Ode to New York in December

It snowed yesterday. I didn't believe it until I looked out the window. There was snow on the ground, white, and sticky, there it was. Oh great, I thought resigning myself to the reality that this meant that stores would be closed, the laundromat would be inaccesible and my whole day would be ruined. As I turned on the TV to hear the weather report, I had a rude awakening. Wait a minute, I'm not in Atlanta anymore, there's no SEVERE WEATHER TEAM out reporting on the fact that a mere inch on snow had fallen. This is New York city. And nobody is even slightly phased that this powdery substance has dusted the city but maybe me, and my other friends that have just migrated from down south. I laughed at myself for having to come to this realization. I'm from Chicago, so I should know better, but for that split second that I looked out the window, I thought it was over, cause it had snowed. I miss the Atlanta ice hysteria, nothing better for a laugh than Atlanta and a forecast of freezing rain.

125th
"Let's go to Blockbuster!" Sounds like a plan, and so we headed to the Blockbuster on 125th so rent a movie or two, and upon trying to open the door were stopped short. It was locked. We checked the hours posted, it said it should be open. We then noticed the presence of about 10 police officers inside, and the big boarded up window to the right of the door. OK?? What's going on here? So we stood, looking inside, didn't look like anything was going on. The manager came to the door let some of the cops out...he saw us standing there didn't say anything. The fat man standing next to us with his DVD that needed to be returned said it best, "Awww hell nah, I gotta get a new movie, I'm tired of watching this same ol video, they gonna tell me something, the window was busted yestserday, it's a brand new day B, it's a brand new day." Aight then, Blockbuster on 125, i'm out.

Next stop. Starbucks. Magic Johnson has a Starbucks on 125th.
"Can I have the Chantico?"
"No."
"Ok, how about two hot chocolates?"
"Um, excuse me where's your change?" (She asks the other Starbucks employee who is sitting at a table watching freestyle DVDs with his homies).
"You're a supervisor, go get some and put it in there, it won't hurt you" (returns to watching the DVD)
"You only got five dollars in here"
"So."
(some more discussion occurs, ok i'll sit down, it's gonna be a while)
15 minutes later, I got my hot chocolate, it was good. And though i wasn't sure weather to be annoyed by the fact that everything in Harlem weather it be Loews, Starbucks, Blockbuster, or H&M, functions entirely different from their counterparts elsewhere in the city, I was satisfied, and I had sufficiently been amused. Oh 125th what would I would do without you?

Sweetest Thing

We shared music. A long time ago, we shared music, he was the 'sweetest thing to me,' and it was 'whatever's whatever,' and all that mattered was that we 'smiled today.'

Red star sounds was a great cd. And until five minutes ago, I had forgotten all about it. It was a jazzy compilation of a lot of artists that I really love. And a long time ago we shared the music together. And when I just listened to the words to 'sweetest thing,' I smiled about a feeling I couldn't genuinely recall any other way but through music. Whatever was there then has long since gone, but we shared the music, and as we all know, all things can live on through the music. Which got me thinking...

Why can I look back in smile when I hear the music, but not when I see his face? How can you live and breathe songs with someone and then eventually get to the point where you rather not hear the songs again because you don't want to remember the smiles. The song isn't a bad song just because you don't live the lyrics anymore, but somehow the song has betrayed you and so you cast it away to live with the rest of the one hit wonders of your life.

But we, we had albums. We had lines of songs. We were lyrics. "see my mind's gone half crazy cause I can't leave you alone..."

But somewhere that turned in to, "Heard it all before..." and "I'll get out..." and "we can't be friends..." and I think I liked our first playlist better.

And though truly, I was 'DANGEROUSLY in love,' he was just the sweetest thing to me.

I really love this song. I wish it didn't hurt so much to listen to it. It makes me wish I could go back to that place where I truly felt it, sad when you realize you only get to be in love like that one time. It's such an amazingly intoxicating feeling.

"you're the morning, evening, sunrise after sleeping,"

Damn those were great lyrics. I've never been lost in a man like that before or since, but damn if it wasn't great when it was great.

"your the only one i want to be, sweetest thing that i've ever seen, sweetest thing to me," --we really killed what we had.

Now sometimes I think, it was truly all a dream. Either a dream or a lie, either way, it was something unreal. Percieved, imagined, created, but not real. It's not real for one person to be everybody's sweetest thing, but damn if it wasn't sweet when I thought he was mine.

So the thing is, I really like the Red Star Sounds cd, but I don't think I'll ever really be able to listen to it again. Not because I can't but there's some places, I suppose, no matter how great they were, you just don't ever quite want to go back to.

so many things to say

Austin says update my blog. Funny he should say that, I've actually written three posts that have never graced your eyes. I wrote on some things, and then feeling unsatisfied with myself decided not to post them. So instead of writing about one thing, i'll throw you guys a list of all of the things I could have written about since my last post.
1. My &^%$% @#$% co-worker.
2. The difference between coincidence and fate.
3. How to recover from a less than earth moving first conversation.
4. How much I hate text messenging.
5. How effed up it was that I was sick all thanksgiving break.
6. How dope my lil brother is on the saxaphone.
7. Why I would never move somewhere for a man I wasn't certain loved me.
8. Why Facebook is the devil.
9. My obsession with Making the Band 3.
10. The next apprentice is going to be a Black man.
11. People that throw pity parties for themselves.
12. Why both Austin and Danielle's lives could be lifetime movies.
13. If my life had to be categorized in to a film genre, it would be somewhere in between Dramtic Irony and Slapstic Comedy.
14. What it's like being a woman who plays in the big boy's league.
15. How sad I am that I didn't get to go to the Color Purple red carpet.
16. If there's a such thing as bad timing occuring multiple times.
17. How much I love the holiday season.

Ok Austin, you happy?

Inspiration

Because you think you never inspired me:
You inspired me to keep going when I had already given up.
You inspired me to wake up when I was hiding from the world.
You inspired me to fight when I had already been beaten down.
You inspired me to forgive myself when I didn't think HE would.
You inspired me to never settle, because "too many people were counting on me"
You inspired me to spend more time with my family.
You inspired me to never deny myself Chocolate ice cream.
You inspired me to accept nothing less than exactly what I wanted.
You inspired me to find happiness again.
You inspired me to read EVERYTHING that ever came in front of me.
You inspired me to clean up my house, when it was at the point of no return.
You inspired me to get in touch with my inner OCD.
You inspired me to get rid of all that baggage I was holding on to.
You made me trust again...
It's not everyday something inspires me, but everyday I was inspired by you.

