It Ain't Truth If It Doesn't Hurt

Supreme Court Ruling on Parents Involved in Community Schools vrs. Seattle School District

On June 28^th, 2007 the Supreme Court of the

United States

voted to severely restrict the application of the landmark Brown versus Board of Education decision, which determined that maintaining segregated facilities based on race was unconstitutional.

Two cases, one in the 9^th District Court brought by Parent’s Involved in Community Schools against the School District of Seattle and the second case in the 6^th District Court  of parents versus the Jefferson County School District in Kentucky, that challenged the Brown versus Board of Education decision as a violation of the equal protection clause of the 14^th Amendment were denied by the 9^th and 6^th district courts respectively. The impetus for the cases, in both instances, were that both the Seattle School District, which had never maintained legally segregated school facilities, and the Jefferson County Schools which had been under a court order to desegregate but had been found to have fulfilled that order, maintained district wide policies aimed at creating and keeping racial diversity in its public school system.

The U.S. Supreme Court granted review to the cases, found that they had jurisdiction over the constitutional questions involved and reversed finding that in both circumstances Brown versus Board of Education did not apply and that the 14^th amendment had been violated.

The reasoning presented by Chief Justice Roberts, in a nutshell, was that Brown Versus Board of Education only applied to those school districts that had at some historical point implemented official desegregation policies and as a result found themselves under court order to desegregate after the Brown versus Board of Education decision. Since the Seattle Public Schools had never maintained policy driven segregated public schools and since the

Jefferson

County

school district had its court order rescinded the school districts could not then have policies that ensured racial diversity in their schools. The heavy burden of a compelling government interest was no longer met (and indeed could not be met), and thus any race based division of school choice was a violation of the 14^th Amendment.

My personal opinion is that this line of reasoning is politically motivated bull.

The ruling by the majority, in essence, says that the government can not justify creating systems to ensure racial diversity and equal access to quality education by underserved communities unless those communities have been officially discriminated against by the state at a particular historical moment. Any future districts found to be segregated or attempting to stave off segregation by recognizing racial distinctions will find themselves in contempt of this ruling. School districts, except those very few still under court orders to desegregate, will find themselves continuing a national trend of de facto school segregation.

As race and class are intimately connected, those schools that find themselves with large people of color populations will also find themselves in schools where poverty is concentrated and the social ills that come with extreme concentrated poverty. This ruling is a recipe for the isolation and failure of the education system for communities of color. Segregated schools create separate and unequal education opportunities. History has demonstrated this unequivocally. This new resegregation inevitability is not a doomsday scenario but the current reality many communities of color are already facing.

Justice Breyer, in a brilliant dissenting opinion, states:

As a result, different districts—some acting under court decree, some acting in order to avoid threatened lawsuits, some seeking to comply with federal administrative orders, some acting purely voluntarily, some acting after federal courts had dissolved earlier orders—adopted, modified, and experimented with hosts of different kinds of plans, including race-conscious plans, all with a similar objective: greater racial integration of public schools.

Overall these efforts brought about considerable racial integration. More recently, however, progress has stalled. Between 1968 and 1980, the number of black children attending a school where minority children constituted more than half of the school fell from 77% to 63% in the Nation (from 81% to 57% in the South) but then reversed direction by the year 2000, rising from 63% to 72% in the Nation (from 57% to 69% in the South). Similarly, between 1968 and 1980, the number of black children attending schools that were more than 90% minority fell from 64% to 33% in the Nation (from 78% to 23% in the South), but that too reversed direction, rising by the year 2000 from 33% to 37% in the Nation (from 23% to 31% in the South). As of 2002, almost 2.4 million students, or over 5% of all public school enrollment, attended schools with a white population of less than 1%. Of these, 2.3 million were black and Latino students, and only 72,000 were white. Today, more than one in six black children attend a school that is 99–100% minority. See Appendix A, infra. In light of the evident risk of a return to school systems that are in fact (though not in law) resegregated, many school districts have felt a need to maintain or to extend their integration efforts ( Justice Breyer, Dissenting Opinion,  Parents Involved in Community Schools vrs.

School District

of 

Seattle

No. 1).

This ruling is simply another example of Republican judicial activism geared at dismantling the Civil Rights Movement era achievements and the systemic revocation of racial justice gains of the last 75 years.

-

Brandon

Lacy

Campos

-Fellow, Democratizing Elections

It Sure Is Spring!

Damn spring has definitely hit the Upper Midwest. This weekend was buck wild.

Friday night, I hung out with my gal pals Julia H-Dawg and Lucky Louise. They both just got back from school out east, and it was super great to see them both.  Saturday day I hung out with Mantonio and we stopped into the Pedagogy and Theater of the Oppressed national conference, which was at the U of MN. Later that evening, Quiana, Matthias, and myself met up with New York and Titi at the Townhouse, and that is where the magic started.

When I walked in the door, there were a bunch of students I had the privilege of teaching this spring as a guest lecturer at Macalester College. It was awesome to walk in and have all these wonderfully smart students come up and hug me and appreciate my presence in their class. It was super cool. Then I spied this guy Graham, who was one of those students, and we got to talking. We started talking about kink, S and M, and bondage. He had just gotten back from International Mr. Leather (I was so jealous), and the more he and I talked (including a power and race analysis around multi-racial bondage play)...the more...ummm...excited I got. My friend Ben from Volleyball was also there, and next thing you know darling Graham is proposing a three-some ;-). I end up making out with Graham (and Ben). And Graham had the nerve to start in on my ear and neck. That almost got him taken right there in the club. But, we exchanged numbers and promised to talk this week.

In the mean time, I was chatting with this cutie Joe (who works at the college where I guest lectured) and a guy named Aaron (who graudated from said college--and who I hooked up with last year). It was the night of neverending play. I was in heaven. I have a date with Joe tomorrow night and one with Graham on Wednesday night.

My hormone levels right now are just stupidly high. I need to go and take a cold shower...and touch myself.

Power Bars are Nasty....

So, Tuesdays @ 3pm are staff meeting time right here at the CH. It was my turn to provide snacks for our staff meeting, so I skipped right on over to the drug store across the street and grabbed some gummi worms and generic raisinets (look...I had to borrow lunch money from my Mom today...don't judge me and my chocolate covered raisin candy in the clear plastic bag). Anyway...I've been working out like a life-long resident of Stillwater State Penitentiary, and I have been playing softball and volleyball every week. Hell, I played seven games of softball this weekend. So, a biyatch is gettin' in real good shape.

So, I'm at the store wondering how such a little piece of White Bear Lake Trailer Park Heaven could have made it onto Nicollet Mall in downtown Minneapolis, and I decide that I am going to get a powerbar instead of joining my co-workers in munching on our plasticized worm friends and the rabbit turd-look alikes. The powerbar said "chocolate" flavor on the package. I should have known that actually meant, "dookie dipped in sawdust and rolled in ground nuts flavor." This shit is terrible.

We all have to make sacrifices, and if I want to to be TitanMen porn hot by August...I am going to have to eat my chocolate flavored sawdust dookie. But I don't have to like it.

I Got the Itis!

According to the Gospel of Quiana as found in the Holy Book of the Boondocks, the Itis is that feeling of ultimate lethargy one feels immediately following a good meal. This afternoon, roughly eight of us wandered from our office to the MY Burger for lunch. I ate a double MY Burger with cheese and a slough of french fries...and now I have the Itis. I am so damn tired that I may actually be writing this during a REM cycle.

I want to write more witty and fun things...but this is about all I can handle.

Fucked Up Dreams...

For the last week or so, I have been having a string of just ridiculously fucked up dreams. The kind from which you wake up and are just disturbed and angry.

Last night, I had several dreams that freaked me out. The last won was the Golden Globe Winner for Most Disturbing Drama. I had a dream that I was at my Mom's house and she comes in the house in hooker gear, after being missing for a few days, with a pimp waiting for her out in a big black truck, and she is all fucked up on meth. (Talk about transposing ones own fears onto another figure, right?).

I tried to confront her about it, and she shrugged it off and went on ahead and got higher. She tried to stop me from calling for help by ripping out the house phone and hiding it, but luckily I had a cellie in my pocket. I ran out of the front door and there on the front porch were two packages wrapped in black wrapping paper tied up with red bows. The larger of the two packages was empty the other still wrapped.

The shady pimp just sat in his car looking menacing. Luckily a parade was going by the front of the house with a police escort. I ran up to the police and told them that my Mom was high and needed help. The white cop...of course he was white...looked at me...and said...he's one of them too...and started to call in on his speaker thing on the shoulder for "backup." I threatened to call his boss (whose name I couldn't remember), and then I ran.

