47 posts tagged “washington dc”
Friday Night.
Georgetown...
Opening Night for Foto Week DC. Drinks pouring. Beautiful people around. Me and Kel conversing and bumping to the ecclectic mellow mix of house music. Tasty spread of hor'dorves. Floating from one gallery to the next. Photography on display at five different galleries. New York, Cuba, Uganda, AIDS, 9/11, DC school children, the normal, the interesting. Topics are soft to intense. Chocolate doorman on gaurd. Looking to be Secret Service. Our eyes lock. Smiles exchanged. Ahhhh. I'm taken. Night fall air. I'm without much care. Celebrating Kel's job offer from earlier in the day. Me? Celebrating life and perhaps the realization graduation is closely becoming a reality.
Unknown hours pass. We have to keep it moving.
Adams Morgan...
Posted up at Soussi. Mediterranean feel. Added company. An Andre 3000 twin. Glasses, Suit, criss cross red and white strip shirt. Tie. Socialite, business man, fellow Bison. Good friend of Kel. Old School Hip Hop. Whatcha know about Lords of the Underground? Camp Lo? Tribe Called Quest? Martinis flowing. Paella tasting great. Black, White, Mediterranean, etc. taking hits from choosen hookah. Conversing about politics, current personal biz, straight up business. Pass the business cards to him, him and her. Another epic center or nerve where the bohemians of all backgrounds collab.
Again, unknown hours pass. We have to close tab and keep it moving.
The Triangle...
Andre 3000 Twin leads us to a mini after party. His connects is with Ozios. Club shuts down at 2 am, but a core group of Ethiopians still partying, including the connect. Someone got engaged. Champange flowing. Dancing in full effect. White guy comes over. Introduces himself. Said that he noticed Kel and I come in and thought we were the sexiest ones in the place. A line? Yes. Still, all he wanted was a dance. How could I refuse?
Unknown time passes. We shut it down.
Benning Ridge...
Home. Lured to sleep by the sounds of Papi's voice who called to make sure I got home ok.
Last week my school held their annual job fair for those in the communications field. In years before, there has always been a good turn out of both internship/job seekers and recruiters/companies from all sectors of the communications realm. In those years I was always excited to go, especially once I reached the junior and (quasi) senior level, because really that is who the fair is intended for. However freshman and sophomores can attend to browse the exhibit booths and sit-in on the various information sessions lead by a panel.
This year, the closer the date came for the fair, the more disenchanted I had become. Originally I chalked it up to be the so-called "mother hen" on campus, having "been there and done that," here I am a near 30 year old scrambling with 19, 20, 21 year-olds for internship and job possibilities. My energy level for the whole scene seemed...well...low. It couldn't have gotten any lower when I received an email confirming a pre-scheduled interview with a prestigious newspaper that is based in another city and state, but has a DC bureau. Actually I perked up a bit only because I saw a little light of actually doing some work with this paper at their DC bureau, but I was still discouraged that I wasn't pre-scheduled with nearly as many interviews I use to bag from previous fairs.
I honestly felt something was wrong with me and perhaps my resume. Though I've revamped my resume countless times over the past year, my work in the journalism/communications field is so broad. My heaviest concentration is in print/news editorial, but I've had a touch of public relations, technical writing and even creative writing - bios, synopsis writing. Nevertheless, the week caught me in a hectic state as I had four papers to work on and turn in, plus doing preps for the interview. I even worked on changing my attitude about it all and figured that I never know what may come out of this meeting.
The day of the fair was nasty with rain, but people from my school and other HBCUs from near and far came ready in their suits and armed with portfolios. I was in the mix, running back and forth between classes I had mid-term exams in and the fair. When I finally settled in at the fair I noticed how there wasn't really a good number a companies this year. There were big time companies that had uber long lines of folks waiting to be interviewed and other companies with small to non-existent lines. MY prestigious newspaper had no line, but every now and then a person was in the chair being interviewed. When my turn came I sat down and before I could really get into the meat or the crux of what I'm all about, the elderly white man looked at me, my resume and told me that if I were to intern with them I would need more experience with a daily newspaper. Outside of the work I did in 2001 with a local newspaper, anything else has been on a freelance basis and obviously not really daily, though deadlines were tighter.
Surprisingly I didn't feel shot down by his words. I understood, just as I understood later (via our discussion) that any work I would do for them (internship or employment) would be done in their home base office, especially since they are "shaving" their DC bureau staff considerably. Honestly, I don't think it's the right time for me to pick up and move with the kiddo to another state, especially for just an internship. We shared a few little laughs in between, he handed me his business card and that was that. However, what took place after was a little uplifting.
