Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Copied from The Guardian

Since Brunsli posted recently about getting her hands on a copy of Italia Vogue, July featuring black models and editorials, I figured I'd pass along an article I saw about the issue during my morning gossip trawl...

From The Guardian...

Fashion world stunned by Vogue for black

Reaction to Vogue Italia's latest 'black issue' is electrifying the industry, forcing the fashion world to reconsider its resistance to using non-white models, writes Sarah Mower

Jourdan Dunn on the cover of Italian Vogue

Jourdan Dunn on the cover of Italian Vogue's black issue Photograph: Public domain

It's nearly August, the retail fashion industry is in an uneasy slump, and summer issues of women's magazines are gaunt for want of advertising. Yet in the past four weeks, the 'black issue' of Italian Vogue has caused such a phenomenal demand at news-stands in Britain and the United States that Condé Nast, the publisher, has rushed to reprint and distribute 40,000 more copies.

The explosive content of what, by any standards, is a small-circulation magazine with an average monthly sale of 109,000, is now being spoken about as a cultural watershed in fashion. With the next show season six weeks off, its influence might finally end the 'white-out' that has come to dominate catwalks and magazine pages.

On Friday, a saleswoman on the till at WH Smith in Hammersmith Mall, west London, was proudly gesturing to a Vogue Italia propped up at her cashdesk. 'We've managed to get 10 more,' she said, as a group of black and mixed-race schoolgirls broke ranks in the queue and doubled back to the shelves, hollering with delight. They have reason to celebrate, and to hope. One of the covers of Vogue Italia features Jourdan Dunn, the 18-year-old who was discovered by a Storm scout at Primark in that same mall. Perhaps those girls were her former classmates.

Conceived by editor-in-chief Franca Sozzani, and shot by Steven Meisel from a roster of 18 new, established and former stars, the July 'black issue' sold out in Britain on arrival. That renowned fashion photographer Steven Meisel, the recluse whose lens has made the career of many a model (including Brits Lily Cole and Karen Elson) should be focusing on non-white subjects might have been expected to cause some debate. A mild examination of conscience among the model scouts, agencies, casting directors and designers was privately anticipated, without much hope of anything changing - in the same way that the endless skinny-model debate has resulted in little or no change in the industry. But no one anticipated the global interest.

'It has been unprecedented, a sensation, although that wasn't the aim,' said Jonathan Newhouse, chairman of Condé Nast International, who masterminded the reprinting and rerouting of unsold magazines in Italy to America and Britain. In America, the issue is shrink-wrapped and stickered with the words 'First Reprint. The Most Wanted Issue Ever'.

That is no hype, according to the Kenya Hunt, the young black style editor of Metro International News in New York. 'I've been watching the news-stands since the beginning. There are lines of women when they hear of a new shipment. It's a wide cross-section of women, girls, people my parents' age who read Ebony,' she said. 'There have been email chains about it. The news-stand guys are hustling, locking it up in the back and charging $25, $28, when the real price is $16. Yesterday, I saw it on eBay for $50. There is a climate shift. This is the year of the presidential election. And this at a time when magazine sales are really hurting.'

British retail newsagents, who are often reluctant to allot shelf-space to any non-populist publication, have also been scrambling to satisfy waves of people wanting to get their hands on the £6.50 edition. Borders has had to move issues around the country after a first-day sell-out, saying that demand was 654 per cent up on the previous issue. WH Smith's women's magazine head buyer Louisa Stokes confirmed: 'I took so many queries from customers and from individual store managers - I've not seen anything like it. Italian Vogue is normally delivered to only 45 stores, but customers all over the country are asking for it.'

The first printing was so scarce in London that Edward Enninful, the black Notting Hill-born Vogue fashion editor, who worked with Meisel to style the Naomi Campbell cover (one of three versions of the edition) was forced to scour the country for an issue. 'I couldn't believe it. I ended up phoning friends in Ellesmere Port in Cheshire, who found one for me in a corner newsagent. I am so excited. I never thought I would be able to see something like this - my people, my race, wearing the collections, being gorgeous, chic, real women in that way. But the most important thing is: this proves we are bankable. We can sell.'

