Thursday, September 18, 2008
Monday, August 18, 2008
GOD DON'T MAKE NO MISTAKES
GOD/Allah/Elohim is so faithful!!! Well, everyone, I haven't blogged in over a month, which officially makes me a non-blogger's blogger. But I have a really good excuse. Sleep. Yes. I have been sleeping with the sun--when it goes down, so do I. Too, I began teaching Creative Writing at P.S. 208 for the summer and it's been amazing! Being somewhere with something to do at 8 A.M. every morning has been new for me. But I just got my evaluation and shhhh...I got a perfect score--the only instructor to achieve this or so I was told--but maybe everyone got told this! It's really all about the kids and I'm so happy that they are having a good time. Wednesday is the final day of the program and I will miss the kids and the neighborhood! The neighborhood really embraced my kids who roamed around playing reporter. I'll post pictures later. For the record, I have to disagree with Busta Rhymes who in his song "In the Ghetto" says, "If you ain't never been to the @#%*! ghetto don't come to the @#%*! ghetto!"
I say wherever my people are there I will be--including and especially the ghetto. However, I'm being asked to work in a really "priveleged" neighborhood this school year--this could be a first and I still haven't decided. Lord willing, wherever I end up, it will be where I am supposed to be.
To my friend Angel: I know that you're reading this blog. I can't wait to sift through your blogs that I've missed!!!
And speaking of missing, I've been missing out on a lot lately in the world of athletics--The Dream Team or Redeem Team is in full effect! LeBron--wow!
Dwyane Wade--wow! Meanwhile, I own vintage DREAM TEAM jerseys--Magic Johnson and Joe Dumars to be exact. Barcelona 1992...How old was I then? 10. Wow.
I gotta take pictures so you'll believe me. But I must say the most amazing thing I read today (yes, I'm like months late to this story) is that Dwyane Wade bought his mother a church!!!
Glory be to God!
And in more sporting news, no no, I'm not going to mention Thierry Henry (check back tomorrow for that ;) , today it's my favorite American athlete that I have to praise!
My little cousin began his first day of 10th grade today--he's living away from home, private school, basketball...He's going to be a good man. I have nothing to do with his athletics, but his character--that's my interest--and so far, so good!
Amen.
Amen.Monday, June 30, 2008
IT'S A VIRGIN THING, YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND
I’ve always been the virgin in the family, so to speak. And that’s fine with me, “not gettin any” and Danielle have been intrinsic since adolescence or around the time when it became cool to talk and more importantly do things that I didn’t and still don’t.When your first college roommate (currently serving in the U.S. Army stationed in Germany) sends you a MySpace message reading “You still ain’t get none yet?”
Or you’re in 11th grade and your friends say, “Make sure to call me when YOU get some!” Talk about call-waiting. But ya know it’s ‘like that,’ it’s been like that and I don’t mind.
Granted I’ve had my share of friends that are speed-racers or as the ladies in the beauty shops would say “fast” but I also have had some sensible friends who like my speed racer buddies all after riding The Intercourse Express told me the ride, be it short or long , is not worth the cost and if they could do it again- they wouldn’t do IT again.
But more importantly, I have known women who have not had the opportunity to be virgins fore their virginity was stolen by someone during their childhood. Note stolen is PC for rape. But I’ve noticed many of my female acquaintances prefer the term molested. Rape is too harsh. Too vile. I mean rape is what we grew up seeing in those movies where the woman couldn’t get out of bed or couldn’t move forward or was left broken after she was “raped.” Yet stories of “molestation” are very common. I started piecing how common together after I, while waiting on the (6) at a subway platform in the Bronx began talking to a woman about the hypersexual imagery on television and my project… and how some women were raped causing them to become overprotective of their daughters…etc. I must say God is faithful, because how do you begin talking about this to a stranger. How did this conversation start? I know you’re wondering. Well, I saw a young mom maneuvering a baby and a big baby stroller up an escalator. So I asked to snap her picture, she gave the OK and the rest was herstory.