As fate would have it

For years there has been one night that has always stood out in my mind. It was the night that changed the course of my tenure in college. Superficially enough, this night occured in a night club...my first club experience in Atlanta, GA. I have always remembered this night because it was the beginning of a very important relationship I had while in college. But what if all the time I had been hanging on to this moment, it was not because of what happened as a result of this evening, it was because of what didn't. To be more clear, what if the reason I've always remembered was not because of what began, but because of what never came to be. What if when he walked up and asked if I was with him, I would have said yes...

When fun is work...

I work in the entertainment industry. Don't know how that happened it just is what is. It's a very interesting place this lil world of entertainment, tricky if you know what I mean.

Point being, for the past two weeks straight, I've been out every night. Sometimes to just one party, sometimes to up to three and four a night. Most people wouldn't complain about partying, but when having fun is work...it's not that fun anymore. I work at parties, I husltle, connect and make potential business partners, client, etc in the middle of crowded clubs, with hip-hop blasting, and go-go girls dancing on top of bars. And when I'm not working there, I'm at somebody's red carpet for something or other, or seeing movies before they come out, doing quickie interviews with Russell Simmons, Diddy, and others so often that while they're talking I think to myself how I wish they'd just shut up...this is my job.

So now what am I supposed to do for fun? I don't want to go to a concert, or a party or anything like that on the weekend, that's not fun it's just work. So now what, what am I supposed to do now that fun is work and work isn't fun?

Dream on Dream Away

Many people have spent many years researching the subconcious. Trying to figure out what the images of your brain mean while you are sleeping. Recently I have been having lots of dreams. Nothing bad happens in my dreams, they are not scary or harmful, but having the dreams themselves wake me up in the middle of the night in a panic. I am more upset at having the dream than what's happening in the dream. To put it simply, I feel like I'm being haunted. Like someone is haunting me in my sleep, knowing that when I'm sleeping is the only time I would be vulnerable enough to be stupid enough to believe in them again. I'm being attacked every night by dreams that appear harmless, but I know that even the harmless of scenes have implications far beyond the actions. The only way to fight it is to stay awake, but I'm sleepy...any suggestions?

Ew

So I'm watching this interview with Aamer (VH1 VJ) and Mayor Nagin about New Orleans after the hurricane, and I know this is really shallow, but I hate it when men sit in chairs with their legs crossed, I think it's suspect...they're both sitting with their legs crossed. EW!

Business as usual

With his partner and friend Pimp C in jail, Bun B has no choice but to put out a solo album. The Texas town rapper, who rose to fame as half of the lengendary southern duo UGK, has recently appeared on records with the likes of Lil' Jon, Beanie Sigel and Jay-Z just to name a few. Yet, with all these collaborations in his midst, there is only one person Bun B truly wishes to be working with…but until his time is up, Bun B is working hard to hold it down alone.

Chocolate recently caught up with Bun B to find how he’s handling life without Pimp and what to expect from his upcoming solo debut Trill.

What was the biggest difference in putting together your solo project?
Everything. It was a whole new process from start to finish. I did everything before with two people in mind and this time I did it with one. The total reworking of music and recording, you know, interplay with other artists and what not. Everything was brand new. It was a completely different process.

You rapped on the Ying Yang twins album about Pimp C being in jail, are there any songs on your album dedicated to him?

No cause, every rhyme I’ve written has said something about Pimp being in jail, so I don’t really need to.


How often do you talk to him?
I can go see him once a month--once every two months. We correspond through letters, I holla at him through the radio all the time.

Even though you had already been in the game for years, many people say your appearance on Jay-Z’s 2003 summer hit Big Pimpin’ was a turning point in your career, do you agree?

Yeah, it was turning point, it definitely had its advantages - Grammy nominations and stuff like that, but I don’t sit around and question everything. God will take everything, so I just do what I do and keep moving.

You’ve already worked with Lil’ Jon, Beanie Siegel, Scarface, TI, Pitbull, Nas, Jadakiss, Mannie Fresh, Three Six Mafia, what was your favorite collaboration thus far?

Probably the song I did with Pimp C. They were all beneficial to me, but that’s like asking which one of my children was cuter. I’ve never understood that, I’d hate to think that one of my kids was better than the other. And honestly the best collaboration, I probably haven’t recorded it yet.

What’s your biggest regret about your Jive records deal?
No regrets. I don't regret anything.

You wouldn’t do anything differently?
Nothing.

What’s it like being on rap-a-lot compared to Jive?

I’m more a part of the process and I don’t have to worry about what people are doing when I’m not around.

When can we expect the first video?
We just shot it in Houston just showing the hood. See with me we don’t any pre-planned, we just cut the cameras on and rolled around to just see what’s going on in the hood.

How are you helping out the victims of Hurricane Katrina that have relocated to Houston?
We’re trying to facilitate those people as best we can, we have a shelter, we’re personally taking care of 200 people, the problem is scheduling is backed up. But as far as major MTV benefits or whatever, I don’t get invited to stuff like that.

Why do you think people have been so resistant to Southern Music?
I think that the media perpetuated that, I don’t really think it was the fans. I think it was the industry. Once the fans got a hold of it, it was all good.

You and Pimp C are often credited with putting southern music on the mainstream radar. Now there seems to be a sort of southern takeover, how does it feel to see artist like Young Jeezy and T.I. coming out of the south and really doing their thing, and know that you helped pave the way?
I think to an extent we helped, and if I have been a part of their success, I feel great about it.

After being in the game so long, what are you looking for now, you’ve got respect, do you still want stardom?
No, not at all, I’m perfectly happy. A lot of money would be nice. I’m fine with my stardom but I could use a lot more money.
Leigh Davenport

Giving up is so very hard to do

I've seen a couple really bad movies in the last week. One was an advance screening of In the Mix, the new movie starring Usher, the other was G, some movie starring dude from Judging Amy and Blair Underwood. Honestly in my bad movie meter, these two films were probably two of the worst movies I've ever seen, but still I sat through them both. Yes, I did think about leaving, just getting up and walking out, I knew the movies weren't going to get any better. But I couldn't. For some reason I had to sit there and ride it out. I knew the endings would be deeply disappointing but still, I sat there waiting until the very end. I was horrified by both endings, Usher got married to the Italian chick and started doing the re-run at his wedding, in G, the stupid main character woman got shot, and actually that was oddly fufilling. Regardless, I got up left the theater disappointed, (more so about G since I paid to see it) and both times a bit emotionally upset. And though I am thoroughly disturbed that people waste millions of dollars on movies that should never make past the paper shredder, I think I was more disappointed in myself for staying through the whole thing. So my question is, why is it so hard to give up?

