How Things Change; How They Stay The Same

zip. 2007 just whipped by. i had barely gotten into the habit of using 2007 and now in about 17 minutes it will be 2008 already. you know what that means though? i get to reminisce again. and you know some of the best aspects of life involve strolling down memory lane. so here we go 2007:

i ran two half marathons. look out 2008, i think i have the bug.
i gained a scar and, thus, some street cred.
i fell even further behind on life. i have stopped keeping track of just how far.
i still dream of owning a mac.
i found a new tech love.
i finally used my scanner
i became addicted to more websites
i discovered the wonder that is the podcast.
i finished writing my first book
i reaffirmed how awesomely wrong i can be about people.
i went to zimbabwe, apparently the new home of the statue of liberty (yes, that is a not so private citizen's front yard)

though i am still working on doing what i resolved about 10 years ago, i do have things i intend to do in the new year - now about 4 minutes away - unless the microwave that is this world overheats and new york city drowns:

i am taking ski lessons (have already booked the first weekend)
i am going diving (as in scuba, not sky)
i am running in at least 2 races - hopefully full marathons this time
i will learn new things that may or may not help me live a better life

and i shall work hard to try to make sure all the children of the world get maps so that especially those in america, south africa and the iraq can find the US on a map, such as.

look out 2008, i'm staying and you're gonna love me.

I Want To Thank My Mom, And My Dad, and...

yesterday i was riding the train into the office. i was tired and the train was crowded; luckily i had a seat. not wanting to waste time, i pulled out some of my writing and was looking it over, seeking weaknesses and finding many. i was tempted to put it away and rethink the whole putting thought on paper deal. so self-indulgent and really, not as good as i thought. ugh. i made an executive decision to carry on at least until i got to my stop - i had nothing else to read, so i might as carry on. the train stopped and a guy squeezed into the seat next to me. i thought about projecting my frustrations onto him but then i realised that i have my moments when i squeeze myself into the unsqueezable seats - i mean, we all pay the same amount of money, what gives you the right to take up two seats? i'm squeezing.

so i return to the writing, adding words, fixing grammar and feeling sorry for myself. next stop. the guy gets ready to get up and says - "i'm sorry to be so nosy but i just had to tell you; that's a very interesting story."

i thanked so much, he must have been thinking - geez, what's the big deal? it's not like i'm giving you an award or anything.

but, mr stranger on a train - thank you.

Moses Supposes His Toeses Are Roses

i am the only person i know who loves andy rooney. don't ask me to rationalise it - it is emotion after all. but i just adore those last 5 minutes of 60 minutes where he gripes, sometimes about the same thing over and over again. maybe i like him so much because he is one person i don't mind listening to complaining. or maybe because i agree with him every once in a while. oh, yes and sometimes he just makes me laugh.

i am also the youngest person i know who loves 60 minutes. i have never started a conversation - the other day as i was watching 60 minutes - and had someone jump in with - oh yes, i love that show! i try to watch it every week. sometimes someone has jumped in with, oh yes, my dad used to watch that all the time. is it still on?

watching one of my favourite shows, 60 minutes, i have also realised that when people say "i could care less" it still gets on my nerves. granted, the english language is very often illogical - it is english, not math - but here is a phrase that could make absolute sense. for if you "couldn't care less" it means that you don't care since you could not care less than you do right now. so apparently in like the 60's this "i could care less" became popular in america and some person to lazy to say "n't" tried to make it okay by preaching sarcasm. but, quite honestly, i ai buying it.

Epiphany II

as i was dancing my way around my apartment a few minutes ago, it hit me. i now get why women wear such insanely high heels when they go out dancing. it so that no one will know how they dance. it could be that their sense of rhythm is not quite what the musician intended. maybe the moves are stuck in the '80s. perhaps when the beat hits them their flailing arms beat those around them. either way, once those heels are on, all one can focus on is not falling down and smiling to hide the pain of the foot bones being twisted into new and unfamiliar forms. it's brilliant!

of course if you actually love to dance and don't care what anyone else thinks, it can kinda suck. look out for the cracks in the pavement... those can be murder.

Epiphany

i now know what i want to be when i grow up. not be, really, but have to be more precise. i want to have a really important job. the kind of job that makes judges think twice before they send you to the slammer. the kind of job that makes judges hesitate before determine your sentence. the kind of job that dictates the terms of the sentence. because, you know, one never knows when one will be faced with the possibility of jail. i mean, famous people are in the news all the time for getting on the wrong side of the law; what hope could i possibly have of never getting into trouble.

there is this guy kiefer sutherland who i heard about. i read that he got pulled over and the cops found that he was driving under the influence of something that made him drive very recklessly. this wasn't the first time so, when he came before the judge, the judge felt that this time he had no choice but to sentence kiefer to some jail time. but this mr sutherland must do like essential save the world work because the judge the sentence around his work so he wouldn't miss a day at work while paying his debt to society. he got the option to serve half his sentence during his winter break and the other half during his summer break - as long as he served the full 48 days of his punishment by july 2008. yes, i envy the fact that he has enough vacation time to take 48 days but more than that i love how he can negotiate. how i would love to say - oh judge, you know monday through friday i need to go to work, you think we could do weekends. 24 weeks i'd have this pesky sentence out of the way.

talking 24, i think someone told me that this kiefer sutherland is known for resolving major life-threatening issues in ridiculously short periods of time, like a day or something. i guess, when you put it like that, it does make sense that he gets to gets some say in how he has to pay for his misdemeanours.

Thar She Blows!

it all seemed simple enough; take the call, confirm that i am indeed me and thus authorised to close the business long distance phone account. and it all started out well - yes, it's me. uh-huh, that's how i pronounce my name. no, no, we are sure we want to discontinue long distance on all the phone lines covered by this account. yeah, we won't need the business line anymore. of course, we have loved working with you. and then she said she was going to transfer me to an automated system that would spit out a confirmation number to complete the cancellation process. great! thank you, and have a great day.
then the machine took over. entered the number and got another one back. do over. same thing. again. and again. then the machined deemed me unworthy and sent me back to the mere humans again.
the woman asks me for my home number and i explain that this is a business account. i tell her that the machine asked for a phone number but i have three and no clue which one the machine wants.
"i understand completely what you are saying ma'am. what is your home phone number"
i explain again, this is a business account, covering several numbers, none of which is my home number.
"i completely understand what you are saying ma'am. you are supposed to enter your phone number."
yes, but i have several so which one do i use?
"i see. i completely understand what you are saying ma'am. give me one of the numbers and i'll help you."
so i give her a number and she taps away and states that she cannot find any information in her system. then asks me if i am sure that i have given her the correct number because she finds no records for this number. i confirm that i have. she asks for another number, which i give her. and she mumbles, "i am not seeing any information for this number either." silence. "well ma'am your account is cancelled. thank you for choosing our company." yes, on accounts that she cannot find in her system. because apparently i don't completely understand what she's saying.

and when that brain aneurysm, please make sure that this is on my epitaph.

Verbatim

just last week folk made a man cry to the press AND they forced him to state categorically that his words were not racist. shame on you, folk.

so this is the deal. there is a state senator in arkansas who is very passionately against illegal immigration. people have verbally attacked him for this tough stance and dedicated lobbying and he is very upset because the republican party has decided that the issue is too hot to handle and has left him "high and dry". so he is understandably, quite upset. and he is trying to explain how he feels to the mayor of fort smith, bill vines.

"I’m for sending the illegals back but we know that’s impossible. We are where we were with the black folks after the revolutionary war. We can’t send them back and the more we piss them off the worse it will be in the future. … Sure we are being overrun but we are being out populated by the blacks also."

and i am sure we can all understand his very real fears - the population of fort smith is about 77% white, 9.2% foreign born, 8.8% latino, 8.6% black, 4.6% asian and 3% other. you blink your eyes and you are being threatened with having to try to add up all these numbers in your head.

All We Need Is Love

yesterday was World AIDS Day. a great day for red ribbons and depressing statistics. thank goodness they don't even give us a day off from work to really think about it and, well, can you imagine if there was like an AIDS month? with all the pretty graph-making yet downright depressing statistics, i think it would take listening to bono and alicia keys on a red ipod nano while wearing a gap admi(red) t-shirt all at the same time to be able to ignore it all.

who wants to hear that south africans spend more time going to funerals than doing anything else? or that aids is the leading killer of african american women in new york (i would have guessed winter blues, but what do i know)? that half those newly infected with HIV in 2007 were under 25?

but just wait. i can see the day soon when World AIDS Day will be a glorious day of fun and maybe even super sales at the mall. where we celebrate the mass world action to eradicate (or at least make very rare) HIV/AIDS. and that day is right around the corner because there is no way we can sit around and do almost nothing while so many of our own die needlessly. right?