Obviously my psyche is trying to tell me something. Quiana asked this morning what I thought the dream meant, and I was still too upset and close to it to think about it. Obviously my Mother is someone that I care about. Growing up, people would always tell me how much my Mother and I look alike (its the blonde hair). So, I think in this dream Mom was addict me. When I use, I am full of shame and guilt...I become hypersexual...and there is always some shady/shadowy sexual experiences that go down (hence the pimp in the black truck). I haven't a clue what the damn gift boxes are...and the cops are, I think, my fear of being castigated regardless of the fact that I am working hard to stay sober and make my life better, faster, stronger, more healthy. Of course the scared son in the dream is me right now...terrified of having that addict walk back through the door and knowing that it doesn't want to get better...it wants nicer lingerie and more drugs.

There was a whole lot there with that dream...but I'm glad I had it and that I'm able to make some sense of it. And, if I ever see a police escort at a parade, I am going to hike up my skirts and dash the other way.

I'm Going To Be on Judge Judy...

Or maybe that court show with the Latina--I wish it was going to be in the courtroom of local judge Isabel Gomez...I sat in on a juvenile trial in her courtroom when I was a high school student interning at the Hennepin County Public Defenders office...that woman scared me so badly...and I was just watching...that I didn't even think about joining the Mafia. But either way, I'm fixin' to take someone to small claims court, and its going to be REAL dramatic. All names in the following story have been changed.

I have a now former client, Macaroon, run  by a woman named...let's call her...Crazy. I worked with Crazy for a little over three months. The first month I worked with her was hell on wheels. We took a month off from working with one another...and at the end of February, she approached me about writing two more grants for her. As a good boy that has learned something about being accountable...I took my mistakes from our work in January and owned them. I put timetables and structures into place so that Crazy wouldn't be made extra Crazy by having to rush to get things out of the door. Great. She, of course, owned nothing about her style or methods of operations that actually led to some of the crazy making of January. I should have seen this as a sign.

So, in the beginning of March it was full steam ahead. I literally spoke with Crazy every day for more than a week. It got to the point where it was ridiculous and unprofessional on her part. I was getting phone calls at 7pm and 8pm at night and on weekends. If she called and I did not call her back immediately, I would get emails from her and follow up phone calls that were borderline harassing. I sat on the phone with her for almost an hour trying to explain to her why a foundation I'd called declined to read a proposal from her organization (pretty clear...her program did not fit the funding criteria for that foundation...it took me an hour to get her to wrap her head around that). I did research for the woman on funders that would possibly be a better fit for her, and we decided to move forward with the two grant proposals.

I was working away on the proposals when on March 11th...about ten days in, I get an email from her to stop working on the proposal. I said sure that's fine. I also sent her an email saying that if she wanted me to complete the proposals that she would have to let me know at  least two weeks before they were due AND that I would be billing her for the time I'd worked on March 22nd.

So, last week I billed her. Yesterday my roommate, who manages her fiscal relationship with her fiscal agent, tells me that when he called her to check on the invoice she basically said that I didn't produce any work and she didn't want to pay me. My darling roommate was up front with her saying...I've got the documentation of the work that he did, and I've got the documentation that shows that you asked him to stop working before he had a chance to complete any proposals. She said that she was going to go to her board and ask them about whether or not I should get paid.

God bless her. She's not from the U.S. and may not know how those of us from the ghetto get down...but Brandi don't play that.

So, last night, I sent her an email, copied her fiscal agent, and included all the documentation for the work that I'd done for her. I gave her until Friday to pay me, or Brandon is going down to the court house to file small claims papers. The last thing you want to do when you run a non-profit organization, especially a small non-profit organization that is trying to get a foothold in the funding community in the Twin Cities, is piss off a fundraiser with extensive community contacts. Vengeance is mine so sayeth the Lord...but in the ghetto we think that the Lord sometimes has enough to do and that now and again if we take some of the minor jobs off his shoulders...he doesn't mind.

Really, my conscience won't let me go as far as to call up funders and bitch this woman out. But, it sure doesn't limit me from taking her out at the knees in other ways. This is my livelihood. My bank account is right now negative and without this money by Friday there is a more than ok chance that I am going to lose the account. I did the work, and I deserve payment for it. And, a nut job with some serious mental health issues is not about to stand between me and eating. It's really that real.

My Intestines Are Going to Explode....

Last night, I thought my intestines were going to blow up. I was laying on the couch...and was so jam packed full of gas and corrosive bubbling shit...that every time I moved...or tried to boo at Sanjaya...I started to holler. I don't know what I ate, but I ain't never ever eating it again.

In the middle of the night last night...I was awoken by a wicked gurggling in my belly...I felt my small intestine shift, my sphincter slammed shut and twisted, and I sprinted to the bathroom. I'm glad that my roommate was at his boyfriend's house last night or the sonic boom that sounded when I released my ass valve...would surely have woken him up and the shock waves would have thrown him to the floor. I'm surprised I didn't have to reset all the electronics in the house from the electro-magnetic wave that clearly shot straight out of my ass.

I had to get up this morning and inspect the porcelain for cracks. Luckily the Midtown purchased heavy duty toilets...or the manufacturers have done some extensive testing. I'm feeling much better pressure wise this morning, but I still feel a little off. I'm going to go the gym and see if I can work it off a little bit...maybe some fresh spring air will do me good...except...oh yeah...I live in Minnesota---where it decided to snow yesterday. Although, it's not as bad as two years ago when it snowed on May 1st. Ridiculous.

uh-oh. I just felt another gurgle. I think, perhaps, this blog is at an end for today.

Quiana Kicked My Ass Today...

I am so proud of my girl Miss Quiana Perkins-Kirch. I've known Quiana for a coons age (I can say that...cuz I'm black)...and for Quiana's entire life she's been a big girl. A few years back, she realized that while being a big girl isn't a bad thing...and that we should all love the bodies the good Lord gave us...that being too big...is a health hazard. Q-dumplin' decided to do something about it. She took it to the gym.

She began her path to better health by working it out...once she had a good pattern going to she got that good old gastric bypass surgery...and found the strength inside herself to deal with some of the other things she needed to confront that were coming out in her body...she has come through the other side an even more beautiful person...which is hard considering she is one of the best human beings I know.

Having said all that...she busted my ass today...figuratively.

She and I have been gym buddies for the last few weeks. I've been back to the gym in a super ridiculously serious way...and I feel great. Usually, for cardio exercises, I do spinning classes four days a week. Yesterday it broke 80 degrees here in the 612...so I naively thought it would carry right on through until today...WRONG. So...this morning...I walked over to Quiana's house through the North wind which popped up just to remind us that we only get warm cuz even the wind needs a vacation now and again. Q and I saddled up...she on her nifty bike...and me on this shiny bike that turned out to be cheap as hell (it was donated to a local charity by Al Roker from the Today Show...cheap bastard).

Q and I set out down the Greenway towards the lakes...it wasn't but two minutes on our way that I realized three things...the bike was cheap as hell...that spinning and road biking are two different things...and Quiana had replaced her legs with steam pistons. This woman never had to worry about me catching up to her at any time during our trek. We biked 14 miles...and the only reason I even saw her again is that she took pity on me on that pitiful bike and stopped every 20 minutes or so to let me catch up.

We got home and I was cursing everything and everybody...but I was damn proud of the progress Quiana has made physically, mentally, and spiritually. That's my girl.

And a special shout out thank you to Quiana's lovely husband Alex...who lovingly cut up an orange into deliciously sweet slices...for Quiana and me. They taste better when they are cut up with love.

Maya Angelou Should Punch Tyler Perry In the Face...

So, I am reading through Maya Angelou's memoirs. I've read, in the past, All God's Children Got Traveling Shoes...but this time I thought I'd start from the beginning...cuz...I want to know why the caged bird sings...and Maya aka Marguerite Johnson....promsied to tell me all about it.

So I'm reading along...loving every word and turn of phrase...and I get this chapter in the book all about how Maya's scallywag father shows up to whisk her and her brother off to their Mama's house in St. Louis. The first thing I notice is that Maya says that her Father speaks all educated and northern and tosses random ers and ererers in his sentences...much like Madea' does when she is making fun of white folks...but I thought to myself...hold on...don't go and cry plagerism...sometimes things just hold true across time.

Man am I simple and trusting sometimes.

No sooner had I flipped the page but I come across the biggest heist ever...Maya and her brother Bailey meet their Mother...who Bailey refers to as Mother Dear...which over time becomes Ma Dear and finally...wait for it....M'Deah...OH YES! Tyler done straight up stole Maya Angelou's Mama's name and made a half a billion dollars off of it. Maya oughta punch him right in the face and then throw some hot grits on him.

Now I know why Maya was in Madea's Family Reunion. She started seeing his shows...realized he ripped her off...decided she was going to get her money out of his bank account or out of his ass...and Mr. Perry...to save face (and ass) went right on ahead, put her in his movie, and probably paid her at least $100,000,000 of that $500,000,000 he got. Cuz...he knew that if she sued....she was going to win and any time he even though the name M'Deah in the future it was going to cost him a fresh $100,000,000.

