation. The funny thing is that there was many a night where sunset came and suddenly, I wasn't hungry anymore. I wondered if it was because I could eat. During the day, I had to ask myself, can I really turn down that awesome smelling popcorn just because my religious beliefs tell me that I should? For me, the answer is yes. I know there are some folks out there that think that's silly. But, I just don't think that God is for dummies. I have to believe in more than myself and Paris Hilton's dumb behind.

In any case, now it's all done. It's Baha'i New Year and believe me, I was PSYCHED to go to Starbucks today at 12:30 in the afternoon and get my chai. Whoo hoo! And, I have another chance to make some New Year's resolutions!

To everyone out there, Happy Naw Ruz from yours truly.

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?

You Like Frappuccinos?

I know y'all probably think I live in Starbucks, but I just have to share this exchange. First, let me introduce you to Mr. Cornrows. He's not officially here working but he's busy hanging out with his fellow buddies who are behind the counter. Mr. Cornrows is trying to talk to this young lady who came in here and ordered a frappuccino.

This is how weak his game is:

"You like frappuccinos? Yeah, me too. So what's your name? You don't have one? Aw, come on girl, I don't bite. What's your name?"

I'd say he's pretty unsuccessful in his efforts to engage her in any kind of conversation. Wouldn't you say so?

So, as she's heading to the exit, he calls out, "Nice meeting you. You know I work here, right?"

She looked over her shoulder at him with an expression that said, "Like I care," but instead answered, "Yes, I know." Her hand kept on pushing the door open and her feet kept right on moving.

The minute this young lady left, Mr. Cornrows, complete with bad skin, and a baggy Cal State Dominguez Hills sweatshirt on, jumped up to go brag to the other guys behind the counter.

"Y'all see how she was checkin' for me, right?" They just started clowning him. "She ain''t interested in you!" one replied. "Didn't you see her? She kept on walking!"

"Well she don't want to look like a ho in front of y'all two and you know I don't talk to hoodrats."

More laughter, as another employee said, "She's thinking your belly might make a good pillow!"

Mr. Cornrows is not trying to hear that though. "Sure I may have put on some more weight when I was working over at KFC, but that don't mean I still can't work it when it counts."

Eww... now, this young lady was probably 5'1'' and 90 pounds. Mr. Cornrows is probably 5' 8" and 240. I think he's thinking of either smothering her or crushing her to death in bed.

They're still laughing at him. "I'll bet you just wanna eat her for a midnight snack. Thought she looked good, didn't you? Good enough to eat!"

Oh lawdy, I just laughed out loud at that one and Mr. Cornrows just said, and he's laughing too, "See, why y'all gotta embarrass a brotha in front of the customers?"

They are all laughing now. And, wow, I love my life sometimes.

You and Your Crack Pipe

People begging for money at stoplights isn't an unusual occurence here in Los Angeles. The light turns red, you stop your car, someone jumps off the curb with their cup. They approach your window, mumbling for money. They point to their signs, dingy cardboard rectangles asking for spare change for food. At least, they usually ask for food. On Sunday, my car was approached by a man with a sign that was pretty direct about wanting a few other things:

Why lie
ciggs
I want
skunk weed
a beer.

Oh. Ok. That's a pretty straightforward sign, don't you think?

My son asked, "Mommy, is that man homeless?" I replied that I wasn't sure. Although I could guess that he was, it did cross my mind to wonder if he was on some hidden camera docu-drama to see if people actually give him more or less money than if he has a sign asking for money for food.

Why would I think this? Well, I remember when I was in undergrad at Northwestern, some student dressed up as a homeless guy and paid his way into the cafeteria at my dorm, Willard Hall. He talked to himself as he ate. Everyone gave him a wide berth, pointing and whispering, "Some homeless dude is over there talking to himself." What no one knew was that he was recording his observations about how people were looking at him and treating him into a hand held tape recorder.

But maybe this guy just really wanted some skunk weed (what exactly is skunk weed?) and the ciggs and a beer and he was being really honest.

Speaking of honesty...

A woman approached me yesterday in a parking lot outside a Starbucks with her crack pipe in her left hand and her lighter in her right. She kept flicking the lighter on and off, on and off. On and off. Crack crust covered her mouth and her nostrils. Her eyes were blank pools of blackness as they darted to and fro. I didn't know what she was up to, approaching me like that, and I could feel myself physically tense up. Then she spoke.

"Do you have any money? I need a hit." The lighter went on and off, on and off.

"No, I don't." I kept walking.

She followed behind me as I walked toward the Starbucks. "Five dollars. Ten dollars. I need a hit bad."

I didn't respond as I opened the door to the Starbucks and made a beeline for the bathroom. I needed to wash my hands. I felt dirty and I hadn't even done anything.

As she walked into the Starbucks, the guy behind the counter immediately said, "Oh no. You're gonna have to get up outta here with that. Go on, now. Go on." His tone was the same he'd probably use if he was shooing a dog away.

Ten minutes later, she still stood, crack pipe in one hand, lighter in the other, asking folks coming into the Starbucks for some money. Finally, someone from the Subway restaurant next door came out, opened up his wallet and gave her some money. She scurried away, holding her crack pipe and lighter in the air in some sort of sick and twisted victory dance.

I guess honesty paid off.

Hey Starbucks! No...Crowds Do Not Endear!

If you've been in any Starbucks over the past few weeks, you've witnessed the emergence of their red "holiday" cups. I've held quite a few of these cups as I've drunk either my venti green ginger tea or the venti calm tea...Ginger when I need to wake up and calm when, well, when I need to take it down a notch.

The cups are a lovely shade of red, nice and bright, appropriately festive. They are also coated with the most asinine, saccharin, "Christmasy" sayings that I'm sure are supposed to make me feel all warm and gooey inside. Except they don't. Take this one for example:

"Lost mittens return, cab rides are shared and for a few short weeks CROWDS ENDEAR perfect strangers who exchange warm greetings in lieu of a passing nod."

My first complaint is that that sentence has to be the most awkward phrasing of all time. I'm not an English teacher so I'll leave commentary on the mechanics alone. Let me just talk about the content.

First of all, if you lost your mittens, they are not getting returned. They are resting peacefully in mitten purgatory. You'd best get yourself to the mall so you can purchase a new pair and increase some store's fourth quarter profits.

Let's not forget, Starbucks thinks you should take a cab to the mall. Cabs are so nostalgic, so very Miracle on 34th Street. Plus sharing will help eliminate global warming, right? Well, call me cynical but the only times I see people catching cabs in LA is when they're stuffing luggage into one at LAX, or else they're climbing into one, drunk after partying at some Hollywood hot-spot. For all you big-city east-coasters out there, when it's cold and you're running late, be honest, you are not going to share a cab with someone else unless that person is a rich and famous celebrity with an US Weekly cover. Plus, if you aren't living in a big city, do you even see taxis?

Third, the writer of this "sentence" has clearly never been to a mall right before the holidays, let alone spent any time in a crowded Starbucks where people will try to decapitate you if you accidentally pick their drink up off the counter. Maybe the writer has never heard someone growl, "Read the name on the cup!" after you say, "Sorry, I thought that was my soy chai!"

I'd love to see what might be written on this cup after the writer tries to get a parking spot at the Glendale Galleria on December 23rd. I suppose I should be more hopeful for our consumer culture, I mean, holiday spirit. I'm sure reading these warm greetings on the cups will really help folks get through the holidays intact. I'll have to eat my words if I see a story in the LA Times detailing how reading this very cup saved someone on the 405 from road rage.

If I do see that story, I'll give everyone who reads this blog a dollar!