Please Take One

the commonwealth heads of government (CHOGM - i love the way that acronym goes down the throat) summit was held in uganda recently and the nation spent weeks getting ready for it. prostitutes, not ones to miss out on good business opportunities, took the time to take english classes - to make sure they could communicate well with customers. we all know know that communication is key when involved in the service industry. the last thing you want is to have disputes because one party didn't quite understand the terms they agreed to. thank goodness this was not a meeting of the multi-lingual united nations - the good thing about being part of a group of nations formerly colonised by the british is the unifying language.

during this heavy influx of the freed from colonisation the women of the night community also decided to raise their nightly business rates from $60 to $100. in a country where the average annual salary is less than $200 a year, that is some windfall. mtv may have to consider a ugandan woman of the night cribs. holla!

here's hoping one of the improved english lessons included a class in - no, sir, no condom, no sex. not even for $200 a night. i want to live to spend this money you are going to give me.

To Be Continued...

so i was thinking that maybe with my birthday and all coming about, i would get all deep and meaningful. you know, take some time to test the wisdom of my advancing age and ponder the deeper mysteries of life. perhaps take stock of where i am and reassess where i want to be. i mean, at some point don't we need to get beyond i want to be able to effortlessly touch my toes and do the splits? but no, i find myself resolving to never give up. but there is another issue - what to wish for when i blow out the candles on the cake. now that is really difficult. it has to be something extra special. something that maybe only a wish could make come true. something like:

1. backstage tickets to every show on the abba reunion tour. maybe they'll let me sing backup or at least play the tambourine and be a true dancing queen.
   
2. world peace. or at the very least, change the rules of war. disputes are to be settled through dance. viennese valtz to victory!
3. i refuse to write effortlessly touch my toes and do the splits here. i don't need a miracle for that, i have yoga. can't waste my birthday wish.
4. to be so casual and cavalier when i meet bill clinton (and i will meet bill clinton) that he'll have absolutely no idea i have an awesome crush on him. taunt me if you like, the heart (or loins) will do as it will.
5. hey! are the children covered by the whole world peace thing? because i totally want them to be healthy and happy and not allegedly kidnapped by air workers in chad.
6. shiny glitzy outfits for my world tour with abba deal. and for that to come with no shame. and an afro wig.
7. more leisure time. like waaay more leisure time. and then an extra week.
   

I Said Get On!

so the other day grandpa jones (names have been changed because i'm just not good with them) gets on his bicycle to go and pick up his four year old grandson james. this is a journey he's taken before and the trip to the school passes uneventfully. it's great exercise for grandpa jones. he's 77 and this keeps him young and chipper. he makes good time and gets to school as the kids are coming out of school. he spots his grandson coming towards him and waves to make sure that the little boy has seen him. the boy approaches and grandpa says "hey son, let's go."
"go where?" the boy looks a little confused.
"what do you mean, go where? did you just wake up? we're going home. get on the bike." the boy still looks a little lost.
"but who are you?"
"what do you mean, who am i? boy, i'm your grandpa now stop playing with me and get on." grandpa picks up the boy and puts him on the bar and they set off. the ride home is quiet - grandpa has to save his energy for the ride and it seems the boy still hasn't woken up because he looks dazed. it takes a while but they get home and grandma jones comes out onto the porch. as grandpa jones is helping the boy of the bike she shouts out,
"so who the heck is that and where's my grandson sam?"
"now that's funny. you know it's sam."
"sam? grandpa, you've got the wrong kid."
did i mention that grandpa jones has been sam's grandpa for four years? and that grandpa jones has picked sam up from school before. that james is no relation of sam's and apparently doesn't even look like him?

good confused man that grandpa jones is, he put james back on the bicycle and took him back to his waiting aunt and picked up the correct grandson but, people, i couldn't make this up if i tried.

Two Girls Walk Into A Bar...

sometimes people just need to let stuff out. you know, so they don't go explode and go a little or a lot crazy. some write poetry, some talk to strangers in public places.

a short while ago, a friend and i wandered into an irish pub. we had a thirst and time to kill. as we worked our way through our first drinks, two men came and sat next to us. old friends who had not seen each other in a while, they had finished catching up and were looking for something new to talk about. and they happened to sit next to us and strike up a conversation. so we discussed what people in irish pubs discuss - life, politics and wham. things were lively, we were on drink two, when at my right ear i heard a voice. i looked over my shoulder to see a man standing there. i was about to shrug him off but he begged me to listen to his story. so i thought, what harm is there in listening?

he begins. he came to this irish pub with a woman he met earlier in the day - a very lovely woman he added. but things got interesting when his ex-girlfriend walked into the pub (a risk you run when you go to the spots that you and your ex used to frequent). it seems this man had not yet forgiven his ex for leaving him and their two dogs. "i've got pictures, let me show you," and next thing i knew i was looking at wallet photos of two dogs in various poses. "cute," i responded more out of politeness than anything else.
"what are you doing?" my friend was getting impatient.
"he's showing me photos of his dogs," i shrugged, still a little confused. why me?
but he was tapping on my shoulder - he still had a story to tell.
so i looked back at him and he continued.

anyway, as i mentioned, he had not yet moved on from his ex-girlfriend. she was probably too young; she was nineteen and he was 32 when they met. his friend was dating her mother. but that hadn't seemed to matter (neither the age gap nor the two friends and mother and daughter double dates) and they had moved in together and adopted two lovely puppies together. things had been going great, he was ready to "breed." things started going wrong when he bought her a volvo.
"don't take this the wrong way," as he moved in really close and gazed earnestly into my eyes, "i want to have the perfect white family." not knowing which was the right way to take it, while wondering what memo i had missed that stated that a volvo is central to having the perfect white family, i said, "ok." my bewilderment must have looked like hurt feelings because he rushed to add - "well i'm sure you and i could have the perfect family but our kids would all have afros." i could think of many reasons why he and i wouldn't have the perfect family but he had a story to tell so he continued.
"she got mad because i asked her to make a payment and so we broke up." i was pretty sure that he was oversimplifying but i said, "ok."
then he started telling me just how perfect they were for each other. he claimed he used to be a pro baseball player and her father used to be a basketball player and started talking about short stops and he must have seen my eyes start to glaze over and my body start to turn towards my friend because he cut himself short and finished with, "anyway, i haven't seen her in two years and so i am off to try to make her jealous." again while my pub-mode brain was trying to make sense of this, i asked - "with your new girlfriend?"
"oh no," he looked at me as though i had just said the dumbest thing, "i'm just going to talk to her. i'm not really sure what i'm going to say but wish me luck."
"ok." again, confused expression must have made him feel that he needed to say more.
"you know i probably will never see you again, " to which i nodded. "i would have loved to chat you up but tonight there are just so many beautiful white women here."
"ok, now you can get lost."
because i didn't want to have stuff i needed to let out.

I'll Crush You Like A Bug! A Bug, I Say!

so our governor, elliot spitzer isn't having such a good week. and i feel kinda bad for him because i remember that i thought he was pretty cool for standing up for the little guy against the big corporations. seems though he got on lou dobbs's bad side and apparently that mr dobbs is a force stronger than nature. i don't know much about this lou dobbs character. i gather that he has a nightly show on cnn and i have tried to watch it but it seems to always been in reruns because every time i catch a clip of him he is talking about "broken borders", whatever those are. i just wonder when they have new episodes - damn writers' strike.

anyway back to what is going on with elliot. so new york, mostly city, being a melting pot and all is full of people from all over the world and not everyone is here legally. that's all well and good but despite our fantastic public transportation system, some of these not so legal residents of new york drive motor vehicles, sometimes for a living and sometimes even with passengers in the vehicles with them. so the governor thought it might be a good idea to get all these guys take the tests and hopefully that would make the roads a safer place to be. i am sure he had some other reasons for this - i am thinking driver's licences help our glorious big brother keep a protective eye on us.

but that lou dobbs he felt very strongly about this. it seems that if you give people driver's licences today, they'll be fakely driving tomorrow. i had no idea. i could have been committing voter fraud all these years if i had known that all one needs to register as a voter is a driver's licence. i had always been told that the proof of citizenship process was far more stringent but lou dobbs has opened my eyes. there are a whole lot of non-citizens driving around america completely clueless regarding the power of that piece of plastic in their wallets. but we can't let too many people know. or before we know it only citizens will be allowed to drive.