I walked around that ballroom for a fourth time, looking through the program book at the profiles of the various companies. I check marked the ones I thought would be of interest. However, after further inspection I learned that though booths were open, a majority were ONLY open to the ones with pre-scheduled interviews. So that knocked off the main booth I wanted to visit.... DC's local NBC affiliate/NBC Universal. Though I had it check marked, I almost walked by the local ABC affiliate. since I saw someone having an interview. However, there were two people manning the table. My body stopped dead in its tracks before I could even have a conversation with my brain on if I should or shouldn't stop.
I read through some of their material and picked up their sheet announcing openings. In that instant the lady behind the table sparked a conversation with me. Turns out she is part of the HR department. I asked her were their any openings for a person like me who has more print experience than broadcast. I would be interested in working in the newsroom writing up the stories. Her exact response,
"Baby we got any kind of position you are looking for."
We talked a little more, I handed her my resume and few other items as we discussed a friend of hers that is head of a non-profit and in need of a writer. I even did the ultimate; name dropped my godsister who works for them in their newsroom; anything for a little edge. She lit up. She knew her. She pulled out a post-it, placed it on my resume and began taking notes. I breathed a little sigh of relief.
By the end of the day as I did a little reflection, I pondered over what exactly has the so-called recession done to the print journalism industry. Newspapers are shutting down or consolidating their staff/resources as there is this shift towards "new media;" really.. all electronic news. Once, my good friend Erin, who is a photojournalist, and I were having a discussion about such. I will never forget her comment.
"[the industry] is only dying if people in the industry aren't willing to change with it."
I thought about her statement in relation to what I had just experienced at the fair. I wondered how open is the industry towards people like me, with such broad experiences. Shouldn't the industry as a whole move to adapt to the change in the climate? One of the most enlightening experiences I had was back in April, when I visited the web operations of the Washington Post. There is a team of people, with a grouping of web design, technical invention, writing and overall creative talent that the publication allowed this team to morph and work together creating a new job (and maybe a new division) of the web version of the paper. I met the team and fell so completely in love with their work. I craved to be on such a team.
A las, going back to the fair, I was shut out with the out of state prestigious newspaper before I could even open my mouth about what I can offer. I figured, their loss and again, not my time to make a sudden move to another state right now anyways. I also wondered was the whole thing about the job fair set up for those of us in the print journalism world to fail. The bulk of the companies present were of marketing and public relations...selling. Maybe it's the present day enrollment of communication schools; maybe there are a higher number of students interested in the marketing, public relations medium. However, where does that leave us who are straight up journalist (broadcast and print)? I actually overheard a young fellow journalism major describe his pre-scheduled interview as just "okay." He too was a little dismayed that the fair seemed to be bit more aimed at the marketing and public relations students. However, like me, he figured he would participate anyways because he didn't know where the opportunities of the day would lead.
As I'm getting older and facing the last days of my undergraduate studies, I can't help but to figure out how to step up my game. Competition is uber fierce. I've been proven this time and time again; even as recent as loosing a freelance bid with a local publication. Graduate school is still on my mind. Yet, I have so much to decipher being a single mother (of one). What is practical? What is economical? What is meant to be?
Lately I've been feeling fatigued, but trying to stay motivated. That's MY hardest challenge; not giving into the slightest fatigue. However, I don't want to become burnt out. It's my fear. I've been there and done that. Not a pretty place to be. Again, for me it's all about balance. Yet in my world, my balance can be easily thrown off with matters outside of school.
A classmate of mine, who is an older lady that is also a former student returning, that hardly knows me, listened to me tell my thoughts on the job fair. Without blinking or missing a beat she said,
"I have complete and utter faith you will be fine. God has something out here for you. "
I usually feel weird when a stranger or a person who doesn't know me fully tells me something like this. It comes off as common rhetoric that has no value. But when that lady spoke those words I didn't feel as such. I found myself agreeing and believing. I guess that's step one of stepping up my game; actually believing.
Step 2?
Work.
I'm in an artistic mood but not sure where to start. Ok... maybe I have an idea. I'm working on a creative writing project for my class with Medina. It's our Mid-term. The project is to take about 20 shots (pictures) and create a narrative from the pictures taken. I had so many ideas for this project, but each one foiled. Mainly I wanted to shoot pictures of my grandmother's move. Her life has been my muse lately. Unfortunately, the house she is moving to isn't quite ready yet. The move is postponed.
