george bush doesn't care about black people, but jesus does.

and another thing.

i for one like a little bit of religious idolatry; it can be kitschy, other worldy, fun, what have you. however, kanye's depiction is boring. how many times have men of the world tried to cast themselves as christ? even further, how many times have black men done it rendering themselves somebody's homeboy? real controversy is something i have never seen before, something to shock even the liberals. you haven't won the battle if moms in virginia are offended. i mean the real sort of intellectual offense where you look, wonder, digest, and re-think your views (if only for a time).

quite simply, it's been done before.

is jazz dead?

is jazz dead?

social migration.

i write emails regularly. i like to update & exchange digitally. most recently i wrote one to my dear friend russell:

i'm studying, listening to itunes, sitting in the au bon pain in central square. quaint, right? except i'm stressed, unshowered, adorned in a day old outfit, and a mentally challenged man has been starring at me for the last [2 hours].

fear not, my spirits are high. love by musiq soulchild just came blasting through my earbuds. i am reminded of good ol' american negros, DC, chocolate city, your quasi-hometown. philly might be the 21th century home of neo-soul, but it is DC that tugs on my heartstrings.

why don't we converge upon DC this summer for a weekend of fun? just 2 days is all i need...

in peace,
s

london calling!

i just bought tickets to london for spring break with allison and rachel.

politicas.

today's a good day for women in politics. first, michelle bachelet is elected leader of chile post pinochet. and now, ellen johnson sirleaf is named leader of liberia.


as a child, people always asked me if i intended on being the first female president. i was always annoyed, even at age 11 or 12 . the predictability of the question grew irritating but even more irritating was the clever grin with which people asked the question. so proud were my uncles, neighbors, and grade school teachers when they thought they stumbled an original thought. if you ask me, any intelligent girl with a strong voice and vocal opinions is likely asked this question at some point in life.

i do, however, want to give a congratulations to women in power.

i cry for zaire.

i cry for zaire.

...the day after.

where are all the nice guys? i decided, last night, at 2 am that they come from zaire, live in the east village, wear army green hats and t-shirts that read harlem, and pay 20 dollars so that underage girls may have their confiscated IDs. eric--a nice guy.

back in 2004, i visited tanya in nyc for a long weekend. between drunken chinese food, a sprained foot, and tons of tears, i had no choice but to remember the night. the words above are taken from my journal back when i kept a journal.

it's murda.

why i hate boston?

i hate boston.
yep, i said.
say something.

boston, quite simply, has a small town mentality with big city makings. at the las vegas airport, i waited for a connecting flight to boston. the america west employee announced a list of incoming flights & somehow, in between a dizzying circle of security loopholes, a boston moron announced across the loudspeaker, "yankees suck."

i rolled my eyes.
i sucked my teeth.
i said, "i hate boston."

please believe this criticism is not about sports. i am not a yankees fan, a mets fan, a red sox fan or an anyone fan. there is something to be said for a city rallying around a common cause. consider deeply segregated new orleans, a city which rallies around mardi gras each lent season.

boston closes early, it lacks in design, and caters to a dive bar, samuel adams swigging subset. at a bar whose name i forget i was taken aback to find that an otherwise posh bar showed red sox games on thousand dollar high definition flat screens. i cannot for the life of me understand why there is not a safe space for those people who do not desire to watch diamond fields rather take in music, and drinks, and dance without world war 3 erupting over a dumb game.

this summer, i wandering around the christian science building and realized that boston does not properly utilize space. rather than bars, clubs, and shops, we treaded along a reflecting pool that is beautiful, but not my time of a good friday night.

think about it; where is there a dance club outside of the theatre district and landsdowne street? even more telling, why can i name every dance club in boston if i really put my mind to it?

...and don't get me started on the T.

everybody has a hustle.

here you will find a quick & easy read that many college students can relate to. matt singer, contributing writer to the voice, explains his internship woes.

as you know, the internship world is easily the greatest hustle of all time. actually, no, the greatest hustle of all time is the metropolitan museum of art, which doesn't require an entry fee but so ingeniously makes you believe you owe them $7 (with a college ID of course).

i'm back to writing papers on nanotechnology and l'oreal's anti-ageing creams & the europeanization of religious figures.

oh, frida.

i bought a ticket to mexico city for the first week of september. thank you, us airways.

though, you were bitches along the way.

untitled.

i want to tell you something rough--not unworked or unthought--but rough.

...if you put us in the bronx?

the village voice ran a gallery of photo slides profiling katrina evacuees in new york city. the best quote is from a man named christopher laday, aged 33:

you got murders going on in the bronx; you got robberies going on in the bronx. you gonna be responsible for us if you put us in the bronx?

smooth & sturdy.

i bought this desk chair for my dorm room. with
the new year comes new furniture.

bonne année.

i joined al in nyc for new year's eve 2006 at her friend's loft in soho. we drank champagne and sorbet, danced to late nineties pop & r&b, and finally went out on the town around 1:30. problem is, only 1 girl is 21 leaving the rest of us to worry if our fake IDs would be confiscated. considering the holiday, we imagined many places would be much more strict. we did, however, make it to a bar in the upper west; al's father's friend owned the bar. the friend is an attractive middle-aged man who happened to be sporting a kilt that night. he ended up flashing his penis twice at my urging. al pretended to be traumatized. i, however, found the absurdity of it all rather entertaining.

the highlight of my night was not the bar or soho, but the 6 train. drunken revelers passed around a communal handle of barcadi rum. we (me, al, and al's friend from brown, riana) took swigs of the barcadi. the 15 minute highlight was the best of my night. a desperately drunk & outlandishly dressed young girl with skunk streaks and thick black eyeliner announced that she was headed uptown from soho to wander times square. she further said that she'd lost all of her friends. at the 42nd street stop, the girl cries out, "where am i going?" a prim and proper girl replied with just the right amount of attitude, "girlfriend, this is your stop!"

it is a southern tradition to eat black eyed peas on january 1st. my mother holds fast to this tradition; it is one of our things that i always look forward to.

best wishes in 2006.