Come On Day, I'll Take You On

oh my goodness! am i tired! wow! i was kinda tired by eleven a.m. but i had no idea what tired was. i thought maybe another coffee but then i thought, no, pace yourself. first day at work, the last thing you need is the caffeine shakes. and the sky was all grey and it looked as though it was going to rain all day long. but i got to work and there was a package waiting for me. and in it was each day a small victory, a book i am totally looking forward to reading that was illustrated by oscar grillo whose awesome blogs help get me going each day... i was so excited! it was like christmas come early. i was sitting there thinking - should be hating this day but i was smiling.

and then my phone rang and it was my mother, calling to tell me that my super brought me a new fridge. now perhaps i have never told you about the fridge in my apartment, or rather that was in my apartment, but it was older than everyone i know - put together. seriously. and i have been trying to get my landlord to replace it. i was at my wits' end, especially when my fridge also started to weep in frustration - all over my kitchen floor. i called the super in to witness my fridge falling apart. i mean what else was it to do, seeing as it knew it could barely do what it was born to do. the super said, the landlord will never do anything but let me look around and see what i can do. this morning as i walked to the subway i wondered idly if he had forgotten me and if it would seem pushy to call him again. and then i got the fridge! it is not brand new but it's brand new to me and i think it was built in this century. and, i can barely believe it, i think it's frost free. i thought that getting excited over a refrigerator required a spouse and children but, look at me... i am breaking all the stereotypes.

now that i have conquered grey monday, i am going to relish my small victory for about 10 minutes before i pass out because - gosh darn it, today i discovered exhausted. eureka.

Back On The Block!

i am going back to work tomorrow. ummm... yay?

You Know Those Three Monkeys...

enough already cnn! what are you trying to do? get me all down with your "news"? i mean i settle down with my popcorn and seltzer water ready to be entertained with dog the bounty hunter's declarations that he wants to be buried with washington's slaves as reparations for using the n-word and instead you serve me with footage of an ambush that left several soldiers in iraq. i could have gotten past the footage of the ambush which looked like some collection of shooting stars, but then cnn had to go and make it all real by having us meet survivors and families and hear their stories. cnn had me crying on my couch, shouting at my mother - but he was only twenty years old!
what's up with that cnn? have you forgotten the 'tainment' in edutainment? how am i supposed to get my holiday buzz on when you're showing me action in emergency centers in iraq? how am i supposed to not waste time trying to make sense of the politics of war when you are showing me toddlers with gunshot wounds to the head? how am i supposed to focus on which celebrity is pregnant and not telling when you are filling my screen with pain and suffering?

oh yes, veterans day weekend. so come tuesday we'll go back to the way things should be. there is an old adage, something like, if a man falls in the desert and no one is there to see him, does it really matter?

or something like that.

What I See Is What You Get...

by the time i finished primary school, several things were apparent. one was that i had an aversion to writing on the line. despite having to stay after school to fill pages with handwriting that was supposed to be on the line, i couldn't see why it was so necessary to do so (except to have free afternoons.) it is not as though words are no longer words if they are not on lines. another was that at times of high excitement my brain would get way ahead of my hands and my writing would become illegible in attempt to catch up.

when i started high school, we had some compulsory classes - cookery, sewing and art. cookery produced some rather tasty butterfuly cupcakes. sewing class ended with a nightie that was designed before my mother was born and wasn't cool even then. art resulted in failure. abject. the final exam on which, apparently, the entire grade was based (because i cannot remember us doing anything the entire year) had us doing still life paintings. i swear this to you, the apple was yellow, or golden as in golden delicious, but the art teacher threw the painting back at me. "paint it green! it's an apple, apples are not yellow!"
"my apple is yellow, i can't paint it green if it doesn't look green to me!" she gave me the evil eye and i refused to back down. to pull out the green paint would be to compromise my principles and i only do that for chocolate or ice cream.

i came last and the comment was that i "failed to see an apple." it was the family joke for months and the art teacher made her point by failing me and putting me at the bottom of the class.

the following term i made a new friend. the girl who came second last in the class. it seems she had spent the previous term fascinated by me. apparently i would sit with the girls that produced the most amazing works of art and had the gall to produce my non-art without the slightest trace of shame. as though i had no idea that i sucked - and i have a sneaking suspicion that i was a tad clueless. her beating me in class at least assured her that she was not crazy and even though the art teacher said she drew a pretty flower - first of all she came second last and second and most important she drew a GRAPEFRUIT. she is so lucky that i liked her otherwise i would have demanded my rightful second last position because at least it was really an apple that i failed to see.

yet, through failure, i made a friend, a fellow november baby and someone to play madly with in art class while the art teacher ignored us. fun times. fun times. and so this weekend as part of my november celebration of a truly awesome month, i celebrate the old friend and a new friend. so i am off to have some ice cream and chocolate and i hope you do too, maine and prettylyf. and don't forget to boogie!

Six Degrees, Schmix Degrees...

tell me, does it happen to you? you come home and you say to your mother you met someone called joe. or you get off the phone and she is looking at you expectantly and so you say or that's my friend joe. and then she always asks, oh joe who? and you always think, really mom? you think you REALLY know everyone that i know? but you want to test her and you are all oh joe bloggs. and she is all oh, is he peter's son? you know, peter from the u.n. and you are thinking? seriously mom? we chatted about our favourite drink and maybe pretended we were a bit deep by discussing global warming and recycling. do you really think i asked who his dad was? so then she gives you that look and then you have to pick up the phone to call or text message to ask "ummm, so joe is peter your dad?" and joe is all "how did you know?" and you have to tell him how your mother claims she knows him. and then she shouts from the kitchen "it's not a claim. i know him very well." and maybe they went to school together. or were in college in the same area at the same time. or they met at a meeting last week.

and you realise that there is no mystery in your life. you wonder if you'll ever meet a stranger. and yet you breathe a slight sigh of relief because at least your mother will be able to tell you if the word about town is that he's an axe murderer.

oh but i digress. so last night we got to bed in my cozy apartment (where one really can have no secrets) and then she says - do you know? and goes into this discussion of some kind of family and friends tree and i am barely listening but i say yeah, why? and she says well i spoke to this young woman and she says she reads your blog. and i am lying in my bed wondering if my mother is talking in her sleep. but then she says, yes, her name is tjidzani. if i could jump, i would have jumped out of bed. she really does know everyone.

no way! how small is this world? i have to blog about this, i told her. and she responded - ok. and what exactly is blog?

The Tide Is High

what better way to recover than in the sun, next to the ocean? the only thing better than that is a friend who can organise a week of such sun and next to oceaness. luckily for me, i did better. so at the crack of dawn i am up and off to florida for a week of rest and recuperation. i've got my books, i've got my flip flops and i've got lots of sunscreen.

and i can easily say see you in a bit to my freezing-cold-landlord-hasn't-turned-the-heat-on-yet apartment.

Like A Good Salad...

the last few days have been absolutely tragic for those in california. and now that my mom is here and i am at home, we watch a lot of cnn. a lot. and so we watched the wildfires. and even when the programme guide told us that we were supposed to be watching a new news show, we watched the wildfires. and nothing else. i mean, if you are into reading while watching the news, i guess you could have read a little on what was going on elsewhere in the world. but i am not that coordinated, apparently. reading one story while listening to another can be a bit much for me. as can watching one news story all day. especially a tragic story. i like a little variety in my tragedy. give me out of control wildfires, throw in genocide in sudan and mix it up with a little crazy serial killer from russia and suddenly i think i can handle this world. so i switched to cnn international.

coverage of the california wildfires.

and then...

i discovered a channel called russia today. and cctv (chinese news channel). i couldn't believe that other things and i mean a whole lot of other things are going on. it was mind boggling. such a change to high gear information turbo boost - i almost couldn't handle it. yet somehow i felt this odd sense of relief and release. there was more. is this what they mean when they say misery loves company?

or perchance, more going on just means more chances for things to not be so bad or ever perhaps, god forbid, actually quite good?