That, of course, is the point. Evidence of commerciality, especially in anxious times, is more likely to shift industry thinking than any amount of political correctness. For years, the excuse proffered by advertising agencies for not signing black models to lucrative contracts, and by magazine editors who failed to feature women of colour on their covers, was a supposedly factual, 'they don't sell'.

Certainly, part of the grand rebuttal has been organised through the internet, influencing an industry that is far too used to listening to its own circle of insider voices.

Sola Oyebade, chief executive of Mahogany Model Management, has been running a Facebook, text and email campaign in an attempt to make the issue the biggest-selling Vogue ever. 'We believe there's industry apartheid and this is something that the black community does feel very strongly about. I've had so many calls from people asking where they can get their hands on a copy. I've had shops like Harvey Nichols ring me up, telling me we're causing them a lot of problems with supply, so we've been liaising with them, too. Our fashion industry is institutionally racist. The explanation for why they don't use black models is always that we don't sell, but this shows that's not true. Black people are among the highest consumer spenders in the UK for material goods.'

Agencies are busy scrambling to catch up. London-based, Nigerian-born designer Duro Olowu has fought to cast black girls in his show for the past three seasons. 'I'd phone agencies, and there would be silence. Now, people will have a responsibility to make sure they have black models in their shows,' he said. 'Anybody who doesn't will look an idiot.'

However, the truth is that it has taken two central establishment leaders - Sozzani and Meisel - to make the subject even discussable in fashion circles.

Just a few months ago, anyone who voiced opinions like Olowu's would have been regarded as naïve, eccentric or speaking out of turn and in danger of ostracism. 'I wrote a piece about the absence of black models a year ago,' said Kenya Hunt. 'and no one wanted to talk about it.' Now, she says, everyone is rushing to quote it.

As Sarah Doukas of Storm, the agency that discovered Jourdan Dunn and manages Alek Wek, put it, the success of the 'black issue' 'has implications for all of us to now fully embrace the diversity within our industry, and to exploit our creative resources to celebrate our cultural and social differences.

It is, after all, a long overdue wake-up call for an industry whose precarious future will rely on reaching global markets that do not resemble the freakish army of half-starved six-foot white girls who have come to represent the Western ideal.

As Barack Obama has it, it's time for a change. Though it may seem forced to link politics with fashion, history proves that the dominant aesthetic of any era can only reflect the mood of the times. And just as in politics, what just might revolutionise fashion now is that enough white people, too, are bored to death and impatient with the way things look out there.

Speaking out

Jourdan Dunn, the teenage supermodel who was first spotted in a Primark store in west London, was interviewed in The Observer Magazine in April after she had criticised London fashion week - and its catwalks - for being too white. She spoke about race and role models ...

· On being spotted: 'Everybody says I was spotted shopping in Primark. I wasn't shopping, I was with my friend. She wanted to go in, I wanted to go home - and we were just mucking about in the sunglasses section.'

· On her comments about London Fashion Week and race: 'It needs to be said because I think about these things and other girls do, too.'

· On the reaction to what she said: 'The way people said I was stupid made me feel horrible, saying fashion's a business so they need to use models who sell things.'

· On Naomi Campbell's plan to establish a modelling agency to promote different races: 'Naomi's idea is good. I'd do an agency for black girls and Asian and Spanish, because there aren't enough of them on the runway either.'

· On posing: 'I like having spikes coming out of my head or being in something I'd never wear.'

· On being away from home: 'I miss out on getting on my brothers' nerves, so when I get back I have to get on their nerves on purpose to catch up.'




Thursday, July 17, 2008

Breaking News...

I have a white hair.