Good one. Why, when you know something is bad, has been bad, is going to continue to be bad, is it still so hard to just finally suck it up and quit it. Walk out, ask for your money, heart, or self-respect back from whoever stole it, and just leave. Close the door, end the chapter, let it ride.

With the movie, it's because I really want to give it, it's full opportunity to at least make 25 cents of my 10 dollars worth it. With, work, relationships, love, etc, I think it's because giving up people, situations, things is almost like personal failure. It hurts as much to truly give up on people, as it does to not give up on them and allow them to damage your life. It's sad, I think, when you realize you can't save someone, you can't save your job, you can't save your friendship, you can't save the movie. You just have to acknowledge it directly and give up on it. It's not going to get better, no matter how long you stay there watching it. Why is it so hard to realize that the ending is going to suck, whether you see it or not.

ALEXANDER

Today I realized I was an adult. NO--not because I just turned 22, but because I had a bad day. And not just a regular bad day. I had a bad ADULT day. How so you ask? Let me explain. Everything that happened on my bad day today were things that would have never constituted a bad day just 6 months ago. For example, I got upset over a work assignment, my internet isn't working at home and they can't send someone to fix it for two weeks, my landlord cashed my rent check on the 25th of the month, another co-worker did something wrong and tried to blame it on me. Now no, these aren't big things I know but the pattern is that they are all very adult. I couldn't believe it, I was having a bad adult day, a day that was ruined because of work, bills, and housework. I'm only 22...somebody tell me this isn't happening. I never thought i'd miss the bad days that were bad because the chapter was in trouble, or my boyfriend was late to pick me up, or my Professor gave a pop quiz...but those seem like walks in the park compared to the day I had today.

My First Homecoming

I knew I had to go, I just didn't realize how great it would be. It was my birthday on the day of homecoming. All I had to do was stand still and I was having fun. It was special, so special that writing about it won't do it justice.

So funny things that happened at Homecoming.
1. I bought a birthday dress that costs as much as my weekly pay check.
2. I got pulled over on the way to and from my birthday party.
3. I was in the front of the line.
4. She came with my line sister.
5. Fritz's hair was blond.
6. I volunteered to pay at a party.
7. I drove a car for the first time in 6 months.
8. The tailgate reminded me of the Bayou Classic.
9. Tiffany and I knew all the words to crucial conflict.
10. I didn't care that we lost the step show.
11. I secretly wished I still lived in Atlanta.
12. I cried when my plane left Hartsfield.
13. My prophytes were SOOOOOOOOO nice.
14. My cell phone was off the ENTIRE weekend.
15. The plane ride home looked like I was in ADW class.
16. George said it best (u know what i'm talking about)
17. Mercer bought the bar.

Styles P. isn’t looking for respect, he knows he’s got it already. Recently released from jail, the often overshadowed former LOX member is ready to release his sophomore album Time is Money and the title tells all. After his stint behind bars, Styles P. has gained a new perspective on the meaning of time, and now he’s out to turn it in to more money.

I recently caught up with the Yonkers, NY artist, to chat about life after jail and putting his money where his mouth is, literally.

You’ve said that your first album, A Gangster and A Gentlemen, did better than you expected, what do you expect from Time is Money?
I expect it to do better because it’s a better album. It’s more mature—more of a grown man album. It’s got a deeper perspective

How did you gain this new perspective?
Life. Life itself. Trials and tribulations ya know. If you’re asking about my time being in jail, yes, it inspired me.

What was the worst part about being in jail?
Everything. All of it. You just don’t want to be there. That’s your freedom. Your freedom is gone. You’re a slave, it’s like slavery part two. Slavery all over kid.

Lyrically you have been very critical of current rap artists. Who do you feel is big right now, but doesn’t back it up with lyrics?
I mean pretty much everybody on top. There’s not too many people out there right now that are nice.

What rappers in the game do you actually admire right now?
Um, well Jay Z. But I respect everybody’s work, I don’t disrespect their work, I just said they’re not lyrical.

In the past you’ve been part of a group that had distanced itself from mainstream imagery, (i.e. Bad Boy and the shiny suits), are you now looking for mainstream success?
Nah. I’m striving for more money. I’m good with my stardom, I get the most respect on the streets. You have to understand you’ve got the streets and you’ve got the industry. The industry is not hip-hop. So the thing is, if you don’t broaden your horizons, you can’t get that certain type of buck. I’m alright with my stardom--being the most respected on the streets, but there’s a lot of money being made out there right now and I would like some more of it. I got to get a bigger piece of the pie.

So are you now looking at this album from more of a business standpoint?
I’m still an artist first. Everything is about being an artist first. If I was just looking from a business standpoint, that would be totally ludicrous. I just felt that this time, I had to make different songs that I wouldn’t make before. I had the ladies in mind on this album. I had to make some songs for the ladies.

How important is it to you to stay in the mixtape circuit?
I’m a MC. I may be business minded, but at the end of the day I like to make music. I like to show how nice I am. We make a lot of music, and we make a lot of mixtape stuff. Some people still care about giving the streets something to listen to. Some do and some don’t. Some people get in the industry and stop making stuff for the streets, and that’s it, they just don’t rhyme that much.

Do you respond to the beef with 50 Cent on the album?
I wouldn’t call it beef, but I got a song for it. It’s a war of the words ya know. I mean it’s not beef because we don’t know them and because nobody’s mad. We don’t know them, we’ve never met them before. You know they just manufactured that mess for marketing and stuff.

You wrote a song on the album called I’m Black, which discusses the hardships of being a black man in America. Are you getting in to more conscious rap?
I’ve always wanted to make a song about being black. When I was in jail it just came to me, but I think every rapper is conscious. If you mean a path leaning to a righteous state of mind, I think that all conscious artists should be supported. Talib Kweli, Common, Dead Presidents, they should all be supported.

