i don't know how to take this.

dear citizens of philadelphia:

i want us to do better. period. 

dear philadelphia police department:

remember that the stop snitching mentality is yours, too -- only yours applies to your FOP brethren. you're not fooling anyone.

being a bold, red winner today!

the phillies won the world series!

also:

today is be bold, be red day.

i'll be back w/ an entry later.

because i'm in a pep-talky mood.

jill scott, "sweet justice"

probably my favorite jill song. good for those days when you really do need to get your ass up & out, when you really need to motivate yourself, when it seems like whatever you're doing is going to kill you instead of making you stronger, etc.





sweet justice
climb the mountain
though your hands may be weary
swim the ocean
though your legs may be tired
run the extra mile
though your stride may be worn down
fight, fight, fight, fight
never surrender

sweet justice

many sides to the same face
searching, wanting their hour
so many colors in the spectrum of life
with right lies the power
struggle, struggle, struggle, struggle
struggle only makes a man stronger
if he believes within his heart then he can find it
he will find it


sweet justice
sweet justice

freedom, the epitome of life
lay your down your burden, soldier
study, study war no more, no more
trust the soul that thrives within you
hold strong to your faith
continue, continue, continue on, on

sweet justice
sweet justice
sweet justice
sweet justice

i am a civil service employee.

(a rant)

i have been a civil service employee for what'll be 4.5 years as of this coming sunday. i work in an office where depending on what's happening, we hear dead last about the wild shit employees do. i've heard tales of fist fights at health centers, ppl in full work dress brawling on the msb concourse, social workers knocking over file cabinets mid-fight, and (my personal favorite) the dude who was slinging rocks out of the city vehicle he used to drive medication to different city health centers. there's been a lot. the civil service workforce, for 20+ years, has been built on one idea: they have to catch you fucking up before they can call you guilty. it happened during the goode and rendell administrations, and we all remember john "i'm one of the worst mayors in america" street. let me just tell you now: i'm accustomed to the bullshit. in so many regards, the stereotypical city employee exists. and then there are people who rise far above that generally sub-par status quo to do better than just doing their jobs. there's a huge gray area, too, of folks who really don't even know how it is that they woke up and were marking 10 or 15 or 20 years with the city, possibly in the same position they had when they arrived.
i call it 'that philly shit.' but that's quite possibly another post altogether.
we have a new mayor. he doesn't play that shit; people have been jumping ship altogether or getting canned consistently since he was inaugurated in january. but, there's much to be done and so much to assess. he's essentially trying to walk with his shoelaces tied together in some regards. it's the job of the deputy mayor of health and opportunity to make some things run more smoothly

(this is where the post gets iffy, so if you can't handle graphic language or images, please do NOT read this post . . . just find something else to do with your eyes)

and that brings me to the unfortunate death of danieal kelly. if you live in philly (or within a 3 hour drive of philly, for that matter), you already know: she died in august of 2006. she was starved to death and had cerebral palsy, was covered in maggots and flies and feces . . . and that she was one of nine children living in her mother's two-bedroom apartment. there are layers of dysfunction involved in this situation, the likes of which i only wish i could say i've never seen. it's really easy to wag a finger at every fully grown person (nine of whom are being criminally charged) who had a hand in her neglect and eventual death, particularly her parents and the four social/ case workers (two civil service, two contract) who were supposed to have intervened at the first sign of danger.

the grand jury report on danieal's death and everything leading up to it smacks of one thing to me: broken people, functioning as best they can (for lack of a better term), and only really being flagged or stopped cold when it likely too late. to examine it from all sides through or past my rage doesn't give me peace. but it shows me that as terrible as this situation was/ is (andrea kelly has 9 other children if my count is right), it's a major symptom of an immeasurably sick community.

i know that these are individual community members who were responsible for the lives and wellbeing of children. that doesn't change what bothers me the most: every terrible thing that led to danieal's death was in play long before she was even born. her mother and father did not magically become fucked up and/ or crazy on january 3, 1992 (her birthday). dana poindexter, laura sommerer, mickal kamuvaka and julius murray? all of these folks were comfortable with doing what they did, and there's no way to assume that these behaviors weren't old hat for each of them. the same applies for every person at the upper levels who let the DHS employees' shit go unchecked. and carmen paris, the former health commissioner? preposterous. there's no word (in the print media or in the various city worker gossip pools) on why she'd have gone and meddled in some shit like that. clearly, she felt like it was okay to do that and didn't hesitate in doing so. that is, again, some shit that had been in play for a hot minute.

