One man can't change politics as usual by himself and what idiot believed Obama could change an f*d up system in one year? Let’s get real. Did we all forget what he walked into?
When he came here the economy was in shambles. Wall Street tanked. Banks were bankrupt. Jobs were non-existent. People were losing their homes left and right. Gas was so expensive; people were turning to public transportation. This was before he took office.
How quickly we forget George Bush and his fellow Republicans who outsourced jobs, started a war we should never have been in and basically stepped on Middle America, the poor and under-represented folks like cockroaches for eight years. How quickly we forget that we went from a 208 billion dollar surplus under former President Bill Clinton to a trillion dollar deficit in eight years. How quickly we forget that it was people spending beyond their means and not taking any action to stop the bleeding that helped bring this economy to its knees.
It was a grassroots effort that got Obama into office. It’ll be a grassroots effort from the people that will make the real change happen. The strength of our union relies on us people getting up and taking action. One man can’t do it alone and he shouldn’t be made to. It was “yes, we can,” not yes, he can.
What do I worry about? I worry about healthcare because I have none and I pay $125 a month to make sure my son is taken care of. I worry about credit card rates because we were late one time and now our percentage rate is 24.99 %. We have had our small business for a year and can’t get credit because the banks aren’t lending the money we bailed them out with.
I worry about education. I am sickened with the fact that our state spends more money on prisons than schools. Right now the Los Angeles Unified School District is trying to cut Arts programs from its core curriculum. No drama, no visual art/arts classes, theater, dance or music. They are even looking at cutting athletic programs too because they have a 500 million dollar deficit. So our children pay for the greed of corporate America and the fact that only a portion of CA residents pay taxes. Yeah, I said it. I also agree that no one should go broke because they chose to go to college. My husband owes so much in student loans. It’s fundamentally wrong.
We need a damn revolution. Action, action and more action needs to take place. It’s not easy but we have someone in office ready to fight for us and he will fail if we don’t fight side-by-side with him for what we voted him in to do.
We have to do more than write our congressmen, senators and representatives. Maybe we need to have a million person “Cut your Crap in Congress” march. We need to send letters or Facebook message pages to all the rest of those douche bags in Congress that think the same ole, same ole is okay and tell them it’s not.
Either way, we need to support our President. He’s fighting for us. I want him to win. He can’t be right a 100 percent of the time. He will make mistakes. He’ll falter. He may even fall. I, for one, will be there to help pick him up and dust him off.
This man gave me my dreams back. You can’t quantify that and though I may never see my 40 acres and a mule - I still operate under yes, we can. Yes, we should and yes, we will.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
It's All In The Tone
Tone. It can make you or break you.
My producer called me up after I had blogged last week about expressing creative differences. My heart was in my throat. I thought he was going to be mad. What's up with that? Turned out, he had not even read the blog as I sat there stumbling for the "right" words to explain what had happened was. He read it later and said jokingly - man, I'm never gonna get work now. That tone kept things light and open.
See, we are still in discovery mode. It's like we are dancing and trying to find each others rhythm. He's damn good at what he does and puts things into perspective for me. Me, I know stuff, have great instincts, raw talent but I get lost in translation due to majoring in journalism in college rather than music. Anyway, that's a "If My Scars Could Talk," moment. It's my tone he says. Ahha. My voice didn't marry the music explanation is about tone. Now I know the technical term for what I was feeling. With knowledge comes power.
He said I sounded uncomfortable and it was difficult to find a take where I really owned the lyrics. Truth is, I was uncomfortable. I have to get real with having issues owning my sex appeal. I've been hiding so long under faux soccer mom clothes that I've kinda' lost the connection to that fiercely sexy woman I used to be. I also haven't had an elixir to bring Mrs. Thang out for nearly five years. I have a kid. I work with elementary kids so you have to dress and act a certain way. It's very vanilla. As a survivor of sexual abuse - I've had to work on deleting the message in my head that said to be sexy, means I'll be hurt. It's been very hard to integrate that part of me back into my every day life. I'm working on it. I'm not a child anymore. I have a voice. There is power in that voice and within me. I need to own all of me and quite frankly - I want to. Time to stop playing it safe.
The music I'm working on right now fits my tone better. It moves me. I like to have fun, dance and all that but I really connect to lyrics that are spiritually empowering. These two songs that I'm about to record move me. This one song called "Wrap It Up," has just captured a sista'. The music is emotional. It's rock and soul. The sound is more me than anything I've done. I can't wait to get into the studio this weekend.
It's exciting to be reaching beyond my comfort zone again. I really like the fact that I'm not sabotaging myself right now. I've finished putting my website information together. I'm going through my drawers this week to give clothes away that I'm not sure anyone will want to wear. I've been rehearsing every day because I am choosing to set the tone for my career, for my spirit. The Grammy's are this week. I want to be there next year. I've had this acceptance speech written since I was a kid. Of course, it's changed over the years but one day I will deliver it. I believe that if I keep my eye on the prize, there is no reason why I won't.