What legacy do you want to leave for your kids?
Work hard. Get what you deserve and earn it. To me that counts more than everything else, respect above everything.
Leigh Davenport

Everybody's a Fan--pop culture post

So yesterday, on Being Bobby Brown, which I'm sure you watch, Whitney said something amazing!!! As she read a tabloid, she looks over to Bobby and says, "look at Beyonce she's such a doll, invite me to the wedding, I would love to go." Wait, that's right Whitney Houston sweats B and Jay too? Get out! If Beyonce isn't everybody's favorite girl, she can certainly rest easy knowing that Whitney, (whose voice blows B out of the water--on a good day of course) is sweating her, trying to get an invite to the wedding. It just goes to show, we're not the only ones obsessed with America's favorite power couple, the celebs are obsessed as well.

Keeping along those lines today...Jay-Z was on TRL with Teairra Mari, introducing her as his new artist, you know doing some album sales publicity. So Quddus (that light skinned kerly head lame guy who hosts TRL) was sweating Jay-Z so hard, he seemed to have forgotten they were there to promote poor little Teairra. Instead of asking about Teairra, or even talking to her for that matter, Quddus went on and on about Jay being the president of Def Jam, and about how fiery Kanye's new album is going to be. He didn't forget to mention how sorry he was that he couldn't make it to the listening party the other night, (I guess he wanted us all to know that he was invited and we weren't!). Pretty Princess Te-Te sat there looking left out, and when Quddus finally did speak to her, to ask her what she thought of Kanye's new joint, she said a very unenthused, "It's hot," after which Quddus proceeded to clown her for lack more profound words on the subject.

Maybe Quddus and Whiteny can get together and try to scheme up a way to have a dinner party with B and Jay!!!

What's a big number?

27 doesn’t really seem like a big number. You can’t do much with 27 cents, or even 27 dollars. You might easily have 27 books, 27 pairs of shoes maybe even 27 emails in your inbox in the morning. But imagine what it would feel like if 27 people in you knew died in one week. That would have to take out most of your immediate family, some close friends, a couple of colleagues. If 27 people that you knew died next week, imagine what you would have left. You would be hanging on by a thread with no hope, no joy, no sense of ending, no understanding. You would feel as if everything you had ever known, that you were forsaken, and that you couldn’t possibly deserve to experience such a great quantity of pain.

Now. Think of how you would feel if you lost just one person. If one person that you cared about was to suddenly die, maybe in an accident, a shoot out, or in a plane crash. How much would that change your life? How different would your tomorrow be if just one person you loved didn’t wake up in the morning to share it with you. If when you got the news you had been waiting for, you suddenly had to remind yourself that they were no longer there. Pretty devastating isn’t it?

At least 27 families in this country will go in to their next week trying to console themselves, and get past the grief of losing a son, brother, sister, or aunt to war in Iraq. And though they are certainly not the only people to experience loss in this past week, there is something different about losing someone to war. There may be the sentiment that the war is stupid and unjust, but even for those who support the war in Iraq loosing a loved in combat has to feel different. It must sting with resentment, and hurt with hindsight’s vision. It must be selfish because one tells themselves to expect it, but don’t ever really expect it to happen to them. It must be ridden with guilt when they can’t stop themselves from thinking, “Out of all of the people who didn’t die over there, how come it had to be him?” It must seem important but irrelevant when you honestly admit that nobody and nothing can stop terrorism. It must be something you really never get over.

In terms of winning a war, 27 casualities really doesn’t seem like much. It’s not a hundred, or thousands, it’s just 27—that’s not that bad right?

27 people died this week in Iraq, and today is Thursday. If it still seems insignificant, write down the closest 27 people you have in your life in order. And for the next 7 days, scratch off four. Don’t call them, don’t email them. Just pretend their four more of those guys in Iraq that you don’t know that died. Try it...in a few days you realize that much smaller numbers can have a huge impact. 27 doesn't seem so small anymore huh?

Things You Might Learn At Six Flags

To escape the madness of spending five consecutive days existing solely on Manhattan island, a couple of friends and I decided we needed a break. Our choice destination would be to none other that Six Flags to relish in a day of cheating death, and plummeting through the sky while our various body parts were thrown in directions by speeds unreasonably fast, but somehow still find this considerably enjoyable and compared to the city, even relaxing. How was it you may wonder? Great! I think as you get older it becomes increasingly more fun to act like a child. I had forgotten how much fun one can have standing in half hour long lines to experience about 35 seconds of terror and joy. Of course, this great adventure of mine, would prove to be quite the learning experience, as all experiences seem to be once you reach the age of intellectual perception. Three extremely interesting observations I have made during my day at six flags, (there were more than three, but these most important) which I feel worthy of sharing as minor notes, or cultural commentaries about this very interesting world we live in, and the complex lives we lead.

I’m not waiting in that line…
Now I know it’s been something like five years since the last time I went to six flags, but I’m pretty sure this is new. At each main attraction roller coaster I approached people were walking out of the line. “Is the ride broken?” I asked. “No, we were just in a line for a while so we thought we would leave,” the riders responded as the hastily exited the ride through the entrance gate. I must preface this account by saying, due to reasons I can’t quite explain, Six Flags was pretty doggone empty yesterday. I waited in no line longer than 30 minutes, the massive maze of passenger waiting areas were mostly roped off and blocked with trash cans, and we were hardly ever in stand still traffic. Also, the weather was quite nice, it was a perfectly beautiful day though not stifling hot by any means. All of this for a normal Six Flagger, or at least the mid-western ones I had grown up with meant, you were going to have a GREAT day at the park. Like, what more could you possibly ask for? But still, for these northeastern riders, the drastically short lines in the shade with private DJ’s and MC’s for your waiting entertainment were just too much. They would not wait. No. Not waiting. Ain’t gonna do it. And so they left the line, and hey, who am I to stop them, it made my wait even shorter.

But honestly, this was the most baffling sight I had ever seen. Have we grown so impatient as a society we won’t even wait to have fun? I mean really, why would you ever go to an amusement park if you weren’t going to stand in line? Does that even sound logical. And furthermore, when the lines are barely 30 minutes long, what could you possibly have to do that’s more important. Perhaps it’s a northeastern thing. I often find that New Yorkers have a sort of innate impatience, I’m assuming that’s why they lean their heads over the edge of the subway every 30 seconds to check and see if they can see the lights from an approaching train. I must admit, that every now in then, I succumb to this train ‘n’ seek behavior, (when I’m in rush, or running late of course). But this wasn’t the subway! We were waiting for death defying drops, and upside loopty loops and stuff--the subway doesn’t do that. You can wait 30 minutes for that, right? I could. Thank God. There’s a lot of ways to realize you might have reached a new level of stress and ridiculously self-destructive behavior, but I suggest, go to Six Flags, and try not to have fun. If you can succeed in doing so, you might want to check yourself in somewhere, or maybe even quit your job because something is truly wrong with you. Trust me, your blackberry is very cool, but it’s definitely not cooler than the Nitro ride at Six Flags Great Adventure.

