So, Lauryn Hill has given birth to her sixth child - the father of whom remains a mystery to most (I'm assuming there are those privileged enough to be in the know). Her other five children were fathered by Rohan Marley, son of Bob Marley.
For those of you that are not familiar with the story, Cliff's notes version follows: rumor had it that Rohan left Lauryn while she was pregnant for some Brazilian model chick. However, today Lauryn put the rumors to rest, by taking her story to the new Barbara Walters - Twitter. She stated....
This got me to ponderin' (deep thinking in the south)- red-head stepped child number six aside, here is an intelligent, independent, established woman that has consented and committed to having not one, not three, but 5 children with this man out of wedlock. Perhaps I'm not hip to the new way of doing things, but I do not understand how/why individuals can agree to bring multiple children into the world - a life long commitment in its own right - but cannot come to a point where they can commit to marriage. I can't see myself entering into a relationship with a man thinking..."yeah, I think he'll be good enough to make a baby with, but I don't think he's husband material."
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Change...
I like words. I like to understand their meanings. I like to know how they came to be defined and how they interact with each other. I like how they form on our tongues. I like how we can take one and have it mean several different things. I like how we give them charge. I like how they allow us to communicate.
One of the most interesting words to me, is the word "change". A single syllable word, that in it's simplest of definitions, Merriam Webster defines it as follows: : to become different: to make (someone or something) different: to become something else
It's a powerful word, we've given it great charge.
"Change", is inevitable - it's the one thing in life that's constant. We can't escape it, because even with great amounts of effort and planning, we can never foresee the force with which it will come. It's a funny thing, change. It's a beginning, never an end. It's filled with both hope and fear.
Tonight, I was talking with a friend that has come to a sort of cross-roads in her life; either she makes a change, or she's destined to remain in a hurtful, unhealthy existence. She has reached the decision to change, through a series of hurts and losses. One loss in particular - that's not definite-but seems to resonate the most, is a chance at love. It's also a chance at losing love, if she doesn't change.
Along the same lines, I recently lost a love. Someone whom I continue to love and whom I thought loved me. However, given the circumstances of our demise, I don't know if he does, or if he ever did for that matter. Our end was a catalyst for change in my life though. It's prompted self-reflection and a shift in focus and priorities. It's prompted new beginnings, which I suppose is a good thing.
I told her that it was. I continue to tell myself that it is. I've decided that I'm convinced of it.
As I sit here and write, I wonder if "change", which by definition means " to become something else", "to make (someone or something) different", is genuine. So, of course I look up the word "genuine". Which Merriam Webster defines as follows:
1.a :actually having the reputed or apparent qualities or character
I honed in on these definitions "sincerely and honestly felt or experienced" and "free from hypocrisy or pretense: sincere". This leads me to preclude, like many others, that "change" is only genuine and sustaining, when you embark upon it for yourself. There has to be a personal meaning and substance and purpose behind it.
.
I'm sleepy now. Perhaps I'll continue my thoughts on this tomorrow.
Really, I just wanted to get out some thoughts and re-awaken this blog...yet again. Oh well, it's okay. Perhaps, if I keep breathing life into it, it will eventually sustain itself.
Monday, September 17, 2012
My poor, poor blog.
Looks like I'm averaging one post per year - going to do sooooo much better! New post coming sooon...as in, I'm writing it now...and hoping that my Virgoan tendency to get stuck in minutia does not prevent me from posting promptly! :-)
Side Note: I really like the word "minutia". I like the way it forms on my mouth...
mə-ˈnü-sh(ē-)ə. <----Randomness at it's finest.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
What's in a name? Part 1
So on my hour long journey into work yesterday am - and it is a journey- I was listening to Joe Madison (aka The Black Eagle) on Sirus radio's The Power. I began listening in the middle of the show, so I didn't hear the genesis of the conversation, but there was a debate over the use of "Black vs. "African-American." Joe viciously defended his preference for being called an African-American - ferociously attacking a caller (probably more in part because she called him stupid, vs. any true connection to the term African-American) who basically questioned the need for the hyphenated moniker.