so what's my real point? i'm gonna try to dig one out, since this is a rant and they usually don't have really well-defined points. actually, i feel like my point is twofold:

the things that need to change administratively within the ranks of philadelphia's city government are going to happen regardless. michael nutter, don schwarz, and the managing director are not in a position to play around with folks' lives; they've shown themselves to be dedicated to cleaning all of this mess up. and that's wonderful. if we can't depend on people whose jobs are to provide adequate government services to us, then i daresay we don't really have a city.

but this city is eating itself alive. there's just some deep, old, long-standing muck that seems to be what most of my fellow philadelphians are dealing with. it's something many of us have inherited and will pass onto our progeny. i don't have a name for it. it's the unnamed beast that allows our murder rate to be so high continually, it's the thing that seems to have eaten the best/ most humane parts of andrea and daniel kelly, it's the same monster that leads "friends of the family" to perjure on behalf of someone they know has done wrong. it's not so simple as moms wanting that social security check. i don't know what it is.

but if people who see the disease don't do something to keep themselves steeled against it, and do what they can to demonstrate a better life to those around them, there won't be anything but stories like this. it's all connected; this link is evidenced in the fact that the family members/ friends of andrea kelly and the social workers are being charged for the same ass-covering and lying, etc. regarding danieal's neglect. she had cerebral palsy. not a brain tumor. not hiv/ aids. she wasn't born with anything terminal. and all it would have taken was for someone to decide to stay on top of this shit -- even loose monitoring, as per the grand jury report, would have made an impact.

i don't believe for one minute that i'm "like" these other folks, the ones who end up before grand juries. i know i'm not; but the bottom line is that i'm in it even if i'm not of it. and it's my job the same as it is that of anyone else in the ranks to pull this shit together once and for all. i'm just glad there's an actual consensus and work being done to make it happen. it's not gonna be easy, and it can't be done by one team of ppl w/ six-figure salaries and their staff. it really is going to take the work of everyone who wants that change and will put in the work.

*sigh*

i could be writing forever. i'll probably revisit this sooner or later; i just have to make sure i won't get fired for doing it. accountability. it's what's for dinner.

if you don't read thembi's blog

start reading it. now. especially because of this post.

thank you, and have a nice day.

labelle is the shit.

evidence:



i mean, most of you who read this blog are already well aware of the levels of gangsta involved.

but in case you were clueless, i figured it important that it be made clear.

dear white people who live in my neighborhood:

in my two years in this area of philadelphia, i've experienced y'all in various settings: the ethio restaurants, an array of porch gatherings, on the trolley, and the local plexiglass chinese food spot.
the chinese food spot is kind of a holy grail of around-the-way-ness. it is probably the last thing east of 52nd street (what is now the border according to the university city district ppl, o'donnell realty, and everyone else who wants to buy up houses) to really imply what this particular portion of west philly used to be: the teetotal motherfucking all-the-way hood. trees, three-story victorians, and random hippies be damned. ten to fifteen years ago, if your zip code ended in 43 or 42, pretty much all of your neighbors were black (and you probably were too). and your dining options kind of revolved around places that were take-out only, or were so grimy that you made your to go. like this place. it's just a stone's throw from my apartment, and though i used to frown continually at it, i made my peace with lucky's. why? because garden court isn't really where i'm tryna go at 1:30 in the morning. it's too far for the post-club, post-weed, post-booze munchies. so, i've become a bit of a repeat customer at the joint.
and you have, too, white folks. i see y'all: someone brought a table and chair in, presumably so more of y'all can sit inside and chatter while you wait or so y'all can 'dine-in.' & there are menu items like sesame tofu, general tso's tofu, and veggie egg rolls (all of which were brand spanking new when i first started hanging out around here 4 years ago) that i'm most certain that the former usual patrons of this establishment would have never requested. great! sometimes i want my tofu fried in the same exact grease as the chicken wings, fish, fries, chicken-on-a-stick and hamburgers too. it gives it that extra panache that regular deep frying just doesn't. i'm thankful for the varying ways in which i can indulge my bourgeoisie leanings even when i'm fresh off some drinks or a late night out, or just want sour patch watermelon candy.
but let me tell y'all somethin white folks:
lucky's will always be the most hood of hood spots, for as long as it's open. so will that hell pit on willows next to the brew pub, and that piece of shit that sells tokens illegally on catherine street. know why? because if they need plexiglass to stay in business, that means there's a certain caliber of food you're not eating. there's no quality. it's on some fast food shit, only they make everything to order. fine dining establishments are not giving you cheese fries or canned pineapple in takeout containers. they just aren't.
my point?
you look like a dickhead standing on baltimore avenue eating your $3 meal with chopsticks. stop that shit. i know it may feel authentic to you, but you just look like an authentic simpleton.
you aren't slick, ordering grape dutches and swedish fish to go with your sesame tofu. wtf do you think that blunt flavoring is made out of? and the gelatinous properties of your candy? the same pork that's in the grease they fried your bean curd in!
and another thing: leave your fucking teacup yorkie outside. i don't want dog hair with my deep fried death. that'd just put it over the top.

