Category Archives: Just Me, Being Me

I See Your True Colors Shining Through

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So last night  this happened…

Miss America 2014

Miss New York –YAY TO MY HOME STATE, TWO WINS IN A ROW!-,  Nina Davuluri, was crowned the winner of the 2014 Miss America Pageant.  The 24-year-old is the first contestant of Indian heritage to become Miss America.

And the racists go wild!

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 twitter_starnes_1The new Miss America 2014 barely had the first hair pin in to secure the crown on her head when the backlash started.

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Being that this is Twitter, and we all know what a rainbows and lollipop filled space that is, I am not in the surprised by the nasty vitriol the spewed by these lesser informed Americans.  As usual along with their hate, their ignorance is shown at an all time high.

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I’m willing to bet a good majority of these ignoramuses against Miss Davuluri being chosen to represent the nation, were also upset that Marc Anthony sang the national anthem at MLB’s All Star game this past July because he wasn’t an American either. And we know how well that turned out for them.

If you’re born here in the US or in a recognized US  territory you’re American. If you immigrate here and become a citizen, guess what? you’re American. And American melting pot has a hell of a lot more colors in it these days.  Like it, and apparently quite a few do not, Nina Davuluri is an American citizen and is fully worthy of wearing the crown.

It galls me to no end how immigrants of color “are welcomed” to have anything they want, but -to quote Guns’N’Roses- “you better not take it from me”.  Immigrants of color are an asset to the country until they cross that invisible line and achieve -read as “take”- something deemed should be an American -read as “white”- ideal. Then it’s a problem and one of the first thing out of the complainer’s mouth usually is “They’re not from here”. If they would take their respective feet out of their mouth and extrapolate on that theory a bit, they might remember neither are they and the majority of us living here.

And I am sure all those of Native-American heritage justifiably nod their heads in agreement every single time they read something like this.

I find it appalling and yet “same old/same old” that ones spewing the most hatred were mostly Caucasians and the one shocked at that very same hatred are mostly Caucasians. As a minority I live with this on the daily. It’s fucked up, but not in the least surprising. The new Miss America is of Indian descent – it is a huge step forward in diversity.  Unfortunately, all those in the Twitterverse who feel otherwise about her win sends us two steps back in maintaining that divisiveness.

If I Read One More Thing About Weight Loss I’m Going To Throw Up!

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Do you know how sometimes you and/or your friends come across something so WTF?, so  – I don’t even know what to call it – that it must be shared just so the burden of knowing this exists is not yours bear alone.

This is one of those times….

The Device
To begin Aspiration Therapy, a specially designed tube, known as the A-Tube™, is placed in the stomach. The A-Tube is a thin silicone rubber tube that connects the inside of the stomach directly to a discreet, poker-chip sized Skin-Port on the outside of the abdomen. The Skin-Port has a valve that can be opened or closed to control the flow of stomach contents. The patient empties a portion of stomach contents into the toilet after each meal through this tube by connecting a small, handheld device to the Skin-Port. The emptying process is called “aspiration”.
http://www.aspirebariatrics.com/how-it-works.html

Where a standard catheter processes food removal after digestion. Here, the person has a type of catheter attached to his/her stomach that allows a portion of  food to be removed from the body before digestion is complete. This medically sanctioned bulimia is calories in, calories out without having to stick one’s fingers down one’s throat. Good, because I imagine that must be murder on one’s manicure.

Now, as a medical procedure for those who would need to do such to save their lives, I understand. I fully understand that there are those who can’t, and I do mean cannot, make use of the socially accepted methods of weight loss – dieting-exercise-Weight Loss Surgery.  However, let’s be honest. Never mind all the verbiage on the website that this “therapy” is used to assist in one’s “lifestyle modification”, and requires careful monitoring by one’s doctor.  We know a good portion of those who will volunteer to use this are going to be the ones who won’t (not can’t – won’t) be so bothered with those sociallyaccepted methods.

Considering the ‘aromas’ involved during a normal body waste removal and/or auto purge response. Never mind what’s involved scent wise with the use of catheters when things go wrong – and they occasionally do go very wrong.  I do not want to even think about what charm would emanate should that valve and/or pump ever fail.

