How I made my way to the Trayvon Martin rally in NYC

I am overwhelmed with emotion having just attended the Trayvon Martin rally. I almost didn't go, not  because I feared the crowds, or the protesters, or the outpouring of emotion that might occur. It turns out I have a pretty deep fear of the NYPD. The scary thing is I didn't even know that fear existed. It's not based on any experience I have ever had personally but, I have heard new too many stories and Occupy Wall Street is still fresh on my mind. So, I sat at my desk all day debating whether I should go or not.  I had so many excuses my knee hurts, I'm tired, what kind of effect could this really have, will anyone really show up? In the end I decided to go because there was something about this case that really touched me. I have a cousin who's like a brother to me and he lives a few miles from where this happened and actually lived in Sanford when he first moved to FL. This easily could have been him, or his son, probably not any of his daughters or his fiancee but, you never know. The truth is what makes the Trayvon's murder so hard to accept is that he was so young.  But, would it be any less of a crime if he was 36. Now, what if that 36 year old had a record?  Trust me that would be different story altogether and Zimmerman would be regarded as a hero. Anyway, I now see that my decision to attend had some selfish motives but the experience was far from that.

My coworker and I stood on what initially seemed like the outskirts of the rally. One of the first things I saw as we exited the subway there I noticed some students from Hunter College.  It made me proud to see students from my alma mater representing. We talked briefly and they were knowledgeable not just about Trayvon Martin's case but other similar instances across the country. We walked around for a bit and heard some speeches from the organizers. At one point my co-worker and I were approached by a Bristish tv station for an interview. I had no hesitations? NOW, anyone who knows me knows I hate cameras, pictures, anything that can capture my image and  I will bail. But, not today. I often complain about who the media selects to interview and if I passed on this opportunity I could never rightfully make that claim again. The first question was simple enough why are you here? What should be done? Can you believe this is happening in 2012? And then she asked how often do you think this happens? My coworker said daily and I kind of blanked on the rest of her answer. She thanked us for our time and they cut off the camera. Something was nagging at me and at the first opportunity I politely said "Honestly, the number of times doesn't matter. Once is too much." She nodded in agreement and we continued to listen to the organizers as well as the parents of Trayvon Martin who were in NYC.  The rally ended with their departure and the march started to form. 


My co-woker was writing a piece for an organization she volunteers for so we separated as the rally broke up and people began to march. I fully intended to head for the train but somehow got swept up into the march. Actually the sight of this young girl on her dad's shoulders kind of just pulled me in. She was smiling and holding her sign that she made, clearly very proud of herself. The thought of her making that poster was really touching and it made me proud to see a man of color with his children teaching them the power of your own voice. There is no voice that is too young, or too old and it can be heard in all languages. 

Her sign said "that's not OK"

                

Imagine World Peace

I walked with the group for a bit and as I took notice of my surroundings I took notice of the crowd itself. It was this huge gathering of people that represented all ages and nationalities.  I was in awe at how peaceful the rally and march were it was loud and yet quiet at the same time. Chants, drums, whistles and yet it still seemed so orderly. At this point it hit me I was alone and I hadn't even realized it. Now I know there were thousands of people around me but, my family and friends were nowhere in sight and I was ok with that. I have always kept myself protected by staying in a zone that included those closest to me. I suddenly felt very free and it made me sad for Trayvon Martin.  He will never feel that sense of freedom it was taken away from him for no other reason than blatant racial profiling.

I know people will ask what was the point of the march and what is it really doing for the Trayvon Martin case? The sign with the quote from Dr. King probably sums it up best, " Injustice anywhere is a threat to Justice everywhere." 

But, as for myself I can only say why I went and I hope that it's pretty clear in this post. I honestly don't know what this gathering will do for the case itself. As citizens we have very little control over that but, this evening we let the Martin family know that NYC supports their efforts to right the injustice that was done to their son. Today, I let my voice be heard. I've had enough and I am hoping others have too. 