Come to find out, she was molested at an early age. Of course she never sought counseling or talked about it but…this isn’t TV. Fore many women get out of bed the next morning after being “molested” and ACT as if nothing happened…
So, I don’t want people in any way think that I am an Airhead to the trials and tribulations of my sisters because I promote virginity. No not at all, you see I realized that this was a little too big to not mention. It’s too big and too common as I can remember (very fresh still) when, one day while cooking up tofu and seaweed for my roommate and best-friend (both who barely tasted the food) we were all stationed in the kitchen and I had read some article on some superstar who’d been raped and so I began commenting on how almost every girl I’ve befriended has had some kind of story of molestation/rape in their past and how I never have a story to share in those intimate moments when it’s like ‘Ok now it’s my turn to share’ and my bf chimes in with “It happened to me.” I was like “What?”
That stamped it. There was something to this. And, like the girls/women I’ve known before her, she never told.
“It was my cousin,” she said. “My mom would’ve killed him.”
Yup. And I can go on and on from molestation stories to abortion stories.
Abortion. Let me get this in too, fore I can already hear the cheers or girls who’ve gone through this in support of my promoting virginity or the “hate” from girls who will say well, she doesn’t know anything…Let the record show that for the last two summers I’ve been given details of abortions: one pill kill and another vacuum…
Writing this is explainably-odd. Sigh. I’m telling a lot here.
Try having the details of an abortion told to you while you’re eating lunch.
No no rewind. Try having someone ask you your opinion of abortion two days before they’re scheduled to have one then try having the details of that abortion told to you while you’re eating lunch.
Afterwards, I remember the girl thanking me for letting her spiel. She said that it was “Cathartic.”
So, America, world…that’s me in a blogshell.
When it comes to the opposite sex I am cautious. I am picky.
And with all that being said, I don’t believe that anyone is perfect.
I hear this so often (from men especially) it’s become funny they say,“But no one is perfect!”
Duh. But I don’t let people use that as a cop out.
Ask any athlete—perfection is what you strive for be it attainable or not. If you’re not striving to be the best why be in the game?
Sex is beautiful. Hey, it got me here.
But Lord willing, for me, there won’t be teething rings before wedding rings.
Because there is thing called a “covenant” but that’s too much for this little blog.
And yes, I do have to bring up God because he brought me up. And no, I have no desire to promote any one religion be it Islam, Christianity or Scientology.
But without Help, I wouldn’t be here writing this and you wouldn’t be here reading it.
We live in a new time. Jumping off the bridge is no longer uncommon—it’s fashionable. I was in Starbucks in a restroom line and this lady in front of me is wearing these amazing six-inch heels. So I ask her if the comfort level. And we get to talking and she says, “Yeah, I think pain is fashionable.”
Perhaps your friendly neighborhood virgin missed something? I haven’t had TV in a years or read any fashion mags lately. And just today I did say that for the last couple of months (after someone sent me a text asking where I’ve been) I feel like I’ve been out in the wilderness but um…
No comment.
There is a reason that I’ve heard abortion details over sushi and molestation stories on trains… For everyone who seeks to understand their purpose it will be revealed.
Not to harbor those stories but to share them along with my virginity.
My mother deserves credit here, she taught me how to share and care. But more importantly she was frank (regarding sex). When I was a kid people thought I knew too much too early but really she vaccinated me against BS.
Isn’t snake anti-venom made out of snake venom and flu shots aren’t they …
Vaccinations are not 100 percent effective but they dramatically lower your risk, right?
And with that being said, I don’t think that it could be any clearer after reading this what I’m about and if not, stick around if you’re interested. Gosh, I thank my mom for being a good tree. Mashallah!
I know that in this world of positive self-deprecation and wonderfully false humility it’s cool to be down on oneself but I don’t think that pain or following is fashionable—even if it is. Now before someone asks me if I think I’m “cute,” “special” or “somebody?” Let me ask you. Do you like you? Meanwhile, I have a bag of clothes begging to be laundered; sinuses, a new job (that still won’t afford me to pay rent and do laundry in the same week) and now have to screen my phone calls because I STILL haven’t learned the art of saying no to folks (men) when they ask for the phone number. Ladies, perhaps you’ve noticed that men have gotten smarter—they now call your phone IMMEDIATELY after getting your number saying it’s so that you can have their number—but really it’s just to ensure you’ve given them the right number…Don’t we all share this story—guess that makes me a C student, eh?