And So…

  • If it comes down the front tube it’s urination.
  • If it comes down the back tube it’s defecation.
  • If it comes up the esophageal tube, though not necessarily out the mouth, it’s regurgitation.
  • And if it’s sucked out the inserted plastic tube on the side it’s aspiration.

They liken the process of expelling the contents of one’s stomach to the process of drawing one’s breath.  I know aspiration is the technical name for that part of the process medically speaking, the drawing of air or liquids through suction. Still, I’m betting, if the standard definition of the word were a person, s/he would be appalled and highly insulted by such.

And ooh, when it comes to sexy time, I bet that ‘poker chip’ must be so lovely to kiss to lick to gaze upon. Talk about redefining let me stick it in your port baby, ugh!I don’t know about you, but this is not something I will ever aspire to.

9/11 Twelve Years Later — Six of One / Half Dozen of the Other…

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Six of one –lest we forget– and half-dozen of the other –let us remember– still totals twelve years.

Today marks the 12th anniversary of the attacks of September 11th.  On that beautiful sunny day in 2001, it seemed that nothing would ever be the same again. That we would never get over it.  The collected we of the stunned free world, the collective we of my heart-broken fellow Americans, but specifically the collective soul-shattering we of myself and my fellow New Yorkers, who survived through it then and live with it now.

If I could pack my things and move back home per se, perhaps I would be a little more nonchalant about it, as some are all this time later. But I am not a transplant, I have nowhere to go to and ‘get over it’ as I’ve heard/read over the past few years.  New York City is my home, where I was born and raised. The Twin Towers were as much a given in my social and physical landscape as The Statue of Liberty, The Empire State Building and hell, even Madison Square Garden.

The destruction of the Twin Towers changed not just our geographical landscape of the city, but of our very psyches.  What we went through as a City, as a people along with our kins-of-circumstance in Somerset County, Pennsylvania and the Pentagon in Washington, DC was something we will never forget.  Or will we?

We grossly underestimate the human capacity to forget. Not the overall event itself, that simply cannot be done. Not the individual stories of horror and of hope, as those who went through them deserve to honor or dismiss such as their souls can bear. I mean the necessity to resume our daily habits, the need to return to as close to our day-to-day existence pre September 11th as possible.  And other than our annual remembrance, or the accepted inconveniences now related to travel, this collective selective amnesia was actually encouraged in the first few crazy years after the attacks.

It is a cold reality, yet cruelly disconcerting fact to know that for most of us, in such a very short amount of time, the enormity that was September 11th has pretty much been reduced to conversational trivia. In the 70’s the curious question was ‘where were you when Kennedy was shot’? Now it’s ‘where were you on 9/11’? And I cannot remember the last time it was asked of me.

It has stopped being a part of the collective daily conversation, but it does crop up from time-to-time.  In my case, it also does not help that my working career for the past twenty plus years have been within viewing and often walking distance of the old and the new.

I remember this rush of pride, of honor, for the nation in general, but especially for my City the day I took this picture in January of 2012:

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click for full picture

When I saw it that day, I was reminded so much of the original towers, when low clouds and fog would shroud the upper levels of the buildings in this same manner. Caught in the bittersweetness of the old and the new, I  had to take the picture. When I posted it to my Facebook I quoted Maya Angelou giving it the caption of “And still I rise…” Because yes, we did and still are rising as the rest of the construction that will comprise the new World Trade Center continues.

I was on a cruise on the Hudson River this summer (July 2013), and took this picture of 1 World Trade Center and the beginnings of what will be 2 World Trade Center:

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click for full picture

This past May, there was a cheer that arose across the City when it was announced the final spiral of the Freedom Tower was up, officially making it 1 World Trade Center. Now all 1776 feet of remembrance, national perseverance and home town pride is up for display. To quote Donnie McClurkin, “We fall down, but we get up…” Yes, yes we do.

To those who think we’ve “milked” this long enough and prefer that we forget it – I ask you to remember Pearl Harbor and think about it. We still honor the fallen at Pearl Harbor and that was how many years ago?  This is our new Pearl Harbor. The building of the World Trade Center and the National September 11 Memorial & Museum located in the footprints of the Twin Towers, is our new USS Arizona Memorial. Let those who want to forget about Tuesday, September 11, 2001, go ahead and do so.

The rest of us? We will remember.

Verbal Diarrhea Diaries: Halo? Hell No!