Why do you love sports so much?

A question I am often asked is "how did you become such a big sports fan?" Now, I don't mind answering the question but, that depends on who, why, and more importantly how they ask me.  The truth is I have been a fan of sports since I was a young kid growing up in the Bronx and believe it or not it was my mom who got my sister and I into sports. We lived fairly close to Yankee Stadium and it was so cheap for bleacher seats that she used to take us to games whenever she got a chance, especially if it was a giveaway night. (I honestly can still smell the plastic from the backpack I got. I couldn't wait to bring it to school and show it off.)

Now my mom grew up in the Caribbean and had an older brother and a younger sister. My grandma was fairly strict so my uncle pretty much forced my mom and aunt to learn and play whatever sport he wanted to cricket, bat and ball, football (soccer). It didn't matter what it was they had to learn it and then play with him until he was tired.

My uncle was the first of the three to come to New York and when he arrived he fell in love with American sports but, in particular baseball and more specifically the New York Yankees. When my mom arrived years later one of the first things he did was take my mom to a Yankee game, it is a story that I heard probably a 100 times in my childhood. The legend is he took her to the game and caught a ball with no glove. Needless to say my mom became an instant fan and saw her brother as a hero even though it is highly debated whether or not he gave her the ball.

Anyway, that story is what led to my mom raising two yankee fans and avid NYC fanatics in every sport. The crazy thing about it is the only team my mom supports in New York is the Yankees and as she likes to say the only real New York football team the Buffalo Bills. My little sister considers this sacrilege and basically treason against NYC. She has even taken to saying that the Buffalo Bills are actually Canada's team! We have sought help for my mom but, she remains faithful to her New York Yankees....except in one small instance.

In 1996, the Yankees were down to the Atlanta Braves in World Series 0-2 my mom came home threw herself on the bed and said "the finished!" Now remember this was when it seemed like 2 games down was an insurmountable feat especially since those first tow game were at Yankee Stadium. My sis and I gave her this pep talk, we can do it, it's not over yet and she just rolled her eyes. : Well at least Andru Jones  can win a ring?" We looked at her in horror. "What he's from Curacao I gotta support him." I guess this was her way of supporting a hometown boy. It didn't matter because the Yankees came back to win the series.

The morning after they won my mom came home grinning like the Cheshire cat. We planned on making fun of her for not believing it was possible but, she cut us off and proceeded to tell us that after our pep talk when the Yankees were down 0-2 she bet many of her co-workers at the post office that the Yankees would come back to win. Foolishly, many of them took the bet and she ended up winning hundreds of dollars and in one case a poor soul bet her lunch for an entire year. Now, for those of you who know my mom she eats like a bird. So, she would order a huge meal and share it out to other co-workers it was the ultimate revenge.

A few weeks ago my NY Giants went on to win the SuperBowl for the second time in 4 years. In fact, I have been blessed to see them win 4 championships. The fact of the matter is in the 1986 and 1990 championship I don't remember ever having to defend my team or allegiances. But, social networking has changed that and it's not for the better. I feel like I am either ferociously defending my team or finding ways to take jabs at other squads. Although I must stress that doesn't happen until someone else strikes the first blow. Sometimes I go back and read what I wrote and think wow it's not that serious and that's when I decided to write this post.

I wanted to understand why I am so defensive of my teams as well as my love for sports in general. I realize now that it all leads back to one thing and that is my mom. Up until very recently she has never been a person that shows her emotions and wasn't really a conversationist unless it was about sports. She  would make me laugh by coming up with these insane statistics and numbers that she just made up. "Mina, did you know Reggie Jackson hit home runs 99.9% of his career."

She was diagnosed with Alzheimer's several years ago and she's changed so much as a person. She's become so much more affectionate and has pet names for us that we never had growing up. Every time she calls me pumpkin or sweetheart I kind of just melt. It's sad that it happened later in her life but, I still love it regardless of that.