You have to dance first…
To keep the rowdies and drunkies calm in the line for the Superman (which is the most terrifying and unpleasant ride I’ve ever encountered) a young nerdy white male played a Six Flags trivia game show offering eager riders a chance to win a “don’t wait in line pass” for the ride of their choice. Several contestants played and failed, a few won, it was all in good fun. As the line progressed Jake (we’ll call him since I know not his name) asked if anyone else wanted to play, and any who said yes were welcomed to the booth to play his five question trivia game. As my group of friends approached the booth, Jake asked if anyone else wanted to play and I raised my hand. And then it happened?

Jake: You want to play?
Me: Yes
Jake: You have to come up and dance first.
Me: No
Jake: Sorry, if you don’t dance you can’t play.
Me: (rolling my eyes, preparing to launch in to a fit)
Friends: Why would he ask you to dance? He didn’t ask anyone else to dance.
Me: Do I look like a stripper?
Friend: That’s f***ed up, I’m gonna ask him why he said that when we get to the front of the line.
Other Friend: You should report that to the park, that’s so blatant.
Me: Blatant!!! To us, we’re two black women who graduated from Spelman, it’s not gonna be blatant to them.
Friend: That’s true. I’m really mad about it.
Me: I know.
All: Oh a day in the life.

He asked me to dance. Straight up, with a straight face, he looked at me and asked me to dance. He didn’t ask anyone before or after me to dance. He only asked me—the only black female who wanted to play the game, I had to dance. I honestly am so angered by this incident that I’m find explaining it a bit difficult. I guess I feel like I shouldn’t have to. So if you don’t understand the source of my anger and disbelief you should read some black feminist thought, and then come back to my blogger when you're a bit more enlightened.

Human beings are crazy...
Simply. Think about it. Why do we enjoy roller coasters? I think, because for less than a minute or so we cheat death. If we can do it a couple of times in one day, it's worth $50 and a two hour drive. Often when our lives or in chaos, and we are feeling stressed out beyond comprehension we say, "it's just been such a rollercoaster ride," or something of that nature. We may go on to describe the vast ups and downs in life, the quick changes that we don't see coming, the anticipation of slowly making it all the way to the top, and then the steep drops when we've finally made it. Life takes us on a dozens of loops at a quick pace and most often around these times, we feel sorry for ourselves because we're so "stressed out." But maybe not those of us who love going to Six Flags. We, secretly, love the roller coaster ride of life. As long as we're not in one place too long, we can't live with out the ups and downs, the uncertainty, the big risk. It's why we keep going everyday, why we continue to seek out life's biggest thrills..because we know all things eventuallly come to an end. But, before they do, we know you should ride every ride as many times as you can. Nothing is better than the feeling of knowing that you conquered what seems impossible more than once, and nothing is more rewarding than conquering what you might fear the most.

Be Responsible for your story

Fired. That’s right, and she deserved it. Why Nadine Hoabsh thought it was appropriate to spill her bosses beauty industry business all over the internet via her “anonymous” blog is beyond anyone of reasonable intelligence. Her appearance on MSNBC to parle the drama into a book deal—well, that’s where this chick gets a bit smarter.

JolieinNYC is the notorious beauty blog that’s making this girl famous. Not surprising since bloggers give any moron with a thought instant publishing power, and an international reading audience. What’s better, they’re anonymous (if you choose to make it that way). That’s right, you can become the person you always wished you were as long as you do it via the internet, where no one can see, touch or just make you own up to all the crap you’re posting in cyberspace.

A slap in the face is what they are. Why study and train and learn to be a responsible journalist when you can log on to blogspot and start spewing all kinds of nonsense out in to the atmosphere without ever having to take responsibility for your words. Because, that happens a lot in real life huh? Why don’t we all just start sending anonymous letters to each other cursing each other out and threatening to expose deep dark secrets? Oh because that’s called a) stalking or b)blackmail. But still, some people actually sympathize with Nadine, they support her and love the blog. Hope they can support her jobless behind while she’s writing that book of hers since she’s been fired twice in one week.

It’s something really weird about society nowadays. If we want to know about anything, we have the luxury of simply googling it and see what pops up. But what ever happened to loyalty, integrity, ethics (especially from journalist)? In a society full of cable news and talking heads, now we have blogs, free publishing space for any gutless spineless person who’s too weak to stand by their words, or get a real job and publish them with their named attached. But hey, Judith Miller’s going to jail, and Nadine Hoabsh is Jolie in NYC, and she’s the journalist people are sympathizing with?

Unbelievable.

Perhaps this will be a wake up call to all bloggers out there young and old. Sometimes you don’t know the power of your own words. If you think twice before you say it aloud, maybe you should think again before you publish it on blogspot.

Has Tourism Gone Too Far?

“This church is members only,” said the elderly black man who was strategically standing in the middle as the door as to not let any one in around him. He was speaking to a mixed group of white faces and when I approached the door looking utterly confused as he ushered my brown face in no question. “Maybe being a ‘member’ means you’re black?” I thought, a bit confused because I had never seen anyone turn someone away from a church before. “Can he do that?”

Yes. He can. Or at least he can try.

Unknown to the guard of the gates, down the block and around the corner of the church stood a group of at least 50 more people, all white, all intent on attending service at Abyssinian Baptist Church at 11 o’clock service on Sunday morning. Soon, it became very clear, this wasn’t about the race of the intended guests -- no, not at all. These people were not fellow Baptists seeking to attend a good Baptist church service. These people were not even dressed for church. This was a tourist group. A bus load of people touring the city, sight seeing in Harlem. And as if they were standing in the tickets line for a last minute Broadway show, this group of tourists lined up around the corner and in small groups walked up to the church doors seeking entrance to Sunday morning’s main attraction, a group of black Baptist worshippers praying and rejoicing in the lord.

It wasn’t just distracting to see to look up and see tourists walking in and out of the church throughout the service, it was outright disrespectful. More so, because these people modeled their finest t-shits, tank tops, cargo shorts, flip-flops and backpacks. They came in with big smiles on their faces looking at us as if we were props on a set, not people in prayer communing in a house of God.