I suppose the arguments stayed true to those that have existed since this most recent name change (it went something like this - I'm paraphrasing of course): CALLER: It’s stupid - you weren't born in Africa, it's un-American, it’s divisive, etc. JOE: It doesn't matter if I wasn't born in Africa, my ancestors are from Africa, I have pride in my heritage, everybody else gets to know where they came from (and you called me stupid), etc.
Side note: As I write this, it has occurred to me that his staunch stance is especially peculiar, given the fact that his nickname is "The BLACK Eagle" - confused face?? Will he now be known as The AFRICAN-AMERICAN Eagle - I'll have to try and call in and ask him that on Monday.
Anyway, their one-sided debate concludes, (one-sided, cuz that's just how Joe rolls...especially if you incite him in some way) once Joe - in true Black Eagle fashion - hangs up on her. In the midst of the madness I'd just bared witness to, I was able to form a fairly thoughtful opinion about the topic and since this is my blog, I’m just going to put my two cents out there.
So, here’s the deal, I was born in 1977…far enough out of the radical 60’s and right on the cusp of the decade that would be defined by greed and excess (gotta love the 80’s). By the time I came around, “COLORED” was taboo and “BLACK” had been beautiful for quite some time…I mean, people were giving “five on the BLACK hand side” not the light side…what could be better than that? I digress.
Like I said, I was a child of the 80s – the term “African – American” had gained some momentum at this point, but when I described myself, or when I described people that looked like me, “black” was the term that I used. While in elementary school, I recall the school secretary – Mrs. Sledge – referring to my brother and me as “colored” – remember, this was now the mid-80s – the term “colored” had long been ousted. I don’t recall any maliciousness on her part, nor do I recall any particular angst towards her use of the term at the time, but later on when trying to come to terms with various aspects of my childhood, I do recall being bothered by it. For some reason, after my various life experiences, memories of that word being used to describe me had a different charge. For the sake of argument later in this post, it’s important to note that Mrs. Sledge was probably in her mid-60s at the time, which means she was born sometime in the 1920’s – a different era, with different experiences, different life references.
Flash Forward - through the 90’s and 2000’s the term “African-American” became more prevalent and it is now the politically-correct nomen of choice when referring to a group of black folks…usually, with little to no regard for their true ethnicity and/or origin of birth. I like to be real here, so let’s just get to it…when a non-black person sees another person with dark/black skin, that person is automatically thrown into the black category, or for the politically correct, African-American – ‘cuz, truthfully, they can’t tell us apart – I’m just saying. The reality (remember I like to deal in reality) is that there are many groups of black folk within the United States that are not direct descendants of the slaves that were brought to America – which is the group that the term is supposed to describe. The reality is, there are some black folk that are descendants of slaves that were dropped off elsewhere e.g., your black Hispanics, or you have black folk that actually came over from Africa (this time of their own free will), and the myriad of others that come from various countries, but happen to have dark skin and African features.
I say all this to say that I am not a proponent of the use of the term “African-American”. I don’t know if it’s just because “black” is what I know, it’s what I grew up with, or if I have some sort of innate animosity towards the use of the term. It could perhaps be a combination of both. In order to answer that, I think I have to start by going back to our school secretary, Mrs. Sledge – like I said, she was probably born circa 1920 – 1930, America was a very different country and at the time, the name for people that looked like me, was “colored”. That’s what she knew, that was her experience. Was there mal-intent behind her use of the term in the more modern setting – can’t say for sure, but I don’t think so.
Continuing on…I was reading that a lot of American blacks embraced the “African-American” moniker because, as a result of our history of slavery and the slave masters attempt to de-Africanize us, many of us were unable to trace our roots to a specific African nation and as I result, we just claimed the whole daggone continent. Now that’s Gangsta.