My producer called me up after I had blogged last week about expressing creative differences. My heart was in my throat. I thought he was going to be mad. What's up with that? Turned out, he had not even read the blog as I sat there stumbling for the "right" words to explain what had happened was. He read it later and said jokingly - man, I'm never gonna get work now. That tone kept things light and open.
See, we are still in discovery mode. It's like we are dancing and trying to find each others rhythm. He's damn good at what he does and puts things into perspective for me. Me, I know stuff, have great instincts, raw talent but I get lost in translation due to majoring in journalism in college rather than music. Anyway, that's a "If My Scars Could Talk," moment. It's my tone he says. Ahha. My voice didn't marry the music explanation is about tone. Now I know the technical term for what I was feeling. With knowledge comes power.
He said I sounded uncomfortable and it was difficult to find a take where I really owned the lyrics. Truth is, I was uncomfortable. I have to get real with having issues owning my sex appeal. I've been hiding so long under faux soccer mom clothes that I've kinda' lost the connection to that fiercely sexy woman I used to be. I also haven't had an elixir to bring Mrs. Thang out for nearly five years. I have a kid. I work with elementary kids so you have to dress and act a certain way. It's very vanilla. As a survivor of sexual abuse - I've had to work on deleting the message in my head that said to be sexy, means I'll be hurt. It's been very hard to integrate that part of me back into my every day life. I'm working on it. I'm not a child anymore. I have a voice. There is power in that voice and within me. I need to own all of me and quite frankly - I want to. Time to stop playing it safe.
The music I'm working on right now fits my tone better. It moves me. I like to have fun, dance and all that but I really connect to lyrics that are spiritually empowering. These two songs that I'm about to record move me. This one song called "Wrap It Up," has just captured a sista'. The music is emotional. It's rock and soul. The sound is more me than anything I've done. I can't wait to get into the studio this weekend.
It's exciting to be reaching beyond my comfort zone again. I really like the fact that I'm not sabotaging myself right now. I've finished putting my website information together. I'm going through my drawers this week to give clothes away that I'm not sure anyone will want to wear. I've been rehearsing every day because I am choosing to set the tone for my career, for my spirit. The Grammy's are this week. I want to be there next year. I've had this acceptance speech written since I was a kid. Of course, it's changed over the years but one day I will deliver it. I believe that if I keep my eye on the prize, there is no reason why I won't.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Sometimes I have to Laugh or I'll Cry
A friend of mine called me yesterday frustrated because every time it rains - her driver's side window comes down and stays down. She's had it fixed a million times. Each time they tell her it's okay. Then it rains and it's not. She tells me she spent the day driving somewhere she didn't want to go to with her finger on the window button trying to get the window up and her hand on the steering wheel. "Really," she said looking up at the sky. "My life is overwhelming right now and then this happens. Really?" It was one of those moments either you laugh or cry.
Today, it rained again. I'm driving my man's other lover - his rebuilt (still rebuilding) 1987 Nissan 280z because my car is still in Vegas being repaired, nearly two months later. It's dripping water in my lap from a leak in T-Tops. I am using a rusty t-shirt to soak up the water in my seat. He has rigged two shifters in the car. One to use on the street. The other to use if I am so bold enough as to get on the highway. I can't find a long-sleeve shirt to wear in the rain because I haven't bought any clothes for myself since 1999, the year my son was born. I drive some place I don't want to go to and when I get there, I find out I'm not even supposed to be there. I get back in my drippy car, drive to get a taco at Baja Fresh and I lock the keys in the car. I think of my friend. It was either laugh or cry.
But wait, it gets better. My man comes to save his mistress and I only to be honked at and cussed at by some douche bag woman in a Jaguar. Apparently he didn't move his car fast enough for her and instead of letting me exit my parking spot to get behind him, she blocks me in and a stand-off ensued. "Why can't you let her out," he asks? "What is wrong with you? Call the cops!" he yells. "What are you doing," I ask him? It's so absurd to be in a stand-off at the Beverly Center Plaza parking lot because some lady is just being a douche bag. I just looked at the both of them. Really? What is up with that? Finally, he leaves, much to his chagrin. I pull up to her at the light. I can't help but call her an f'n douche bag and we both go our separate ways. Scene.
But wait, there's more. I get home and the man is now mad at me. He says, "You didn't hear her honk her horn at me and tell me to get my f'n bald head out of the f'n way?" "No, I didn't." I respond. Blah, blah, blah. Wah, Wah, Wah. If I fought with every rude douche on the road - I'd never get anything done. Pick your battles. I don't have time or energy to waste on crap like that anymore. So now I'm in my son's room blogging while he's in our living room ranting about what's wrong with people in LA and how he'd rather be in Mogadishu fighting for food.