Actually I have quite a few white hairs some on my head and others in more interesting places...like my eyelashes. But this white hair is standing up mischievously right in front of my head. This is a dilemma for me. You see I noticed the hair because I have selected yet another brand and shade of hair color. I was looking in the mirror strategically planning the color application and wondering with some nervousness how it might turn out. And there was the hair just about waving at me.
I actually like white hair. My grandfather had a headful of snowy white hair and my father definitely has more white than black. Gram also had spectacularly white hair. But you'd never know it because whenever she 'washed' her hair it would magically turn jet black. And I won't even mention all my white pigtail wearing great-aunts who were all full of sparks and fun times. White hair that is actually white is quite gorgeous. A headful actually looks timeless to me. You can't really tell how old someone with all-white hair is. They look cool without trying. At least to me.
So while I am not very enamored of my natural hair color...an almost forgotten shade of muddy brown, I don't necessarily want to cover the white. Ideally I'd like to color the brown and leave the white to grow in as it will. Have my cake and eat it too. But the nice consultants at Clairol say no to that. So until the white hairs really take charge I guess they will have to fall in line.

Monday, July 14, 2008

Dry spell...

So as I sit and type, I am procrastinating. I am back in school. In eighteenth grade, as my mother jokes. Last January, just for giggles, I hustled together an application to Columbia School of Journalism. I got in! Who knew? So I am back in school. It's been harder than I though to get back into the swing of being a student. I love the program. I'm taking Reporting and Writing and a New Media Skills course. I'm great in class, but I've been taking a little longer to get my stride with the stuff out of class and the rest of my life.

The worst thing happened right after my first class. Gram passed. It's one of those things you know will happen one day, you just don't want it to happen any time in the foreseeable future. But Gram decided she was ready to leave us and she did, with a dramatic flourish. So I ended the first week of classes by going home to New Orleans. It was my great honor to eulogize her. I thought I was fine. I really do believe that my Gram is at peace and I feel very fortunate to have had her in my life for so long. She was definitely one of my favorite people. She is responsible for my optimism and sense of adventure, my sense of humor and love for telling stories. So it was a little odd starting journalism school at the same time as I had to say goodbye to her. But by the end of my week in New Orleans and most definitely by the time I hit the tarmac in New York, all the reserve I mustered up for the trip home crumbled. And over the next few weeks, I slowly unravelled at the edges. I lost my focus in school. And just generally felt disoriented. I kind of arbitrarily decided that July was time for me to get it back together. So I am working at it.

At the same time, one of the best things happened. I gave up the only apartment I'll probably ever be able to afford in Manhattan to move in with the person I hope to be with...well, forever. That seems weird to even type. I was not tragically single so it has been a bit of a whirlwind of transitions and decisions. It was brought to my attention that I really don't write that much about my 'personal life' in my blog, specifically relationships. I don't intend to start. Rats, right? But we met, we clicked, and we decided to get on with it. So I'm going with the flow and hoping for the best. Well, it seemed like it would be a really good idea to move in together over the summer before I started taking classes full time in the fall. But I now believe there is never a good time to move. And moving when you are starting a new endeavor is stressful. Moving while losing a loved one was more than I could take. So I was not very graceful about the whole thing. But it's done. I know it's the right decision. I lived through my mother's Scarlett O'Hara moment when I told her about it. And now all is well. Or getting there. But it's caused a lot of introspection.

I am the only daughter of an only daughter. It wasn't until I actually thought about the implications of committing to someone else that I really realized how much of my identity is wrapped up in being independent. And I guess I never really believed the other relationships I've been in were permanent, because it had never really occurred to me before that I might miss being single. Maybe that's why I haven't written about the other relationships. They took up my time, but never really changed the trajectory of my life. I can't say I didn't think it would ever happen--meeting someone that I wanted to commit to--but I guess I was OK with the possibility it might not. It's fair to say I thought it was more likely I'd meet someone I wanted to date. So when I went to Slish's Superbowl party back in February, I had no idea what would happen next.

So once there's more to tell, I guess I will. For now, I am very happy to be sharing my very crazy, unsettled life with someone I love very much. Nairobi was not as thrilled about the move. But that's a different story altogether...