I pulled out my old (late 80's) Nikon 35mm. Not an automatic, but the professional kind. Back in the day I use to take shots, mainly in black and white, and developed the prints myself. I dabbled in and out of it as I attended different workshops and even on my own. I even went back into it in high school as I spent one school year taking pictures for the yearbook. I looooove that Nikon better than any digital. For that I'm truly an "Analog Girl In a Digital World."
When my original idea foiled I pondered the idea of another upcoming event. My cousin "T's" fashion line debut. She held a private fashion show and party at the Studio Gallery in Dupont Circle, with invited family, guests and few press folks. It was a hit!! I have never been so proud of my cousin as I was Saturday. Literally, I was moved to tears (which I choked back - I couldn't let my eye makeup give me away).
I managed to take much needed black and white shots and had them developed the next day. I'm shocked how interesting and nice they turned out; considering I'm still an amature at this and hadn't touched the Nikon in light years. I'm not even gonna get into how it took me a moment or two to figure out how to load the camera. Once I finished a roll I had to remember where the release button was located to allow me to roll the film back in the film canister before opening the back. After one wasted roll of film, a few out of focus pictures and a few pictures with off balance lighting, I forgot how the whole process gives me a rush! I went out and bought more black and white film for more pictures to take - for my own leisure, projects.
Aside from the picture taking A LOT has been placed on my plate and I'm still trying to find a balance in all of the madness. On one hand I love it, because I'm immersing myself in work that I love doing, but the flip side is.. trying my damn hardest not to succomb to my distractions and not neglecting those in my life who are very important and dear to me. Of course the biggest one of all...my daughter.
I probably shouldn't worry too much about my Snickerdoodle, since she is in good hands while I'm drowning in reading material for classes, writing papers, writing and editing articles and whatever else I have going on. I get a sense that at two years old, my Snickerdoodle has some of my streak of independence. On one hand she's attached to me -she'll crawl in my bed in the middle of the night. However, she is quick to tell me "Buh Bye" - such as Sunday in church when I dropped her off in the in the children's Sunday school and she told me "bye" before I could rush back upstairs to the sanctuary.
So again.. I need not worry too much about the Snickerdoodle.
But getting back to this artistic aura that has been around me lately.... It's funny. I had been crying about lack of inspiration and motivation and in the last month or so an abundance of what I've been lacking and crying out for has hit me.
A couple of weeks ago Medina asked us to write a Creed, based on why do we write. I took some time to think about why do I write and tried to form it into a creed. Here's what I came up with.
"There's the gift, there's the spirit & there's the work. All three have to come together. If one of those things are off, it can stop you from becoming who you were meant to be" - Jay-Z Oct. 2009 issue of O Magazine
The Gift:
For it was bestowed upon me to carry a tradition. It’s by divine touch to have such a legacy flow through the blood line; from grandparents to grandchildren. This inheritance is rich with vivid imagery, a plush vocabulary and a background harmony singing lullabies helping to see and feel. For the mission is bigger than me and beyond my understanding. For the words entertain, heal, soothe, inspire, liberate, anger, teach, help and captivate. The art of writing is one of power. I shall not take this lightly journalistically or creatively.
The Spirit:
The spirits of pure and evil are there. Yet it’s the pure that I seek and long to keep. For evil uses my voice, the gift, as a weapon sharper than any known to man. For I pray and pledge not to be led astray, to find friend or foe slain or arrested by my hidden weapon. May nothing but positive influence and true conviction bleed ink.
The Work:
It is understood that nothing is handed to me freely and without consequence. For I have received this gift and must make use of idle hands and idle time. For it takes more than just having the gift and letting the passion fester. Passion must be allowed to be the driver. For once it is allowed to drive falling in love with the craft and the tools are comprehensive. The work will deliver unto itself when passion is allowed to live aloud and able to drive.
To: Esther & Samuel
C/O Rabbi & Mrs. Menachem Noe
Brooklyn, NY USA
To begin, I must offer my sincere apologies.
Apparently someone or something in a New York City Post Office got their wires crossed.
Today I received two pieces of mail from Brooklyn. One for me and the other addressed Rabbi & Mrs. Menachem Noe.
For the past week I had been expecting a delivery (of some sort) for me. So it was to my delight when the mailman handed over the mail today and immediately I went to work in carefully opening the folded and stapled magazine that contains an essay of mine. My heart raced and my breath quickened because it was an essay of great personal depths that I produced for the publication two years ago and never saw the published edition. As I undid the packaging a small white envelop slid out from between the pages. The return address was printed on the back. I glanced over the address, not seeing the name and only paying attention to "Brooklyn, New York." In my haste I assumed it was a note from the editor/publisher. I RUSHED to open the note, never once turning over to the front to SEE who it was actually addressed to.