Right now I have to concentrate on what is really worth my time and energy. I just cashed in my 401k so I could buy studio time, get my website up and running again, buy some clothes that, I don't know, fit me and bring me into the 21st century. I took a big hit and risk cashing in my 401k but I have to believe in myself because if I don't - who will? You do what you have to do to get to where you want to go. I feel a bit shamed because my man is mad at me for not engaging with that woman. I feel like I let him down by not beating the snot out of her or something. That kinda stupid fight is just not in me. So my guess is that we won't be gettin' together tonight as planned. Ahhh, left to my own devices . . .
Sometimes I just have to laugh or I'll cry.
Today, it rained again. I'm driving my man's other lover - his rebuilt (still rebuilding) 1987 Nissan 280z because my car is still in Vegas being repaired, nearly two months later. It's dripping water in my lap from a leak in T-Tops. I am using a rusty t-shirt to soak up the water in my seat. He has rigged two shifters in the car. One to use on the street. The other to use if I am so bold enough as to get on the highway. I can't find a long-sleeve shirt to wear in the rain because I haven't bought any clothes for myself since 1999, the year my son was born. I drive some place I don't want to go to and when I get there, I find out I'm not even supposed to be there. I get back in my drippy car, drive to get a taco at Baja Fresh and I lock the keys in the car. I think of my friend. It was either laugh or cry.
But wait, it gets better. My man comes to save his mistress and I only to be honked at and cussed at by some douche bag woman in a Jaguar. Apparently he didn't move his car fast enough for her and instead of letting me exit my parking spot to get behind him, she blocks me in and a stand-off ensued. "Why can't you let her out," he asks? "What is wrong with you? Call the cops!" he yells. "What are you doing," I ask him? It's so absurd to be in a stand-off at the Beverly Center Plaza parking lot because some lady is just being a douche bag. I just looked at the both of them. Really? What is up with that? Finally, he leaves, much to his chagrin. I pull up to her at the light. I can't help but call her an f'n douche bag and we both go our separate ways. Scene.
But wait, there's more. I get home and the man is now mad at me. He says, "You didn't hear her honk her horn at me and tell me to get my f'n bald head out of the f'n way?" "No, I didn't." I respond. Blah, blah, blah. Wah, Wah, Wah. If I fought with every rude douche on the road - I'd never get anything done. Pick your battles. I don't have time or energy to waste on crap like that anymore. So now I'm in my son's room blogging while he's in our living room ranting about what's wrong with people in LA and how he'd rather be in Mogadishu fighting for food.
Right now I have to concentrate on what is really worth my time and energy. I just cashed in my 401k so I could buy studio time, get my website up and running again, buy some clothes that, I don't know, fit me and bring me into the 21st century. I took a big hit and risk cashing in my 401k but I have to believe in myself because if I don't - who will? You do what you have to do to get to where you want to go. I feel a bit shamed because my man is mad at me for not engaging with that woman. I feel like I let him down by not beating the snot out of her or something. That kinda stupid fight is just not in me. So my guess is that we won't be gettin' together tonight as planned. Ahhh, left to my own devices . . .
Sometimes I just have to laugh or I'll cry.
Monday, January 18, 2010
The Problem Isn't Racism
OBAMA AND 2010
Today I watched this two-hour discussion on MSNBC about Obama's first year, race and politics. It's interesting to watch people dance around discrimination, stereotypes, racism. I've had a view of racism from both sides. Black folk thought I was too light. White folk thought I was too black. I always felt like an outsider looking in.
The fact is, racism exists. Just because we have a Half-Rican American president doesn't mean we have absolved ourselves of our past. It just means that we are moving forward. Slowly. It means we get to have conversations among all races about race, about our history, about our prejudices. Each race has its own stereotypes. Behind closed doors we all talk about each other. Now we get to do it openly and because of that we have a chance to change. We have a chance to ask ourselves why we think and believe the way we do. How do we make it better?
For me, racism is ignorance. If you really want to make it right, fix this broke ass educational system. That is where the problem and the solution lies. We need equal access to education. Equal access to the tools and skills needed to be successful, happy human beings. Everyone has a gift. A reason for being here and until we have the opportunity to explore what that is - these issues will be around like plastic in the landfills.
I have a dream that one day all children will have an opportunity to be whatever they want to be. I have a dream that one day I'll have a hand in changing the way we educate our youth. I have a dream that one day we will look at each other as brothers and sisters, human beings, people just trying to find their way in this world. Until then, I work. I pray. I hope.