Monday, June 09, 2008

Where have I been?

Life has been like a roller coaster. Blogging just hasn't made it to the top of my to-do list, but I figured a quick note wouldn't hurt. I stopped working at UrbanIvy and started attending it instead. I moved. Anyone of these three would have been enough to hold my attention hostage, but together they definitely got the best of me. So I'm here. Eventually I'll get my wits about me and start writing again...but not today...

Saturday, April 12, 2008

Jigga What...Jigga Who?


A seemingly inconsequential popular culture event provides an opportunity to debate the state of media, the ongoing obfuscation of the relative importance of African American artists to mainstream popular culture, and the widely alarming recalcitrance to portray black people as anything other than pathological.

The marriage of two of the most lucrative popular culture icons in the country, race notwithstanding, is apparently not news. It's hard to imagine a figure more ubiquitous than Jay-Z to hip hop or Beyonce to pop, but I guess if Eminem married Britney that would be a big yawn too if they did so after six years (!) of anticipation and speculation.

I had to see pictures of Eva Longoria's wedding. Apparently she is more newsworthy than Beyonce and Jay-Z.

As someone who generally believes no one's wedding (even that of a celebrity) is 'news' but a private, family event, the mainstream media's claim that no one cared about this particular celebrity wedding news strains credulity to the point of exhaustion.

To be clearer... Two black people get married. According to the statistics we are usually bombarded with, that in and of itself should be worthy of an interruption of you usual programming. I distinctly recall reading and watching several features that suggested African American women were now more likely NOT to get married in their lifetime than not.

A black man gets married. According to the statistics we are usually bombarded with, if he's not dead or in jail or on the down-low or just trifling, the last thing a black man wants to do is get married. To a black woman.

A black woman becomes the wife of a black man who apparently wanted to become her husband. If we extrapolate from the kinds of media coverage we usually get of black people and popular culture, this is the equivalent of a Bigfoot sighting or a high-def shot of the Loch Ness Monster. Right?

The man who gave us Big Pimpin got married, people. And mainstream media thinks that is not news. Think about that...

Wednesday, April 02, 2008

Weird...




You Are Likely an Only Child



At your darkest moments, you feel frustrated.

At work and school, you do best when you're organizing.

When you love someone, you tend to worry about them.



In friendship, you are emotional and sympathetic.

Your ideal careers are: radio announcer, finance, teaching, ministry, and management.

You will leave your mark on the world with organizational leadership, maybe as the author of self-help books.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

A More Perfect Union...

Even more brilliant than I could ever have imagine...

Barack, do you reject *and* denounce black people?

So Barack, do you reject *and* denounce black people?

This whole dust-up is really whites asking Obama to reassure them that black people aren't mad about racism anymore or at least that the ones who are are 'outside the mainstream.' It's Obama being cornered at the water cooler and being pressured to say he's not like 'the others' so everybody can go back to pretending race is not their issue with which to grapple.

I'll be watching because never before has a black man attempted this maneuver so publicly. But don't get it twisted, black people working in white America walk this tightrope everyday. At the lunch table, when someone makes a rude comment...when Imus makes a joke about black women...when OJ's name is invoked...

Black people in close proximity to white people are inveighed to reject unconcentrated, problematic 'blackness'- the kind that makes whites break out in a cold sweat...

Usually, of course, this ritual is writ small. The response required is a head nod or a chuckle signaling all that this black person takes no offense at the past and ongoing wrongs that might wound those other black people. The insinuation, of course, is not just that 'they' have no right to be wounded and to consequently cry out in pain and rage. 'They' are at it again...whining, crying, complaining about indignities, slaps, and blows that could easily be made inconsequential. Not by redress, but by 'their' silence...if they would only shut up...and go away. You, Representative Black Person, isn't that right? Couldn't all these problems be solved if 'they' would just stop their wailing and moaning? Notwithstanding that 'they' are our siblings, parents, grandparents, friends, neighbors, acquiantances, mere familiar faces...I don't know a black person who hasn't been asked to reject them as the cost for admission to what so many legion were unjustly denied.