Hell...Maya was so tickled...she went right on ahead and wrote a new poem just for the movie. Sat up on that stool in the front of that wedding chapel...read it...and made the IRS real happy to collect her taxes last year.

I'm going to start reading through Alice Walker's memoirs...or maybe Zora Neal Hurston's...cuz she's real dead and didn't have any babies...at least I don't think so...see if Tyler had been smart...he would have stole some shit from somebody dead. It's harder for dead people to punch you in the face...they got to get themselves a voodooine to raise 'em up as zombies or hold on til judgement day...and by that time...you probably would have spent up all your money and died...so you probably won't mind gettin' punched in the face...can't hurt much...if you're alread dead!

I Have Had an Amputation...

So...I really haven't had an amputation...but it sure as hell feels as if I had.

Yesterday, I decided to enjoy the first beautiful spring day in Minneapolis. I scooted down to St. Athony Main and had lunch at Aster Cafe while the lovely Ebony was a workin'. She gave me free grub, and my love for her grew just a little bit. I had a productive meeting with good old Gunnar (pronounced GOO-nar...not really...but I like to say it that way). And then I decided that I needed some continuing inspiration for my pretty phenomenal track record at the gym lately...so I packed my bag, slung my jacket over my arm, and headed out de pie to walk into downtown Minneapolis to see 300 (I'm touching myself thinking about that movie right now...not really...but mentally for sure).

Well...I got about 2/3rds of the mile to mile and a half to the theater, when I thought to myself...I should check my coat pocket and make sure that my cellica phone did not drop out...as earlier it had though I'd retrieved it then...so I stopped in front of the Jaguar dealership (those of you from the TC will know the exact spot)...searched my coat...searched my bag...and shook my fist at the heavens. The cell phone was completely MIA.

So, with some excellent dance remixes of current-day Divas blaring in my ears, I retraced my exact steps all the way back to the Aster Cafe. No luck.  I asked in the cafe, I asked in several other businesses along the Main, and then I retraced my steps back downtown. Quelle horror. The cell was gone.

So, now I am cell-less and about to leave town. Awesome. I've got a stack of papers printed out with phone numbers that I am going to need to call...and pay phones have become as scarce these days as food stamp eligibility.

Its kind of silly how dependent I've become on the phone. It's my calendar as well as my address book. I don't have a house phone. And I can't even buzz people into my apartment complex without the damn thing. It's pretty ridiculous.

The good news is that I have the nifty equipment replacement insurance. The lovely people at Sprint are going to upgrade my phone for free. And I may even have just made the realization that I can get an even more upgraded phone for the same price thanks to Sprint's every 18 months get a new phone with a $150 rebate...and its an instant rebate if you go right on into the Sprint store to get it....hmmm...delicious.

So...to all my friends and lovers out there (and since I have no lovers right now...that would just be friends...thanks)...send me your phone numbers...and I will send you my love.

Babies Get In My Belly...

Wow...is my biological clock ticking. My friends Rodrigo and Nubia just had their second child. Noodle is about to pop...and her twins are going to scream into the world on March 28th through a big surgical happy face in Noodle's abdomen...Hayley is four months pregnant...Debbie is three months pregnant...and Quiana is trying her damndest to squirt the cryogenic man sperm deep enough into her vulva that it has no choice but to stick and grow into a little Q-baby.

Babies are everywhere...and I want one!

But not really.

I love the idea of a baby...I love watching babies develop...I love harrassing, teasing, and teaching small children that their parent's really are ATMs and money grows on trees that Mom and Dad are hiding from the kids in that top dresser drawer they have been forbidden to open on pain of death. But, when I think back to all the diapers I've changed (I've got seven younger siblings...three of whom I changed on a regular basis)...and all the juices, spurts, squishes, odors, and mucus that comes out of mini-people...plus the definite kibosh on sleeping through an entire evening, and I find that I really love children...other people's children...so I can send them home when they burst into spontaneous bleeding...manufacture chemical weapons in their nappies, and give Maria Callas a run for her money in the vocal department.

I am super excited that I'm going to be an Uncle again....and again...and again and again and again. Actually, it's a little ridiculous that in 2007...my friends will have brought at minimum six new little cretins into the world. Don't they know in China they would be shot for that? They have no shame in contributing to global warming with each steaming methane filled pamper! But that's the beauty of Uncledom...you can feed 'em sugar...rile 'em up...buy 'em lots of presents...let them play video games until their pupils are permanently dilated...and then turn them loose on their parents with no guilt at all.

Welcome babies!

Free Nadine Smith Now!

I sent the following statement to the National Lavender Green Caucus today in response to the arrest of LGBT civil rights leader Nadine Smith in Largo City, FL:

The National Lavender Green Caucus of the Green Party of the United States calls on the Pinellas-Pasco State Attorney's office to drop all charges against civil rights leader and Equality Florida executive director Nadine Smith.

Smith was arrested during a debate at the Largo City Commission after the city voted 5-2 in favor of firing 14 year city manager veteran Steve Stanton after he announced his transition from male to female. Nadine was arrested and treated roughly by police after she distributed a flier which read "Don't Discriminate" to a citizen attending the council meeting at that citizen's request.

"Nadine Smith is a role model, she is a friend, and she is a fierce advocate for liberation and justice for lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender individuals. She was executing her constitutionally protected rights of free speech and assembly and was the victim of police brutality and old school COINTELPRO style false charges in her arrest," said former Chair of the National Lavender Green Caucus, Brandon Lacy Campos.

Smith is the only woman of color to lead a statewide LGBT organization in the United States, and she has been recognized in Florida and nationally for her work as Equality Florida's executive director.

The National Lavender Green Caucus, the national voice of LGBTQ Greens, applauds Nadine Smith for her constant work against gender identity discrimination and stands with her and her family. The Caucus recognizes that this is a hate motivated action on the part of the Largo police department and the Largo City Commission and asks that Greens and allies across the country contact the Pinellas-Pasco State Attorney's office and the Florida Attorney General's Office and demand swift action to release Ms. Smith and drop the felony count of resisting arrest and the misdemeanor count of interrupting a commission meeting immediately.

College Kiddies...

I am sitting in Cultural House at Macalester College after a lecture/performance in an Arts and Activism junior seminar in the American Studies department.

I love coming to Macalester to perform...the students are bright and ask good questions...once you can get them to open up. I think I shocked them a little bit with how open I was about...well...just about everything. But...hey...they need to be shocked...people that make it through college without encountering something shocking are in for an unpleasant surprise when they hit the real world and that thing called reality.

I'm thinking perhaps I want to be a professor. Hmmmmmm.

You Missed the Point Entirely...

Today the unthikable occurred...during my special alone time with the View...just me...Rosie..and those other chicas...Rosie decides to debut her new favorite singer...some guy named Von Smith...a boy that is about as white (and gay) as one can possibly be...and the fool stood up and sang...I'm Telling You...from Dreamgirls.

Holy shit did he miss one of the main points of that entire movie. And so did the majority white audience that gave the fool a standing ovation. Now...the boy could sing...I'll give you that...but how the hell did he miss the whole sub-theme to the movie about WHITE PEOPLE STEALING BLACK FOLKS' MUSIC! The only way it could have been worse would have been if he had gotten up there and sang Steppin' to the Bad Side.

Rosie was all over him after he sang...just a huggin' and kissin' him...and I wanted to beam myself right onto that stage...kick Von in his pert butt...and insert my other foot right into Rosie's fun hole. I mean good lord Rosie. Get with the program...I love you and all...but keep this shit up and I'm going to join forces with Donald Trump and go tupee-riffic on your ass.

There...I let it out...I feel better...kind of.

Road Trippin'....

So...in less than five days...I shall be packed in a car along with Coya and all her worldly belongings...as we make our way from the Upper Midwest...south bound...and along I-40 for some fun good times and adventure. The C-Monkey is moving to South Carolina...and I am going along for the ride. She's real crazy and likes to hop in her car at 2am, drive for 28 hours without sleeping, and show up somewhere for somebodies birthday party...have a beer...chillax for an hour...and then drive home. She is real grassroots and ain't afraid to pull over in some empty Target parking lot and sleep for a few hours...but though I am also grassroots...my roots need to be laid to sleep...with some 30 count sheets and a synthetic comforter that has never been washed and could be preserved and used in the future to restablish the human racec from the diversity of DNA found within its Dupont fibers.

Right now the plan is to head towards Memphis...then shoot down I-40 to Durham...chill out there for a night and then head down to Columbia. We're going to spend a few days in the most ass backwards city in the country...where a young BLC once woke up...walked out onto a motel balcony...and was greeted with the sight of the Stars and Bars a flyin' over the SC capitol building. I went back inside and walked back out again just to make sure none of the sketchy comforter DNA had caused a temporary illusion.  After our adventure in the armpit of the South...we are heading to its crowning jewel...HOTLANTA. I recently saw Stompin' The Yard...and I plan on stalking each and every man that was in the movie and trying my damndest to have their children...biologically.