Once opened, I pulled out a small note card to which it was addressed to someone NOT me. It was in that moment I flipped the envelop to see that it was addressed to someone else.
Oh No! I Committed a Federal Offense!
I also noticed that the poor note didn't even make it through a postal meter machine. It was pure white, clean, with only a 44 cent [wedding rings] stamp and the black [perhaps] Helvetica font. The note card was just the same with black handwritten ink to which it said....
Dear Esther & Samuel -
We are so sorry that we won't be able to make it to your wedding as we will be in Italy at the time. Mazal Tov and we wish you a lifetime of health and happiness. We can't wait to see pictures and hear about the wedding when we get back.
P.S. We will attend the aufruf
Love, ????? & Dov (Mr. and Mrs. Dov Strulowitz)
Again, I offer my apologies for not paying close(r) attention. Though not done intentionally, your friends' regards are safe and sound in a lovely home in Washington, DC. If you should happen to come across this and would like to still have the note, I can mail it correctly (envelop and note).
Also, I would like to offer my own congratulations on your wedding! Mazal Tov!
With Warm Wishes,
Mahoganie Jade Browne
Washington, DC USA
I think I had a Tula Portokalos moment over the weekend.
Sometimes I find myself keeping myself in check. Saturday, in the aftermath of Friday evening, was one of those times. You see, using my connects, I had long ago put in a requests for a two baseball tickets for a Washington Nationals game. Granted I'm not all that thrilled about baseball, but I still love going to the games as it is a nice outing, or something to do. I thought it would be something cool for Papi and I to do for a date since he's never been to a game, especially now that the new stadium has been built. For the record he's not a baseball buff neither. We're both pretty much into football.
Well I got the call Thursday eve, that I have my tickets for the game happening the next day, plus an extra one. The extra was to go to my mother because our political friend wanted her to participate in a special ceremony during the game. I wasn't too disturbed by this, because though my mother has always been there for our political friend, she wasn't feeling the idea of tagging along with Papi and I on what was suppose to be a date. By the end of the night my mother said the only way she would go would be to catch a ride with our friend and then she can leave early or stay late with her.
Then there was a slight change in plans just before I went to bed Thursday night. My mother had mentioned something that my father would likely take her place and that another ticket would be added so my lil cuz could go as well (since my father was picking him up anyways.) Even still I wasn't all that disturbed, because I just knew that none of my folks would want to go through the motions of getting to a baseball for a five minute ceremony at the beginning and then leaving.
My dream told me different. I awoke Friday morning feeling terribly drained. For a moment I couldn't figure out why until my dream instantly played back in my mind. The dream was fresh so I remembered all of it. Basically within the dream I was in a bedroom with the man of my affection. It wasn't actually Papi, but the man's form took on the appearance of Mr. S. (sigh - why won't he go away). In the dream I was getting ready for bed with Mr. S and he ran off into another bedroom. In the room there were people from my family and some of our mutual friends. Before I knew it EVERYONE was sharing the bed. I remembered in the dream I was growing frustrated because I wanted "my man" to myself. Then I found myself concerned with "Does he mind sharing a bed with my family?" Then I had this feeling of I needed to escape and that my man is for me and not for my family.
When I woke up, I was a little perplexed that I would dream such. I did have a slight feeling it had something to do with the baseball tickets situation, but I instantly brushed it off. I concentrated more on the sense that a crowded bed (pertaining to my relationship with Papi) must mean that one of us or both of us are carrying our past around with us whenever we're together.
After shaking off the dream, the day went on smoothly and as productive as possible until the moments leading up for me to get ready. At the last minute the word came through that EVERYONE was going to the game; my mom, dad, my Snickerdoodle and my lil cuz. My attitude fluctuated between extremes. I went from being pissed that my whole family was coming to feeling panic for some reason. The thing is, within our two year (and some change) relationship Papi has met my immediate family with a few extended relatives. He gets along fine with my father. The Snickerdoodle adores him like a big play toy. My mother is still warming up to him, but so far no problems and so on. We're both family people, but at the same time we both crave our space away from them for just us. Because, really.. we're both up under our families so it's a constant. The other thing is, since we only just STARTED to acknowledge to everyone around us that we are in a relationship. Granted nothing hasn't changed much for us, but in a way it feels as if it has since family and friends (from both sides) want to know "Who is he/she?" "How long?" "Do he/she have kids?" What do he/she do?" and etc. etc.