But in some areas I score higher than average and those areas are the ones in which I seek to tutor.Too it’s summertime, and if there’s one thing we’re all in search of, it’s good fruit ;)
[Chalkboard art by my super G*rl Scout Khayla, 12 ]
Saturday, June 28, 2008
LOST IN TRANSLATION
So a Frenchman and an American are on the (E) Train sharing a copy of the Wall Street Journal when the Frenchman 
leans over to the American and says “Read this.”
Some woman had written in to an advice columnist for advice on colors to pack on her vacation.
No, she wasn’t headed to the valley of the Crips and Bloods...she was going to New Zealand and Fiji (hello, she was writing into WSJ).
The Frenchman says to the American, “Is she serious?”
Haha and so began this New Yorker’s bond with a Parisian.
“Poodle?” I said. “C’mon you have to know poodle!” “It’s a classic French stereotype—the woman walking in fact it’s called a French poodle!!!”
Two hours and 14 stereotypes (French and American) later J. and I see a woman walking a poodle in SoHo.
“Ah you mean that dog?” he said. A woman and her poodle had just walked past us on Thompson St.
“Yes! That’s a poodle!”
“But we are not in Paris we are in Soho,” he said.
“Maybe she was French,” I said.
“No, she was not French,” he said.
On the Staten Island Ferry the Frenchman got his first glimpse of his country's most famous gift to the United States, The Statue of Liberty. One hour later we'd moved on to discussing
"A joke!" J. said as we choked from laughter. Global fact #1. Athletes shouldn’t rap!
“In France we have rappers fake gangsters who imitate U.S…”
“U.S. Oh No,” I said. “You actually see the U.S. rap videos on TV in France?”
“Yes of course!” he said proudly. “I have a YO! MTV RAPS t-shirt.'
“Oh no,” I moaned.
“Why Oh No?” he said.
“Because,” I said, “the images of women, the women in these videos are…”
“Undressed,” he finished.
And at that, for the first time, I had to laugh.
Earlier in the day I had replied
“Whoohoo!” to a grey-haired Frenchman on the corner of 53td and Madison who’d spoken something to me (in French) which I (surprise, surprise) did not understand.
All I understood was Thierry Henry
“What did he say?” I whispered to J.?
J said, "He said is that you Thierry Henry?”
"Oh!" (note: for the day I unretired my Henry Euro 2008 jersey)
“Now can you explain this “Whoohoo?”” J asked as we headed up an escalator from the Dining Concourse of Grand Central Station. “I have a friend who lived here for some years and moved back to Paris and he says this, this “Whoohoo!?”
For 12 hours we took on New York and had conversation on
stinky cheeses, wine, advertising, photography, “whoohoo,” FAO Schwartz, SeanJohn, Thierry Henry, Volvic water, IAM (he says = best rap group in France), Statue of Liberty, real estate, Napoleon, Disney movies, non-Disney movies, Sophia Coppola, Thierry Henry, Mauritania, McDonald’s, roaches, rats, (He said,“I’ve heard that roaches here are bigger than the rats?”) hip hop, Domenech, Thierry Henry, “trainers” (sneakers), Harlem, Ethiopian food, Ginger Ale, Abercrombie & Fitch and every gap in-between…
But all day—the most funny, outside of Tony Parker rapping, was my French.
My favorite breakfast, an item I have nearly 3 mornings a week, I can not correctly pronounce. “Croissant.” And after going back and forth with J. for 5 minutes I made the decision that when in France I will have baguette. I can’t order what I cannot say.
” In fact,” I said, “I’m just not going to pronounce anything French involving Rs.”
“Could be a problem,” he said.
“Why,” I said.
“Ahm,” he said. “Thierry Henry.”
leans over to the American and says “Read this.”Some woman had written in to an advice columnist for advice on colors to pack on her vacation.
No, she wasn’t headed to the valley of the Crips and Bloods...she was going to New Zealand and Fiji (hello, she was writing into WSJ).
The Frenchman says to the American, “Is she serious?”