Today I watched this two-hour discussion on MSNBC about Obama's first year, race and politics. It's interesting to watch people dance around discrimination, stereotypes, racism. I've had a view of racism from both sides. Black folk thought I was too light. White folk thought I was too black. I always felt like an outsider looking in.
The fact is, racism exists. Just because we have a Half-Rican American president doesn't mean we have absolved ourselves of our past. It just means that we are moving forward. Slowly. It means we get to have conversations among all races about race, about our history, about our prejudices. Each race has its own stereotypes. Behind closed doors we all talk about each other. Now we get to do it openly and because of that we have a chance to change. We have a chance to ask ourselves why we think and believe the way we do. How do we make it better?
For me, racism is ignorance. If you really want to make it right, fix this broke ass educational system. That is where the problem and the solution lies. We need equal access to education. Equal access to the tools and skills needed to be successful, happy human beings. Everyone has a gift. A reason for being here and until we have the opportunity to explore what that is - these issues will be around like plastic in the landfills.
I have a dream that one day all children will have an opportunity to be whatever they want to be. I have a dream that one day I'll have a hand in changing the way we educate our youth. I have a dream that one day we will look at each other as brothers and sisters, human beings, people just trying to find their way in this world. Until then, I work. I pray. I hope.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Creatively & Personally Speaking, No Cryin' in Football
CREATIVELY SPEAKING
This past week I was trying to figure out how to speak honestly and openly to my producer about the song we had just recorded. How do I express my creative differences? I waited a day, blogged about it and then he called me. It was a very uncomfortable conversation to have. He told me he didn't like the mix either and that he needed to put it down and come back to it. He talked. I talked. The bottom line came down to money again. We both don't have it right now. He's got bills. It's been a rough go and what do you do? Do you get a job to pay the bills? If you get the job to pay the bills - when do you get the time to get back into the studio to do what you do best?
I just believe we are onto to something. I do believe if we keep pushing it on both ends, we will make the money. We will get out there and be successful. I have a 401k that I'm going to cash in because it'll give us a little bit of time in the studio. I have to believe in myself. I don't want to waste one more damn opportunity. My goal is to perform at Pride this June. I have choreographers. I have the music. I even have someone making me t-shirts. It's my freakin' turn and I want to take it. You feel me? If I have to go out to Santa Monica and Highland . . .
PERSONALLY SPEAKING: HAITI
Okay, so I've been really pissy about the relief efforts in Haiti. I was kinda' ranting at my BFF about why I was mad. I was mad because the government has money to relieve others but we have people here who need relief too and where was the money going? Why do we have money for them but not for us? How do we know it's actually going to help them? They don't have a government right now. It's in pieces and parts.
Then she said something like - it's people like you, blah, blah, impatient, blah, blah, don't believe, blah, blah and I almost hung up on her. The nerve. People like me. Hmmph. I tell her that's not it. We keep talking and it dawns on me. I just feel helpless. I feel angry. I feel like I should be further ahead in my life and I'm not. I should be having a pow-wow with Oprah, Wyclef Jean and George Clooney trying to figure out ways to help Haiti. Instead I'm left to text 90999 on my phone and donate $10. It's times like these where I feel angry at my disease, at myself because I wasted so much time trying to get out of my head and my skin that I missed those opportunities to shine. Yes, I know that the Universe has a plan for me but it doesn't take away from that coulda', woulda', shoulda' but I didn't thinking.
SPORTS:
Cardinals suck because their owner sucks. Sorry, but it is what it is. Same goes for the Cowboys. I am glad the Minnesota Vikings kicked the crap out of America's favorite team - the Dallas Cowboys 34 to 3. Quarterback Brett Favre is 40-years-old. Right now, he is my hero. He plays for the love of the game. He reminds me that age ain't nothing but a number. Your heart and what you believe in is what really matters.
Anywho, Dallas Cowboy linebacker Keith Brooking was crying like a big, fat baby because Favre threw a touchdown late in the fourth quarter when they were already up by 24 points. He called it classless and disrespectful. What the hell is up with that? This is professional football, not pee wee ball. You take no prisoners and you play hard til the end. Don't cry because your team didn't show up. Maybe if Owner Jerry Jones would stop coaching from the sidelines - you might make a championship game.
This past week I was trying to figure out how to speak honestly and openly to my producer about the song we had just recorded. How do I express my creative differences? I waited a day, blogged about it and then he called me. It was a very uncomfortable conversation to have. He told me he didn't like the mix either and that he needed to put it down and come back to it. He talked. I talked. The bottom line came down to money again. We both don't have it right now. He's got bills. It's been a rough go and what do you do? Do you get a job to pay the bills? If you get the job to pay the bills - when do you get the time to get back into the studio to do what you do best?