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Verbal Diarrhea Diaries (a.k.a. the shit that comes out of my mouth):

Lyn:  Well, I already knew you’re beautiful inside and out, but this makes you positively angelic. Now stop sticking out your tongue and continue to straighten out your halo.

Me:  Straighten out my halo? Are you kidding? That thing needs a forge, an anvil and one hell of a beat down to get in any kind of usable shape.

Grateful

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Yesterday morning was one of those “I just can’t get my act together” morns. I was just arriving to the train station I should have been at some thirty minutes ago. That kind of morning.

At the foot of the escalator to the train station, I notice a fellow commuter put something in the hand of a young man  standing there. He is asking for money for breakfast.  Emphasizing that it really was for food, he was hungry.

By the time I reach him three others with their heads averted have blown past him in the typical New Yorker “invisible beggars are invisible” fashion.  Normally, I would be among them, but something about the kid, he could not have been more than thirteen, reaches out to me. Before he starts asking, I have stepped to he side, reaching for my wallet. As I dig in my bag a woman just shy of flies between us, ducking away as though the boy had leprosy. It was beyond rude how she did it.  His hurt expression said it all.  He clearly didn’t want to be there and she must have been the last straw for him. Head down he started to turn to walk away.

I don’t know what came over me.

“He is still a human being you know!” I yelled up the woman, “May you continue to be blessed in your life so you may never learn what it must take to do this.” The boy and the woman both stopped and looked at me. She was on the escalator, but her expression was murderous as it lifted her away.

“Thank you, miss.” he said, still hurt, accepting the bill I held out without looking at it.

“Enjoy your breakfast honey. You’ll be alright.” I stepped onto the escalator and waited for it…

“THANK YOU MISS! Now I don’t have to share half a McDonald’s with my little sister. I can get cereal and milk and she can have her own. Thank yoooooooou!” I hear him yell, the gratitude in his voice totally free of the hurt.

I look out of the windows as the escalator rose and sure enough he ran across the street to the grocery store. I was already late for work, but once I reach the top, I wait at the side windows. A few minutes later he came out carrying grocery bags with a gallon of milk and what looked like two boxes of cereal, half running up the block. I smile.

“How much did you give him?!” I hear a voice right behind me. I turn and it is the woman I yelled at minutes before.

“Just $5, not enough for all of that. He must have been there for a few minutes asking.  You couldn’t even be so bothered as to even look at the child. Did you even realize that was a child? What do you care?” I ask annoyed.

“You reminded me, that I haven’t always been this ‘blessed’. I was coming back to see if he was still here to give him some money.”  She takes three dollars out of her purse and hands it to me. “Split what you gave him?”

“Keep it. You’re getting on the subway, there will be other someones who needs it. Give it to them.” I say walking away, but then I stop. “Just do yourself a favor and look the person begging. You may still choose to dismiss 99% of them – just as I know I will, but at least look at them for a moment so you don’t miss the chance of the 1% who will be truly be grateful for it. And you feeling grateful for having to chance to do it.”

As I say the word grateful, I realize I am just as grateful that I took a chance with him. I think about the boy -and the little sister I didn’t know existed until he mentioned her- about to sit down and have some cereal. I don’t know their story, I just know that instead of one split meal, at least for the next couple of days they have breakfast.  I am grateful for my small part in that.

I just have one question now: Who the hell is this nice person I am turning into? Ugh!

It’s A Thin Line…

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Got on the train in the midst of a married couple having a major lovers’ spat on the subway. Nasty hygiene, who slept with whom, the whole laundry basket. Everyone around them were interested in their books/tablets/music etc. The desperate were highly engrossed in the subway advertisements farthest down the car.

I could hear them through my ear buds. And yes the iPod was up as loud as I dared after the crap I overheard the other day (my Facebook friends know about it, I’ll spare the rest of you).  Still, after a solid 1/2 hour I could not take it any more and screamed at them. “For Christ’s sake, if you can’t get along together at home, stay the hell apart when you’re away from it! You are our *elders*! The ones who are supposed to be our examples of love in longevity and longevity in love.  You wonder why we young ones don’t know how to be together? Who the hell are we to learn from when you behave like this?! “

Now mind you, who is a couple of weeks shy being 50? This gal. We young ones? HAH! Boy, was I on mini rant.