You Talking To Me?

today i hung out over at my friend tu...007's blog and his tale reminded me of my own.

there i was at work and the phone rang. at someone else's desk. i must have been feeling chatty and friendly cos i picked up the call for her and said: "hello, this is pandave, how may i help you?"
"what did you say your name was again?"
"pandave. may i help you?" because sometimes i remember how my parents raised me
"oh, that's too difficult, i'll just call you susan. so anyway blah blah blah, my problem yada yada. and so that's the deal, help me out... hello? hello? is anyone there?
"yes, i'm here."
"so why aren't you responding?"
"um, because i am not susan."
then she had the audacity to exhale frustratedly as though i was the one being unreasonable in the conversation.

and i must have been. how inflexible of me to be so attached to my name. i should have just called her the name that was hopping around in my head.

Sometimes Humming Is Good

because on occasion i listen and this is how i came across the following lyrics:

let's get lost tonight
you could be my black kate moss tonight.

now, those two lines will never get old. mostly because i have absolutely no idea what they mean. or if they are meant to be complimentary. if someone says that to me, am i to swoon or throw my drink in his face? so, for your persual and assessment i have provided you with a picture of a black kate moss. perhaps you can tell me.

The Ex Files

we met on a bridge. between us stood an old friend of mine and a new friend of his.
"wow, i haven't seen you in a while." i was barely looking at the old friend. i was hoping he would notice my distraction and make the connection.
"yeah, it has been a while. nice to see you" i was running out of time and opportunity was preparing to pass me by. my old and his new friend started to move past me and take the moment with him.
"hi, i'm pandave," i had to say something. i reached out and we shook hands
"i'm him," and that was it, as he followed his new friend. i too walked on and, when i thought it was safe, i turned back to watch opportunity disappear into the past. as did he. completely mortified, i quickly turned back and carried on my way.

i wondered aloud who he was and inside i died a little - i should have done more. walked back bravely and not have been so embarrassed to be caught hoping for more. and then i looked up to find him standing in front of me. asking me to dance. because sometimes we get another chance. because when you dance nothing seems impossible. because we could... together. he left me breathless and as he thanked me and stepped away i forgot to ask. but he found me again and again. and he left me floating, knowing that i had met my destiny, and terrified, knowing that i had perhaps met my destiny. and when i was sitting at school sharing with my friends they laughed because, granted, it was a bridge but the bridge was in the middle of a nightclub (someone took take it to the bridge literally?) and our romantic first moment was during the teen scene known as afternoon session. but we all agreed that when the tale reached our children the bridge would be transported to a bubbling brook and the smoky nightclub would be a perfect summer's day. because that's how you tell a romantic tale.

a tale that you remember while watching high fidelity, again, and you hear:
"well, i've been listening to my gut since i was fourteen years old, and frankly speaking, i've come to the conclusion that my guts have shit for brains."

To Be Or Not To Be

oh! my brain is about to explode. such big decisions and no idea how to make them. who do i pick? barack or hillary? clinton or obama? and those are the only two choices available to me. i watch the tv, i read the news, i know how i, as a black woman, am supposed to behave. it's one or the other and, whomever i pick, i better be able to justify why i didn't pick the other.

sorry? issues? what issues? obviously hillary has my best interests at heart, as a woman, and well, i could say the same thing about barack and interests as a black person. otherwise the media wouldn't be plunking those in front of me as my two choices. and today i almost got waylaid - i spotted john edwards on the television talking and i thought - hmmm, interesting. but before i got too carried away, i caught myself quickly. silly pandave! focus on your choices, they are difficult enough already. just choose what you feel more of - a woman or a black person. forget health issues, tax issues or any other issues other people are supposed to be concerned about. focus!

and man, don't i feel sorry for the white man. i mean first you have to decide democrat or republican and then on either side there are just a bunch of white men trying to get your vote. how do you do it? how do you decide? i'm thinking i'm the lucky one.

The X Files

when i was thirteen, going on fourteen, my mother came home from work one evening and asked for a glass of water, with lots of ice in it. this seemingly innocent request confused me. my mother NEVER asked for a glass of water when she came home, let alone one with ice in it. as i waled to the kitchen, lost in thought, another thing hit me. how she had asked for said glass of water. she had spoken to me rather casually, as though we were friends, using a little slang while she was at it. what was going on? i didn't get a chance to think too much about it because apparently the glass that i took her was not up to snuff. she could spot little flecks of dishcloth floating around in her glass. "look, can't you see it?"

"um, yes mom" only because you can't argue with your mother over clean - that is a battle you can never hope to win. i shuffled back to the kitchen, rinsed the glass with close to boiling water (my mother insisted hot water was the key to spotless) and, without drying the inside of the glass, refilled it with ice cubes and cold water. and as i performed these odd tasks, i wondered what was going on with my mom. i decided she must have had a hard day. i was thirteen, what did i know about a hard day at work? maybe sometimes when things were really tough a person might want to just sit back and have a cold glass of water. my mother was happy with her spotless glass and i proceeded to shut her out as she started on her lecture on the importance of hot water when washing dishes. my mother was back.

and then she asked for water the next evening and the next. and each time we went through the whole are there specks in my water drama. the slang also continued and she she seemed unnaturally pleased. apart from the glass-is-dirty outburts, nothing seemed to get to her. not that i was trying to test her, washing glasses five times over was more than enough punishment for sins unknown.

a few days later, on a sunny saturday, i followed my mother around the house as she watered her famous african violets and tried to turn my bland thumb green. she rambled along about sunlight and potting and i looked at this woman and thought, hey, your clothes don't fit right. what is going on? why is your top so tight? i was confused and suddenly sad. so i went to my bedroom and lay on my bed with my legs up against the wall, my body making an L - my position of deep thought and comfortable repose.

i put together all the oddities - the water, the slang, the happy glow and now the ill-fitting clothing. what did it all mean? as the only two options came to me, though i fought them hard, tears started leaking from my closed eyes. as they trickled down each side of my face and into my hair, i wondered if there was anything i could do. i mean it was obvious, it was either that my mother was having an affair or aliens had invaded and replaced her with one of their own. either way, as i saw it, i had lost the woman i had known my whole life. what would i do? how would my father cope? i mean, he panicked when i had girl issues while my mother was on a business trip. the poor man. poor us. i had a good old mini-weep for the life i had had thus far and taken for granted, not realising how fragile it all was. and then my sister came into the room - and we had to get into a fight (because that is what sisters who love each other do).

as the days went by, i watched for any signs of hope. i watched to see if the mother i knew would return and fit into her clothing. i waited for the day she would stop asking for water "with lots of ice". i went out of my way to be extra nice to both parents, to remind my mother of what she would lose and to bring comfort to my poor father. and i tried to not be sad. i was determined to stop the inevitable.

a few weeks later, the truth came out. i was sort of correct about it all. but the news was not so bad. my mother was pregnant.

Back In A Moment

please bear with us as we resolve technical difficulties...

Humpty Dumpty

i've been making a lot of lists lately - to do lists, to buy lists, for me, for my family, for my co-workers, for my friends. i have lost half the lists and yet i continue to list. why? well, because it turns out that my slow summer wasn't just due to the super-humid stagnant days and the general madness of society. apparently the powers that be decided to try to destroy my god complex and cure me of my world leader tendencies. apparently i am not infallible, like the pope. i can get a little under the weather. but to the powers, i stick out my tongue because i can get fixed and that is what i am about to do. so on wednesday i go into hospital to have my tummy cut open and the defective bits taken out. WOO HOO!!! i'm about to be fixed. and for this i have a list of all the great things about this:

1. six weeks off work!
2. i have been told that, despite not having done a crunch in ages, i still have abs, that might hurt a little in the near future.
3. i shall conquer the alien invasion of my body.
4. i get to be spoiled by my mother. i wonder if i could convince her to make carrot soup. i wonder if i still like carrot soup.
5. did i mention the six weeks off work? the thought apparently still boggles the brain.
6. if i ever get arrested i'll have a scar to prove my street cred. not everyone is intimidated by my vampire bite marks.
7. no more meds and that means, hopefully, no frightful mood swings and general madness. of course that means i'll have less defence should i commit a "crime of passion". darn.
8. i get to test the effective range of my cordless keyboard and mouse. oh and the effective range of my eyesight... now i wonder why i got a desktop.
9. i get to sleep all i want for a little bit. and my mother may even encourage me to sleep. that i would pay to see.
10. i may even be perky this winter to make up for the sluggish summer.

the sad bit is that i will be unable to blog for a little bit. not until i can sneak past my mom. and that woman sees everything. it is an uncanny gift. my undercover buddy tu...07 suggested i recruit guest bloggers to wax lyrical about me in my absence. i'm thinking i'll make a list.