I remember a couple of years ago I called her at home and she said " Mina, you know Darryl Strawberry is playing for the Yankees again. But, how old can that man be?" I laughed so hard and told her she was watching a game on Yankees Classics. She paused and said " oh, no matter they won anyway." These are memories I will treasure with her for a long time and I hope one day to be able to share these stories with my future children or nieces and nephews.

So, I guess what it all comes down to is the next time someone asks me "Why do you love sports?" My answer will be because I love my mom, I'm her biggest fan.

Thanks for listening this post is part of a much bigger process and I hope others experiencing it will take the time to write down some of their memories as well.

My Hairstory...

I have had my share of relationships some good and some bad but, the relationship that to this day I can't seem to figure out is the one with my hair. I know it sounds crazy but, I know for a fact there are people out there that understand my problem, particularly women of color.

I was inspired to write this post given the insane heat and humidity we have been experiencing in NYC. Also, last week Hilda's, the Dominican salon that I have frequented for the last 4 or 5 years closed down. There was a fire and luckily no one was seriously hurt. But, when my best friend gave me the call I was saddened. In truth I haven't been there in a while. Let's discuss some of those reasons:

1. Since April, I have committed myself to going to the gym and that means sweat (gross) which also means a waste of money to even think about getting my hair blow-dried straight.
2. Tis' the season of summer and well humidity and my hair are like oil and water we just don't mix.
3. The Economy, I know it sounds silly but I just couldn't bring myself to spend the money to get my hair done every week. We will come back to this issue of money a little later.

Now even though I hadn't been to Hilda's in the last few months I must point out it is the same place I went to get my hair done for my wedding and the following day because it was a mess from dancing so much at the wedding. Electric slide, calypso, soca, and soul train line were totally worth the two trips, just making that clear! Now, I trusted Hilda and her staff with my hair but, that trust was to a certain point. I never wanted them to cut my hair. I allowed them to trim, but never cut. It didn't really matter because what they considered a trim was really a cut to me.

When I heard the news about Hilda's I had this moment like what am i supposed to do now. I felt a twinge of guilt given that Hilda and her staff had a great deal more to worry about than I did. Then I  thought why does it even matter it's not like your getting your hair done anyway. But, Hilda was my back-up for days I might have an interview or maybe going to a party. Then I asked myself why does my hair have to be straight on those occasions. So, I decided to take a trip down memory lane and try and capture my most memorable hair moments. Hence, the the title of this post is Hairstory because it's a historical take on my relationship with my hair, so kind of like my hair history. I basically just merged the two words together and came up with hairstory, brilliant, right?

1978-1979
So, my first memory that deals with my hair goes back to when I was quite young, maybe 4 or 5 years old. My mom worked nights and my dad was responsible for the bedtime routine which sometimes involved washing and combing me and my sister's  and my hair. God Bless the man he really tried hard but he had no clue what to do with us. One night he got so frustrated he told me he was going to take me to get it cut. Even at that young age I knew this was a bad idea and I told him no. But, then he promised me a coloring book and crayons, DEAL! The following day while my mom was sleeping my dad took me me to the barber shop.  Strangely, I don't remember the actual haircut. I remember the buzz of the clippers but that's about it. I don't even think I cried until we left and Woolworth's was closed. This meant no coloring books and crayons. I felt like I had been duped. But, the worst was yet to come. I still had to deal with my mom.

Now, i don't remember all the details but, I do remember my mom screaming "what have you done?" over and over again. She started to cry and asked me why would I let my dad do this. I simply stated the truth, "he promised me a coloring book and crayons!" She then asked me where they were and as I started to explain the tears started flowing.  My hair and I have pretty much been at battle since that very day.