They, and several commuters; turned to me stunned. I actually, I was pretty surprised at myself. I sat there fully prepared to be cussed out and put in my place for getting in grown folks business. Because yes, Ma Pot and Pa Kettle Black were well into their 70s.

Surprisingly, after apologizing to everyone within earshot, they did not say another word for about 15 minutes until they disembarked. Then they were all ‘Honey’, ‘Sweetness’, lovey-freaking-dovey. The crazy part is it was clearly as genuine as the arguing earlier.

No matter the age, it’s a thin line indeed…

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Slice of Life Writing Challenge

Unbidden

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These things and more I’m powerless to stop,
Thoughts of you coming unbidden and unblocked,
Enchanting and bewitching, you have captured my soul,
Lost and helpless, my body aches anon with your toll.
Lucius Kane / Unbidden Thoughts

Time’s jests had fooled us all to think of spring
Oh but winter but still had some fight within
Exposed by the elements did bring
Torn umbrellas now tossed into trash bins
The sudden storm made mockery of the thing
Just walking in the rain, garments given to sop
It takes away all pretense of privacy
Our peaked bodies’ crow with immodesty
It is sooner to control the next dew to drop
These things and more I’m powerless to stop

Oh send in the clowns for surely it’s some joke
How thoughts of that day even now make me swoon
And the fire within the memory doth stoke
It moves in from the dark side of the moon
And decorum evaporates like smoke
I watch my resiliency become something to mock
Trapped within my own dreams hot finish
With relief I succumb to my soul’s wish
I suppose by now I should not be shocked
Thoughts of you coming unbidden and unblocked

We’ve known each other since youth, shoes unlaced
And long ago packed away the trappings of such
Do I mistake that your feelings are of even pace?
Or do I project on you that which I do want so much?
For you to yearn for my touch upon more than your face
And there’s naught but one way for this ache to console
For without you I find I can’t breathe none the less
When with you I find I’m completely breathless
When the seeds of patience blossom into reality whole
Enchanting and bewitching, you have captured my soul

I dared not imagine it could ever be like this
That this joy wholly felt I’d even be worthy of
The elation of knowing your sweetest of kiss
Or the love that came from up above
Now just footsteps away from consuming bliss
Your crooked finger beckons in sweet cajole
And I decide there are few sweeter sounds in life
Than heard quote the words that made you my wife
No cost so high of favors – this heart can deny dole
Lost and helpless, my body aches anon with your toll.

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dVerse Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight – Week 110

How Could You…?

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So, after some serious internet searching on Sunday, I finally saw the “Harriet Tubman Sex Tape” video by Russell Simmons’ All Def Digital that raised such a stink.  I didn’t even watch it all because all I found myself asking and continue to ask is…

How could you…?

Females in general have so few women in history to look up to and aspire to, to begin with. American historical females are much fewer and the number of American heroines of color that is even smaller still. And you take Harriet Tubman, the most courageous, the most noble of them, the most widely known black woman in history next to Rosa Parks and turn her into some antebellum Jezebel for the sake of what was presumed to be satire. No! Just no!

How could you?

To the actors and crew involved, yeah, I know… It’s just a job, and you got paid. If you did not do it, someone else surely would have. So the money might as well go in your pocket, right?  I hope you are all proud of it because this will permanently be on your IMDB page someday.  I get it, really I do, but still I ask…

How could you…?

Russell, how little you must think of the woman who made such remarkable history! Clearly, you do not respect her or her deeds.   Deeds, may I remind you, that were among the stepping-stones, which now give you the ability to create the tripe you posted in the name of humor.

What on earth made you –the collective you for all who participated in this nonsense, but you Russell Simmons specifically– think this would be acceptable, let alone funny, to the intelligent general public and to black women in particular? You didn’t.

And that is what is so appalling.

Black women here in America spend every damned day of their lives overtly or otherwise fighting sexual stereotypes.  Stereotypes placed upon us by the very type of “massas” portrayed in your little piece of jacked-up faux history.  Over a century later and we women of color are still fighting those stereotypes just so you can take Harriet Tubman, one of the very few examples of black womanhood who was above all of that nonsense, and turn her into a sexual parody.

How could you…?

Simmons, you are –well, I thought you were– an intelligent man.  There is NO way you could not have known there was going to be some backlash on this. Perhaps not as much as what you received, but you had to know. I believe this was done solely for getting All Def Digital noticed. There were so many other ways All Def Digital could have debuted to be smart, edgy, relevant, and divisive. You chose to make a mockery of Harriet Tubman.  By making her a joke of this caliber you diminish not just the woman, but everything for which she is known.