I get that, but I also wonder if it’s necessary – what is in this name that makes anything that has happened historically any different? Over time, we have collectively been identified as Negroes, Coloreds, Blacks, Afro-Americans, and now African-Americans, but other than the name, what has fundamentally changed about us and our collective experience? All right, now somebody tell me something I don't already know. Anyone? Bueller. Anyone? Bueller.
So I began to wonder, what is a name – the dictionary defines it as: 1. a word or a combination of words by which a person, place, or thing, a body or class, or any object of thought is designated, called, or known. 2. mere designation, as distinguished from fact.
I highlighted the second part of the definition, because it kind of speaks to me – a mere designation, as distinguished from fact; in other words a name is not meant to DEFINE, but to merely IDENTIFY or CATEGORIZE apart and separate from that which is fact. The FACTS are that we are united and defined by our experiences, those of which have been shaped, in part by the commonality of our skin color. The identifier doesn’t matter–an identifier is just a word and words are defined by their users.
TO BE CONTINUED…
I suppose the arguments stayed true to those that have existed since this most recent name change (it went something like this - I'm paraphrasing of course): CALLER: It’s stupid - you weren't born in Africa, it's un-American, it’s divisive, etc. JOE: It doesn't matter if I wasn't born in Africa, my ancestors are from Africa, I have pride in my heritage, everybody else gets to know where they came from (and you called me stupid), etc.
Side note: As I write this, it has occurred to me that his staunch stance is especially peculiar, given the fact that his nickname is "The BLACK Eagle" - confused face?? Will he now be known as The AFRICAN-AMERICAN Eagle - I'll have to try and call in and ask him that on Monday.
Anyway, their one-sided debate concludes, (one-sided, cuz that's just how Joe rolls...especially if you incite him in some way) once Joe - in true Black Eagle fashion - hangs up on her. In the midst of the madness I'd just bared witness to, I was able to form a fairly thoughtful opinion about the topic and since this is my blog, I’m just going to put my two cents out there.
So, here’s the deal, I was born in 1977…far enough out of the radical 60’s and right on the cusp of the decade that would be defined by greed and excess (gotta love the 80’s). By the time I came around, “COLORED” was taboo and “BLACK” had been beautiful for quite some time…I mean, people were giving “five on the BLACK hand side” not the light side…what could be better than that? I digress.
Like I said, I was a child of the 80s – the term “African – American” had gained some momentum at this point, but when I described myself, or when I described people that looked like me, “black” was the term that I used. While in elementary school, I recall the school secretary – Mrs. Sledge – referring to my brother and me as “colored” – remember, this was now the mid-80s – the term “colored” had long been ousted. I don’t recall any maliciousness on her part, nor do I recall any particular angst towards her use of the term at the time, but later on when trying to come to terms with various aspects of my childhood, I do recall being bothered by it. For some reason, after my various life experiences, memories of that word being used to describe me had a different charge. For the sake of argument later in this post, it’s important to note that Mrs. Sledge was probably in her mid-60s at the time, which means she was born sometime in the 1920’s – a different era, with different experiences, different life references.
Flash Forward - through the 90’s and 2000’s the term “African-American” became more prevalent and it is now the politically-correct nomen of choice when referring to a group of black folks…usually, with little to no regard for their true ethnicity and/or origin of birth. I like to be real here, so let’s just get to it…when a non-black person sees another person with dark/black skin, that person is automatically thrown into the black category, or for the politically correct, African-American – ‘cuz, truthfully, they can’t tell us apart – I’m just saying. The reality (remember I like to deal in reality) is that there are many groups of black folk within the United States that are not direct descendants of the slaves that were brought to America – which is the group that the term is supposed to describe. The reality is, there are some black folk that are descendants of slaves that were dropped off elsewhere e.g., your black Hispanics, or you have black folk that actually came over from Africa (this time of their own free will), and the myriad of others that come from various countries, but happen to have dark skin and African features.