I'm really excited about the stop in Durham. My best male friend, his wife, and their child that I have never met are going to drive into town. My Dad and my sister are going to come through...which is going to be surreal considering I haven't seen Dad in seven years, and I haven't seen Shannon in 13 years. Plus...my little sister is getting shipped back to Iraq for her second tour of duty a week from tomorrow. Plus...I love Durham. I lived there. I worked there. It's a great place to see...even if it is just for an evenin'.

It's going to be good to get away after this week...I'm buried under work (largely my fault...procrastination is my blood type). And it's going to take some long hours tomorrow to get it done in time and well.

Which reminds me. I should get back to it.

Trading Crazy...

There's a problem when I let myself get so worked up over a reality show. But, I am watching Trading Spouses right now, and there is a crazy white woman that has been traded into a black family. Though she is a little on the crazy side, she is polite and curteous. The husband...Abasi...is a crazy ass motherfucker that needs some serious shock therapy. As a person of African Descent, I am ashamed, angered, and simply pissed off at his behavior. He needs help. Pure lock down therapeutic help for treating anyone like he has treated this woman...and let it be known...I am an angry person of color...but there is a difference between being angry and being stupid. He crossed the line into deep and utter stupidity.

Since moving in with Antonio, I have watched more tv than I have literally in years and years and years. Even when I lived with Coya, I didn't watch this much TV...generally because she is a video game addict and that cut into TV time. But, Antonio and I feed off each other. We often sit home evenings, sometimes with his boyfriend Justin, and watch a variety of shows. But, what's amazing, is 80% of the shows we watch are reality shows. We love Super Nanny. Nanny 911. American Idol. You're the One That I Want. Trading Spouses. Wife Swap. Project Runway. Dirty Dancing. What Not To Wear. It's pretty damn ridiculous actually. As far as regular TV shows go...we watch Heros, Simpson, Family Guy, American Dad, and Ugly Betty.

Anywho...I really just wanted to vent about this poor excuse for a human being..."Abasi." Thank God one of his friends is about to perform an intervention. I hope she can beat some sense into his head.

God Hates Stupid People...

Ok. So. Technically God doesn't hate anybody. But if God WERE to hate a group of people...it would have to be stupid people. I'm sure stupid people test God's limits sometime. I bet even now and then a little frown creases his heavenly features when he thinks about idiots like my favorite chimpanzee impersonator George W. Bush.

I just got an email today from Kelly, the partner of my pal David. Her sister...who has already served 18 months in Iraq...has just found out that her company of the MN National Guard will be serving an additional six months in that Hell hole in the middle of a civil war that we created. Happy New Year!

My little sister is getting shipped back to Iraq next month for, supposedly, three months. I'm sure my little brother, who graduated from boot camp last fall, will be close behind her.  I said it once, and I'll say it again, it will take an act of God to preserve the peace in Crawford if anything happens to my family in Iraq. George W. Bush is living fucking proof that the electoral college is a piece of bullshit and that there should be mandatory life sentences and castrations/masectomies for the morons that cast their electoral votes for that man.

I have lost what little bit of patience I had left with the right in this country. There is a list serv in Minneapolis called the Minneapolis Issues List. Just about every local elected official lurks and/or posts to this list as well as a majority of the engaged citizenry. I had an idiot post some of the most neo-conservative bullshit the other day to which I responded. He sent me a private email with more of his fucked up idiocies...and really...at that point...I almost flipped out and went through my computer screen. In the past, I could engage in conversations with folks like him that seem to live in a reality unlike anything in which the rest of us are living. Yesterday, I said forget it and told him not to pollute my inbox any more. He of course didn't listen. But, I held true and deleted his email when I really wanted to find him in St. Paul and drop kick him in the chest. But, one...I don't know how to drop kick...and two...finding anything in St. Paul is like trying to find Osama bin Laden. It's possible...just not likely.

I don't have much of a point to all of this other than I am super annoyed, super pissed off, and super cranky. Thank GOD American Idol premiers tonight. Plus, Jennifer Hudson, America what's her name, and Eddie Murphy all won Golden Globes last night...that made my day...oh yeah and Meryl Streep. I love Meryl Streep. That's all.

Church Fires and Fear...

I started to log into my blog to write about...well...my procrastination with my creative writing...when a headline caught my eye (sigh...yahoo). It seems that last night two black Baptist churches were burned in Greensboro, NC. 

To those of us that dwell here in the North and either do not remember or have never known much about the history of the African American liberation movement...the Black church has been and continues to be the center of the African American community. In particular the black Southern Baptist church (a distinct entity from its crazy ass white Southern Baptist counterpart)...and the AME (African Methodist Episcopalian) church were key players in the abolition movement, the underground railroad, and in creating and fostering an African-American culture outside of slavery and to replace the culture that was systematically destroyed by the U.S. version of race-based slavery (in other nations with a race-based slave holding history...slaves enjoyed much more autonomy in language preservation, religious preservation, and in music...drums were banned to U.S. slaves!!!!).  I share that history to drive home the point that these church burnings and the church burnings that spring up periodically (particularly in North and South Carolina) are continued racist attacks on black folks in the United States.

What really tickles me (in that...tickle me one more time and I'll rip your face off sort of way)...is that the KKK/Aryan Nation/Knights of the South idiots that tend to pull this crap proclaim to be God fearing Christians...generally they too are Southern Baptists...is everyone seeing the irony here? If not...email me...I'll walk you through it.

Literally, for Christ's sake people...it is past time that you take a serious look at what it means to be a Christian. Read the four gospels again...PLEASE...that's Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. Those are the ones that count...everything else is context and history. And it was in those gospels that Jesus said..."Let he who is without sin cast the first stone." I don't think he intended that if you had sin that you should cast molotov cocktails instead.

When the Son returns in his glory...there are going to be some folks that are very surprised to find that when he calls the Redeemed to salvation that are just standing around wondering why their cells aren't ringing. I promise...it's not going to be because you are outside of His service area. You just aren't going to be in His network.

Anyway...tomorrow I'll write about the writing I should be doing and am not doing and why I think I'm not doing it.  Of course, at this point, I could just start doing it instead of procrastinating more by writing about not doing it in this here blog. I think my brain just went on digital roam and this has now become a dropped call.

Rest in Peace Nelly...

I just received the bad news that a person that I went through treatment with has died. Cirrhosis of the liver around Thanksgiving. Nelly was a Yale Phd in neuroscience that came to Minnesota for alcoholism treatment. I remember the night that I met Nelly. I was probably in my second or third week of treatment. I was telling a story to another of the "inmates" about a book I'd red that talked about the socio-political and scientific history of potatos, apples, marijuana, and tulips. I was sharing that I was pretty damn astounded that the genetic variety present in a single appleseed is so diverse that it is impossible to grow a particular type of apple from a seed. If you plant a Granny Smith the apple that grows will most likely in no way resemble a Granny Smith. I also found out there are huge apple tree forests in Kazakhstan.  Anyway. I was sharing this interesting but useless information with someone else, and Nelly commented that he was impressed at the way I was able to translate the information clearly and succinctly...he was an professor at a medical college in Chi-town...so I took that as a compliment.

When I met Nelly he was still called Mike. He was a large man of the bear variety with a super gay hair do. Generally he was fairly academic with a decent sense of humor...although super touchy at times. One day, during a group session, he did something uber gay...someone in the group called him Nelly...and it stuck. From that day until the day he died...anyone that knew him from his time at Pride called him Nelly.

Nelly and I had our ups and downs. I remember one particular flare up when I let him have it. We were like to tom cats spraying piss on each other for days. But, in the end, we worked it out. He was a good man. And hilarious...truly hilarious. He showed up to someone or another's graduation with a faux black veil. When it came to be his turn to acknowledge the person graduating...he pulled out the veil and began to wail. He was instantly transformed into a grieving Sicilian widow.  I almost had a Depends moment I was laughing so hard. That's real comedy...the kind that almost moves the crowd to incontinence.

Nelly was a good man. God always takes everyone in his own time...but in our time it was much much much too soon. He was strong. He'd kicked a meth habit three years before he entered treatment for alcoholism. He was brilliant by all accounts. They just don't hand out doctorates from Yale in neuroscience at fruit stands at the farmer's market. He could be a bitch...but he was always loyal...always caring...and always good for a good laugh.

I Adore Susan Raffo!

Ten years ago, as a fresh faced transfer at the University of Minnesota...I attended a workshop facilitated by Susan Raffo and Jemal Aguilar. I had no idea that over the next ten years Susan would be my friend, mentor, supervisor, guidepost, and someone I can always rely upon for a compliment and some raw unadaltered love and care.