June 1986


1986 was a good year. My grade school cheer leading team came in 5th place at the Staten island Cheer leading Championship. We were the first all minority team to do so, back then we didn't even care about that but, thinking about it now it was an amazing accomplishment. I know you're thinking what does this have to do about hair, right? it doesn't I just wanted to throw it in there to see if people were actually reading and it's one of those highlights in my life I won't ever forget. Anyway, after being on top of the world (I know 5th place is not top of the world but, just go with me) I was then asked to participate in a very special occasion. My cousin Josiane's wedding! I was thrilled, honored and could not wait to wear heels and the dress. As June  approached, I went for fittings, got shoes and was pretty much ready to go. Then my mom told me that I was going to get my hair permed. I was so excited! This meant my hair would be straight and I could wear it "out", which essentially means not in a ponytail. I did not do my own hair until I was about 10 or 11 years old and the only thing I could do was a ponytail and I wanted to be extra with it I would put it on the side. Now, most of my classmates at this time had already had their hair permed so, I was excited to join the club. My little sister was jealous and wanted to get hers done too, but my mom thought she was still too young. Now it's important to note that my hair texture at the time was pretty thick and kind of wavy and curly but, with the magic of Dark and Lovely it would be straight and beautiful.

On the day I was to get my hair permed I didn't need to go any further than the apartment next door. My cousin Aileen did hair and she was going to be the one taking on my coiffe. I was excited it would be her because her hair always looked correct! I remember sitting there with the green towel around me as she mixed together the perm. The first thing I noticed was the smell which I often compare to rotten eggs. But, that didn't phase me one bit, I was determined to have straight hair. She started to apply the relaxer to my hair and I thought this isn't so bad but, then the I felt my scalp start to burn. I had heard from friends this was normal, so apparently it was working. After what seemed like hours my hair was finally done and it looked straight and long! I was in LOVE and couldn't stop touching it. Then my mom told my cousin to curl it and I looked at her like she was crazy. "Curl it, why? I want to wear it straight." No, was the only response I received along with a look that said the discussion was over. So, my cousin curled my hair with a curling iron but, my hair didn't really take to the curls. The relaxer had straightened my hair so much it was almost limp. I was happy because this meant I would win and my hair would remain straight. But, my mom was determined. So, with the help of a bottle of pink Aquanet the curls finally stayed in place. I looked like what can best be described as an 11 year old Black Shirley temple. I went from loving to hating my hair in under 30 minutes. We were back on the outs again!

Summer 1997


I know that there's a gap of about 11 years here and during that time either my mom or my sister relaxed my hair. On very rare occasions I tried to do it myself. It was fairly inconsistent, I pretty much got it done  when my hair was not manageable. One of the things that happened to my hair after my first relaxer was it no longer had any body. I had lost the volume that my curls/waves used to provide. The few hairdressers that I went to never really understood my hair texture, they also never asked me anything about my hair. I went to African American hairstylists, Jamaican, and African. At the Jamaican spot I am not sure what she was thinking but when she did my hair I looked in the mirror and it looked like my Aunt Mabel's hairstyle. Now, this is not a bad thing as she is beautiful and I have always loved her hair but she was well in her 50's at the time. it was not an age appropriate style whatsoever.

In 1997, I decided I wanted some volume back in my hair and I had read that if you cut your hair in a layered bob it would give you body. So, I told my hairstylist at the time Midi that I wanted a bob with layers. She looked at me quizzically and asked why. This was probably the first time any hairstylist did that and I explained my hair was too flat and I needed volume. Now mind you I also told her I wanted to keep the length because as many black women know many of us are obsessed with the length of our hair. Midi laughed and said OK, I know what to do and she started to cut my hair. I looked in the mirror and she cut about 7 or 8 inches of my hair. I started to breakdown and cry, no not just cry SOB. It was like being 5 years old all over again. I immediately thought what am I going to tell my mom, mind you I was over 21 at this point. Midi yelled over to my best friend Melba and asked her to sweep up my hair because the sight of it was making things worse. The look of horror on Melba's face as she swept and the sheer insanity of the situation caused me to start laughing hysterically. When the haircut was over all the women started to compliment me and I just smiled thinking they were just saying it to make me feel better. The haircut was not bad in fact it was actually really cute, but it just wasn't what I wanted and it certainly wasn't me.