And do you want to know the real funny part? Image this video some 50, 20, 10, hell perhaps as little as two years from now. When all of us have moved on to the latest hullabaloo of the time, some ignorant racist assholes –who managed to download a copy before you had your ass handed to you and pulled the content off YouTube– will  show this to others of their ilk and pass it on as ‘historical truth’.  All because of you  thought it was something hilarious. Ha-ha, very funny motherfucker.

We need to fight not just to preserve her history and her reputation. Not just Tubman’s, but all the sisters  who have managed to make an indelible mark on our history.  In addition, to keep known for our future generations for the truths they are. Not tear them down, not desecrate their images to garner base humor.

How could you?

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See what other Slices are happening at Two Writing Teachers!

Royal Pains…

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Let me begin with, I honestly am happy for Kate and William. I am glad the newest prince is healthy. I truly am as happy as I would be for any woman successfully bringing life into this world.  However, that is where my empathy/sympathy begins and ends.

I hold my hand up and totally acknowledge my desire to be the total bitch here.  You’ve been warned…

So, Catherine (Kate) Middleton, Duchess of Cambridge, had a baby…

Yay, we’re celebrating the business of royal marital arrangements a.k.a. your womb is mine a.k.a. what’s love got to do with it?

Yeah, I said it.

They had a year and a half of time to themselves as man and wife. Most of it spent introducing the new bride to the rest of the free world.  Well, as much time as a young couple can have when heirs to the monarchy of one of the most prosperous of the first-world nations that is, but eventually the honey moon period is over. Duties await and what is a new royal wife’s first royal duty? – why to be an heir making apparatus of course. Don’t kid yourself, Kate performed her royal duty to the Crown and popped out an heir as fast as not-so-little Willie could pump one in her. I’m giving them three years max before Royal Tot #2 is out. After all, there must be a royal back-up baby in case, well, you know….  Royal Tot #2 can ask good ol’ Uncle Harry about how always being 2nd best feels, once he or she gets here.

So, Princess Catherine had a baby…

So did blank.blank million other women yesterday. Are we globally Facebooking and Tweeting about all of them?  I didn’t think so.  I wonder how many of the imminent-to-be  mothers were thinking ‘Ooh my baby is born on the same day!”? Oh come on, you know some of the ones in British territories did, or they will once they learn of the coincidence.  I’m guessing the rest of the women in the world, whose contracting wombs, widening canals, separating hips and ripping perineum were likely too preoccupied.  I could be wrong.

So, Kate Middleton had a baby…

Mind you, I fully comprehend the British interest in such; after all she is their princess.  I’ll even branch it out to Europe in general as they are all nearby neighbors of the monarchy such as it is, so love thy neighbor and such. What I don’t get is the American fascination with such so that nearly every other status post in Facebook and Twitter tweets are still yapping on about the royal birth. Hmm, I wonder what Kate would about all those who are playing the baby’s birth date or weight/length and other such factoids at the numbers/lotto/horse race?

I feel as though I am the only hard-nose, heartless wretch not wearing the “Awww the prince and princess had a baby!” rose-colored glasses in this.

So Kate had a baby…  

She’s fine? Yes.  The baby’s fine? Yes.  Okay then. What’s for lunch…?

 

You WERE warned…

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Slice of Life Teal

Slice of Life Weekly Writing Challenge – Jul SOLSC #4 

Verbal Diarrhea Diaries: Callipygian Earnestness

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Verbal Diarrhea Diaries (a.k.a. the shit that comes out of my mouth):

So, while holding a bag  that clearly contains my lunch in hand, I am about to enter the revolving door of my office building when I spy a colleague exiting. I stand to the side and wait for him to exit.

Seeing my bag he inquires of it contents.  I tell him it’s “poison”.  I have no idea why, but I can tell by his expression that he doubts the veracity of my statement.

“What?  You were warned years ago to never trust a big butt.” I say as I make it a point to smile broadly.

He’s stumped for all of .1 seconds before he starts grinning.

“I can’t play with you.” He throws up his hands and walks away, shaking his head while laughing.

Was it something I said?

– blame Bell Biv DeVoe!