Mamma Mia!

yesterday i danced and danced and danced. it all started when oscar and el editor got me going. today still in my mind over and over again "i don't care if the sun don't shine..." it kept me from strangling the dude on speakerphone in my office. and then after work i packed my bags and headed uptown to dance and dance and dance some more. the most awesomely fabulous dance class ever. top notch teacher and drummers. six of them yesterday and on fire. almost 2 hours of this. there is nothing like it. all you think about is the music and the dance and both make you joyful. it soothes and moves and renews the soul. it makes you believe again. and just before you have a chance to get jaded, you fall into a deep and peaceful sleep.

i must have still been buzzing this morning because as i waited to get a banana and seltzer water, a man told me his life story and how great his job is. and then as he left the store and i wished him a good day, he responded "oh, i'll be alright."

that made me smile and as i walked the half block to work and thought about this nice man who just wanted to let it out (because sometimes that is what you want, no need, to do and it is most fortunate if you can) i passed to fellas on their way to work (i assume). "what a great smile" one commented. "thanks!" responded, thinking - this is how to pay it forward, right? and we wished each other good day. perky perky.

and then i called zimbabwe to make sure that my mother was ready to go to the airport. cos she's coming to town! i pick her up tomorrow night. i convinced her to take a break from her phenomenal farming - seriously, don't those cabbages look like they're on steroids? i am so mega-psyched. i got a coffee maker. i think i'm ready. and until tomorrow... i'll keep on dancing, dancing, dancing! i'm a dancing machine

Only Dancing Makes Sense...

so my first alarm went off somewhere around 6am and i got up and turned on my second alarm. i then lay down and began my morning stretches. i'm sure you can imagine how well that went. yeah... after some totally weird semi-dreams i wake up with a start. 8:15 and work starts at nine. hurry hurry dash out the front door (like my apartment has a back door).

the headlines on the papers. "the evil has landed", "bad man on campus", "here i come". a welcome break from o.j., isiah and brangelina, i suppose but i am wondering we we have our k-nickers in a k-not. i mean new york's council speaker was trying to tell columbia university that they shouldn't have him speak at the university. really, speaker quinn? really? i thought new york was legendary for its let folk express themselves attitude. perhaps i am still bitter about not being allowed to go to cuba but i mean he goes and he says what he has to say and we shake our heads or we clap in support or we just go off and do one of the million and one other things one can do in new york (hallelujah) and remain clueless.

i mean he either is on another planet, has gonads of steel or is completely batty because, i'm telling you that i would really have to believe in something phenomenal to take that stage at columbia. i mean all that booing and the risk of having rotten eggs thrown my way. i don't think i could do that (i hate the smell of eggs). and that stuff is hell to wash out of your hair - if the water gets too hot you run the risk of semi-cooking the egg and... so yeah, eggs. and you never know, instead of going for the heckler, the cops might taser me. jeez loueez! he's like britney spears in his let me just go someplace where the results can only be disastrous. we let britney do it AND we had to put up with awful wardrobe, atrocious lipsynching and i won't even discuss the "dancing".

and he still hasn't faced his biggest challenge. i mean after the chavez drama of last year's meeting. he's really going to have to pull all the stops. hey... you think maybe he'll flash some ahmadinej-abs?

A Dream Deferred

for a long time i have been wondering why i am not a politician. years ago i listened to the tips and worked on them. when talking don't distract the masses with excessive hand movements - unless you actually don't want them to get what you're saying. look people in the eye and make them feel they're important. i learnt about the various handshakes and what each meant - one hand, two hands, one hand while the other is on your shoulder... the whole deal. and yet, not even a mayor of a town of 1,000. why, i asked myself, why???
where did i go wrong.
my answer came the other day as i paged through my morning paper.
i need to work harder on the skeletons in my closet.
a councilman in queens was indicted on charges of raping a 52-year-old grandmother (if she had no grandkids would that have lessened the horrific nature of the crime, i wonder? but i digress). but he's just one among many. just in new york in the last 10 years a councilman was censured for alleged sexual harrassment. i say alleged because the councilman declared that none of the women making allegations was attractive enough to warrant his advances. you see. alleged. others are accused of sending condoms to the daughters of ex-mistresses. and well, just in the last year, politicians are trying to outdo each with the skeletons. i see your instant messages to underage boys and i raise you an invasion of privacy in a public bathroom (and then i'll distract people by stating i am not gay though i may totally be a peeping tom).

and i won't even tell you about my totally unpolitician behaviour if i were ever in a bathroom stall and looked up to find someone's beady eye ogling me from the stall next door. i would be be screaming and trying to make a hasty getaway before my stall neighbour had the opportunity to flash hand signals under the partition.

and i see that the longer i loiter on the sidelines, the more difficult it is going to become to find some attention grabbing outrage that somehow i'll be able to parlay into meaning that i am just like you. i mean, being caught doing crack with a prostitute has been taken. i can't try to be homophobic only to have my male prostitute out me not only as a regular client but also as a meth-head. hmmm? bad behaviour with an intern? done and played out.

i'm stumped. what to do.... what to do??

Swingin' On The Porch...

i know that i am not the only one with nothing really going on. here i was thinking - work work work, i am jack, the dull boy who just has no play in their life. but i tell you this, nothing loves company like misery or dullery, come to think of it. and i know this because?
front page of the paper on monday - isiah washington who thinks it is okay to say, in company, that while calling a white woman a bitch is an insult, somehow calling a black woman a bitch might even border on, if not a compliment, then a statement of solidarity.
tuesday front page - o.j. simpson was allegedly involved in an armed robbery (but he was only trying to get his stuff back). is there a photo of this man since roots or that hertz commercial, where he doesn't look totally off his rocker?
today's paper? brad pitt and angelina jolie - and the burning question is "more babies for brangelina?"
it's excellent to know that i am missing out on almost absolutely nothing in this world. it is almost as though the world is revolving around me and when i pause, it does too.
spooky.

Summer's End...

oh how i hate my lazy ways. as i sit on my couch i think - get up! do something. i think it hard. i think it strong. i stay on the couch. and promise myself; tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow again...

ask me why, i have no answer. for when something takes me off my couch i am pretty much always glad i came. i head home promising myself that i'll do better in the future. so much to do and so little time and can't i appreciate how lucky i am to live in a place with more to do than i know what to do with?

tonight it was a series of short films from filmmakers from london. tell me again, why i don't do better? the first film, blood, was about a boxer with a friend no one approves of and a father who states, "i know who you are and i know what you are" and he doesn't like it. i thought to myself - i miss my boxing class.

you ever heard of darkie day? yeah, me neither. hello google and wikipedia. i know the filmmaker and i shared the same expression throughout the documentary. uh-huh... wow.

after the intermission, things totally lightened up with mOrally speaking - where a couple argues "about an uspoken taboo among black men." i thought, taboo? really? and laughed so hard, i didn't feel so bad about having to miss yoga class.

of course, the one film that i wasn't so excited about had the director available for a q&a session. riding home on the train, laughing with my friend, folk are looking at us, probably wondering if we're drunk - that's how hard we're laughing. i get home and i think - wasn't that fun? aren't i so lucky? i swear i'm going to do better. i unlock the door, drop my bag and collapse onto my couch.