I say all this to say that I am not a proponent of the use of the term “African-American”. I don’t know if it’s just because “black” is what I know, it’s what I grew up with, or if I have some sort of innate animosity towards the use of the term. It could perhaps be a combination of both. In order to answer that, I think I have to start by going back to our school secretary, Mrs. Sledge – like I said, she was probably born circa 1920 – 1930, America was a very different country and at the time, the name for people that looked like me, was “colored”. That’s what she knew, that was her experience. Was there mal-intent behind her use of the term in the more modern setting – can’t say for sure, but I don’t think so.
Continuing on…I was reading that a lot of American blacks embraced the “African-American” moniker because, as a result of our history of slavery and the slave masters attempt to de-Africanize us, many of us were unable to trace our roots to a specific African nation and as I result, we just claimed the whole daggone continent. Now that’s Gangsta.
I get that, but I also wonder if it’s necessary – what is in this name that makes anything that has happened historically any different? Over time, we have collectively been identified as Negroes, Coloreds, Blacks, Afro-Americans, and now African-Americans, but other than the name, what has fundamentally changed about us and our collective experience? All right, now somebody tell me something I don't already know. Anyone? Bueller. Anyone? Bueller.
So I began to wonder, what is a name – the dictionary defines it as: 1. a word or a combination of words by which a person, place, or thing, a body or class, or any object of thought is designated, called, or known. 2. mere designation, as distinguished from fact.
I highlighted the second part of the definition, because it kind of speaks to me – a mere designation, as distinguished from fact; in other words a name is not meant to DEFINE, but to merely IDENTIFY or CATEGORIZE apart and separate from that which is fact. The FACTS are that we are united and defined by our experiences, those of which have been shaped, in part by the commonality of our skin color. The identifier doesn’t matter–an identifier is just a word and words are defined by their users.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
If you know you're ignorant is it still blissful?
It's been a minute...I'm not really sure why. On a conscious level, I'm saying it's because I couldn't remember where I parked my blog, I haven't had time, I haven't had anything to write, etc. However, if experience and therapy have taught me anything, it's that the sub-conscious is far stronger than we give it credit. I suppose I've been away because I've been scared of what my reality is...what my truth is. That sounds melodramatic, but I suppose I'm a melodramatic type of person. I'm really trying to make this blog as uncensored as possible, but I don't know that I can. Just write whatever comes out...does my brain work that way...I'm not sure. I know that causes a great deal of frustration in my every day existence. I have great monologues and dialogues in my head all the time. For instance, the Best Buy Geek Squad has had my computer for the better part of a month - my rational self, my self that is trying to be led by God, remained calm, albeit borderline 'miffed' while dealing with the situation. However, my internal dialogue served up a heaping of...really mean spirited thoughts...that's about it. Watch out there now. God how I wish at times I could be THAT bitch. I imagine how much more freeing that might be. To say whatever is on your mind, no filter, no thought of what somebody else might think. Not necessarily with the intent to hurt someone else, but it just seems like it could do my emotional well being some good.
So today, I'm sitting in my blond boss' office, discussing a work related issue, when walks in our higher up, who begins discussing whatever it is he had to discuss. First and foremost, you have absolutely no idea what we're talking about, so what gives you the right to just walk in and interrupt...no 'excuse me', no nothing. Just your funny looking, pasty ass, walking into the midst of my space. Anyway, they proceed to discuss whatever it is they discuss, while I sit by giving my best 'interested' face (furrowed brow, nodding head, engaged posture, etc.), when the topic of a new colleague comes up - his name happens to be 'Tyrone'. When blond boss reveals his name to pasty higher-up, she says it in her best, most condescending 'black speak' - awkwardness immediately ensues, as she realizes that I'm still sitting there (got a little too comfortable Blondie). Of course I hear what she says, but I'm looking down at my paper, feigning complete ignorance about what has just occurred. Then, like a finally tuned machine, my excellent peripheral catches the awkward glance they exchange with each other followed by the glances they shoot back at my bowed head, as they try to determine whether or not I picked up on what just happened. It took all of about 5 seconds, but y'all know what I'm talking about. I felt like I was in that SNL Eddie Murphy sketch from back in the day, when he goes 'undercover' as a white person. LOL
I promise, every post will not put white people on blast...some of my best friend's are white people (that's for all the black people)... but y'all...meaning white people, can be really, really silly some times.