It’s no wonder that a church founded and erected in 1808 by three black preachers who were rebelling against segregated seating in Baptist congregations draws admirers from around the country. The beauty of the sanctuary beams as the choir of elderly black men and women sing the eldest of negro spirituals. The community of the church is true as the good Rev. Calvin Butts can joke throughout the sermon at the expense of an embarrassed parishioner. This rich history and spirit that has filled the halls of this building is palpable and powerful. With such a rich legacy, of course, people from around the world seek to see the inside of Abyssinian Baptist Church, the same way they desire to see St. Patrick’s Cathedral or even the Vatican.

I’ve never been to catholic mass, though I have visited numerous cathedrals. Each time I have visited I have been on a weekday when tourists are allowed to walk through and observe. I have always been careful not to touch anything, and to make sure to keep my voice down and be respectful of the place of worship. As a black woman I have never even imagined that I could enter into a place of worship with a bus load of my friends like we were going to a concert. I just can’t possibly grasp what could make anyone think that type of behavior is acceptable.

I, too, was a first time visitor to Abyssinian on Sunday. When I awoke to get ready, I took great care in picking my outfit. I wanted to be conservative, not to bright, not to revealing. I tried on several outfits before deciding on a navy blazer and white pants, and I worried about the pants.

But unlike me, these people were disruptive, they entered and exited throughout the entire church service, they were improperly dressed and appeared much more like eager spectators than people in search of prayer. It was all just too much, too inappropriate, way too out of control.

So what to do? I, like the man guarding the door, would never begrudge anyone the opportunity to come worship in a house of God. But I don’t think Jesus is a stop on the Big Apple Tour Bus, and certainly don’t think I praying is a spectator sport. And while I don’t suppose a church can shut its doors to the public, I do suppose if the public is planning on stopping through, they could dress for the occasion.

Living in New York City, brings about unpleasant tourist experiences on a daily basis. You can’t even walk in Times Square in the summer unless you want to get mixed in with a bunch of 15 year old kids in orange t-shirts from Ohio. But there in an area so brightly lit it feels like daytime at 3 a.m., it’s understandable and therefore tolerable. Tourists in my church home—that I just can’t tolerate.

Hustle & Flow: A Commentary from below

If you’ve never lived in the south, visited Memphis, (and by that I don’t mean Germantown) you might dismiss Hustle & Flow as a silly film that glorifies pimping and the objectification of women at the expense of achieving stardom. You might even think that the rags to riches story is far fetched and overly exaggerated. But if you lived in the south and felt the infectious pulse of southern rap music penetrate your body as you sit in the club trying not to bounce your head to lyrics that say “bitch, bend over let me see it,” then you know and understand just how important this movie is, and just how much truth lies in the story of D’Jay and his hoes.

Ask most successful people born in smaller southern cities about home, and they will mostly likely say something to the effect of “I made it out.” That’s the answer across the board in small towns or even southern metropolis’ where people are either rich or poor and there is very little in between. In a region where men still open the door for women, and offer to carry your bags, it shouldn’t be far fetched to imagine that other “old school” mentalities are pervasive as well. Many of those may be sexist, and in fact misogynistic and degrading to women, a truth that comes through in the music of southern artists such as the Ying Yang Twins, Project Pat and UGK just to name a few. This coupled with failing economies and a pervasive racist culture is why you may find a D’Jay, Shug, Lexus and Nolan living together in a whore house in Memphis trying to make it the best way that they can.

Hustle & Flow follows D’Jay, (Terrence Howard) as he strives to make it as a rapper before his age catches up with him. An unsuccessful pimp, D’Jay sells weed on the side for extra cash and plays pimp to Lexus (Paula Jai Parker), a stripper-prostitute with a son, Nolan, (Taryn Manning) a prostitute who’s the major source of income for the house, and Shug (Taraji P. Henson) D’Jay’s bottom bitch, a sweet faced prostitute who is currently pregnant. Facing a mid-life crises, D’Jay enlists the help of an old high school buddy to help him cut a demo for hometown rapper Skinny Black who is coming back to Memphis for the holiday. If they can just get Skinny a demo, D’Jay knows he’s gonna make it to stardom.

Huslte & Flow’s greatest success is showing peoples lives without forcing them to be apologetic, condemning or unbelievably politically correct. Because, as you may find out if you ask a stripper or two, they’re not all feeling sorry for themselves everyday and lamenting the misogynistic treatment from their pimps. Which, makes sense, because if they were, they probably wouldn’t be doing what they’re doing in the first place.

Yes prostitution, and pimping is repulsive and for many completely unjustifiable, but when you walk into a strip club in the south and look around, the women inside are making it, “by any means necessary,” Hustle & Flows defining principle. And that is what makes Hustle & Flow such a phenomenal film. Everyday each of us choose how we are going to make it. Some of us clean houses, work jobs we’re not passionate about, even go on reality TV and make an ass of ourselves--anything to make it. To us, no one ever has much to say. But the strippers, drug dealers, prostitutes and pimps -- they are condemned for their lewd behavior regardless of how many mouths they have to feed at home, without consideration of what may have driven them to this path.

This is a story for people who understand that some people don’t see a better way out. They don’t see the other side of tracks, and if they do, it’s only as they ride back to their desolate and hopeless side of town that we like to pretend doesn’t exist because it makes us feel better.

D’Jay writes songs called “it’s hard out there for a pimp,” and “whoop that trick” because that is what he lives everyday. The same way Tupac talked about thug life, and Jay-Z raps about balling, D’Jay writes a bout pimpin. This is real in the south, the pimpin, the hustling, the standing outside in the parking lots flossin, and the angry desire to cause trouble with anybody that tests your manhood. Because of course, when a man can barely provide for himself, his manhood becomes an entirely created persona. Perhaps this is why choosing to become a pimp seems all the more enticing—somebody will look at you as a provider and that somebody will validate you as a man.

One of the most honest moments in the film occurs when Shug looks into D’Jay’s eyes and says, “this meant the world to me,” referring to her being allowed to sing the hook for the demo. As sad as it may be, this moment captures the true essence of the film. People see and experience the world in completely different ways, and what may seem to trivial to some may be others defining moments.

When D’Jay meets Skinny and manages to sweet talk his demo tape into Skinny’s hands, the feel good movie begins to reek of disruption brewing. Moments later when D’Jay finds his demo in the toilet with a drunken Skinny Black sitting beside, D’Jay can’t control his rage and begins to beat skinny to unconsciousness, resulting in an outbreak of violence in the club that leaves D’Jay facing 12 months. Some might say this was an unnecessary but convenient plot change, but for those of us who have grown up in the hip-hop generation, we know that things like that happen over silliness like that all the time. And the next day we call the radio stations to gossip about it.