The more I thought about what the special ceremony was for, the more I thought about how some of the political connects that do have close ties to our family would be there, on top of my family going. My body temperature rose and my breath quickened. The phone kept ringing back to back with my mother changing transportation plans. I ended up letting out a loud scream by the end of one conversation. It was the worse. I couldn't go through with it. I picked up the phone and called Papi on both house and cell phones. No answered. I figured he was in the midst of getting dressed. After my family came by to pick up the Snickerdodle, Papi called.
After I gave him the rundown of what was going on, he calmly asked "What do you want to do?"
I suggested we go out to eat instead. So, we drove out of DC and ended up at a nice resturant not far from Baltimore. I was calmer and truly enjoying myself in his company. When I came home I got the report that the family did stay for the whole game. The Snickerdoodle had a marvelous time as she was amazed at all the activities going. I'm glad she was able to go, now I know she can handle baseball games and I can take her with me next time I go. I went to bed in a blissful daze only to wake up Saturday morning reflecting on Friday eve a bit.
I thought about the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding, when Tula (the main character) pretty much freaks out or is embarrassed by a lot of her family's over exaggerated Greek activities. The scene that ran through my mind is when Ian asks Tula about her family. She goes into this spiel about how her Greek relatives act and how there are so many of them. Granted, Papi and I have talked about each other's families and he knows that mine is huge, I feel a pull of some sort. Even though I may gripe about my family and secretly wish I could move to another country sometimes just to get away, to be honest I'm close to my family. So I know to even try to totally dismiss them is hard.. more than likely not even an option.
I'm sure having the family with me on a "date" wouldn't have been so bad, especially at a baseball game. Yet, it bothered me that I freaked out like I did. Of course it would have meant another opportunity for Papi to bond with my family, but am I really ready for that? Am I really ready for a relationship now that we've called...labeled it what it is?
I guess I must first be honest with myself and go back to a question that Papi asked me nearly a month ago. What am I expecting from this relationship?
Maybe there was a little bit more to the dream than just crowded seating at a baseball game.
Or....
Maybe I am just being (emotionally) clumsy.
The more I write on these virtual walls the more I feel as if I have out grown the space. Writing a blog nowadays pretty much feels like a chore. I don't EVER want to feel that like any kind of writing is a chore. So what to do now?
I'll figure it out.
Lately there is much to tell and nothing to tell. The much to tell is pretty much of the same thing.... along the lines of growing, figuring out some things in life in regards to ultimately what do I seek in a relationship and of course the highs ans lows (whatever kind of day it is) with my grandmother's pre-dementia state. Probably why I don't feel like writing none of this is because it feels like beating a dead horse.
The nothing to tell are just little odds and quirks of the day that I either chalk up to be not worth giving a full entry about and do a blip via Twitter or just fleeting thoughts that disappear as quickly as they came.
Last night I had a wonderful time with Papi. We've come to the conclusion there is never a dull moment when we're together. We were stuck in Gay Pride traffic for a bit while heading to a show at the Carter Barron. We made it to the show only to see Kenny Lattimore girate across the stage and more. The dude can sing his ass off though. Then my girl Ledisi hit the stage. Highlight - seeing her strut on stage in RED STILETTOS! (I want her shoes!!) It was my first time seeing Ledisi live and she didn't disappoint. She is a beautiful soul and an excellent performer. I love how she pretty much said she was "having church in the juke joint." Pretty much.... we did.
Naturally after the show Papi and I went out to eat and talked about any and everything; even discussing something as random as "do strobe lights really make things sexier?" (Janet Jackson fans know what that is about)
Later today I'm heading to Cousin T's "graduation soiree" at her place. I have no clue what I'm wearing.
In regards to summer, my favorite season that I practically live for, I feel "flat" or as if I am coasting along. Normally I don't mind the coasting or content feeling. This time, I can't hack it. I'm tired of it. It's time to break out and do something drastic. Not bad drastic... something good.
What will it be....
So I've not long finished watching tonight's episode of The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency. Each week the show seems to get better and better. However, tonight's was pretty deep and a bit of a tear jerker as Jill Scott's character investigated the disappearance and possible death of an American volunteer worker and hints of a discussion about HIV/AIDS was obvious towards the end.
Aside from the case itself and the brief mention of "The Sickness" (I'm guessing the name called for HIV/AIDS in Bostwana) a particular scene had my radar going. At some point Jill Scott's character is talking with her friend (who happens to be romantically interested in her) about the case. In particular she mentions how she felt a wind and that it spoke. One what struck me, but really shouldn't have surprised me too much, was how they discussed the wind talking as if it were no big there. Try that here in the states and the average person may call the other "crazy." But it's stuff like this that I love. It actually reminded me of a class I had semesters ago with author E.R. Braithwaite (To Sir With Love) He would get on us for not really trusting ourselves with our writing and would often call upon the class to be in tune with there senses. Then he would go off on a tangent about how our ancestors would talk to trees and they would talk right back.