In the script, we- as Representative Black People- are supposed to enthusiastically, even stridently, reject black pain and rage. We then must assure that, in fact, we've never even experienced the malady. But what usually happens instead is that, in lieu of reciting our lines as written, we stand quietly and the whites present en scene go on with their dialogue as if we had delivered an Oscar-worthy performance. Some dunderheaded black people do go so far as to actually say their lines. They are celebrated by white folks in myriad ways, their names held aloft for other black folks to venerate...Clarence Thomas, Ward Connerly, Condoleezza Rice...They will reenact their monologues at small cocktail parties and large convention halls with little provocation.

Make no mistake, tonight Barack Obama is being given the opportunity to be similarly laureled. But Barack is much smarter than the aforementioned. To date, even other black people have underestimated his ability to avoid passionately delivering the Oath. He has managed thus far to get by with the head nod. Not too long ago though, Hilary Clinton upped the ante. On behalf of white folks at water coolers everywhere, she indicated they would not be accepting the usual tacit compromise. She wanted to hear the words. Maniacally she demanded, "Say it. Say it, Barack." And Barack subversively said the words while making Hillary's command for the performance transparent. "Is this what you want me to say? That I reject and denounce black rage. OK, if it makes you feel better. Hand that script to me and I'll read it, but this is a very strange request you are making." And that was the rhetorical tongue in cheek, because we all knew that strange request is made all the time, even as I type...

So white folks have regrouped. Come back with something stronger for Barack's ass. "Boy....I mean Barack...everyone of you smart Negroes done figured out you need to sidestep Jesse and Reverend Al...(it was that SNL carton that really got white folks all steamed)...and now you don't even blink when we ask you to answer for Farrakhan? Well, we gonna have to come back with a real switch for that ass..." And that switch is Jeremiah Wright. A black man that most white people have never even heard of, but we'll give them a clip so they will quickly understand that we are asking you to turn on one of your own, one that you know, one real close to you, one that has done nothing but love and clean up after the wounded flesh racism has left behind on the Southside of Chicago. "We want you to spit on him in front of everybody. We're going to dress him up in rags, push him out, and make you-- in front of everybody--finish him off."

Make no mistake, that is the spectacle that is expected when Barack Obama makes a speech addressing the comments and his connection to Reverend Jeremiah Wright. At least as white folks see it. And to some measure that is the mise-en-scene...

But for black folks, the drama is different for Barack. He is Denzel standing in Glory...waiting for the lash...

Denzel Washington got the Oscar for that tear. That tear that for some signalled submission, but for those of us in the know, from that same womb, was a tear of defiance...

So today, I am filled with anxiety...but still hopeful. So far, Obama has shown himself to be more consummate than any of could ever have hoped. But I feel like I am sitting beneath the biggest circus tent ever, waiting to see Barack Obama be fired out of a cannon or to attempt a quadruple trapeze somersault without a net below. And I have always HATED the circus. HATED the circus. I want him to pull this off so badly and I am ashamed that I am even a little afraid for him, afraid that even that twinge of fear is a little betrayal of my confidence in his abilities.

I am also filled with respect, because I have never attempted to push myself the way Barack Obama has pushed himself. Perversely, where he finds himself today is an awesome testimony to his ambition, his courage. To me, whatever happens after this, he is like Thurgood Marshall, like Malcolm X, like Ida Wells Barnett, like W.E.B. DuBois, like Martin Luther King, Jr, like Shirley Chisholm...because he has stepped into the full awesomeness of his own possibility and not been diminished by the limitations society all too often successfully imposes on blackness, and black people. That he is even tested this way, is testimony to how far he has come.