on: acting right.

thembi's lady laws for black women (with my notes in italics):


1. Stay Off Of The Pole. And For That Matter, Out Of Videos. I haven’t decided whether or not I have a real problem with strippers or strip clubs in general - who am I to say that men shouldn’t be allowed to gather in a public place and expose their inability to be fully intimate with their spouses by fondling and ogling some stray woman? What I do know is that YOU shouldn’t be one of said strays. Letting your body be drool-worthy for a room full of men cheapens and degrades you, and in the long run is not at all worth the money (no matter how pressed you are for cash). You never know who will be in that club, and when the "I saw Keisha on the pole!" story is told, your future boss or uncle who was "just in there with his boys" won’t be the shamed one, you will! If you like showing off your sexy side, which all of us should, save it for the right man, who will love enjoying all of the freaknasty you have inside of you without having to pay for it on a dollar-by-dollar basis. Someone will always do it, just don't let that someone be you. The same goes for being in videos. That is NOT a profession and will not lead to any sort of meaningful career, modeling or otherwise. A ho is a ho, root word whore, meaning sex for sale, and your stuff is priceless. Got it? [my note: this ties directly into lady law #8. if you're gonna strip, you're gonna strip. but don't walk out of the shaky butt feeling like someone has managed to get more out of you than what they've paid for. unfortunately, we all know about becoming a sex worker (i include strippers in that) to pay for tuition and to feed babies. in my opinion, there are a few social issues that come into play when it comes to dancing vs. working 3 jobs or whatever. i kinda doubt that most of the women who might need this caveat even read thembi's blog. but she makes a damn valid point: your future boss might be there with his boys. then what do you do? sometimes, the immediate need outweighs any potential fallout. especially when it comes to maintaining the roof over your head and that of your family. ultimately, though, shame/ embarrassment seem to tie directly into whether or not you fully own your history and present. living with no regrets usually involves being unabashedly yourself, which leads us into lady law #2.]

2. Go Where No Blackgirl Has Gone Before. The obvious interpretation of the title of my blog is that I think that I’m some Jesus figure. Not so. Actually, the very weekend before I started blogging, loyal commenter Aaliyah was at an almost all-white party filled with beefy frat boys and was asked to do a kegstand. At her side were two other friends of mine, one of which said to her "What would Thembi do?" The obvious answer – go where no black girl has gone before and do the freaking keg stand! It really IS ok to be you, whether it’s as trivial as going snowboarding or as major as pursing a PhD in Greek Mythology. Do the most random or ridiculous things you feel like doing even if you’re not technically supposed to do them, and do them at all times. The same goes for rock concerts, tattoo conventions, playing the accordion, or whatever! Being a blackgirl comes with a unique set of baggage - on the one hand, we’re accustomed to being a minority in almost any situation a million times over. On the other hand, we feel like there are certain places and activities that aren't "ok" for us. Forget all of that, risk ostracization, and trailblaze for us all. We can’t keep saying "But blackgirls don’t _______" or else we’ll never do anything at all. Be YOU, regardless of whatever skin tone, sorority, thickness, neighborhood, or whatever you may be a part of. None of it is as fresh as plain old blackgirl you. [ummmm, BASICALLY. do what you want to do because it makes you feel tingly and warm all over. screw what everyone else thinks your blackness makes you. you're yourself. period. it feels good to own and love your whole self. there's nothing like it.]