Well back to Jill and her friend...
So as Jill is telling her friend about what the wind spoke on and what everything meant, her friend was advising her on not to tell the mother of the American who is missing. In a nutshell he broke down a difference between Americans and Africans (at least in relation to those in Bostwana) in regards to listening to the wind. I can't recall the exact quote, but basically he talked on how we Americans are clever and how we use science to move about the world. However when it comes to things of the spirit, we don't listen to and for things like the wind. When nature or the environment is trying to tell us something we simply it ignore it, especially when it's right under our nose.
I couldn't help but chuckle cause it's pretty much true.
This morning I was reading the front page story of the Washington Post on the case of a shooting death of a 14 year-old. The incident took place in 2007, but there was so much controversy surrounding the case because the boy was shot in the head by an off duty police officer that accused the him of stealing a mini motor bike.
Though the case is pretty much closed and a federal grand jury as ordered a secrecy restriction on the case, today's article examines a few facts that proved there were missteps or inappropriate actions taken on the part of the police department. There are still a few unanswered questions, especially one asking was the (said) boy the one involved in the robbery all along or at least the same boy that fired first at the police officer when first approached?
From the start my question has always been, what gave the police officer the right to go on this vigilanty justice hunt after finding out the property was stolen from his home? Why didn't he just stay home call his fellow dept. and report a crime instead of hoping in his SUV to go looking for trouble?
Yet I digress...
As I read through the article and took in every detail I kept saying to myself "If only the dead could talk. Only the 14 year old lying in the ground now knows."
But as I watched tonight's show and listened to the discussion about the wind...
Whose to say that the boy hasn't been speaking all along? Perhaps the truth is right under everyone's nose, but we are ignoring it.
Maybe I should be giving Obama my full attention as he is giving his press conference. He's on my tube. He's in the background. I'm half listening and half writing, working. I should be watching for the simple fact that tonight could prove to be further interesting for a fellow journalism professional. I feel kinda funny mentioning her by name in my personal blog, but we had a rather interesting conversation today. She's based at my school and in a couple of weeks I will be working with her in producing a couple of stories for a national news wire service. I ran a couple of my ideas by her today to get her feedback; one including the black press core that is "housed" at the White House.
My interest was sparked after visiting Essence Magazine's website a day or two after the first Presidential press conference. I ran across a blog of one of the columnists on the site who described her experience as being part of the press attending a White House press conference. She "painted" a Cinderella story. Soon after, I learned that other black publications or publications that cater to the Black community were apart of the white house press. So naturally my curiosity radar was on alert as I worked on finding an angle. I had hoped to work out the details in time for it to be a black history article, but time was running short and I did something else.
When I mentioned this to (I'll call her..) Ms. Chestnut she immediately beamed. She is currently working on such a story, based on her experience during the first press conference. It seems that I missed an angle as I was (probably) working too hard and too quick to find one. Apparently there has been a little tiff with the black press verses Obama. It's something that when Ms. Chestnut did a quick online search on the topic it in front of me, Google immediately spit out the thousands of relevant search results. She clicked on a link whose headline read "Obama Snubs Black Press." She explained briefly to me what happened. Basically those representing black press organizations were seated in the front row, but didn't get to ask any questions.
Ms. Chestnut took offense and is mentioned in several publications, blogs (Including Huffington Post) with her quote.
When I came home I did the same online search and browsed a few of the articles and blogs on the topic. One blog put the black press organizations on blast saying that if their stories were accurate and not full of BS with out of context quotes, then maybe the White House would take them seriously. After reading that, I thought back to my conversation with Ms. Chestnut. During our talk she briefly told me there is a difference between those that are part of the White House press as they represent other news organizations and those that are sent there to just cover the press conference.
Another blog entry I came across, written by an African American, thought it was unfair for the black press to cry victim and even question if folks are that jaded to think that Obama should give special treatment to blacks. I kind of chuckled at that thought, because clearly that's not what it is about, at least not from Ms Chestnut's point of view. Ms. Chestnut represents a highly respected and credible news organization. All she wants is to be treated or given the same respect as any other "major mainstream" news media outlet is given at the White House.