A lot of people probably aren’t going to like Hustle and Flow, it will seem too distant, too imperfect and therefore unbelievable. But many people will walk away thinking, I’m not that guy, but I know that guy and I definitely know that music. That’s where the movie will become a classic.

Teairra Mari

At the tender age of 17, most would safely assume life hasn’t dealt a cute girl with a sweet voice too many hard knocks. Safe would be incorrect when it comes to Teairra Mari, pretty princess of the Roc, whose first single, “Make Her Feel Good,” proves that the new teen queen won’t be singing about bubble gum and puppy love. The yet-to-be titled debut album features songs true to the style Teairra’s hometown Detroit --- a bit street, a bit loud and undeniably attention grabbing.

“Can’t a girl from the hood find a homey,” asks Teairra in her hit single, “Make Her Feel Good,” which samples Eric B. and Rakim’s classic hit “My Melody.” The infectious song is definitely a club hit and sure to be a favorite for the ladies who want to know, “is there any boys around who know how to make a girl feel good?”

Another track introduces Teairra’s desire to bring a harder edge to R&B. She tells the story of growing up with an absentee father over a rocking track reminiscent of Jay’s “99 problems.” An indignant Teairra says, “I ain’t had no daddy around when I was growing up that’s why I’m wild and I don’t give a (fill your choice of profanity here).” This princess is not exactly going for dainty, but Teairra’s sultry young voice makes the no holds bar lyrics of the song that much more intriguing.

Other songs on the album prove to have the same radio play potential with Teairra’s sexy vocals accompanied by clearly identifiable rockafella-esque club bangin’ beats. Somehow it comes together to give Teairra a pretty unique sound, maybe even picking up a bit where Aaliyah left off.

Teairra Mari makes an impressive debut at seventeen but it may be a bit much for an artist who can barely get in to see R-Rated movies. One fact is undisputable--this girl doesn’t take mess from anybody.

Is Bill Cosby Right? Or has the black middle class lost its mind?

Bill Cosby has successfully pissed off a lot of people since his first introductory rant against lower class black America at the NAACP Brown v. Board of Education anniversary dinner in April 2004. But perhaps he has pissed off no one more than self titled “hip-hop intellectual” Michael Eric Dyson who has dedicated his latest book, Is Bill Cosby Right: or has the black middle class lost it's mind? to crucifying Cosby as a rich, ignorant, race traitor-sellout, which is all a bit much to bear in reference to America's favorite TV dad.

As can be inferred from the title, this book is about as surface as it's eye-catching cover work which features Bill Cosby's head cut out and used for the “o” in Cosby. Clearly, Dyson is cashing in on the controversy and doesn't make much of an attempt in the 240 pages to ever truly address or intellectually discuss any of the issues of self-sabotage, anti-intellectualism and underachievement that undeniably face black America. Instead Dyson spends the majority of the text personally attacking Cosby calling him “mean-spirited” and “hurtful” and nearly suggesting he be cast-away in to black American exile (to join the likes of Clarence Thomas and Marion Barry, of course).

After a brief introduction in which Dyson recaps Cosby's speech, he’s off taking on Cosby word for word. It can only be described as childish taunting the way Dyson continuously assaults Cosby throughout the book.
“Perhaps Cosby has forgotten what it was like to be young, black, and poor, or to be hungry for even more capital in the wake of a real first taste of money and then comforts it can bring.” (p. 83).

Take that Cosby, you just don't understand cause you're rich. Or at least that seems to be Dyson's point as he whole-heartedly defends every criticism of Black America Cosby makes. One for one, Dyson goes through Cosby's speech and attempts to clear it all up for us.

Dyson vehemently defends Black English as a legitimate dialect, which should not be undervalued against some supposed white “standard” citing the great Ebonics debate as proof. “The Oakland teachers realized, as do most black folk, that we must code-switch, or as Cosby phrased it, speak one variety of English on the streets and another in the home, on the job and the like.” (p.77)

However true this may or may not be, Dyson makes no room for the possibility that many children who speak Black English are not code-switching. They know only the dialect they speak and are unable to fluently switch between to benefit themselves in school or on a job. This type of blind defense goes on as Dyson explains away baggy pants as over policed black bodies hiding in their clothes, cites eccentric names as remnants of African cultural retention, combats academic gaps by twisting statistics of one sociological study, and excuses poor parenting by a completely unnecessary attack on Cosby's personal life.

“Despite his landmark television show, and despite writing the best-selling book Father hood, Cosby's relationship to his daughter reflected the tensions that beset millions of other families, rich and poor, suburban and inner-city, and black and white-and brown, red and yellow, too” (p.151). And Dyson doesn't spare the details as he diligently chronicles Cosby's troubles with his daughter Erinn, the murder of his son Ennis and the allegations that he bore an illegitimate child. Dyson has done his homework, he has found and dug up every aspect of public and at one time private life that Bill Cosby ever had. Unfortunately when it comes to solid and convincing research on the issues, the book is severely lacking.

Because Dyson chooses to address only Cosby's remarks and none of the surrounding discussion from the intellectual black community, the book is a sad case of attacking the messenger and missing the message. As an ordained minister with a PhD in religion, one would think Dyson would be the first to acknowledge that the messenger often falls short of the glory (hence Moses and the many other prostitutes, thieves and murderers Jesus walked with in the bible).

Dyson's most compelling point to Cosby is essentially don't just blame the poor people --a point that many of his contemporaries would agree with. The biggest flaw in Cosby's arguments is that he fails to recognize that the under achievement of black Americans is certainly no longer just an issue facing the lower class, and, in fact, many studies show that more middle and upper class black are underachieving regardless of the opportunities provided them by their economic status. That acknowledgement would make quite an interesting topic for a book, but sadly, Dyson merely mentions this at all, probably because he is too busy denying that underachievement really exists and instead wastes countless pages chronicling Bill Cosby's every word making sure to prove him an old and sadly-mistaken hypocrite.

The good news, this book is probably one of Dyson's most well-written and substantiated books which is disappointing since it falls short of being a gossip ridden memoir with an occasional scholarly quote strategically placed to make you think that you are reading a somewhat academic text. You will certainly learn a lot about Bill Cosby from this read, as to whether he is right or not, you may have to wait for another author to answer that.