Those heroes were amazing because they dared live in the beautiful complexity of their humanity while black. **I'll leave that for you to chew on and come back to it another day. Because there is no such thing as a Magical Black Leader who lives life to the fullest and speaks truth to power because they are so ethereal and preternatural. We all are Magical, if we dare to conjure.**

But I digressed, this speech that Barack Obama is so awesomely game to give in Philadelphia tonight, directly addressing his relationship to Reverend Jeremiah Wright is an attempt to force him to either betray his African American base by publicly rejecting an elder and losing face or to lose the delicate, fragile, spider-web fine support he has woven together from white people. Either outcome is fine with Hillary Clinton, Rush Limbaugh, Geraldine Ferraro, and every other angry white person that Barack Obama has Matrix-moved around so far. I don't care what he says. I understand what this is all about. All those years wasted on postmodern, psychoanalytic theory. This is a mimetic moment. This is metaphor. This is spectacle. This is the Panopticon.

Obama, gird yourself for your moment in the arena. I only wish there were more of us who had been where you are going so that someone could tell you what to say. Because tonight, make no mistake, you are going where no black person has gone before. If you vanquish tonight, there is no mistaking that you are the baddest black man alive. If you vanquish tonight, you will have proven that, like Neo, you in fact are the one who can do it where and how none of us has had the opportunity to do it before.

**Thank you, Anna, for the link to the transcript of Obama's comments. Hopefully, there will be a video clip soon.**

Thursday, March 13, 2008

Lent and Lies....

Actually this is two different topics...

The Northeast is not a gentle place to spend Lent. As much as I love living in New York, there is one bit of Southern snobbery that I have to confess. It is nearly impossible to find a good plate of fried fish around here. For some reason there isn't a very wide variety of good frying fish around here. I like freshwater fish, especially trout, and I just can't find it.

So Lent and its meatless Fridays can be difficult. But tomorrow...There will be fried fish.

On another front...I am now intrigued with this new show "The Moment of Truth." I don't understand why people succumb to it. Way too many questions, for way too little dough.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Yawn...


Not that I care anymore, but I feel it my duty as a keen observer of popular culture and formerly bitter critic of the whole damn situation to report that Star and Al have split up.

I'm over it. There is no schedenfreude. What, really, can one say? Sigh. Everything I type I end up deleting because, what's the point? What were either of them thinking?

Sunday, March 09, 2008

Spring forward, fall back...

This year Daylight Savings Time starts three weeks early. So apt. Since the year has started, I've been pushing ahead at a much faster pace. One can be methodical without being slow. A few weeks ago, I acted on resolving a few issues that I've been abiding with for months. What is the point of more time for a situation that will inevitably end the same no matter when the action is taken? Do it now. A jolt to the system? Yes. Finding myself at a point I knew I'd come to eventually, only much sooner than I actually imagined I'd arrive... Perhaps I was putting off the inevitable not to stretch time but to freeze it. Having made a decision, if I don't take action, can I alter the inevitable? I don't know. But I am certain that my attempts to find the answer to that question have only ever wasted time, my time. Spring forward, girl. Let the rest fall back.

Friday, February 29, 2008

Leap Year

So if you're feeling froggy, you ought to jump...
Now indeed is the time for moving forward boldly, unequivocally even. And it's days like today that get me thinking about the serendipity of opportunity. Some come around in a commonplace way, like stair treads raising on an escalator. Others though have a rare quality that heighten the senses. Mundane or miraculous...jump at chances. Take them.

Saturday, February 23, 2008

State of the Black Union 2008



I'm not going to say anything about Tavis' pouting and whining this week. The important thing is that The State of the Black Union 2008 is being broadcast live on C-SPAN from New Orleans. Turn off Flavor of Love 3 and watch it.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Eleganza Mack


Here's Will Ferrell dressed like he's headed to a Superlounge at the Essence festival...or a Maude audition...

Monday, February 11, 2008

Therefore do not worry...

When you walk through a dark room...do you take small steps? do you stick your hand out in front of you? do you push ahead until you bump into something? And once you make your way across, do you flick the switch and flood the room with light? Do you continue to navigate in the dark? Or do you just stay in bed waiting for the sunrise.