I just believe we are onto to something. I do believe if we keep pushing it on both ends, we will make the money. We will get out there and be successful. I have a 401k that I'm going to cash in because it'll give us a little bit of time in the studio. I have to believe in myself. I don't want to waste one more damn opportunity. My goal is to perform at Pride this June. I have choreographers. I have the music. I even have someone making me t-shirts. It's my freakin' turn and I want to take it. You feel me? If I have to go out to Santa Monica and Highland . . .
PERSONALLY SPEAKING: HAITI
Okay, so I've been really pissy about the relief efforts in Haiti. I was kinda' ranting at my BFF about why I was mad. I was mad because the government has money to relieve others but we have people here who need relief too and where was the money going? Why do we have money for them but not for us? How do we know it's actually going to help them? They don't have a government right now. It's in pieces and parts.
Then she said something like - it's people like you, blah, blah, impatient, blah, blah, don't believe, blah, blah and I almost hung up on her. The nerve. People like me. Hmmph. I tell her that's not it. We keep talking and it dawns on me. I just feel helpless. I feel angry. I feel like I should be further ahead in my life and I'm not. I should be having a pow-wow with Oprah, Wyclef Jean and George Clooney trying to figure out ways to help Haiti. Instead I'm left to text 90999 on my phone and donate $10. It's times like these where I feel angry at my disease, at myself because I wasted so much time trying to get out of my head and my skin that I missed those opportunities to shine. Yes, I know that the Universe has a plan for me but it doesn't take away from that coulda', woulda', shoulda' but I didn't thinking.
SPORTS:
Cardinals suck because their owner sucks. Sorry, but it is what it is. Same goes for the Cowboys. I am glad the Minnesota Vikings kicked the crap out of America's favorite team - the Dallas Cowboys 34 to 3. Quarterback Brett Favre is 40-years-old. Right now, he is my hero. He plays for the love of the game. He reminds me that age ain't nothing but a number. Your heart and what you believe in is what really matters.
Anywho, Dallas Cowboy linebacker Keith Brooking was crying like a big, fat baby because Favre threw a touchdown late in the fourth quarter when they were already up by 24 points. He called it classless and disrespectful. What the hell is up with that? This is professional football, not pee wee ball. You take no prisoners and you play hard til the end. Don't cry because your team didn't show up. Maybe if Owner Jerry Jones would stop coaching from the sidelines - you might make a championship game.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Family, Honoring Creative Differences & Dirt Cookies
FAMILY
So what is family? Is it blood? Is it what you make it? My grandmother passed away yesterday. She was a million years old (97) and it was time but I'm sad. She wasn't my blood but she was my family. Her son, my step-father Dave, saved my view on what a true man is. He isn't my blood but he is my family. He's been there since I was nine-years-old. He is the only man besides my husband that has never abandoned me, left me, hurt me. He's always been there no matter what. I truly love that man and as far as I am concerned - he is my father.
For me, family is what you make it. I used to cry for my blood family. I wanted them to be there but many of them are not. So I had to make a choice. I could be miserable and continue to try to get water out of a dry well or I could reach out and find a well that was full. I chose full. Now, the only time I get thirsty is when I decide not to drink.
HONORING CREATIVE DIFFERENCES
Right now, I'm trying to figure out how to tell my producer I don't like the song we just recorded. Something just ain't right. How do you honor your own creative voice? I went into the studio last week and recorded a song. I got it last night. I was excited and nervous with anticipation. I opened it. Listened to it and my heart sunk. It needed to marry and it didn't. I let my husband and son listen to it because sometimes I am not a good judge. I'm too critical. My son said it was boring and my husband said it was "ehhh." My son said it didn't have the bling that "All About Me" did. He is right. So what now?
I feel like if we are really going to work together and make this happen, I have to be able to say what I like and what I don't like. We have to marry this music. To me, that means that we may have to rearrange some of these tracks. I have to work on my vocals. That means more time in the studio. Time is money and neither one of us have money. I'm afraid he won't want to do that, he'll walk away and I'll have nothing to work with. I get so tired of money being an issue. My head being an issue. I just want to make music that matters. I want to perform. I want to honor my own creativity without offending him in the process. I have to talk to him and be honest or else it won't work. Right? I gotta let go of the fear and continue to speak my truth. Let the chips fall where they may. I hate this grown up shit. It is so uncomfortable.
IN OTHER NEWS: DIRT COOKIES
Dirt cookies. That's what poor children in Haiti eat. Dirt freakin' cookies. They make mud pies. They let them dry outside near open sewage. They pay $5 for a bag of dirt and sell dirt cookies for 5 cents a piece. What is up with that? I used to get really annoyed when I would see people going off to different countries to help them. Especially when we have people in need right here in our own backyard but yesterday when I saw them eating dirt cookies, I really struggled with my feelings. In my eyes, you can't take care of others unless your own house is in order. I don't know how I feel about that today. Am I human or American? Is my backyard the USA or is it the world? If it's both, what does that mean? I just really want my 40 acres and mule people.