As I left the shop I dreaded going home, I knew my mom would have some choice words for me. When I walked in the house, I prepared myself for the worst. When I saw my mom she looked at me and her jaw dropped and I instantly started to cry. Now, most people who know my mom understand she always speaks her mind even if it might hurt your feelings. In her mind she's not being mean she's being honest. But, for some reason she not only held her tongue but, she also told me "it's not that bad." It's not a ringing endorsement but it was exactly what I needed to hear. Needless to say my hair was on a serious time out and I spent the next several years growing it out.


2003

I had been living in Jersey City under a year and was getting my hair done at a cute little Dominican Place called Bluesette's. The place felt like home to me and the women there truly understood my hair. Now the experience itself was kind of crazy because the place was so popular in the neighborhood. I don't ever think I walked in Bluesette's and there was less than 10 women there getting there hair done. This was a no nonsense show where children were not allowed unless they were getting their hair done and this brings me to the reason I stopped relaxing my hair.

I was on line at Bluesette's and the woman in front of me was their with her daughter who could not have been more than 5 or 6 years old. The girl's hair was a mess and it reminded me of what I looked like after my dad washed my hair and tried to comb it out. She told one of the 5 or 6 stylists that she wanted to put a relaxer in the girls hair. Now, I should note there is somewhat of a language barrier but the stylist clearly said Que? but, it sounded more like "you CRAZY?" The mother stood her ground and said yes. There was a frenzy of Spanish being spoken between the women and finally the stylist agreed but the mother had to sign a consent form. This is fairly normal for children under age 18 but, they rarely follow through and ask people to sign it but, this seemed like a special case. I watched that young girl cry throughout the whole process and for some reason it affected me deeply.

I made a decision at that moment to never get my hair relaxed again. I also vowed that if I ever had a daughter I would not force her to do it but, the decision would eventually be hers. I would help her to find different options and techniques for dealing with her own natural hair. Then I realized I don't have those techniques for my own hair. At that point I became fairly indifferent about my hair. We weren't on the outs but, we weren't exactly on good speaking terms either.

The Present 

So, over the last few years I have experimented with all types of products.  Remember when I said not going to the salon was saving me tons of money, that's not quite true. Hair products for women of color and more specifically women who wear their hair natural are not CHEAP. In fact, I think they may be even more expensive than most hair products. If anyone reading this is interested in knowing about a product feel free to ask I probably have tried it :-)

I realize now that this post is very therapeutic and that I have finally taken a moment to vent about my hair issues. But, I also think that this information will be useful the next time I venture out to get my hair done. Hopefully, I will have a stylist that is willing to listen and has a sense of humor.

I would love to hear more stories from other women out there who want to share similar hair experiences or even offer advice about techniques they use for their hair. Looking forward to hearing and sharing more stories.

My take on the Oscars 2010: Mo'Nique's not so Precious Moment

As far as i am concerned last year's Oscars was all about Heath Ledger and how the Academy would handle him winning Best Supporting Actor. I mean it was pretty much guaranteed, right? So, let's fast forward to Oscars 2010 and the Best Supporting Actress category where the situation was somewhat similar. Monique was the front runner and no one even ran a distant second. This year I was looking forward to hearing what Monique was going to say given all the drama over the last year or so. What drama you ask? Well let me break it down for you:


Now, I saw Precious this year at the New Yorker Film Festival and there was a Q&A with Lee Daniels and the author Sapphire( more on that later in the Best Director category).  I walked out of this film knowing that Mo'nique had given a performance of a lifetime and it would be hard to find another supporting actress that could beat her. Insert DRAMA! So, rumor has it that during the press junket for Precious Miss Mo'nique was throwing a bit of a diva tantrum and making all types of demands to attend premieres and film festivals. I know some of it was blown out of proportion but I do not doubt that she was feeling herself just a little bit. Now let's also remember that Precious was made on a relatively small budget in comparison to other films in the Best Picture Category. So Mo'nique fel that she deserved a little something extra once Tyler Perry and Oprah threw their money behind the film.  So then stories start about Mo'nique getting black listed and she might not even get a nomination and it starts to look really ugly.