Haha and so began this New Yorker’s bond with a Parisian.
“Poodle?” I said. “C’mon you have to know poodle!” “It’s a classic French stereotype—the woman walking in fact it’s called a French poodle!!!”
Two hours and 14 stereotypes (French and American) later J. and I see a woman walking a poodle in SoHo.
“Ah you mean that dog?” he said. A woman and her poodle had just walked past us on Thompson St.
“Yes! That’s a poodle!”
“But we are not in Paris we are in Soho,” he said.
“Maybe she was French,” I said.
“No, she was not French,” he said.
On the Staten Island Ferry the Frenchman got his first glimpse of his country's most famous gift to the United States, The Statue of Liberty. One hour later we'd moved on to discussing
another gift from France, Tony Parker. But not the Spurs' Tony Parker no, no Tony Parker the rapper. The two should never be confused. LOL.
"A joke!" J. said as we choked from laughter. Global fact #1. Athletes shouldn’t rap!“In France we have rappers fake gangsters who imitate U.S…”
“U.S. Oh No,” I said. “You actually see the U.S. rap videos on TV in France?”
“Yes of course!” he said proudly. “I have a YO! MTV RAPS t-shirt.'
“Oh no,” I moaned.
“Why Oh No?” he said.
“Because,” I said, “the images of women, the women in these videos are…”
“Undressed,” he finished.
And at that, for the first time, I had to laugh.
Earlier in the day I had replied“Whoohoo!” to a grey-haired Frenchman on the corner of 53td and Madison who’d spoken something to me (in French) which I (surprise, surprise) did not understand.
All I understood was Thierry Henry
“What did he say?” I whispered to J.?
J said, "He said is that you Thierry Henry?”
"Oh!" (note: for the day I unretired my Henry Euro 2008 jersey)
“Now can you explain this “Whoohoo?”” J asked as we headed up an escalator from the Dining Concourse of Grand Central Station. “I have a friend who lived here for some years and moved back to Paris and he says this, this “Whoohoo!?”
For 12 hours we took on New York and had conversation on
stinky cheeses, wine, advertising, photography, “whoohoo,” FAO Schwartz, SeanJohn, Thierry Henry, Volvic water, IAM (he says = best rap group in France), Statue of Liberty, real estate, Napoleon, Disney movies, non-Disney movies, Sophia Coppola, Thierry Henry, Mauritania, McDonald’s, roaches, rats, (He said,“I’ve heard that roaches here are bigger than the rats?”) hip hop, Domenech, Thierry Henry, “trainers” (sneakers), Harlem, Ethiopian food, Ginger Ale, Abercrombie & Fitch and every gap in-between…
But all day—the most funny, outside of Tony Parker rapping, was my French.
My favorite breakfast, an item I have nearly 3 mornings a week, I can not correctly pronounce. “Croissant.” And after going back and forth with J. for 5 minutes I made the decision that when in France I will have baguette. I can’t order what I cannot say.
” In fact,” I said, “I’m just not going to pronounce anything French involving Rs.”
“Could be a problem,” he said.
“Why,” I said.
“Ahm,” he said. “Thierry Henry.”
Touché :-D
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
I CAN'T WAIT FOR THE FIRST TIME
Thierry Henry is here.
Perhaps I have a social anxiety disorder? Nah. I met a Parisian (on his first visit to New York City) yesterday and already have a date showing him around tomorrow. But for now, my heart hurts (the combo of Congo and this is too much…I mean the Congo by itself is enough but) and my tummy feels funny and I’m sure my smile has ran away. I’m very excited for the kids who’ll get to see him perform though. I really hope some of my Mexican bros. have a good view and are up front. They afterall are the ones I see rocking the most soccer gear around here (don’t believe me—one need only to get off the (1) Train 240something/last stop in the Bronx on a Sunday afternoon and take a look around)…
Oh well, maybe it’s just not my time to see the genius at play.
Or maybe I really am crazy. Or maybe True Love really does WAIT ;)
... It's my backyard.
And it feels like ooooooBut you don't know my nameAnd I swear it feels like ooooo ooooo ooooo oooooYou don't know my name(round and round and round we go, will you ever know)
(to truly understand this post you'll have to have read all my other posts)
He’s in New York.