Ms. Chestnut invited me to join her or help her with the story. I didn't say yes, but I didn't say no either. Actually she is waiting to see how things go tonight. If Obama will be more fair and show equal treatment to the black news organizations that are there. If not, she's ready to write. Will I help? It remains to be seen.
So it's back to business with me this week. For real. I think when I gave myself the week off from doing any work, spring break or not, it set me back. So I'll be playing catch up and will probably have to do it double time since I'm planning to leave town next week for a week.
The weekend was busy as Saturday I did venture to Haymarket, Virginia to my cousin's housewarming. It was really no biggie to drive the hour outside of DC since I practically do it often when I travel to Leesburg, Virginia and back. Haymarket and Leesburg are kind of out there together. The housewarming was nice, even the Snickerdoodle got to play with a couple of cousins her age as they ran around. I won a picture frame from playing one of the games. Yay!
Of course I had to high tail it back to DC before it got too late. My objective was to get back on this end early so I could put the Snickerdoodle to bed and prepare for today's event. Today was the champagne jazz brunch that celebrated the tenth anniversary of the organization that my mother is a member of. The event was a success and I feel just as exhausted and happy that it's over as much as the planning committee members to. My mother was a part of the planning committee. From October until recent, their meetings were held here at the house. The Snickerdoodle's picture was taken with other kids to be posted on the tickets and even part of the souvenir journals. There were runs to Costco, the florist and other members' houses and even the nonstop phone calls that lasted well into the evening from other members needing tickets, calling with their questions to their part of the planning and etc. Oh and let's not forget the food tasting I went to in October for this. The food was delish then and still is now! Mimosas, waffles, omelette's, salmon, biscuits and more...oh my!
So now that it is over, there is a sense of calm. And I'm left to reflect and plan out my week just before United States of Tara comes on for tonight.
So lately, I've been caught up in this "It girl" phase. I don't know how to explain it. I feel like I need to up the ante on my appearance a bit. Not out of the want or need to be vain, but ... I don't know. For a while I've been describing myself as a quasi-socialite. I'm out there, but not out there. People know me and folks don't know me. To be honest, I'm probably still very much a peon in this fishbowl of life. Yet, in regards to my writing, I feel the need to push more and harder. I'm wanting and ready to make noise.
One way is actually going "dot com" with my word press blog; one blog that I haven't scribbled a syllable since I set up the account in September. Thankfully in my publications productions course we are suppose to be working on websites this week. Since I do have some cushion money I might as well use some of it to set up the account on a server that will allow me to go "dot com." Yet I get nervous when I think about. I think about if it is even worth the investment or just a waste of time. Then I think, since I want this to be strictly about writing, about projects, observations in the creative and journalism realm and perhaps some educational stuff that I learn in the life will I have enough juice to even write such? Basically my concern is.. how will it all turn out. I know deep down I NEED this, especially if I want to score some more freelance gigs journalistically and present my name creatively. Which leads me to another question...
Would I do it under my government name (by there way I already have a Caucasian name sake out here with a website that is also a writer.) or do I want to do it under my pseudo? How do people currently know me. Some know my government name. Some just know... Mahoganie.
Aside from trying to figure out this "dot com" life, I have to prepare for tomorrow evening's event at the Kennedy Center. The mayor's arts showcase shing dig. I'm covering it. I still have to post footage on my DC Voting Rights update. I just have the footage sitting in a holding cell on You Tube, until I further edit and perhaps add more too it. Also, I'm working on shadowing YA for a day to do an in depth profile on her. We briefly talked about it today during the brunch. I'm holding my breath for that one. Me spending a day .. all day in the council chambers? Yet.. it seems fun and exciting.
Oh right .. and that research paper for black aesthetics class.... *sigh*
Aside from work and writing... I've made time for senseless stuff; such as.. trying to up my make up game. I don't wear much. Just foundation and lip gloss, but lately I've been working on my eyes. Nothing outdone. Just small steps. Damn shame it takes me to be damn near 30 to want to go further with make up. Also, I've been having fun with my latest download from ITunes.
Lady GaGa's album The Fame, has been my mood.. diva-ish music lately.
It started with the single "Just Dance" and then when Poker Face was released, I couldn't get enough. Granted, one review of The Fame I read called it a "live in the moment" type of album I was already hooked on the high energy dance tracks. I love music that makes me move and like the bold lyrics that Lady Gaga spews, I pretty much feel the same way right now. So yeah, I'm practically living the moment now.
Too bad her upcoming show at the 9:30 is sold out. *snapping fingers*
Signing Off to catch United States of Tara
- Mahoganie
So London came to me Sunday night.