In response to the bad press Mo'nique starts to talk about her performance speaking for itself and her not wanting to pander to the politics associated with award nominations. To me this feels like a really sad attempt to save herself some embarrassment. I don't think there is anything wrong with getting paid what you are worth especially in comparison to your colleagues and peers.  If she didn't want to promote the movie because she felt she wasn't being compensated enough then she should have just said that rather than come up with stories about being too busy. Everyone is busy but in Hollywood the premieres and the press junkets are a part of the business. Believe me in terms of future work people will remember how she let her castmates, director and producers down when they probably needed her most.


Personally,  I think her performance stands on it's own but I was really disappointed with her speech last night. She gave far better speeches at both the SAG Awards  (Monique's SAG Award speech)  and the Golden Globes (Monique's Golden Globe acceptance speech) where she acknowledges her castmates as well as the author and director.  Last night she could have taken the high road but instead she CHOSE to make it "political". 


The priceless moment was when the camera caught Samuel Jackson rolling his eyes and turning up his lips after her speech. As if to say "Girl, please you win one Oscar and now you trying to give us lectures about the "politics of Hollywood"? Keep it moving...keep it moving" My sentiments Sam, my sentiments exactly!

 FINAL NOTE:  I love how the women associated with Precious (Mo'nique, Gaby, Mariah and Oprah) gave a slight nod to the author by wearing the color Sapphire! 

Slacking, Dogsitting, and Reflecting

Ok, so I have already broken my rule of trying to post something every other day, sigh the slacker returns! Not use any excuses but I actually have a ton of stuff on my mind and over the last couple of days thanks my cubicle mate  Sarah D. has been able to sort of distract me by talking with me about a host of different topics.  She is one of these cool, "hipster" kids that I feel I can't relate to. But, somehow our friendship works.  We spend a good portion of the day talking back and forth about politics, race, gender issues, pop culture (the girl loves Perez Hilton) and her favorite topic of all the justice system.

We both have a fondness for animals and this weekend I get to dogsit her newest addition Zadie. I would post a pic but Zadie's so cute  anyone reading this would be distracted and never read the rest of this post.  I see this as a huge responsibility and am taking it very seriously. I am actually kind of touched she would trust us with her dog. Depending on how things go I might have to post more about that experience next week.

Anyway, we both have chosen spirit animals (essentially animals we identify with) hers is the elephant and mine is the panda.  I can't speak for her but I have no idea why that is my chosen animal. There is just something really friendly and loving about them but if push comes to shove they will defend themselves. Actually, maybe that is the reason I identify with them, my approach to life used to be pretty similar.  But, times have changed and I have changed. Well I guess I am still a work in progress!

Gonna keep this post short and sweet but I am working on something pretty significant to post over the weekend.

To anyone out there reading this thanks for stopping by, this was a little low key but believe me my next post is going to be MAJUH (Major pronounced with an English accent...gotta love the Brits)

Living in NYC: Pet Peeve #1

New York City can be a wonderful place to live and work, if you don't count the insane rental and home prices, corrupt politicians, and the lovely MTA (Money Taking A$$holes). Pardon my French but their recent plan for service cuts stinks. 


Hands down my commute to and from work is probably the part of the day I dread the most. So much so that I often used to work late just so I can avoid the rush hour and craziness that often begins right about 5 pm.  Well, since I am no longer a slave for the man and have since created very realistic boundaries about my work schedule. I now find myself among the many trying to make it home at a reasonable hour. I recently came to the realization that although the MTA can sometimes be unreliable and the trains can get delayed for up to 30 minutes it's usually the people that make my commute worse than anything.  Yes, I know people get agitated if they have to wait more than 3 minutes for a train, hell I sometimes can be that person. But, I have seen some crazy things that go down with the train that have nothing to do with the MTA and everything to do with what I refer to as _AP syndrome. AP stands for ASS PEOPLE. The blank in front of AP can be replaced by several words like Angry, Crazy, Drunk, Stupid, Sick, Weird, Lazy, Rude, well you get the point. 