3. DON’T Get Pregnant, DO Have A Baby. When people say "Life Is Short," they really mean that life is short – when you’re unencumbered. Life is really, really long when you’re tied down to some dude who seemed great when you were sixteen years old but hasn’t even made it through his baby boy years when it’s time to send junior off to middle school. In fact, it can even seem too long when you start to calculate the potential unpaid child support, the number of times you tried to "make it work for the baby", and the time you’ll spend child rearin’ instead of actually growing up, getting degrees, and making a name for yourself. Not to say you can't have a baby early and have it all turn out rosy in the end, but howsabout having children with someone who can actually agree to be with you in a family unit for the long haul whether or not you just happen to get pregnant? Sidenote: It should go without saying, but why even risk diseases by not protecting yourself? A baby is not the only gift that keeps on giving, you know. [again, the women who probably need to at least be exposed to this concept are not reading thembi's blog. unless thembi is posting her blog for the world on blackplanet or in the back covers of teri woods 'novels' so folks can at least impede their hurtling toward disaster. *shrug* you can't win 'em all.]

4. Know Your Own Hair. Black women have more hair options than almost anyone else, and we exercise them to the fullest. But even those of use who switch from weave to ponytail and from blonde to red would never dare to wear our natural hair in public. I can spend the whole day running errands and not see one blackgirl without a perm, and the same goes for watching television or opening a magazine. What is up with that? Granted, I went natural the easy way with the Philly soul thing being at my heart and a head of naps that never really took a perm quite right, but what pains me is when another blackgirl says to me "I love your hair! How long did it take to grow? I could never get my hair to be that texture. How did you do it?" The reality of it is, most of us don’t even know what is growing out of our own heads, and its very sad. Not one other group of people on this planet can say the same. It’s fine if you settle on a perm or some braids or even a Jheri curl after exploring your options, just get to the point where you can say that you know what your natural hair even looks and feels like before you aspire to be Beyonce by default. [it is IMPORTANT to know what your hair is really about. it is really important to style, care for, manage, and possibly even cut your own hair YOURSELF. dependency on a stylist is kinda, like, not cute. no matter what your choice of hair is. if you've got a natural and only ever wear microbraids or wigs or weaves because your hair is 'ugly underneath that' SOMETHING IS WRONG. love yourself enough to know how to do specifically what you want for yourself at all times. it's a liberating feeling.]

5. Get Out Of Town. I’ve met young women who have never left their cities, seen the ocean, or even set foot in another zip code. It’s not always cheap, and it’s not always fun, but the sooner you start traveling the better. In fact, this Lady Law applies to almost everyone of every race and gender. Make a list of dream locations and get started as soon as possible. The more time you spend in the same surroundings the less you understand about the world, and for that matter, what the world thinks of you – you’ll learn that you’re not trapped after all. Besides, you can’t conquer the world if you don’t know what’s out there, and it should be your goal to conquer it! Let the trailer trash of West Virginia confuse Mexicans with Spaniards and believe that Africa is a country and not a continent. Learn your world because it is yours to learn, even if you have to do so only an inch at a time. [i used to feel bad about not having hit every country i've wanted to by age 25. but then i met someone who's never spent a night in a hotel (even in his own city, which can still be fun and eye opening depending on where you stay), never even been to the airport (cuz his ppl never go anywhere or do shit), and was so amazed at my proclivity toward traveling to nyc on a whim that he nearly pissed his pants at the chance to go himself. i got over that feeling of inadequacy. i am gonna go where i wanna go at every given chance. this year: a conference in harlem, caribana in toronto, quality time w/ the fam at the jersey shore (you aren't a philadelphian without it), and a good girlfriend of mine is moving to atlantic city. it doesn't take a lot, except maybe a plan or at the very least the real genuine true desire. things happen for us all at the right time, when they need to happen. no need to rush to be amelia earhart, but you most certainly need to get out of your zip code. not not just to go to court.]