Estelle was pure fiyah! The energy she created in that small intimate setting of the 9:30 Club... WOW. Well actually lemme back up. People were feeling her as she sang. But I could tell some folks were confused when she started to rhyme. A lot of people still don't know that Estelle has been around waaay before her American debut. She was pretty much a MC in the underground in the UK. Though I don't have any cuts or the whole package of her very very first album, I have a few cuts from my DJ Ben Watt Buzzin' Fly collection. So naturally I was quite pleased to hear her bus a rhyme or two on stage. A lovely voice. Her personality! WOW! The chic is my age and I'm goo goo eyed to meet her sometime in this life.
Her opening act was Ryan Leslie, who I was shocked to learn is originally from DC. He felt right at home. His performance was high energy too. Voice was on point. Band...totally kick ass, but the only thing throwing some of us off at the club was his jumping and hopping around on stage. Scary that we picked up a Sean P.Diddy Combs pre-Biggie's death vibe with all the jumping around. Outside of that, I would love to see him again too. Very talented indeed.
Everything about Sunday evening was swell until a "driving while black" episode. Papi was taking me home when he was pulled over; only four blocks from my house. The claim was he didn't come to a complete stop at a stop sign, even though he clearly did. Yet I didn't like the way things were going. The officers (it was two of them) took their time getting out the car. The "partner" beamed his flashlight right into Papi's truck and practically tried to open the back passenger door before he shined the light in my face. Once the bogus claim was made, Papi stated his defense. There was minimal back and forth as Papi was cooperative.
It was weird. Though Papi was a bit defensive about it, he kept his cool. Even to the point he chuckled at the irony.
"When I do something illegal (like an illegal u-turn he did earlier) I'm left alone. Yet when I do something right, I'm bothered."
On the other hand, I was fine, but wasn't fine. I was becoming pissed and a bit nervous. Pissed because of what was happening in such a short distance from my house. My feet were actually (for the first time in a while in heels) were killing me. All I wanted to do was go home and hit the bed. Yet I was nervous because I didn't want any Thandi Newton/Terrance Howard Crash scene shit to go down. Granted DC police department isn't that nortorious, but they have their share of corrupt officers, especially in the district my neighborhood is governed by. Nevertheless, they wrote Papi a $50 ticket to which he is contesting, especially since the officer couldn't even tell us which stop sign he supposedly passed over. In the end I laughed it off with Papi, but it still got under my skin. I hate shit like that.
A few months ago I did admittingly didn't come to a complete stop at a stop sign in my neighborhood. It was a Saturday night and I was headed out to meet up with friends. The police pulled me over, but I guess since I'm a woman and had a little cleavage showing, he let me go. Just smiled and told me to slow down. I smiled back and thanked my luck stars I didn't get a ticket.
Honestly I'm not sure how I feel about police. I mean I welcome their presence when they are actually doing their job, but when they harass I'm like millions of other folk that have a distrust for them. I mean... when I was 12 years old military police went after my father ( a high ranking military official at the time). I remember those incidents like it was a few hours ago. My parents use to belong to a bowling league that would conviene on weekday evenings at the bowling alley on Bolling AFB. Naturally I would be in tow and suffer through the two or three hours of watching grown ups get all excited about throwing a ball down some "alley way." Naturally it would be dark by the time the "fun" was over. So leaving the base by 9pm was the norm.
The first time my father was pulled over, they claimed it was random; all white officers of course. Still no one else was stopped. We were the only ones. We had to get out of the car while a bomb sniffing German Shepard went all up and through our Maxima stationwagon. The next evening it happened again. The exact same thing, the exact same excuse. Of course my father filed a complaint. Apologies were issued. Even then I didn't really develop a hate for the police or any law enforcement, but I do think I have a natural fear of them.
My run-ins have been far an few. Mostly I'm let go, but once this Arlington County (VA) officer damn near turned red for going off on me. I was in a parking lot of a shopping center. Due to my blind side I didn't see a car coming as I was pulling out of the position I was in. An almost accident occured. The white lady behind the wheel said a few choice words. I was already a bit shaken so I just stared at her like a deer caught in headlights. The officer had a better vantage point, so naturally he faulted me for the almost accident. Just as I was calm enough to keep moving, he caught up with me and laid into me. I was speechless. Motionless.
I don't remember much else after that. All I remember doing was finding a parking space fast. Put my Jetta in park and took a moment or two to breathe and collect my thoughts. Safe to say to say my nerves were shot for the rest of that day.
When Papi reached my house I was relieved but still disturbed by what had taken place. Granted, I'm glad to see more officers out on duty in my community, but damn...
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