So today, I'm sitting in my blond boss' office, discussing a work related issue, when walks in our higher up, who begins discussing whatever it is he had to discuss. First and foremost, you have absolutely no idea what we're talking about, so what gives you the right to just walk in and interrupt...no 'excuse me', no nothing. Just your funny looking, pasty ass, walking into the midst of my space. Anyway, they proceed to discuss whatever it is they discuss, while I sit by giving my best 'interested' face (furrowed brow, nodding head, engaged posture, etc.), when the topic of a new colleague comes up - his name happens to be 'Tyrone'. When blond boss reveals his name to pasty higher-up, she says it in her best, most condescending 'black speak' - awkwardness immediately ensues, as she realizes that I'm still sitting there (got a little too comfortable Blondie). Of course I hear what she says, but I'm looking down at my paper, feigning complete ignorance about what has just occurred. Then, like a finally tuned machine, my excellent peripheral catches the awkward glance they exchange with each other followed by the glances they shoot back at my bowed head, as they try to determine whether or not I picked up on what just happened. It took all of about 5 seconds, but y'all know what I'm talking about. I felt like I was in that SNL Eddie Murphy sketch from back in the day, when he goes 'undercover' as a white person. LOL
I promise, every post will not put white people on blast...some of my best friend's are white people (that's for all the black people)... but y'all...meaning white people, can be really, really silly some times.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
In the beginning...
And so it begins, my journey into the abyss that is blogging. Yes, I was one of the ones that said 'I don't get it,' and thought those that did were having to feed some narcissistic need, or were on some grab for their piece of the 'fifteen minutes of fame' pie, but alas, here I am, throwing my two cents into the pot.
Why now, why here? Well, now because I've had two beers and my small, yet effective buzz has prompted me to take an even closer look into my already self-absorbed existence and here, because it's free.
I've got lots to say, even though I never say it; what better way to have my say then on a relatively anonymous blog? I wonder if it might eventually take the place of my standing bi-weekly therapy sessions...at $200 a pop, one can rest assured a more free-spirited (emphasis on the free)/creative approach to the calming of my spirit would be a welcomed change. Did I mention I do this life thing drug free (recreational and prescription)...no mind numbing here folks. On a day to day basis, i'm forced to look at myself in the mirror...forced to deal, and it ain't always pretty.
As the blog title suggests, I am a black girl...woman to be exact. This is my space, my domain, where I hope my internal dialogue will manifest into a living, breathing thing. I suppose I believe if I can get it out of my head, it will all begin to make sense. Whether or not that is the case i don't know -but I suppose this life experiment will produce results soon enough.
So how does the black girl do it - I guess that remains to be seen.
Here's to the journey...
Why now, why here? Well, now because I've had two beers and my small, yet effective buzz has prompted me to take an even closer look into my already self-absorbed existence and here, because it's free.
I've got lots to say, even though I never say it; what better way to have my say then on a relatively anonymous blog? I wonder if it might eventually take the place of my standing bi-weekly therapy sessions...at $200 a pop, one can rest assured a more free-spirited (emphasis on the free)/creative approach to the calming of my spirit would be a welcomed change. Did I mention I do this life thing drug free (recreational and prescription)...no mind numbing here folks. On a day to day basis, i'm forced to look at myself in the mirror...forced to deal, and it ain't always pretty.
As the blog title suggests, I am a black girl...woman to be exact. This is my space, my domain, where I hope my internal dialogue will manifest into a living, breathing thing. I suppose I believe if I can get it out of my head, it will all begin to make sense. Whether or not that is the case i don't know -but I suppose this life experiment will produce results soon enough.
So how does the black girl do it - I guess that remains to be seen.
Here's to the journey...
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