6. Don’t Get Called Out of Your Name. I’m not on this whole "we were queens" tip, but I know that none of us should be called or let ourselves be called any of the following: bitch, ho, trick, and on and on and on. Don’t sing along with songs about "makin' it rain" unless it's for the sake of irony. Don’t even participate in anything misogynistic unless you know it’s only a joke to you, and even then don’t ever pay for it. Recognize that just like when he talks about selling crack you're not selling crack, that when some rapper talks about his hoes he doesn’t mean you, download that song from Limewire, and keep it moving. And lastly, never, EVER call yourself anyone’s "baby’s momma." My first encounter with an ex’s grown BM involved her introducing herself to someone as such, and as much evidence as I may have already had that she was feeble-minded, giving herself that label sealed the deal. Don't be that broad. [context means everything, y'all. formal introductions should not ever in your life or your former partner's life include the words 'baby's mama' or any variant. that shit's not cute. my mom occasionally refers to my estranged father as her baby daddy because she thinks it's funny. she generally refers to him as her ex. big difference. also, the context within which we use the words bitch, ho, trick, etc. means a lot. a lot. if you're at a drag ball, bitch is thrown around liberally. it's culture. it's context. watch yourself.]

7. Act White. I won’t bother justifying this term because you all know just what I mean. Talk white by speaking the King’s English, using full sentences, and the most intricate vocabulary you can muster. Act white by doing well in school, participating in any activity that suits you, and playing musical instruments. Don’t worry, you will never, ever actually BE white. If it were possible, don’t you think that all of those people who were lynched and beaten back in the day would have white-acted their way out of it? [i am a second-generation 'oreo'. my mom said they used to call her white girl for being so precise with her english, and it's definitely managed to rub off on me and my two sisters. it's so serious that i have charged myself with the task of learning perfect, unaffected spanish so that i sound the best i possibly can to native speakers. i'm not playing. i know my vernacular, i have my moments where i'm like 'you ain't shit!' or whatever. but when it comes time for that good code-switching i learned in my school days (penn charter and project learn STAND UP!), i go toe to toe with the best. furthermore, i've always believed that excellent grades are the ultimate smack in the face to the very white ppl whom your brown/ black/ red/ yellow peers can't stand. fuck what the other black kids are telling you. strive to get that perfect score on the SAT's. i took AP art history senior year. it was liberating, despite being the only black student in the class. again: be unafraid of your whole self.]

8. Get What You Deserve Without Worrying About What He Deserves. This is a weird one. All too often women say "I’m not giving it up to him, he doesn’t deserve it!" But what do YOU want? While it’s not smart to just go giving it up to any old body, getting caught up in the idea that your sexual desires should be based on what men deserve is the exact opposite of feminism. If we only had sex when men deserved it we would be a bunch of bitter, mean, deprived wenches. Learning and maintaining the balance between withstanding pressure from dudes and getting yours is part of becoming a real woman. [get yours, boo. GET IT. you want to fuck the guy or gal who delivers the milk to your supermarket? does she or he meet or exceed your standards for an acceptable fuck buddy? nobody said you had to marry the motherfucker. go on and make it happen. if you make everyone jump through a bunch of hoops when you aren't trying to go far with their ass to begin with, you may find yourself bothered with the lack of good sex in your life. the key: having and maintaining real standards. truuuuust me. i had a dope boy as a fuck buddy. i never let him talk much, cuz he wasn't the smartest. but he met the standards: ready, willing, able, clean penis, proximity to my home, a deep love for cunnilingus. my standards have since changed, as have i. but y'all get the point. there's a difference between sleeping with someone who's a total waste of your time/ energy and getting yours from someone who simply isn't the boo of your dreams while still being a great sex partner. really.]