Susan is brilliant. She's one of the smartest people that I have ever met. She has a wonderful way of looking at the world with a keen eye, a sense of wonder, and unfettered hope...and then sharing her insights with those around her. She is an amazing writer...and is so centered in who she is. She really and genuinely cares about the worlds of her friends...and she is one of the best listeners ever. She has taught me so much about love, justice, self-care, friendship, and community.

I could gush and gush and gush about Susan pretty much non-stop. But I'll wrap this up by saying...I love you Susan Raffo!

What About Beauty???

This morning, I am sitting at home...working on a couple of projects...cleaning the kitchen...and listening to the DreamGirls soundtrack (thanks Kandi!). I was again struck  by the power and beauty of the voices of the actors. I looked around apartment and was struck by the clean lines and irregular charm of this once warehouse space in the second largest Sears building in America. Outside of my window a few brave snowflakes flew past...obviously not having gotten the memo that thanks to global warming and our dear friend El Nino...Minnesota is now a sub-tropical state and soon to be beach front property. All of this struck me as beautiful.

Then I logged onto my business email account (thanks yahoo), and immediately I noticed that three of the six news headlines that serve as the front page to my email concern war, deaths, and bombing...one headline was concerning a "wildfire" in Malibu that claimed three mansions (ummm...was at a "wildfire" or the "wrath of God?")...another topic dealt with 9/11...yet another with the Democrats and their pending showdown with Bush over Iraq...and the final headline was focused on that great metropolis of Bangor, ME...which has apparently banned smoking in cars (I'm moving to Maine). I went from finding beauty in an old concrete warehouse wall to becoming instantly numb with news of the ridiculous violence taking place in the world.

I mentioned before that I am a news junkie. I always have been. Plus, I had a fantastic professor at Warren Wilson College, Phil Otterness, who made all of his students get subscriptions to the NY Times and pounded into us the necessity of being engaged with what's going on not only in our own backyards but in the backyards of our dear friends all around the globe. But, some days I think about a trip to the headquarters of the AP Newsire, Reuters, CNN, Fox News, the LA Times, NY Times, and Washington Post and setting off some kind of device that labotimizes anyone that writes more than two articles a week concerning death, dismemberment, war, plague, famine, natural disaster, wholesale destruction, or the newest burqa sported by Jacko. Really people...we need to know about the ugly in the world...(maybe not about MJJ and his penchant for female Muslim garments, praise be to Allah)...but we also have to be reminded...just as frequently...if not more so...of the capacity for humans to love and create beauty.

We have such an amazing capacity to bring beauty and love into this world. And we do...every day...all the time. But to watch the news...you'd think that every person on the planet is dodging bullets for at least 16 hours a day...and for the other 8 hours alternatively works in a sweatshop and/or prays to the fundamentalist version of the deity of your choice. I get it...the world is FUCKED UP. I get it...we have a responsibility not to repeat the mistakes of our past...or the past five minutes. But, dammit....I need a little hope spread on top of the tragedy...just a dollop of "I Can't Believe It's Not Genocide" would go a long way in this world of ours.

Really...I feel as if I need to go hide out in a museum for three days and lick old Greek statues to get the taste of utter despair off my tongue. But, I think I'd probably get arrested if I were caught rimming The David. Anyway...my wish for today...is that the media, at least, would acknowledge that even though the world is going to  hell in a handbasket...the handbasket we are in is a work of art, beautifully hand crafted, and something to be admired and celebrated.

I've Got Some Work To Do...

When I say I've got some work to do...it's a double entendre. Wait for it.

On the more literal side, I signed a new client today...which brings my total to four. I've got enough work now that I can probably only handle one more client, which is fantastic. I came to the realization today that even though I only have 21 hours of work a week from the various contracts...I have to factor in meeting time with those clients, stewardship, and actually dealing with the business side of my business. I made the decision to go into business for myself so that I would have time to focus on my writing. And, if I take on too many more clients, I will be defeating that whole purpose. Not that I am really complaining...with the four clients I have...I will be making more money per month than I have ever made...although...I have to set aside money for taxes...stupid taxes. Next month I can pay off the money I had to borrow during my financial crisis in December, and I can pay off my first student loan. Yeah. I paid rent this month, and I have food in the refrigerator. Things are really going well...and that's where I have always gotten into trouble.

I was cooking dinner tonight...a delicious stir fry...when I was hit by a crazy mad desire to use. My old pattern was when I was feeling good...I wanted to feel REALLY good. And then I ended up feeling really bad, got depressed, beat myself up a lot, and then started the entire cycle over again. Tonight, I did exactly what I was taught to do...I reached out...called some folks...and its now all good in the hood. Amazing that you arrive at a different outcome when you engage in different behavior...who'd a thunk it?

I've still got a lot of work to do. But today was a good first step. Again.

What About Your Friends...

I believe that there is a song title for every situation in this world. Today...a little old skool TLC is going through my head...I remember when the song What About Your Friends came out...I was a sophomore in high school working at the music and video counter at the Targhetto on West Broadway. May it rest in peace.

The reason this particular song is going through my head right now is that I am going through some things...or more appropriately I am not able to go through some things...with my friend Sara.

Last spring Sara was going through some really tough times (the specifics of that are her story to tell). She turned to us...specifically Coya and I...for support. That's what queer fam is for, right? We were both there for her...and part of our loving and supporting Sara was that when she started engaging in some counter-productive behaviors...that she herself had ID-ed as behaviors not healthy for her...Sara became defensive. Coya had a conversation with her and said that as long as she engaged in behaviors she knew to be unhealthy...Coya couldn't support her. That's fair. I called Sara and asked to have a conversation with her. She never responded. So, by default...she pulled herself out of both my life and Coya's life.

The part that stung...a lot...was that Coya had set a boundary for Coya and Sara's relationship. I did not set that same boundary...as I felt that I could engage with Sara in a way that Coya could not at the time. But Sara decided to take Coya's boundary and apply it to me. From May straight on through this fall...on occassion...I would reach out to Sara via phone messages or email and remind her that I love her and that I wanted to have a conversation about our friendship. Most of the time she didn't respond. Now and again she would call and leave a message or email or text and say...yes...we'll talk. That talk has never materialized.

This fall Coya and Sara started rebuilding their friendship. And, as a funny result, Sara started communicating with me again (a truly bizarre dynamic...as if the actions and decisions of Coya were to be applied to me as well). Last week...C-Money was in town staying with me...and was having a conversation with Sara. I got on the phone...with playful intent...to remind Sara that we were to have a conversation...and she went on an all out attack.

She told me that she was disappointed with some decisions I'd made over the last couple of months and was therefore not pre-disposed to having a conversation with me. At first, I went to a really dark shame place...thinking that I had somehow done something terribly wrong...and luckily...for what may be the first time in history...I hauled myself right back out of that and recognized what was going on. Sara did not want to be held accountable for her lack of interaction and her negative behavior...so she was trying to divert the issue. I should have picked up on that right away...I've done that many a time in the past.

This time I was very clear that I acknowledge that she may have some concerns about things I have done in the last couple of months. I also said I'd be willing to have a conversation about her concerns. But that her  bringing them up when she was being asked to be accountable was a cop-out, a distraction, and lack of accountability.  She may have not wanted to have the conversation with me in the last couple of months...but that doesn't excuse the six months previous that she had committed to talk to me and never did.

I'm really at a loss as to what to do in this situation. I feel as if I have had to be accountable to Sara many many times over the last couple of years. We made an agreement to hold each other accountable...all of us did...RJ, Jeremy, Coya, and me. So far some of us have stepped up to the plate and been held accountable when we have need to be. Some of us have not. And I know that two things happen for me in that situation...I feel hurt that I have trusted others and allowed them to love me in ways that sometimes hurt and they have not allowed me the same space to love them through their hard times. The other is that it makes me angry at what feels like some serious hypocrisy.

I left the door open for Sara and told her to call me when she is ready to have our conversation. But, right now, I don't truly believe that she will. It's easier for her to hide out. As a white woman, as a woman of means, as a woman living far from any place where there are people that truly know her...she doesn't have to be accountable. And that's the truly sad part...I know Sara knows better than to use her privilege to escape accountability...but she's doing it. She's locking out people that truly love her...all of her...the good, the bad, and the crazy...and that just flat out makes me really really sad.

Exactly What Not to Do on a Date...

Not only am I pissed for the reasons that I am about to share with you...but I was almost at the end of writing this blog when this jenky computer I am on up and closed explorer. Today is not my day.

So, I've been dating this guy Wriel (pronounced Uriel or Asshole...take your pick) on and off for a couple of months. I hadn't seen him in about a month due to some technological difficulties (I was broke and couldn't pay my cell phone bill and left my phone at a friend's house and didn't go and get it for three weeks). So, last night we went out for the first time in about a month.