Milestones

we were massive. and it was our moment to show the world. third form entertainment (the fundraiser for our fourth form dance) and we were going to be major. we were the coolest thing that had happened to our high school. who could have imagned that so many talented and creative people could end up in one year group at one school? and we had grand plans. we had been planning since the year before, perhaps since first form.

so many of us were triple threats - dancers, actors and, at the very least, excellent lip-synchers (if not straight up singers) - and full of creative culture. we were going to put on a show that would be spoken of for years. every free moment was spent planning and working on the show. it was not an easy job - everyone had to be involved and every piece had to be top notch. the theme? award show. it was brilliant! somehow everyone's talent could be incorporated into a fake music video, fake tv show or fake commercial. and through it all we were given free range. yes about 124 fourteen and fifteen year-olds were left to their own devices.

they should have known what they were in for. the year before our form two play, jonahman jazz, included rap and awesomely choreographed routines (i'm not going to get into why all the black girls were cast as thieves and criminals - nineveh city, after all, was a city of sin). but we were given free periods to rehearse and plan and market. posters at every cool boys' school we could think of and invitations to everyone we knew - my mother came in from out of town (this was our big moment, there was no way she was missing it).

the place was packed. standing room only. our third form entertainment was the place to be that night. we used music from fame for our opening number. salt n pepa's push it followed it. yes, we were diverse like that. the beatles' when i'm 64 was mixed all in there. but some missed it as a few upset parents walked out during push it and went home to compose letters of outrage. we had a fashion show where my fabulous outfit fell apart just before i hit the stage and our masterpiece. a fake commercial for acne cream:

one day i was walking
looking at the sky
then i saw a rainbow
and it was so high

it was a fountain of love
it was a fountain of love

looking in the mirror
staring at my spots
then it dawned upon me
there were lots and lots

it was a fountain of love
it was a fountain of love

the concept was pure abbaesque disco - images with warm images. women with big hair floating through parks with beautiful fountains. and at the end of it all? flawless skin.

and so the show went on. and on. and on. people drifted out but we had to get all 100 plus of us in a piece or three. finally we puttered to an end and still, out in the almost empty hall, my mother sat. waiting for me to be done. i did mention that she flew in just for this. to support her daughter. as i walked her to the car and she left after congratulating me. it was monday morning before i discovered that night was a shameful disaster. that we were out of control and sans mores for including salt n pepa in our programme. our embrace of contemporary culture and dance was criticised and yet when i told my mother that apparently our big night was a black mark on the reputation of our esteemed high school for girls, all she had to say was:

i could see you put a lot of work into this. it was very interesting. i'm proud of you.

and she is surprised that i remember a small thing like calling to say happy birthday. and she's mumble-mumble and looks fabulous for that age.

oh yes... never allowed to put on a big show. ever. again. but we remained. legendary. i repeat. legend-ary.

Heroes II

then i was sitting on my couch, watching tv and it ambled out of the kitchen... like it owned the place. my feet were off the floor, quicker than lightning. across the neighbour had said i was okay but now i wasn't. i was in peril and it stood between me and my front door.



i called across the hall neighbour. voicemail. very friendly voicemail at that. though i didn't know him as well, i called my neighbour to the left and he was in. but i would have to open the door to let him in. i ran, didn't look into the kitchen, just opened the door and he came in. and found nothing.

check again

there's nothing here.

what am i supposed to do?

just call me when it comes back and i'll come back.



i didn't know him so well, so i pretended to be brave. but the traps came out (the exterminator had left me a supply.) and again i came home to one in a trap (sounds like great odds but you would have to see how many traps i put out then) and called my neighbour to the left. i'm out but i'll be back in a few hours. a few hours? but i can't get into the apartment. but isn't it stuck on a trap? but what if it breaks free? i mean i can hear it. i can't go in. wait a second he says.

knock on my door.

his girlfriend. holding a broom. i hear you have a problem.

and though she was almost as scared as me, she got rid of it.



i ask my roommate - still in nigeria - what is going on. oh so casually, like it's no big deal - well they come up when it gets cold and you know the building is old you just have to put out traps. that is exactly what the exterminator said but that was unacceptable. my heart could only take so much. i was reaching my breaking point.



two nights later it was back (and they say it is cats that have nine lives), trying to join me in the living room. i squeaked out something that let it know that i didn't want the company and grabbed my phone. ring... ring... voicemail. and i start

sorry to bother you but it's back and i don't know what to do. it keeps coming back and i don't know how to stop it and...

my voice broke.

i can't believe i'm crying i'm so sorry.

i hung up. i did tell you that i didn't know him that well

and now he had witnessed me break.

and still he treated me as thought it all made sense (which it does, despite what you say) and helped me get the landlord send someone to try to fill in all the holes. and then he laughed. very hard. my hero

Heroes I

the weather was getting cooler - winter was coming. the landlord had turned the heat on in the building so the cold outside was not yet such a big deal. i was asleep and then suddenly i was awake and terrified. though i had never heard it before i knew what it was, that scratching entered my dreams and i lay in bed terrified. the lights were off but i had to see if i really had heard it or imagined it.

i lay, silently debating - should i chance stepping on the ground to reach the light switch or should i write it off as an over-active imagination and try to get back to sleep? who was i kidding? i wasn't about to sleep! if you gauged my heart, i was about to have a heartattack. i thought about it a little. new york apartment, i could try to reach the switch. so i did. and almost immediately we were looking at each other... eye to eye.

me and that rodent. rat, mouse, i don't care, it wasn't paying rent, it wasn't welcome. and yet it was staring me down and standing between me and the door. i thought, what now? my roommate was in nigeria and i was being held prisoner by this animal. i know, i know. you laugh and you say to me - oh, that little thing! it's more scared of you than you are of it. well, let me tell you something. as we gazed unblinking at each other one of us was petrified, the other had fur.

i stood on my futon and thought, this thing is very close to the ground; i can't stay in this room. i have to take my chances. and what? the only weapon i thought i might have was a can of pledge. and i would only have one chance to make that pledge effective. if i didn't aim accurately and get that rodent dead in the eye, all it would have is a shiny coat and it would attack me and... i couldn't think about it. i leapt for the door, screaming as i went. i slammed the door and ran through the living room into my roommate's empty room and slammed that door shut. then i sealed the bottom of the door with clothes and lay down. i tried to convince myself that i was safe but all i did was watch the clock until the stores were open. i got the glue traps and put them around the apartment and dashed off to work.

i came home to the sound of squeaking and stood, trapped, near the entrance wondering what to do. i knocked on the door of my neighbour across the hall. his mother fears rodents as i do so i didn't even have to finish my sentence. he went in. for a second i wondered if i should be polite and show him in. sensing my hesitation he ordered me out so i wouldn't have to see.

two minutes later. okay, it's gone he says. are you sure? yes. and i believed.

Tutu True

bishop desmond tutu, patron of south africa's national barbeque (braai) day, says that braaing is a unifying force and i say, amen to that. unless they forgot to order enough t-bone steaks for the event, nothing brings people together like meat and fire. and so today i begin the campaign for an international barbeque day.

for, what can be more wonderful than greasy hands and faces and lethargic bellies? no drama, just a touch of salad and starch so that you can call it a meal and lots of humidity-free sunshine. oh, and someone who doesn't mind getting smoke in their eyes... the braai-master to make sure that, as the wise archbishop says, "ordinary activities like eating can unite people of different races, religions, sexes... short people, tall people, fat people, lean people."

such a prestigious and important position this archbishop holds and this is a chance for an unprecedented second nobel peace prize. i'm going to write to him now. he needs to spread the word, we all need to get our hands tasty dirty, turn the music up and all you'll be able to do is love, laugh and pass the salt.

In Sight Of Chaos

i was just a girl. not even twelve yet. so how can you blame me? how could i resist those strong, wide shoulders as he stepped out of that car. diplomatic plates. CD 47. tinted windows. how these things stay with us.

we hoped that he would notice us yet prayed he wouldn't see us as we tailed him around the librbary. he remained seemingly oblivious; taking books off shelves as we swooned around the corner, every move a magnificent miracle. was it possible that a physique that perfect existed beyond the confines of the covers of those historical novels that sat in the adult section - where we were allowed to look but could not touch. i knew his name for he went to school with my brother. i had gotten that information without letting on my intentions. my brother may have felt it was his duty to defend my honour against a man who knew nothing of my existence.

herman hesse. how familiar that name sounded but i had no time to figure out why. i was too busy picking the two books closest to me for he was headed towards the library and i had to beat the other girls and get as close to herman hesse as possible. not too close as to be obvious but close enough to maybe feel his essence, to smell his aura (or at the very least his cologne). i would mumble, hopefully, the right responses to the librarian stamping my book - recognising me from the week before - barely able to hold myself back as he exited the library. grabbing my books i would casually hurry out the door to catch that magnificent back disappearing behind the tinted glass of that black car.

and at that moment i would take flight from the self. perhaps brush the edges of nirvana. but, all too soon, the black car would disappear around the corner and i would be jerked back to the reality of how i was going to explain my book choices to my father. and to make plans for next week.