9. Don’t Eat That Mess. Our country is facing an obesity epidemic, yadda yadda blah blah. But it’s all so very real, ladies, and I’m as guilty as the next chick. The thing is, you can get fat and out of shape eating regular food and that’s damning enough. It’s the Chinese Store chicken wings and fries (saltpepperketchup or no), grape soda, chips, quarter water, or other mess. If you can believe for one second that AIDS or crack was planted in the black community to kill us, what do you think Crown Fried Chicken is here for? And your body may be able to metabolize it before you hit 25, but after that it's just a quick ride to Lane Bryant once you get addicted, so don't do it. [she is NOT LYING. 'regular' to most ppl is hyperprocessed foolishness that comes wrapped in plastics and wax paper and shit, then goes in the microwave. and that's just what you eat at home. not a good look. i live in a walking city, yet we used to be the fattest city in the nation. the problem: most of us are walking to get junk food. i have a warm(er) weather routine: walk at least 1 mile each weekday, whether it's on lunch hour or on the way to work or on the way home. it's at least a weight maintenance measure. the next issue is making sure i don't get high and wander about in search of wings and cookies at midnight when my ass needs to (a) be asleep or (b) eat a damn apple and go to sleep. the munchies are real shit. i think this city is also full of potheads who will eat anything that isn't nailed down. it's unfortunate, but true. if you have a crazy work schedule like mine, it's super easy to do takeout instead of cooking. it's pricey, though. and depending on where you live, you may only be able to get junk. the key is balance.]

10. Be A Lady. I have never been the most ladylike of blackgirls and most women like me can trace that to our upbringings, but it’s really very simple. It’s very natural for us to speak loudly, but it’s more powerful when used in small doses, just like hot sauce. Making that lip smack before you start speaking is not cute either, especially if it’s followed by a "weeeeeeeeaaaaal," twist of your neck, and then whatever it is that you have to say. By doing that, not only have you butchered the word "well," but whatever you have to say is eclipsed by that attempt to get attention and gear up like you need prep time just to speak your mind. Swearing every other word may be cute to around-the-way boys but if you ever want to get off of the block (see Lady Law #5), it won’t do you any good. Although every once in a while another female may make your blood boil, fighting is not cute – just think, aren't you way too pretty to get into a fight and get some gash across your face? I don’t think I need to caution young blackgirls on good grooming because we’re good at that, but do you really need to let all of that unravel just because some girl is talking about you? What does that even really mean? Like Katt Williams says, if you’ve got fourteen haters, you need to find a way to get sixteen! [i've never fought someone who didn't hit me first. i'll never be the one who advises a friend to go slap the shit out of someone -- that just is not my style. i believe in maintaining my relative freedom by not getting locked up. i also think it's lame to fight someone when you have a job, or rent to pay, or kids to feed. then again, anyone who needs to consider this probably isn't reading my blog. next up: lenée's life skills classes. after doula training/ certification and a bit more day jobbing.]

ain't this some shit?

(fyi -- if you want a tour of the hood, you don't even have to fly to rio for me to take you on a few. philly's got plenty for your perusal.)


Firm in trouble for slum tour with a twist

RIO DE JANEIRO (Reuters) - A Rio de Janeiro tour company could be in trouble for giving tourists too intimate a view of life in the city's notorious slums, including photo opportunities with drug gang leaders.

The Brazilian city's tourism chief said on Monday that the company, Private Tours, could be stripped of its license after a report in Sunday's Folha de Sao Paulo newspaper that it had set up meetings between traffickers and tourists.

The paper sent a reporter disguised as a foreign tourist on the 4-hour, $55 tour of Rocinha, the city's largest slum, that included visits to the "bocas de fumo" where traffickers sell drugs to Rio residents.

It said the traffickers told the tourists stories about their time in prison, described the life of a Rio drug dealer, and would then pose for pictures with their guns -- as long as their faces were not photographed.

Rio tourism chief Rubem Medina said the firm could lose its license if the story was accurate.

"It's not necessary to do this kind of tour in Rio; there are a lot of wonderful attractions," he told Reuters.

Pedro Novak of the Private Tours firm acknowledged that he ran that kind of tour but that "I'm not the only one."

Several companies have for years offered tours of the city's more than 600 slums, offering tourists a controversial alternative to the city's beaches and an insight into the lives of the more than 1 million people who live there.

The slums, or favelas, are largely controlled by heavily armed drug gangs with names such as "Red Command" and "Friends of Friends" that fight each other for control of the lucrative cocaine market.