(Pause for background history)

I met Wriel at the Bolt about two months ago while out with my friend Rod. Wriel was there with his boyfriend Dale. They are still together and live together in Shakopee. Sad. Dale is a fat, controlling, gross, emotionally abusive white man that is in the National Guard. Wriel is a hot, cut, usually sweet Latino. Ugly mean white men do not deserve hot brown men. I have spoken. At the moment, Dale is at his weekend of duty in Duluth. Dale's mother is in town staying at Wriel and Dale's house while Dale's father is having a heart valve replaced in Minneapolis. Wriel has been charged with taking care of all this while Dale is off defending Minnesota from the Canadians and fucking some brown twink up North.

(Back to the story)

So, last night Wriel picks me up looking extra hot. He gives me a fabulous new cashmere scarf, and we head down to the Saloon for some beverages. The plan is to hang out for a while there and come back to my apartment for some brown on brown fun good times.  So, we were hanging out at the bar...having some drinks...laughing and joking. I ran into Ezekiel...a guy I met last time I was out that is a brother in my fraternity...and HOT AS HELL. In general...we were having a good time. About half way through the evening, Wriel's testicles re-ascended into his pelvic cavity...and he starts slowing up on the beers saying he has to drive back to Shakopee. Note...I do not live in Shakopee...and our plan was to stay at my house last night. So, I am understandable annoyed, which I make pretty clear to him. I may be the other woman...but I'm a motherfucking old school geisha...and he was getting all up in my memoir.

So, I got a little angry and withdrawn...but was faking the funk. At about 1am...Wriel says he is off to the bathroom. About ten minutes later, I realize he hasn't come back, so I do a loop to see if maybe he is in the smoking lounge. No dice. I call his cell a few times, but there is no answer. By 2am...I realize that this bitch ass motherfucker has left the motherfucking bar. I was at the Saloon without a dime in  my pocket and the whoreson knew that shit. Luckily, I have been going to that particular spot for 11 years, and I had some friends there...so I asked my hottie pal Thomas for a ride home.

I was so angry when I got home that I could not sleep. I was on a stalking mission. I tried to look up his home address and phone number through the property register in Scott County (unfortunately...in Scott County you can no longer search by name...you still can in Hennepin County for you vengeful divas out there). I called 411 looking for his home number. I got on Dexonline. I was determined to find a home number for him last night if there was one to be found. I went to bed frustrated...in multiple ways...but not before I blew up his cell phone and text messaging with some evil ass communications. Then I deleted all his numbers and cleared out my calls. Bye bitch.  Boo.

I have never ever in my long ass dating career ever been ditched on a date. Until the last ten minutes we were together the night was going peachy keen. And even if I did something to piss him off...leaving your date at the bar with no money and no way home is probably not the best solution to the situation.

I am dead tired at the moment having slept for perhaps three hours. Antonio got up this morning, and I regaled him with the drama. Part of me hopes that Wriel never ever calls my phone. The evil biyotch in me hopes he's stupid enough to call. Either way...let me run into him in public...he is going to find out just why white, native, black folks and Puerto Ricans should never ever be allowed to make mixed babies.

TV Just Pisses Me Off...

Basically, I haven't lived anywhere that has had cable television or even television with rabbit ears for local reception in almost three years. Sadly, I have missed the last two seasons of American Idol...and I was able to steer clear of the Desperate Housewives phenomenon (when I saw TransAmerican I wasn't sure that the tranny in the movie was a bio girl until I saw her man-parts...and being a peniphile I was quick to spot a low hanging falsy). And, I had no idea that Keifer Sutherland had re-emerged as a star in the new millenium.

But, now that I work from home, and I have basic cable...I have been quickly re-baptized into televised pop culture. And what I've seen has pissed me the hell off. When you have basic cable, you are basically limited to public television, your local stations, CNN, and the learning stations (National Geographic, History, Discovery, TLC, and Animal Planet). So, basically, I have been inundated with something akin to information overload. Now, thanks to the learning stations...I am terrified of the 12 deadliest snakes in Africa, stingrays, and the scientifically predicted evolutions of animals 100,000,000 years in the future. But, I am also re-pissed off beyond belief about the history of the United States and the bullshit that is taking place right now today and especially over the course of the Bush Administration.

Let me be specific...two incidences today have caused a sharp rise in my blood pressure. During a show on the Civil War and Reconstruction on the History Channel, there was a quick in between scenes fun fact that stated in 1866, former slave owners in Georgia managed to sell a group of freedmen back into slavery in Cuba. At that moment, when I saw that clip, I wanted to go out and smack the nearest white person. I may indiscriminately beat down the first caucasian I came across. The history of people of color in this country, my history and the history of my family, has been white washed, bleached out, rubbed out, and ignored. Yet, from time to time...by chance and happenstance...I learn something about my personal past and my racial past that I didn't know before. As someone that prides himself on being engaged with exploring his history and the history of his nation...the details of what was done and continues to be done in the name of white supremacy in his nation often catches me off guard and sparks some deep, genetic level anger.  I managed to reign my anger in and recognize that while the emotion was completely valid, smacking a random white person might not be just or fair...even though I still wanted to do it. Just a little bit.

But that wasn't the end of the TV inspired outrage. This evening, I came home from a tasty dinner with my wonderful friends Kandace and Andrea (aka Wifey and Pookie), only to find my roommate Antonio watching a documentary on TPT about the lead up to 9-11 and the decision to go to war in Iraq and Afghanistan. And, dammit if that isn't enough to set any justice minded person off the deep end. The first thing that absolutely drove me nuts was learning about the backroom power jockeying by VP Dick Cheney and his push to get George Tenet out of office. He pulled no punches and did everything short of raising Satan himself to get George Tenet out of the CIA...and for no other reason than Tenet was a Democrat and Clinton appointee. And then 9-11 hit. You'd think that the events of 9-11 would be enough to put aside petty power mongering at the White House...but then again commonsense has never been associated closely with Republicans...particularly Dick Cheney. So, in the midst of the 9-11 crisis...Cheney continued to do his best to undermine Tenet and anyone else that wanted anything different than did he with regards to a response to the attack. What really tickles me and makes me want to vomitar about the whole situation...is that Tenet wanted to go to war as much as Cheney...their fight was over which of them would lead the war effort...Cheney through  former Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld or George Tenet and the CIA. Good God in Heaven.

I would like to say that I am going to unplug my TV and disconnect the cable...but I am an information junky...and really...it's been too long since I've felt the outrage that I should be feeling with just about every waking breath I take (outrage can be put aside during sex and doing number two).  So, I will stay tuned...and stay keyed up...anything less is exactly what the clowns on the news want...to have us all unplug, disconnect, and let them play their games that end lives from one end of this world to the other.

New Year Resolution

I have exactly one New Year Resolution this year: To do the best I can every day.

I debated all of the usual resolutions: be better with my money, get in better shape, take better care of my health, etc. etc. etc. And I realized that really it all boils down to each day between when I wake up and when I go to sleep making the best decisions I can possibly make. This also recognizes that from day to day my best may differ. Some days I may be tired or sick or wore out and what I am able to do to succor myself and others is going to be different than those days when I feel on top of the world. It means being deliberate about the choices I make...is the best choice I can make to eat six of those delicious mini-cupcakes that Kristina brought to my holiday party...or is it a better decisions to much on that crispy organic granny smith apple that I bought down at the Global Market? I understand that part of this will be down right trickery...cuz my brain and my gullet both know that half a dozen mini-cupcakes are sure going to taste a lot better than one nasty old granny smith apple...but in the long run I will feel better and look better and live healthier. I'm good enough. I'm smart enough. And gosh darn it they might make apples taste like mini-cupcakes one day.

But for real though, waking up in the morning and looking at each decision consciouslly as a way to improve myself, my life, and be an all around better person is a way to allow myself to reduce the chaos in which I tend to exist.  Was that last sentence anywhere near grammatically correct?

So, I resolve in 2007 to live each day to the best of my ability to the best of my circumstances and to make the best choices available to me at the moment when I make them. If I do that, I have a sneaky feeling that I might just have my best year ever.

Feliz Ano Nuevo

To all my friends and loved ones...I wish you the best, brightest, and happiest of days in 2007.

And let's all hope together that the world is a little bit saner, a little bit calmer, and the Bush Administration stops getting a little bit dumber as the year goes by.

And I'm Telling You...

I ain't leaving! Lord have mercy when Jennifer Hudson belted out her rendition of I Ain't Leaving...I was screaming in the theater...people were cheering/clapping/calling on the name of the Lord...and I think someone in the last row got up and was glory holler dancing full of the Spirit.

There have been movies that have come out over the last several years that have touched me. Rent is a good example. But, dammit if DreamGirls didn't blow me the hell away. It is a poignant story as relevant today as it was when it debuted in 1980 and it applies to the music industry of the 60s and most definately of the decades that have followed right up until today.