Leigh Davenport

Jarett Jack: Making the draft

My parents are the main reason I'm in this position, without them who knows where the hell I'd be,” says Jarrett Jack, 21, a statement that many young ball players wish they could make. With the NBA draft closing in, the Maryland born, 6'3” point guard is just weeks away from making one of the toughest decisions of his life. “I think guys get caught up in playing basketball and they forget that everybody is not gonna make it,” he says with a hint of cockiness and an air of concern, “but, I still don't know yet, if it was an easy decision, I would have made it already.”

Jarrett Jack has been making tough decisions since his high school days at Worcester Academy, (Providence, MA) where the local press granted him pop-star celeb status, featuring him daily as the next great baller. The perfect mix of natural talent, burgeoning skills, and a great competitive spirit sparked rumors of superstardom for Jack. Heavily recruited by several Division I teams, Jack chose to join Georgia Tech's Yellow Jackets in the fall of 2002. “Playing college ball is something I've dreamed of doing all my life. If I graduate they would retire my jersey,” an honor that makes the lucrative temptings of the NBA a bit less enticing.

It was a turbulent 2004-2005 Georgia Tech season that set the stage for Jack to enter the draft. After leading his team to the Final Four in 2004, high expectations were unmet by the Yellow Jackets, who were forced to play the understudies while nursing a bruised and battered starting line up. Still, Jack turned heads with his relentless competitiveness, sinking key shots on a severely sprained ankle, and carrying his team to the Sweet Sixteen. With the scouts watching, the whispers began about draft potential. “My name is hot right now,” he says nonchalantly, “If I wanted to go this would be a good time.”

In May, Jack announced that he would enter the draft but not retain an agent, a smart play for the student-athlete, which allows him to shop around but still choose to pull out and return to finish his last year of college.

With his parents and “classy” Coach Paul Hewitt by his side, Camp Jack is in full-fledged pre-draft frenzy. “I think he is one of the best point guards in the country,” says Hewitt. I know he is absolutely going to impress them on and off the court, everyone says if he stays in, he's going to go first round.” But Jack knows it's hard to trust the hype, “I believe the worst news before the best, if you listen to the worst you don't get your hopes up.”

Packing his bags for NBA pre-draft camp in Chicago, Jack is preparing to leave the sweltering Georgia summer to find success in the NBA. But the heat is still on and with only a week left to make his decision, he knows the best way is to play it cool. “They tell you a lot of information, but not everything,” he says with unwavering determination, “It's a game of cat and mouse.”

Jack was drafted number 23 to the Denver Nuggets who traded him to the Portland Trailblazeres.

Common, Be

There truly is something to be said for good timing. Three years after his ill-received Electric Circus has faded into the abyss of bad dreams forgotten, and two years into the revival of Chicago as a musical superpower (ignited by Kan the Louis Vuitton Don), it was the perfect time for Common to try again. Chicago was left in a state of unrest after seeing its favorite MC rockin' smediums under the love spell of hip-hop heartbreaker Erykah Badu and anxiously awaited his return. Six time's a charm for Common, as Be, produced by Kanye West, boasts a soulful sound that plays like a documentary peering into the lives and hearts of the Chi City. The eleven track LP tells stories of the 'hood, the people who make it through life with vision and the ones who can't bear to see past the corners.

True to the Common of old, are moderate paced introspective flows touching on anything from spirituality to street-husslin' and sexuality. But musically, Be finds Common in Kanye's territory. The heavily instrumental jazz and soul infused album is almost more of a testimony to Kanye's production genius than to Common's revival of his reign as a dignified soldier of the streets.

Be finds Common struggling for new topics to preach about (there are frequent references to his daughter's eyes, lost black women, and the hard knock life of the streets). True fans may even notice some lyrical recycling, (2000's Like Water for Chocolate found Common boasting, “my refrigerator rhymes are magnetic like ultra,” on 2005's Be, Common says that tapes are “ultra magnetic to the fact the messiah is black”). Small but frequent lyrical overlaps like this may find Common die-hards a bit disappointed.

Still, this is Common back in his truest form. The familiar content notwithstanding, Be excels because it is an album of true storytelling, exploring people, situations and circumstances that can all be called the black experience. “It's Your World” tells of a college girl turned street-walker, while “Testify” tells the unsettling tale of a stand-by-your man trickster enduring a criminal trial, later revealing that she committed the crime.

“Chi-city” finds Common delivering lyrical sermons as he lashes out on the superficial state of hip-hop, “I wonder if these wack niggas realize they wack, and they the reason that my people say they tired of rap,” is followed up by “in the middle of chaos and gunfire, so many raps about rims, surprised niggas ain't become tires.”

John Legend keeps the G.O.O.D. music flowing with help from soul crooner Bilal on “Faithful,” a reflection on the repercussions of cheating, a track a bit reminiscent of 2000's “The Light,” while Marvin Gaye's vocals give “Love Is” a classic uplifting optimism. The electric keys and doo-wopping chorus of “They Say,” (Common's come back anthem), give the scorned rapper a chance to redeem himself for 2003's disturbing bohemian-love-guru transformation.

Some might find it discouraging that someone who's been in the game as long as Common is receiving wide recognition only after teaming up with trendy youngling Kanye West, but the Windy City combo has emerged as promising new Jedi in the music force. With Chicago on top, of course Common would take advantage and drop a return album when everyone is watching, it's the nature of the business, or it's just Common Sense.

Is Be a classic? Maybe…maybe not. But Common more than deserves this time in the spotlight, a time that many would say is long overdue.
Leigh Davenport

17 important things I've learned

1. I'm incredibly talented and I still don't have a job.
2. It's funny how you can live in the same city with so many people u know and never see any of them.
3. People are much more interesting in bloggers than they are in real life.
4. The best place to watch a movie is the Magic Johnson Theater on 125th and Frederick Douglass.
5. New York is the least peaceful place on the planet.
6. Even when u stop drinking u still forget stuff u did the night before.
7. Everything is always better in your memories.
8. "Is Bill Cosby Right," is an extremely aggravating book to read.
9. Talk to strangers, you never know who they are.
10. Chocolate ice cream makes everything better.
11. Even superwoman/man f**cked up every now and then.
12. Stay away from kryptonite.
13. Partying with celebrities just isn't that fun.
14. People in the north think I'm waaaaay cuter than people in the south!
15. College really is the best time of your life.
16. If BET had programs like VH1 the state of Black America would be vastly improved.
17. There's no such thing as a soul mate