(Reporting by Stuart Grudgings; Editing by Todd Benson and Vicki Allen)

philly. all day, every day.

cassidy: i'm a hustla (note that he's on the five-deuce doing his thing)



freeway + allen anthony: alright


dj jazzy jeff + peedi peedi: brand new funk 2k7 (north philly, stand UP.)



bahamadia: true honey buns



there'll be another post like this soon. :D

oh, the myriad ways in which it all comes together.

aka things i'm gonna blog about when i get the time (instead of as i'm preparing to go back to work from a really delicious 5 day weekend):

- the violence against black/ poor/ brown/ otherwise marginalized (more than usual) women. inspired by loving pecola's loss of a loved one, the losses of san-dee, asia, latoiya, shannon & maria lauterbach... & more recently felicia mickels.

which is tied into:
- the michael nutter thing (again). i'm gonna finish what i posted a few days ago, after i really give it the old college (dropout) try. i want to organize my thoughts fully.

which has something to do with:

- my most recent visit to nyc

- the parallel ways in which my mom & i are growing up

... there's more, but your girl is already late to work.

last night

was a breath of fresh god. i laughed, ate, drank, loved, played, & generally enjoyed ppl w/ whom i love to commune. i mean, wow. i really had fun.

i need to get yani & foster their own tv show.

karas, thank you SO much for opening your home to us
we'll celebrate extra hard when you c-walk down the aisle in may next year
i love you for being your generous, wild self
next time you need a box of jeezis aych, holla @ your girl

xo

okay, i get it:

i have to stay a little while longer. even though i don't want to. even though every day i find myself thinking that i'm gonna have to run away to new york or pick up all my shit & hide out at my mom's house for 8 weeks of intensive "i can't really hack it as a grownup" therapy (better known as working the same fucked up 12 hour days no fewer than 4 days per week, not paying ANYone's bills except my own, looking for a new job on craigslist & watching a lot of crappy tv w/ my sisters). it's really obvious. it is. i complained rather audibly to one of my at-work play auntie type coworkers & then in the afternoon, what happened? my division manager announced that basically she wants to utilize the knowledge of myself & some other support staff to turn us into . . . wait for it . . . are you ready? paraprofessionals. i know! basically she wants to find a way, even within the civil service system (which, though it is not inherently racist but definitely antiquated & still fucked up), to pay us what we're worth. make sure that our skills & awareness don't go to waste & ooze out of our ears. that's what her predecessor did. constantly. i can't say i'm terribly excited, because this is not where i wanna be for the rest of my life. i don't even wanna hit the five year mark (the very idea makes me nauseous as shit) at this place when i never intended to stay beyond two. at the same time, i've been itching for the opportunity to be smart for a living -- to really know that i come to work & use the talents i already have.
i complained & got a very obvious response. i'm like . . . okay, but i don't have forever. & i don't care who's a great coworker, who has my back, who really looks out . . . i hate complacency.
& i feel kinda complacent.
i don't wanna give this place the rest of my life, so i won't. i don't want to fester & just sit & stagnate. so i won't allow myself to.

& i'm having the hardest time understanding what might be on the horizon in regard to the work situation, but i'm gonna shut the hell up & say thank you. i just know what i really want deep down inside. i'm tryna learn patience so i don't rush into it just so i can say "i quit my day job to do this!"
cuz let's face it, i need to get the money up. there are folks i want to include in my plan who are currently doing other shit (hey karas!). there isn't any way i'm gonna even feel okay doing this without a few crucial things having been taken care of first.
i don't know wtf is going on
but i know the universe answered me before i even got to finish bitching.

adupe-o.

my first cell phone blog . . .

hopefully this won't come out all janky looking. i was on the beloved el (that's the blue line to you non 215ers) and thought a picture ought to be taken of moi. mira que bonita soy. :)~

mp3 of the week:

flirtatious, by carol riddick.

the album as a whole isn't particularly my favorite. the arrangements are good, the lyrics aren't by any means mind blowing. but i love her live performances & there are some songs that i really love. if you get a chance to see her, do it. this is probably my favorite song on the whole album . . . a real summer song. she's a philadelphian who kicks ass at what she does & therefore the sista is worthy of my support.

enjoy!

really?