The music...oh God the music...it was the kind of music that tears into...leaves you open and raw...sews you back up...but makes you wonder if you are ever going to be the same. The star of the show without a doubt was Jennifer Hudson as Effie White followed closely by Eddie Murphy as Jimmy. Beyonce was perfect for the role that she played, and I was actually impressed that she acted decently. And, for the first time---well almost the first time, she sang a song that I actually LOVED...the song she sings to her husband letting him know he was wrong and that she was taking back ownership of her life. But, other than that one songstress moment...the powerful, full rich, colorful, God given gift of Jennifer Hudson stole the show again and again and again without overpowering the movie.

The set designs were fantastic. The costumes were original and stunning. The dialogue was fantastic. The acting was tremendous. If this movie does not win best picture, best direction, best actor, best every damn thing, I am going to hunt down the members of the Academy one by one and have some words to say with them.

This is an opportunity for the Academy to rectify the wrong they did to The Color Purple (my favorite movie of all time). The Color Purple didn't win nary a damn academy award. Whoopie Goldberg deserved best actress...but being a black woman first time screen actress she was doomed from the gate. If they can give Halley Berry an Oscar then Jennifer Hudson better damn well get one...Eddie Murphy too dammit.

Allright...so...that's my rant for the day. GO AND SEE DREAMGIRLS! Make this one of the highest grossing films of all time...and then support Jennifer Hudson in staying true to herself and to her gifts.

Feliz Navidad!!!!

May the joy of Christmas and the promise of peace reside within you all year. May the light and hope of Christ fill you, and may you find love, growth, learning, contentment, and succor each and every day of your life.

Let the day of His birth be one of renewal and recommittment. My love to you all on this blessed day.

A Christmas Eve Letter...

Dear God:

Tonight we celebrate the anniversary of the coming of your Son. More than 2000 years ago, you sent your child to Earth. You sent him to a world torn apart by war, imperialism, oppression, religious intolerance, pride, slavery, poverty, and injustice. You sent him to show us a new way--a way of fellowship. He came and revealed to us that the greatest commandment of all is to Love.

On the surface the world looks to be a much different place than it was on that night some 2,0006 years gone by. But underneath, my sweet sweet Saviour, the world remains much the same. My own country has caused a war that has ripped apart a sovereign nation and plunged it into a bloody religious civil war. Forty million of your children are dying in Africa from a disease that those of us that live with it in the United States are able to manage--due to our privilege and our medical system. The land of your Son's birth has known constant struggle, apartheid, murder, and subjugation for fifty years and knew colonization before that. Your children are fighting one another my God...Jews, Christians, and Muslims...killing one another over dogma ignoring the fact that the core of each branch of your faith is to love one another. Tonight, millions of your children will sleep on America's streets. Hundreds of millions around the world will go to sleep hungry.

In this world God, I look to my friends and family as examples of what the world could be. When I fall, they are there to catch me. When I lose faith, they are there to share their light with me.,  I stumble my God. And sometimes I walk in strength. But I never walk alone.  And, if this true for me then it must be true for the world.

We need you my God. We need another miracle. Or we need someone to remind us of the miracles that we create every day. I know that the love on Earth is infinitely greater than the hatred that we see and hear on the news every day. But the Devil is the way of despair, and he has done much to ensure that we hear as little about the acts of love and kindness that happen every second. Help us to see through the haze my God. Send your Angels to light our footsteps. Let the celebration of the birth of your Son be a celebration of the gifts that he brought to his world and the supreme act of love he committed when he gave himself up for us.

Let the New Year be a true jubilee...a celebration...guide us Father for we have lost our way.

Love,

Your Children

The UN...What the Fuck!

This morning I logged into my yahoo account to send some emails for work, and the morning headline caught my eye: The UN Security Council Approves Sanctions for Iran. I thought great...it's time to start building nuclear fall out shelters again...because if we invade Iran...they are going to give us the finger and really blow some shit up.

Really, I am against nuclear proliferation...by anyone. I think that every nation on earth should be required to dismantle exisiting nuclear weapons and nuclear power stations. I also believe it is the height of western arrogance and powermongering that exisiting nuclear powers have decided they have a monopoly on nuclear energy and/or have the right to determine which non-nuclear nations get to develop nuclear energy. I undersand that both China and India are nuclear nations that are not Western powers...but neither China nor India have ever dropped a nuclear weapon on anyone.

What really tickled me this morning is that one of the follow up headlines was that the UN has just approved a 1.9 billion dollar rennovations. I text messaged Coya and told her that at least the UN will look really pretty when it dissolves after the inevitable invasion that will follow when Iran refuses to dismantle their uranium enrichment program.

I'm going back to bed.

Evangelical Christians vrs. Genocide, Poverty, Polluters, and Wal-Mart!?!?!

Ave Maria...Salve Regina...the world is a changing. So, I was on the elipitical machine the other day reading Newsweek or Time from just after the election. The theme of the issue was the new evangelicals. It seems that the whole Superchurch Pastor Ted Haggert being outed as a party boy power bottom has caused new light and attention to be shone on the evangelical movement in the United States, and there are some really interesting happenings going on.

The article talked about how many evangelicals are trying very hard to distance themselves from the Jerry Fallwell's and Pat Robertson's of the world. They are no less conservative on social issues such as abortion and gay marriage (although I guess the parishioners at one mega church in Missouri aren't necessarily anti-gay marriage as a flock), but they are down right progressive when it comes to working to end genocide in Darfur, advocating for a liveable wage, demanding stronger environmental protections, battling sexism, and the latest news is that a coalition of evangelical churchs across the South have started a boycott and TV ad campaign against Wal-Mart basically saying that Jesus wouldn't shop there, so we shouldn't either.

This is all sort of freaking me out. From a Biblical standpoint these progressive stances make total sense...but I'm not used to my evangelical brothers and sisters making sense. I'm used to seeing them rabid and foaming at the mouth chewing on chain link fences surrounding the local abortion clinic or boycotting the funeral of a murdered tranny. What happens when your "enemy" around one part of your identity is an "ally" on many others? I'm really curious as to how this new wave of selective progressivism in the evangelical community is going to play out? Will there be a separate Christian Environmental movement? Or will traditional progressives and evangelical progressives find a way to form coalitions to work on certain issues without identity conflicts causing a melt down. What happens when you show up at a Wal-Mart boycott and someone in the crowd is wearing a Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve t-shirt? Or when you recognize the person sitting next to you at a community meeting with city council members to pass a liveable wage ordinance as the local screamin' preacher that was just railing against a woman's right to choose on the six-o-clock news the night before?

In the past the left and the religious right have rarely come together on any issue, but the effectiveness of some of the work that evangelical center-right is doing should be broadly supported. I think this is an opportunity to open channels of communications across the political spectrum...but the communication is going to have to be done in such a way as not to explode any of the landmines that are the paving stones along the path that both sides will be walking.

Straight Talk and Hold The Sugar Please..

Ya'll know that I love me some Dolly Parton and any chance I can get to somehow include Dolly in my life, I take...hence the title...Straight Talk...from her acclaimed (by me) movie wherein she plays a woman mistaken for a radio psychologist and wows Chicago with her no nonsense well...straight talking.

Coya and I had some real heart to heart straight talking just yesterday. It was a rough conversation, a tough conversation, and one of the best conversations I've had with her ever. I've been going through some things lately, and I have fallen into some old patterns of not wanting to let folks in. Somehow in my head, I decided that the best way to protect my friends and keep them happy is to keep them out of my head and away from my craziness. In essence, I've made decisions for them about how and when they can help me and how much they can give of themselves to me. I've cut them out of the opportunity to grow and change with me, and I lost the opportunity...at least I had lost the opportunity...to learn and grow with them. It took a whole lot of tears and some angry emails and conversations from folks for me to get that.

Coya and I are alike in so many ways, which is also probably why when we fight...we fight. Luckily, we didn't fight yesterday. We came to some really good understandings, and she gave me the opportunity to start making amends for putting her through some things last week. Last week, my depression kicked into high gear. I let myself get to a mental health breaking point, and I could no longer see the forest or the goddamn trees. All I could see was that I had no idea how I was going to pay my rent, that I had no food, no bus fare, and the light of the end of the tunnel seemed to have been switched off. I found myself turning back to my friends for financial support and really finally letting myself feel the failure (and ignoring the successes and life lessons learned) from my last two jobs...at YouthAction--where I had to close down the organization, fire one staff person, and lay off another that was a good friend turned embezzler...and the campaign...where I poured heart and soul into somethat that was so right...only to find out that the world often doesn't do what's right even when the opportunity is right there in front of it. So, last week, I relapsed...not on meth...but a relapse still. I disappeared for two days, and I showed up just before my friends put out a missing persons report. I put Coya through holy fucking hell...particularly in the light of what she has gone through in the last year and a half...and when I turned up...all I could think about was my own shame and disappointment, and I didn't do the work of dealing with and comforting my friends that I had put through it.