It seems like every other day my friends and colleagues have a new story about their commute the trumps the one we heard the previous day. These experiences are what have inspired me to write this post.


A couple of weeks ago I was on the train and witnessed "KARMA" in action. I was waiting for the Downtown 4/5 Express train at Grand Central and as usual the platform was jam packed.  The train pulls in and surprisingly there was room for most people to fit comfortably.  The doors open, people start to exit and out of nowhere this African American man pushes past the STILL exiting passengers so he can get a seat. Now, this is not an uncommon occurrence. A couple of people shove him as they exit the train, some of us still waiting to get on roll our eyes but this pretty much par for the course when taking the 4/5 train.  I finally get on and I end up standing in front of him, lucky me.  I want to stare him down to the point of disintegration with my cool, laser eyes but he is wearing these corny Terminator like sunglasses. Anyway, the train starts to move and I hear two little kids play fighting. This is never a good sound because it always leads to trouble. I look up and sitting next to The Terminator (TT) are these two brothers about 6 and 10 years old. They are punching each other back and forth. The little one is a little more agile so every time his older brother tries to hit him he ends up hitting TT who kind of laughs it off but is clearly irritated. Now, the mother was sitting next to the two boys "nodding off". I have no idea how she could be sleeping with the sound of her sons fighting like it's Monday Night Raw. The jostling back and forth  probably lasts for 5-6 minutes but it feels like an eternity and I am loving evey minute of it. 


We finally pull into 14th Street, people exit the train and on comes an older African American woman. She stands next to me and all of a sudden TT offers his seat. I am stunned! I can't believe he is setting her up to sit next to the Road Warriors . I want to tell her "NOOOO"  but my lips can't move. She sits down and TT stands next to me with this smug look on his face. In my heart I don't believe he intentionally meant any harm.  He just wanted to move and the sooner the better.  This woman was just collateral damage. I want to turn away but it's like a bad accident, you just have to look. 


The train takes off from 14th street and the boys are at it again. They start pushing and shoving and the younger one accidentally bumps into the woman sitting down. He looks at her and actually apologizes. I do a double take. These same boys never even made an attempt to apologize to TT but then again he spent the entire time fake smiling at them. About a minute later they bump into her again and she gave them this cold stare that instantly took me back to being a six year old in Alexander's Department Store, hiding from my mom for 30 minutes in a rack full of swim suits. I will never forget that look and neither will those young boys.  They suddenly got very quiet  and started whispering back and forth, checking every now and then to see if she was still looking. Amidst all the silence their mother woke up in a sort of jolt. The silence probably scared her and she thought someone took her "babies", no such luck. They were merely put in check by the woman I now refer to as my parenting hero.  I want to be able to one day possess the skills that will allow me to look at my kids, my nieces or nephews, or that talkative cab driver that never shuts up...oh the possibilities are endless. 


So, what is the moral to my story? CHIVALRY is dead in NYC. OK, I know that's not a moral and possibly a slight exaggeration but I do think it is on life support.   Hey, I acknowledge we are all tired and men work just as hard and in some cases even harder than women.  But, growing up when a pregnant woman or an elderly person got on the train it was always the gentleman that got up and offered his seat. These days it's almost exclusively women who get up to offer their seats. Now, I know there are still some men out there that do the right thing but in my experience they are few and far between. To be fair I write this from a primarily female perspective which makes sense considering most of the stories I hear regarding commuting experiences come from women. Maybe men talk less, maybe men don't observe as much, maybe men don't take things personally or maybe I still don't understand men. Yeah, that last one sounds just right. 