I guess it just bugs me when I see our government pledging millions of dollars to Yemen and Haiti when millions of people here can't put food on their table, keep a roof over their head, pay for health insurance, put books and teachers in our children's classrooms. We are busy rebuilding other people's countries with the hope they won't come over here and attack us yet folks in New Orleans are still living in FE MA trailers. Where do you draw the line? We are broke as shit too. I think as human-beings we need help each other but at what costs? I don't know. All is know is that kids eating dirt cookies is fucked up.
So what is family? Is it blood? Is it what you make it? My grandmother passed away yesterday. She was a million years old (97) and it was time but I'm sad. She wasn't my blood but she was my family. Her son, my step-father Dave, saved my view on what a true man is. He isn't my blood but he is my family. He's been there since I was nine-years-old. He is the only man besides my husband that has never abandoned me, left me, hurt me. He's always been there no matter what. I truly love that man and as far as I am concerned - he is my father.
For me, family is what you make it. I used to cry for my blood family. I wanted them to be there but many of them are not. So I had to make a choice. I could be miserable and continue to try to get water out of a dry well or I could reach out and find a well that was full. I chose full. Now, the only time I get thirsty is when I decide not to drink.
HONORING CREATIVE DIFFERENCES
Right now, I'm trying to figure out how to tell my producer I don't like the song we just recorded. Something just ain't right. How do you honor your own creative voice? I went into the studio last week and recorded a song. I got it last night. I was excited and nervous with anticipation. I opened it. Listened to it and my heart sunk. It needed to marry and it didn't. I let my husband and son listen to it because sometimes I am not a good judge. I'm too critical. My son said it was boring and my husband said it was "ehhh." My son said it didn't have the bling that "All About Me" did. He is right. So what now?
I feel like if we are really going to work together and make this happen, I have to be able to say what I like and what I don't like. We have to marry this music. To me, that means that we may have to rearrange some of these tracks. I have to work on my vocals. That means more time in the studio. Time is money and neither one of us have money. I'm afraid he won't want to do that, he'll walk away and I'll have nothing to work with. I get so tired of money being an issue. My head being an issue. I just want to make music that matters. I want to perform. I want to honor my own creativity without offending him in the process. I have to talk to him and be honest or else it won't work. Right? I gotta let go of the fear and continue to speak my truth. Let the chips fall where they may. I hate this grown up shit. It is so uncomfortable.
IN OTHER NEWS: DIRT COOKIES
Dirt cookies. That's what poor children in Haiti eat. Dirt freakin' cookies. They make mud pies. They let them dry outside near open sewage. They pay $5 for a bag of dirt and sell dirt cookies for 5 cents a piece. What is up with that? I used to get really annoyed when I would see people going off to different countries to help them. Especially when we have people in need right here in our own backyard but yesterday when I saw them eating dirt cookies, I really struggled with my feelings. In my eyes, you can't take care of others unless your own house is in order. I don't know how I feel about that today. Am I human or American? Is my backyard the USA or is it the world? If it's both, what does that mean? I just really want my 40 acres and mule people.
I guess it just bugs me when I see our government pledging millions of dollars to Yemen and Haiti when millions of people here can't put food on their table, keep a roof over their head, pay for health insurance, put books and teachers in our children's classrooms. We are busy rebuilding other people's countries with the hope they won't come over here and attack us yet folks in New Orleans are still living in FE MA trailers. Where do you draw the line? We are broke as shit too. I think as human-beings we need help each other but at what costs? I don't know. All is know is that kids eating dirt cookies is fucked up.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Me, Mark McGuire, Obama & No Negro Dialect
Today was one of those days when I felt like Neo in the Matrix. Hoo Raa. The part towards the end where he came back to life, stopped the bullets and when he flexed - the whole world did to. I stuck to the plan - take care of myself like I take care of others. I came home from Pilate's Fusion with Skip, the ass/leg killer, and was home ALONE. I put the TV on mute, got the music out and started working on it without interruption. I got to groove on myself and just go there. I needed that. Can I say a lot gets done when no one is there to bug you? This is why they say get your career before you get your family. It's not impossible to make it, it's just harder because the family is first. Doesn't matter if I have a career, if I have no one to share it with.
Honesty. You gotta have it in your life. That's why people like Simon Cowell. He tells the truth. If you suck, you suck. I gave a hosting reel to a friend of mine to edit. I thought the copy sucked frankly but I was hoping that I could salvage something and that maybe it was my head talking more crap to me. But it wasn't. It wasn't colorful, witty, sassy or funny. I looked like a caged lion. The only thing fierce was my hair, of course. My friend told me I could do better. I know that. Hosting is about personality. Next time I do stuff for free, I get to ask for a take that shows my personality. That's it. Another lesson learned.