It's funny...Coya and I had two conversations and neither time did she pull any punches. I knew exactly how she felt, and I knew exactly what I had put her through. But I never at any time felt shamed by her. As a matter of fact, I was humbled by her honest and her love for me. She went out of her way to let me know what she was feeling while also being supportive of me and letting me know that as an addict this shit is going to go down and that there is a better way for me to deal and to respond to it when it does. And while it was not comfortable to have to sit and own the ugly and the uglier, I did it with as much grace as I could. And I was astounded at how not defensive I was...because lord knows I can get angry and defensive in a heart beat.

After talking with Coya I came to understand exactly why I could sit there and hear what she had to say, accept it, and feel it. It's because Coya lives and models in many ways what almost no one else in my life does. She owns her shit. She doesn't pretend that she is anyone's savior. She doesn't pretend that she doesn't fuck up or that she doesn't have her own stuff to work through. She reaches out for help when she needs it and acknowledges her weakness as well as her strengths. When she steps to me to have conversations about our friendship, I know that she is doing it out of love and out of a desire to strengthen our friendship and not out of some missplaced martyr complex. She asks me to call her out and recognizes when she takes actions that are hurtful to those around her. I can hear her because I trust her. And I realized through this process that there are those in my life where I do not share that same level of trust, and with those individuals there are conversations that I now need to have.

Coya and I shared the same sentiment yesterday. She and I have gone through multiple lifetimes of lifetime experiences in our 30 odd years of life. Lesson after lesson after lesson comes up, and sometimes we learn the lessons the hard way and sometimes there is only the hard lessons to learn. But against all odds, against all statistics we are both here, we are alive, and we will continue to fight. I will continue to fight. There is so much good in the world and in my life, and I'll be damned if I let anything or anyone dim my light.

An Application for Longer Days...

It's a damn shame when you wake up in the morning and you immediately feel as if there aren't enough hours in the day to get done the things that you'd like to accomplish. So, this afternoon, I'm filling out a petition for longer days.  I'm starting a signature drive to raise the number of hours in the day from 24 to 36. I know that this will probably mess with some folks' sleeping patterns, and business hours will definately have to shift...plus dealing with an extra sunrise or sunset (depending on how the new day is structured) could have devastating effects on some island cultures in the South Pacific, and it is definately going to make celebrating Ramadan a little awkward with knowing when it's ok to eat and all, but other than some very minor glitches, I think it will work out better for everyone.

Really, I mean who couldn't use an extra 12 hours ofproductivity in their life. Think of everything that we could get done. Plus...that's more hours of party time at the end of the day to celebrate a job well done. It's a brilliant plan and one that will probably earn me a Nobel Prize...maybe in Physics since I'd probably have to arrange some sort of mathematical theorem to justify using the term "day" to refer to a 36 hour period or I'll just have to figure out a way to slow down the Earth's rotation...either way...I'm all over it.

Currently, even with the consulting projects I've got going on, I don't really have to be up at a certain time during the week (the weekends are a different story...I have to be up to greet the sunlight and to get to work by 7:30am). So, I've been trying to let myself wake up naturally and then use what time I have between when I wake up and when I have to be at my temp gig to get done all the other projects I have up my sleeves. I slept until 9:45 this morning, and now I'm freaking out because I'm not going to get done all of that which I laid up in my head to get done. Perhaps it is just a problem of expectation and pyschology...but either way...it's pissing me off.

So, starting tomorrow I'm setting my alarm. I'm going to make myself rise by 8am...at least until I can figure out how to get six linked nuclear reactors and a seventeen ton slinky, which are key components in getting us all to that 36 day heaven.

Working For Myself...Sort Of

The campaign is over...let's not talk about it. For the last two weeks I have basically been hibernating...rising only to feed and then slip back into what was averaging about 16 hours of sleep a day. Finally, about a week ago my body cried havoc and let loose the dogs of insomnia...and when I was unable to fall asleep one night until 4am, I realized that perhaps I had recovered from my six months of sleep deprivation and it was time to move on...or get out of bed.

My body's subtle clues at being overrested coincided nicely with my temp agency's assiging me to a part time gig...doing...of all things...entering in voter registration data from voter's that registered on the day of the election. There is something cruel and ironic about the whole situation...and it proves, yet again, that God has a twisted twisted sense of humor. At the same time, my dear gal pal mentorific Susan Raffinator, called me with some balmy good weather news...she had a couple of paying fundraising contract gigs for me. BLC Strategic Movement Innovations had its first paying clients.

About two weeks before the end of the campaign...we're still not talking about that...I came up with the idea that perhaps I should go into business for myself. I wrote up a one page document that talked about the services I could offer, some vague pricing information, and relevant work experience, I sent out emails to about two thousand people, and then I plunged into the final days of electoral mayhem. Now, thanks to Susan, I have two contracts...and thanks to a tip off from my new roommate Antonio, I have a meeting with a third possible client this week. Faboo I tell you, faboo. My temp gig is in the evenings and on the weekends, so I have my days and all day Friday to get this small business venture of mine up and off the ground. I swung by and celebrated Chamindiklaus day with Chamindika on Saturday (check out www.chamindika.com), and she told me about a cool local initiative through WomenVenture that supports the development of small businesses, helps you save moola for business expenses, and matches by three times the money that you put into your savings account. Hallelujah. So, I am going to on top of that as quickly as a gay man at a bath house gets on the nearest erect penis.

So that's work...on another note...last night I was woken up from a dead sleep by one of the most fantastic dreams I've had in a long time. It started out as a dream about going out dancing with my friend Ramon and the gang. We were sifting through possible costumes that we could make from things in our closest...and my choices somehow were a slutty cheerleader or a church lady. I chose the church lady outfit. I was to be a big bosomed black church lady wearing a big red Sunday hat and a big red choir robe with some high heeled red shoes. Fantastic. My dream then became, of course, a gospel musical. What was funny was that I woke up several times and fell back asleep and the musical continued...that never happens with my dreams. Finally God woke my butt up and said...write a play boy...a musical...called Church Ladies...and by God I am going to do it.  It's going to be the story of a gay black man (possibly trans identified) that grew up in the church...who returns to the church...in drag...and comes out to his Father and Mother. It's going to be the story of his Father coming to accept him and the church coming to accept him. I'm going to tell the story through the eyes of the Church Ladies, that group of venerable black women that can be found in any black congregation...particularly through the eyes of his Mother. And I'm going to write the lyrics to all the gospel songs...I'm jazzed...I even wrote the first words to a song last night. Hey Glory.

Whatever Happened to the Weekend?

I know that I really shouldn't be complaining. I chose the fate that I am now living. But, really, I had no conception that participating in American Democracy meant giving up any and all hard won labor rights...small thinks...like weekends. I mean, don't get me wrong...I love my co-workers. As a matter of fact, and I think I've mentioned this a time or two before, I don't believe I have ever worked with a more dedicated and talented group of individuals. Roughly half of our field staff have Master's degrees...one is working on his PhD, and almost all of us have our undergraduate degrees. We've got folks on our field staff that speak, in addition to English, Swedish, Spanish, and Arabic. It's basically a Field Staff Think Tank going on. But, goodness, I am definitely looking forward to having my weekends back.

Unlike most of the field staff, and please note this is not a criticism, I have a long history of work and activism in the Twin Cities. Which also means that I have a community here where I have deep roots. I also have other hobbies, pasatiempos, and obligations outside of the campaign. Trying to fit even a tenth of what I usually do in addition to work into what I am doing with the campaign is crazy making. Yes it is. Add to that trying to add in a social life of some kind and exercise...and you end up with days that tend to stretch from 8am-1am or later. I'm getting too damn old for all of that.

I mean...I'm still young and pretty. Don't get me wrong. Just look at the picture of me in the duck suit if you have any doubts. I've aged well. But, I'm starting to get to that point in life when sleep is precious and when I don't get sleep I start looking like the Thing from Powderhorn Lake (for those of you not from Minneapolis...Powderhorn Lake is the small lake across the street from my house...it's a bird sanctuary...which means lots of goose shit in the water...which breeds all kinds of slimy fungi...add to that the fact that it was, during the 80s, the number one dumping spot for murder victims in Minneapolis...and you can imagine just how nasty the Thing from Powderhorn Lake really is).

There are a couple of staff members that came into the campaign with significant others...including one field staffer that is actually married. That is just plainly crazy. I have done my share of dating while on the campaign...but actually trying to maintain a long term relationship at this point would be the essence of extra crazy.

The hardest part of this work right now is my inability to spend any real time writing. Writing is what keeps me going. Hell this blog is what kept me from checking back into the mental hospital while I was living in Albuquerque. And now that my time with the campaign is coming to an end, I am in the fortunate place of being able to look for a new job that will both pay me what I minimally need to make in order to pay my bills...while also allowing me the tim