Seriously, John Mayer WTF?

When I started this blog in January of 2007 I never thought my first post would be about John Mayer. Ok, I am a pop culture fiend and it shouldn't surprise me. But, initially I started this blog when I first viewed I love New York on VH1. I was simultaneously horrified and intrigued at the character of New York.  I wanted to start blogging about African American women in the media and how they are portrayed. The John Mayer interview in Playboy actually makes some connections to my original focus. 


Over the last week or so John Mayer has been a topic of conversation in my circle of friends as well as colleagues at work. His recent Playboy interview revealed a side of Mayer that goes much deeper than the superficial one we often see in the media. In all honesty I don't think much of Mayer and am still stunned that he can write and make such beautiful music while simultaneously being a a real prick. 


He says some really disturbing things in his interview but I will leave others to defend Jessica Simpson and the "hood card" comments.  


Below is an excerpt of Mayer's interview:

PLAYBOY: Do black women throw themselves at you?

MAYER: I don’t think I open myself to it. My dick is sort of like a white supremacist. I’ve got a Benetton heart and a fuckin’ David Duke cock. I’m going to start dating separately from my dick.

PLAYBOY: Let’s put some names out there. Let’s get specific.

MAYER: I always thought Holly Robinson Peete was gorgeous. Every white dude loved Hilary from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. And Kerry Washington. She’s superhot, and she’s also white-girl crazy. Kerry Washington would break your heart like a white girl. Just all of a sudden she’d be like, “Yeah, I sucked his dick. Whatever.” And you’d be like, “What? We weren’t talking about that.” That’s what “Heartbreak Warfare” is all about, when a girl uses jealousy as a tactic.

I know that there was probably some editing on the part of Playboy and perhaps it wasn't done well but Mayer's answer doesn't even address the question.  How easy would it have been to say Yes or NO they don't throw themselves at you.  Instead he chooses to talk about why he can't be with a black woman. Apparently he isn't sexually attracted to them. That doesn't offend me because I am not attracted to boys like John Mayer either. But, NO he needs to take it a step further by evoking the name David Duke which is basically synonymous with hard core racism. There are few things that surprise me anymore but I just can't imagine what he could have been thinking. 


What makes his comments even more outrageous is when he is asked to get specific about what we can only assume are black women he would think are worthy of dating or more likely one's he would sleep with. The three women that Mayer apparently picks out of thin air are Holly Robinson Peete, Kerry Washington and oh yeah Hillary from the Fresh Prince of Bel Air. WTF? He doesn't even know her real name, which is Karyn Parsons by the way. Although I have tremendous amount of respect for these women who continue to work in an industry that fails to create characters worthy of their talents.  But, I find that they all have something in common that many would be afraid to point out.  No doubt about it these are black women but they have features that are often associated with women of color that are bi-racial. For example the long, curly hair which was a trademark look for all three of them at some point of their careers. 

Now I am not saying that these women are of a bi-racial heritage I am just pointing out the fact that these three random black women have a "look" .  A look that is black but doesn't scream I am dating a Black woman. Well to be fair Mayer isn't really looking to date them is he? 


Now, I am not saying John Mayer is racist. I mean he has black friends, right?  The use of the "n" word was pretty much classic Mayer. He is all about ego and being able to use that word in an interview was probably more of a power trip than anything else. But, the comments about black women were in poor taste. If I was John Mayer I would watch my back if Kerry Washington was in the room. I recently saw her in the play Race on Broadway and let me tell you she was sort of intense. Maybe, a little over the top but I think she could do some serious damage if the right buttons were pushed and believe me calling her "white girl crazy" will definitely turn her into an ABW (Angry Black Woman) real quick!

I hope this incident is cause enough for him to take a break and step away from the limelight. 

Actually, John has a really good friend that went through a similar experience very recently. If there is ever a time to use your "hood card" John, this is it! 

http://www.playboy.com/articles/john-mayer-playboy-interview/index.html?page=1