Awesome Chocolate Cake Recipe!!!

i couldn't resist the teaser "a golden boy becomes a killer, possibly because of a brain defect". i don't know what i expected but a the end of the show i was thinking that perhaps i am the one with the brain defect. so here the story goes:

so, there is a man named stephen stanko and he grew up in south carolina and his life was pretty unremarkable. no mention of him being prom king, captain of the football team or even head of the debate team (and you know the media would have been all over that, if it had been so). there were no clips of old high school girlfriends going on about how popular he had been. none of that. we did learn, however, that his father had been in the navy and was a strict disciplinarian. oh and he did well in class - somewhere in the top twenty - so perhaps that is where the golden came in.

senior year comes along and it is time to decide what to do. stephen claims that he turns down a whole bunch of scholarships (can you smell the skepticism?) because he wants to be some kind of engineer in the navy. but he doesn't get in. perhaps the navy admisson process sniffed out the brain defect.

so then he goes to community college for a little bit and runs minor scams a lot. i guess this is where we should have started to suspect that maybe his mother dropped him on his head - i blame her because he NEVER talks about her.... issues. then he gets a girlfriend and moves in with her. but he can't stop stealing from her and pawning her stuff on the streets. finally she is all - hey, before i don't even have a couch to sit on, you need to go. now he's not ready to live in a homeless shelter so he comes to her with a cloth soaked in chlorox and 409 and tries to suffocate her.

she's all why are you doing this (like she forgot that she was trying to kick him out on the streets)

and he's all - damn, why aren't you dying, it worked on tv (no joke)

he ties her up and does all kinds of things, including singing as he washes his hands.

for this he gets sentenced to ten years in prison - he serves 8 and a half and authors a book (there he goes, golden boy).

soon after getting out of prison he meets a new woman and, in no time, he has moved in. and started with the fraud schemes. so i'm not sure what happened this time but he killed this girlfriend (strangulation), raped the daughter and slashed the daughter's throat, twice. leaving daughter for dead, he moseyed on over to 74 year-old's friend's place where he shot the guy and took his truck. i don't know but since they were friends i think if he had just asked the guy would have let him take the truck.

former golden boy (i am thinking at this point he was no longer considered golden) ended up in augusta georgia where he met a woman in a bar on a saturday, went home with her and was at church with her on sunday morning. a couple of days later, this woman's friend calls her at work and is all - well, you know i'm not one to gossip but i think you better turn to page 5b of the paper, gurl.

and there she finds a photo of her new fabulous boyfriend, as one of america's most wanted. so, she calls the cops and they arrest him and his defence?

his brain is smaller than average and he has a brain defect (they had diagrams and everything) and thus has no impulse control and so he can't be held responsible for his actions. thought it seems that his small brain was able to control his impulses when surrounded by a bunch of big men during his 8 and a half years in prison. i don't know about you but i think anyone who did any of the above is one sick bastard and i really don't need diagrams to be convinced that there's something wrong with them.

but, what was i talking about again? i kinda lost track of the plot but, don't you get so mad when you watch a totally cool preview/teaser and then the movie is nowhere near as cool and has almost absolutely nothing to do with the preview/teaser? i am beginning to understand why elvis threw things at the television.

Lazy Sunday...

i was up and about today at 8:45. finally i could kick my workout slump in the butt. i couldn't remember the last time i went running. i want to say june but it could have been late may. i have been taking yoga on thursdays but it hasn't been every thursday, sometimes work gets in the way. for a few weeks now i have been promising myself that i'll get up and get out and do something. so i go through the routine - warm up, stretch (not a very good one, i am ashamed to say), inhaler, cellphone on the arm (in case i have to call 911) and keys.

so, you know i said i had not run in a few months? well it was some evil demon that got me to go on a five mile course. and once you're out there, you're out there and it is not like anyone is going to send a car to pick you up. so i thought, well, i have to stretch out the muscles so i don't hurt so much. followed run up with a yoga workout. so how do i feel? ouch.

switched on my tv with the volume on really low. there were a lot of politicians on tv and i know there are some reports on iraq due and some senator resigned so i kept the volume off until the tennis started. i didn't want to hear something that would make me want to throw something at the tv - yoga had left my arms rather lifeless. monday always seems like a good day to reconnect with reality.

i did find drapes to use as room dividers that will be long enough. i completed a couple of chores for my mother - how is it that i have not lived with her in over ten years and still i have chores? i called a friend to ask for a big, huge favour - so lucky i am to have friends who say, yes i shall do that for you and even say that it's not a problem.

i tell you... nothing like kicking back on a sunday and just letting the day float over you. i am off to stretch the hams...

Super Saturday!!!

i woke up in the dead of night because my head was killing me. i thought if i lay there until the sun came up, maybe the pain would have gone by then. but my mother's voice kept me from even trying to fall back asleep - be proactive with the headache. if you treat it early then it won't get worse. i dragged myself out of bed to take sudafed (i was congested so i figured it must be a sinus headache). it was almost 5 am. and then i realised that my shoulders were really tight. so i stuck a pain pad on the back of each shoulder. smelling of menthol, i crawled back into bed and groaned back to sleep.

but when i woke up, my head still hurt. so i ate a little fruit - melons and a couple of grapes. and some rooibos tea - caffeine free. and took a couple more sudafed. and i started watching tennis - the us open is on, have you heard? still pound pound pound. but i was a woman on a mission. i had some home improvement planned - i was to put up some gauzy curtains as a room divider between my kitchen, hallway and living room. so i took my backpack and walked over to the hardware store. i walked the aisles and finally found a cute little rod to put up (i got the curtains the day before) and then i headed over to dunkin donuts. coffee - caffeine - my head was still killing me.

a cup of coffee later, head was still driving me nuts. so i took a couple aleve and then started getting my tools together. i had to charge up the cordless drill but i finally got the brackets in the wall and was ready to put the rod up. just a little too short. and the curtains? just a little too short. apparently i went shopping at chez baby bear. turns out the curtain are also a little too gauzy - they are blowing all over the place and i don't even have all the windows open.

it's all up, but it ain't that pretty. so back to the drawing board. i had everything measured out but my accuracy must have been a tad compromised because there was no one holding the other end of the tape measure. excuses, excuses... a growing experience. if the drilling hadn't been so much fun, i might have decided to rethink the whole home improvement gig.

headache is gone though.

Family Friday, The Big Brother Edition

so i have an older brother - i mentioned that i recently found out that he has a blog. those who know me know that i rag on him, oh, like almost all the time. i won't start here, or i may run out of blog space. but lately, we have been talking quite a bit. he is a high school teacher - physics and chemistry and who knows what else - and classes started this week.

as long as i can remember (and i can remember long) my brother has been the nicest person i know. and i don't always say it in a complimentary way. also, he would give that cherry tree cutting dude a run for his money when it comes to honesty. couldn't lie to win his kids in a custody case - luckily for him, it is not something he has to worry about. but when you have folk rolling their eyes about how this guy just cannot even tell a "white" lie - no, you don't look fat in that dress; yes i think your hair looks good - you know you have a case on your hands. oh... he is also a compulsive truth-teller. unprompted. out it comes. not always endearing. but then again, never a lie. and always just so damn nice. which would you prefer?

and this super nice, honest guy, woke up one day and said - i want to be a teacher. so i said - oh, okay (because that is what you say, right?) and then next thing i know he is on some course and has quit his lab job and is starting at some school for "at risk children" and then he transferred to an "inner city" school. whatever label the group of kids was given, they were high school kids. teenagers. and, when i asked him about his day at work, there were quite a few badass kids up in there too. yeah, i know i went to an uber-strict boarding school (nicknamed the pink prison and not for nothing either), so what do i know about badass? going to the bathroom without permission impresses me.

but you talk to him and he loves his job. he plans rope tricks that will help the students with lateral thinking and topology. he calls their parents if a kid misbehaves. on that day. to say, hello, your kid misbehaved today. apparently the kids didn't believe him in the beginning, when he said he would. apparently they don't know about his whole honesty fetish. he offers make up classes to help some kids, who are just a little short, graduate. i sure hope that he doesn't burn out any time soon. i'm burnt out just thinking about it...