There is nothing worth doing in life that doesn't require a confrontation with darkness, a reckoning with fear. And while it seems some days that fear gets the better part of me, truth be told, when I look back I realize that it hasn't. I have gone forward despite uncertainty. In fact, darkness itself has sometimes pushed me toward the light.

I suppose like many mothers and daughters, it took me a awhile to realize that the woman who birthed me was human, fallible, and overwhelmed with nothing but the best intentions for me. I often wondered if she and I met as strangers would we be friends. But life being the wonderful journey that it is, we --so different- are two individuals who needed to meet. Because we are a lesson for one another. And I don't think either of us would have gotten the point had we not been yoked to one another. We are very different people.

Ever since I was young, I have realized that my way of seeing the world was not the same as hers. And my mother realized the same. We were at odds for a long time because her solution was to compel me to defer to her perspective and my solution was to forge ahead anyway. The struggle took a lot out of both of us. Like any child, I wanted my mother's encouragement. I wanted her approval. I was hurt and angry that I couldn't seem to please her with my accomplishments or to inspire her with my dreams. What I said about the world and my place in it seemed to strike the wrong chord, even anger her. And to hold back heartache, I became stoic and very stubborn.

One day. One blessed day, we realized that we were fighting the wrong fight. It finally occurred to me that my mother wanted to protect me, even if she had to hold me back to do it. And my mother realized that my life, while different, was still very much connected to hers. That no matter how far or how foreign, my compass was always calibrated to home. It took some adjustment, but we have learned to learn from one another. We have learned not just to love, but to like one another. When I encounter an obstacle, she concedes at the outset that she has no point of reference from which to direct me. She offers her support and sometimes her analysis. And I continue to learn that I can discern my own way. To liberate and affirm my ability to make choices for myself...

I am also left to figure my own way through the dark. I suppose eventually we all are faced with that realization. That no parent, no mentor, no guide, no other can make what is our own way in the world. That we must do for ourselves. If we are fortunate, we will find souls who are willing to walk with us. But inevitably we must release the fantasy that someone will walk before us or leave a trail of breadcrumbs for us to find, for every life's journey is unique unto itself. If we do not come to terms with this truth, we fall short of what is possible. We may remain safe, but we will not become wise. We won't be hurt, but we will miss the journey.

It took me a long time to let go of my want for a mentor. I finally realized it was really a desire for approval and the type of childlike care that none of us who accepts the lucidity of maturity can ever wrap themselves in again. To have someone else make me feel better, what a respite that would be. I took a deep sigh. And grew up. I have to do that myself. Otherwise I will always be dependent on other people. And not know my own way. Beyond the darkness and fear is my best self and my highest aspiration. May that faith be enough to fortify me as I once again leave what is known for what is next.

Wednesday, February 06, 2008


I can't tell you how many nights I have not been able to get to sleep. And it is absolutely torturous because I actually enjoy sleeping and need to sleep in order to form coherent sentences during the day. But I cannot get to sleep on time. Then I wake up late and I'm fifteen minutes behind for the rest of the day.

There is something about having an animal living your house. I was thinking about why I wasn't sleeping when I heard a really loud noise. Nairobi and I locked eyes. Then without missing a beat, she stood up, jumped out of bed and came with me to see what the trouble was. And I realized that either she's 1) fearless, 2) incredibly loyal, or 3) not too bright. Having seen her purposefully hide from strangers and people she didn't like, I have to conclude it's a combination of 1 & 2. She' s pretty clever. But I think it's pretty cool that even when I'm alone, at least she has my back. I wonder what she would have done if there was trouble.

Given all the press Chicco and Marcellus get, I figured I'd post her picture. As you can see, she still wears her broken bell.

Tuesday, February 05, 2008

Happy Mardi Gras!

If you don't know the Soul Rebels, you ought to. I can't take y'all to the Mardi Gras. But this is just a taste of how it's done.