IN OTHER NEWS:
Mark McGuire. Really? First, there is NO cryin' in baseball. Second, you're a douche. You and all the other baseball players who couldn't deal with their own mortality and opted to lie, cheat and steal their way into the record books through the use of steroids. Boo to you. What's up with that?
It just pisses me off that you get to go into the record books and you cheated to do it. How is that fair to Roger Maris? How is that fair to Hank Aaron? How is that fair to anyone who has done greatness without the use of steroids? What happened to personal integrity? I think steroid users should go to the Hall of Shame not the Hall of Fame. Why bother with putting an asterisk by their name? In the Olympics, if you do steroids and you're caught - you lose your medal. What is the difference here? A cheat is a cheat. McGuire said he wishes he had never played baseball during the steroid era. I wish he hadn't either.
Finally, Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid (D-Nev.) was outed a couple of days ago for referring to our President Barack Obama as a light-skinned African American with no Negro dialect. Apparently he said this back in 2008 when Obama was running for office. People's panties are all in a ruffle. They're screaming racism and asking him to step down. Come on. Really? What's up with that? Like he isn't a light-skinned African American who doesn't use Ebonics except for when he is playing basketball with his homies.
Do you think people would have voted for him if he was blacker than black? WE are not that evolved. We are still running around asking people to don't ask and don't tell. We can't even give all people the right to marry. Just because we voted a Half-Rican American into office doesn't mean that we are all cured of racism, prejudice and discrimination. Only now, we get to have an open conversation about it and let's face it, every race has it's stereotypes. I got the lips to prove it. We all think and say things about each other based upon our gender, culture, religious affiliation, sexual orientation and color.
Reid just said what many people have thought. But because of people like him, we have an opportunity to start healing those old wounds. We have an opportunity to start seeing each other for what we really all are - human beings. That is the journey that will define this new era of change. Thank God for the light-skinned African American in office who gives us all food for thought. Now if I could only get my 40 acres and a mule.
Honesty. You gotta have it in your life. That's why people like Simon Cowell. He tells the truth. If you suck, you suck. I gave a hosting reel to a friend of mine to edit. I thought the copy sucked frankly but I was hoping that I could salvage something and that maybe it was my head talking more crap to me. But it wasn't. It wasn't colorful, witty, sassy or funny. I looked like a caged lion. The only thing fierce was my hair, of course. My friend told me I could do better. I know that. Hosting is about personality. Next time I do stuff for free, I get to ask for a take that shows my personality. That's it. Another lesson learned.
IN OTHER NEWS:
Mark McGuire. Really? First, there is NO cryin' in baseball. Second, you're a douche. You and all the other baseball players who couldn't deal with their own mortality and opted to lie, cheat and steal their way into the record books through the use of steroids. Boo to you. What's up with that?
It just pisses me off that you get to go into the record books and you cheated to do it. How is that fair to Roger Maris? How is that fair to Hank Aaron? How is that fair to anyone who has done greatness without the use of steroids? What happened to personal integrity? I think steroid users should go to the Hall of Shame not the Hall of Fame. Why bother with putting an asterisk by their name? In the Olympics, if you do steroids and you're caught - you lose your medal. What is the difference here? A cheat is a cheat. McGuire said he wishes he had never played baseball during the steroid era. I wish he hadn't either.
Finally, Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid (D-Nev.) was outed a couple of days ago for referring to our President Barack Obama as a light-skinned African American with no Negro dialect. Apparently he said this back in 2008 when Obama was running for office. People's panties are all in a ruffle. They're screaming racism and asking him to step down. Come on. Really? What's up with that? Like he isn't a light-skinned African American who doesn't use Ebonics except for when he is playing basketball with his homies.
Do you think people would have voted for him if he was blacker than black? WE are not that evolved. We are still running around asking people to don't ask and don't tell. We can't even give all people the right to marry. Just because we voted a Half-Rican American into office doesn't mean that we are all cured of racism, prejudice and discrimination. Only now, we get to have an open conversation about it and let's face it, every race has it's stereotypes. I got the lips to prove it. We all think and say things about each other based upon our gender, culture, religious affiliation, sexual orientation and color.
Reid just said what many people have thought. But because of people like him, we have an opportunity to start healing those old wounds. We have an opportunity to start seeing each other for what we really all are - human beings. That is the journey that will define this new era of change. Thank God for the light-skinned African American in office who gives us all food for thought. Now if I could only get my 40 acres and a mule.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
How Long Do I Get to Fail My Own Life?
How long do you get to hold someone else responsible for your life? How long do I get to fail my own life because I think my parents failed me, society failed me, love failed me, God failed me?