Zen Thursday

oh... i am so ready to go to bed. in fact after the deep relaxation, all i am doing is pretty much counting the minutes until i can hit the sack. thursday? yoga at lunchtime day and i don't care what anyone tells me i have no clue what's going on anywhere. i did my full shoulder stand - to reverse the aging process - and followed it with the opposition pose, the fish - which reverses the reversal? i don't know... all i know is that everything seemed to balance out after that.

i bumped into my neighbour who had a bandaid on his arm. jokingly, i asked if his cousin had cut him and he said, oh no, i got hit by a car. and i was all - hit? glad i didn't have one of those moments where the response was, oh no but my cousin just died and i am headed to the morgue.
i digress. so i am all - hit?
not badly (explains the bandaid) just a little knock. turns out a woman lost hold of her kid and her kid ran out into an intersection. the car swerved to avoid the child and knocked my neighbour - but ever so lightly.
you see? balance.

so you think i was going to jeopardise that with the possibility of real life? no way, jose! came home and sat with my neighbour (the one who wasn't hit by a car), ate apple pie and ice cream and watched the family guy and law & order reruns.

ohmmmmmm...

Wacky Wednesday

it almost slipped my mind, it's not like it was big news today - more focus was on some actor guy named owen and his apparent deep depression - but it was the second anniversary of the disaster called katrina. president bush says there has been a lot of progress since then and so i don't understand why a whole lot of the people living in louisiana and mississippi (especially those pessimistic louisiana folk) are complaining that little has been done. granted some claim they are still homeless, but there is a bridge that has been repaired that will cut your ride by about 45 minutes so you can get back to your not a home in no time. now, isn't that progress?

i think the gloomy media, who make money off of my sadness it seems, is just trying really hard. somehow they seem able to find desolate landscapes and devastated people. how do they do that? i guess that's why they get paid the big bucks. because they really get me choked up everytime and apparently i am not the only one they have thinking that there might be something wrong with the fact that very little seems to have gone on since the water evaporated - except a bunch of mould growing in what is basically rubble. but look at me, i am getting sucked into it all, those reporters and their powerful imagery. i won't be sucked in. if the leaders of this nation see no reason to be ashamed of all of that. if they can ignore it and we here can still be a super power and the greatest nation in the world, heck, i need to switch to the us open and get a grip.

Moody Tuesday

i got mail today!!! who knew i would be so happy to get a bunch of junk mail and bills. but after my visit to the post office on saturday where i stood in line for an hour and a half - like i was trying to buy a nintendo wii - only to be told there was nothing there. of course i asked, so where is my mail? "you'll have to come back on monday and talk to blah blah white noise, control yourself pandave....

(i know i didn't close the quotation marks but the moment never ended)

i was told by a neighbour that word around the building is that i am holding an open house. so i spent the day wondering who started the rumour and if it is part of an elaborate plan to explain my disappearance in a week or two... yes, i watch that much crime television.

i went to whole foods today and discovered wine sorbet... now why am i discovering frozen wine at the end of summer? but no... silver lining - still in time for labour day weekend. i am off to buy cones.

stevie wonder's part time lover is an awesome pre-bed dance song. remember to dance lightly if you have downstair's neighbours and to lip synch if your walls are as thin as mine.

gotta find out when my open house is... have to make the space look extra special... this apartment i don't know i'm giving up.

Monday Java

i am easing into monday morning today, drinking my water and checking my bag to make sure i have everything i might need. the usual checklist - wallet, phone, keys. today, an envelope of papers to send to my older brother and lunch (yes, i spent the afternoon cooking yesterday). i have bbc world news on and have just watched a clip about princess diana. oops i almost forgot the sunglasses - i hate when i get downstairs and i have to decide how glaringly bright the sun is. is it worth walking back up to the fourth floor for the glasses?

i have my ipod on and i pick up the remote to turn off the telly and i see the banner - breaking news. i wonder, yet again, are they going to tell me castro is dead (damn you bloggers and your panic-inducing rumours!)? but instead alberto gonzalez has resigned. the man who insisted he wasn't going anywhere; the same alberto that dubya pledged to stand by until the end? to be honest, it was a bit of an anti-climax. i know many were calling for him to resign but i wanted to see him get into just a little bit of trouble first.

but, such better news than "castro is dead". it is a dream of mine to do a trip to cuba under castro. but i have to work out the kinks, the biggest being that this bastion of democracy that i am in doesn't allow me to go and hang in cuba. but after reading the government site on cuba, i know they are doing it for my own good. but when did i ever start doing things for my own good? hell, i have seen people with bleeding feet and still i want to run a marathon

Yawn

so my little brother arrived last night. from zimbabwe. in boston. at about 10:30pm (flight was delayed because it seems people are not happy at heathrow). and he came out about half an hour later - after being photographed and fingerprinted. seeing how he felt to see familiar faces after a 24-hour plus commute, makes my current hysteria so worth it.

he got into his college van and went off to begin orientation before he starts college and i got into my rental and drove back to new york. i hit the highway after midnight and got to my apartment at 4am (in case you imagined a shooting star last night). i was awoken at 6:30 am to be informed by a company trying to make a pickup from me that my intercom is broken.

you know i am thinking perhaps this is a sign. i am getting no mail, and now my intercom doesn't work. should i be going on walkabout?

tomorrow i shall continue to stalk my clever landlord who just doesn't answer the phone and never calls back... unless you owe them money.

but tonight i am not complaining... i think i need some moments of unreachability... until i have to walk down four flights of stairs to let that murphy's law visitor in...

This One's My Favourite!

because knowledge is power (and ignorance oscillates between being bliss and bondage), unicef launched the coolest campaign ever in germany. the goal is either to stop kids from complaining when they have to wake up in the morning to go to school or to teach them how africa is one nation unified in unedumaction. the campaign features 4 ads with the following blurbs:

• in africa, many kids would be glad to worry about school
• some teachers suck. no teachers sucks even more
• in africa, kids don't come to school late, but not at all
• i'm waiting for my last day in school, the kids in africa still for their first one

for all their efforts, all unicef got back was a whole lot of complaining. apparently some found the muddy blackface offensive. other nitpickers decided that the whole painting the continent's population with one education crisis brush was not the way forward.

well, unicef rushed to assure folk that the aim was to show that "children may look different but are equal - we all want to go to school." well they are wrong on both counts - according to the campaign, german children don't really want to go to school and spend their time there counting the days until they can leave. and this ad campaign clearly shows that will a little mud, all kids DO look alike.

It's The Economy Stupid!

a few months ago i had a little travelling adventure that ended up in security confiscating my special sunscreen. as soon as i got home i went straight to sephora to pick up another bottle of the stuff - ever since i learnt about the huge hole in the ozone layer while in high school i have been paranoid about the sun. it may all be a marketing ploy but it sure does work on me.

a few weeks later i travelled again - i had a huge ziploc bag but mr security guy confiscated my sunscreen again - apparently the bottle was too big. coincidence? conspiracy? cign?

this time it took a while to go back. in fact, it took until today to go back. i trundled over to sephora and, after the sale, i looked in my bag. what? no samples?! the only reason i ever thought of sephora was because every time my brother got something from them he got the coolest samples that he chucked over my way. i can understand belt-tightening and all but i thought the word was that we are in a recession. plus dubya told us that the best way to demonstrate our patriotism was through shopping. because, um, our sales tax goes to help pay for building democrazy and body armour. but how am i supposed to shop when i'm not getting my free samples, doggone it!?

the dark cloud of i've been cheated must have been totally cheated must have been visible because some women dressed in black, pink and green handed me a free mascara and another store gave me free hair product that i can actually use on my hair. i should have told pink, black and green to stop over in sephora and teach them a thing or two about patriotism.

Beef!

last thursday i came home from work and checked my mailbox. empty. i was a little surprised - it is not as though the junk mail comes everyday but the pre-approved loaners usually wait until the weekend to give me a break. but i didn't sweat it - it's not as though someone was sending me a letter. i missed my new york magazine but i decided it must be one of those weeks when the mag takes a break.

i went away for the weekend and came back on monday night - to an empty mailbox.
"there's no mail." my neighbour, stating the obvious.

turns out the postal service and my new landlord had a falling out over some key box that grants access to the mail deliverer. now, i have lived here since 2001 and, in all that time, there has never been a key box outside our building. not that any of it mattered, i had to pass through the post office and pick up my mail on my way to work. why do my shoes pick that day to be military grade tools of torture?

i get to the post office and my mail lady encourages, no practically demands that i jump into the fray.
"it's not just your building; the landlord owns 2 other buildings and they don't have a key box and so they're not getting any mail either! call the office and keep calling them and tell them that they have to put that box out there. until they do it, you'll have to come here once a week because i'll only sort your mail once a week, and pick up your mail. i know you get a lot of mail but it's your landlord's fault."

i am guessing that neither rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night doesn't include missing key boxes.