110 murders already?

knew it was bad. i've insulated myself from a good portion of the popular discussion topics amongst philadelphians, as i feel like i can't discuss those items comfortably outside of the circle of ppl i run with. but i watched the news yesterday for the first time in weeks, and . . . it really hit me. hard. i was kinda amazed. rather shocked. completely flabbergasted. 110 murders? yesterday's victim was a woman whose brother-in-law ran up to her & shot her in front of her child. marvae dunn, i hope the cops catch you & beat the shit out of you before you make it to central booking. i don't care what that woman did. it didn't deserve a bullet. i'm certain of that. no way did it need to go down like that. i'm not sure what to say or do anymore.

i pray a lot.
i worry a lot, in general.

btwn asia, san-dee & latoiya, i was already beyond feeling comfortable. i felt like the other shoe could drop at any time. it could be someone closer. there was shannon, my supervisor's niece by marriage; her boyfriend killed her & then himself as she left to pick their sons up from day care. it was like, "okay. don't get too excited about dating these lil knucklehead ass dudes. they don't value life." i got that. i've been good on that for the most part. but. but. i can't even go to a vigil if i wanna, cuz motherfuckers wanna shoot there, too. it's wrong. nobody wants to talk until & unless it's one of their own. that shit is crazy.

it's enough to keep me focused on leaving this country. fuck leaving philly. i love this city but i cannot sit around and watch folks die here.

may all those who've passed have an easy, swift transition, & be remembered by their families. ashe.

do you remember?

it was btwn christmas & new year's 2001, or maybe just after new year's. filo's. tasty treats. it was so small down there, so tight. i was w/ my girl sarah, & i think you were w/ some random friend of yours. a girl. skinny, tall. i wasn't drunk. just tipsy, enjoying the freedom of not having my boyfriend around. he was a wet blanket sometimes & never wanted to go out. but sarah was home from oberlin, & always looking to cut a rug since we were finally 21.
she & i had found our way towards the stairs, cuz we'd been thinking about leaving . . . or maybe because it was so hot by the ?uestlove's table we were tryna find air.
everyone in that place was tryna find air, i think.

de la soul. baby phat. i loved that song. i still do. i kinda went crazy when it came on, dancing like nobody was around.
but i wanted someone to come get close; even in a place like filo's, where it feels like a crowded church revival. & you did. right behind me, moving in perfect time. sarah whispered in my ear, "he's cute." i made the "giiiirrrrrrrrrrrrllll, i know" face & kept dancing.
you asked if we were leaving
i said "we were gonna, but we'll stay until it closes down."

i don't remember much else. you offered me some of your vanilla stoli + tonic (or was that your homegirl?). i loved it. i thought you were beautiful. & i never like dudes lighter than i am. never.
i wanted to ask you if maybe we could hook up some time. i wanted to know you. i wanted to know if your hands were as soft as they looked, what your hair smelled like (other than sudanese frankincense, dulled by the stench of cigarette-heavy air) . . . i wanted to know you.
& when i said we were leaving, we exchanged names
& i said, "maybe i'll see you here again? i come here rather often."
you were like, "nah, i'm leaving for england." like, that next day.
i felt a little stab in my heart. i let the whole "we should exchange e-mail addresses" thing fall by the wayside.
i wasn't gonna see you
you'd have a fabulous time in england & i wouldn't even be more than a faint reminder of home
i was sad about that, & couldn't figure out why
until one day maybe 3 months ago
it all came flooding back to me.

i met you at filo's, met you again through a mutual friend about 4 years later & couldn't place your familiarity. we started hanging out, & i never could quite figure you out. why were you so familiar? i'm sure you asked yourself the same questions about me. we'd talk about places we'd both been around the city & agreed that we'd probably crossed paths a few hundred times. i dated your close friend's cousin. we had several mutual associates/ friends. i kept asking myself why i hadn't met you sooner.
only i had
& so i was wondering if maybe you'd pop up again in 4 years or so,
a slightly different man
w/ a new cache of stories
back to stoli + tonic, maybe still on leffe

either way,
i know it was you.

do you remember?

the universe is so big, yet the way it rearranges itself can be deceptive.