I was thinking about what makes me still believe in the back of my head that I'm no good. That I'll never amount to shit and that my family was right, society was right. I kept asking God - "Am I ever going to make it? Are people ever going to hear my voice and will it matter?" Pause, pause, pause. No. Then yes. The battle of the demons roar in my head like a bad chipmunk symphony. Then, I hear a quiet voice say, "you are what you think you are Christina."
I am what I think I am. Hmmm. So, if I believe myself to be those terrible things told to me over the years by my parents, family members, bitch-ass kids at school, racist pigs on and off campus, in and out of the workplace, society - then I am. It's that simple and I'll fail at what I want to do in my life which is to love and be loved.
What I realized after writing If My Scars Could Talk, is that I am still a work in progress. Four and a half years ago, I had no faith, no life, no hope, no soul. I was a drunk and a druggie living an empty, dark life without parole. Today, not so much. I'm free. I've been sober for four and a half plus years. I have found the LIGHT and am living the life I believe the Universe intended me to.
The bottom line is that I have to love myself and trust the process. I am a control freak and I have to come to terms with the fact that I'm in control of nothing. So it is written, so shall it be done. It takes time to break the chains that bind me. I have the tools now to deal with crap that used to baffle me. My biggest fear is that I won't amount to anything. My dream to be a singer, to be on stage is so dear to me that I can't breathe sometimes. I ache for it and can't imagine my life without music, theater or something creative.
I am what I believe I am. If I believe myself to be great - then by the grace of God - I already am.
I was thinking about what makes me still believe in the back of my head that I'm no good. That I'll never amount to shit and that my family was right, society was right. I kept asking God - "Am I ever going to make it? Are people ever going to hear my voice and will it matter?" Pause, pause, pause. No. Then yes. The battle of the demons roar in my head like a bad chipmunk symphony. Then, I hear a quiet voice say, "you are what you think you are Christina."
I am what I think I am. Hmmm. So, if I believe myself to be those terrible things told to me over the years by my parents, family members, bitch-ass kids at school, racist pigs on and off campus, in and out of the workplace, society - then I am. It's that simple and I'll fail at what I want to do in my life which is to love and be loved.
What I realized after writing If My Scars Could Talk, is that I am still a work in progress. Four and a half years ago, I had no faith, no life, no hope, no soul. I was a drunk and a druggie living an empty, dark life without parole. Today, not so much. I'm free. I've been sober for four and a half plus years. I have found the LIGHT and am living the life I believe the Universe intended me to.
The bottom line is that I have to love myself and trust the process. I am a control freak and I have to come to terms with the fact that I'm in control of nothing. So it is written, so shall it be done. It takes time to break the chains that bind me. I have the tools now to deal with crap that used to baffle me. My biggest fear is that I won't amount to anything. My dream to be a singer, to be on stage is so dear to me that I can't breathe sometimes. I ache for it and can't imagine my life without music, theater or something creative.
I am what I believe I am. If I believe myself to be great - then by the grace of God - I already am.
If My Scars Could Talk . . .
This poem was inspired by Street Poets, the Youth Mentoring Connection and my need to free myself from the ties that still bind me.
If my scars could talk - they would say FUCK YOU
Fuck you for tellin' me that I'm not good enough
that I'll never amount to shit
and that I'm worthless like my drunk ass father
If my scars could talk - they would say Fuck you
Fuck you for coming into my room at night
treating me, your daughter, like your wife
shattering my innocence and trust in others
If my scars could talk - they would say Fuck YOU
Fuck YOU for callin' me Nigger, Spic, Half-Breed, African Bush Baby, Moulie, Loser
and not letting me be a part OF
simply because OF the color of my skin
the depth of my lips
the texture and size of my nappy ass hair
If my scars could talk - they would say STOP
Stop letting the past color your present
They would say HEAL ME
LOVE ME the way the LIGHT loves your skin
your lips, your hair, your soul
Let GO
Live freely
Love deeply
But they can't
So I will
If my scars could talk - they would say FUCK YOU
Fuck you for tellin' me that I'm not good enough
that I'll never amount to shit
and that I'm worthless like my drunk ass father
If my scars could talk - they would say Fuck you
Fuck you for coming into my room at night
treating me, your daughter, like your wife
shattering my innocence and trust in others
If my scars could talk - they would say Fuck YOU
Fuck YOU for callin' me Nigger, Spic, Half-Breed, African Bush Baby, Moulie, Loser
and not letting me be a part OF
simply because OF the color of my skin
the depth of my lips
the texture and size of my nappy ass hair
If my scars could talk - they would say STOP
Stop letting the past color your present
They would say HEAL ME
LOVE ME the way the LIGHT loves your skin
your lips, your hair, your soul
Let GO
Live freely
Love deeply
But they can't
So I will
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)