He’s practically in my backyard and I, his biggest American supporter, am just sitting here reading about the raping of Congolese women, eating leftover bits of spinach scone and trying to figure out why in the great big round world am I not on Chrystie Street cheering, screaming and holding some kind of ridiculous sign that reads I VIRGIN HENRY!
I hang my head in shame—my focus should solely be on these Congolese women. This is a huge gigantoid big deal and AGH!! Your friendly neighborhood virgin has lost her mind. Wasn't I just envisioning this scenario like two days ago?
Perhaps I’m not a Princess. She would’ve been on the pitch waiting at dawn. However, I didn’t find out until the afternoon. And just as I was about to splash my face with water and run downtown—I didn’t. My Girl Scouts would be soooooooo dissapointed in me!He’s in New York.
He’s practically in my backyard and I, his biggest American supporter, am just sitting here reading about the raping of Congolese women, eating leftover bits of spinach scone and trying to figure out why in the great big round world am I not on Chrystie Street cheering, screaming and holding some kind of ridiculous sign that reads I VIRGIN HENRY!
I hang my head in shame—my focus should solely be on these Congolese women. This is a huge gigantoid big deal and AGH!! Your friendly neighborhood virgin has lost her mind. Wasn't I just envisioning this scenario like two days ago?
Perhaps I have a social anxiety disorder? Nah. I met a Parisian (on his first visit to New York City) yesterday and already have a date showing him around tomorrow. But for now, my heart hurts (the combo of Congo and this is too much…I mean the Congo by itself is enough but) and my tummy feels funny and I’m sure my smile has ran away. I’m very excited for the kids who’ll get to see him perform though. I really hope some of my Mexican bros. have a good view and are up front. They afterall are the ones I see rocking the most soccer gear around here (don’t believe me—one need only to get off the (1) Train 240something/last stop in the Bronx on a Sunday afternoon and take a look around)…
Oh well, maybe it’s just not my time to see the genius at play.
Or maybe I really am crazy. Or maybe True Love really does WAIT ;)
... It's my backyard.
And it feels like ooooooBut you don't know my nameAnd I swear it feels like ooooo ooooo ooooo oooooYou don't know my name(round and round and round we go, will you ever know)
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
TRY IT BEFORE YOU BUY IT
Today I stopped and took a moment to adjust my breasts because the left one seemed to shift. I blame the new bra-- wrong size perhaps? But listen sometimes a girl's gotta do...
But boy did I receive some stares (though no skin during the 15 second adjustment was exposed ) and it hit me, all day everyday men adjust their testicles in this city like it's nothin.
Yes, I am aware of testicular adjustments.
Virgins are not blind, well some are but you get what I'm saying.
Listen, when you're being talked to amidst a testicular adjustment, you can't help but be aware. And when you're standing on the subway in front ...and then when...yeah.
One time, mid testicular adjustment, my friend says, "It's so hot out here my balls are sweaty."
Ew!
Two, once to get around all the traffic on 42nd trying to get to the post office between 8th and 9th Avenue (that post office is the most expedient and friendliest of all post offices that I've experienced in New York) to beat the foot traffic that is 42nd St. I took it to the street--literally--that's where I passed behind a hot dog cart and caught a vendor scratching himself furiously--hand all the way in pants.
Not kosher!
That was the day I gave up food carts.
And I'll probably never think of hot dogs the same--in fact, I've given them up too.
Some perverted reader is thinking but you've never had a real hot dog-- well , guess what--Lord willing, I won't until I'm married.
This reminds me of a quote I read attributed to Gloria Steinem.
She said,
"A liberated woman is one who has sex before marriage and a job after."
Sorry MS.
I don't beg to differ.
I differ.
Perhaps I can make virginity Fourth Wave Feminism?
First rule of business, semblance.
clothing to be exact.
This is something that has been bothering me oh since the 7th grade.
Can someone tell me why let's say at concerts and things where t-shirts are sold do they call t-shirts for women/girls babydoll t-shirts? Go ahead and Google image it and see what pops up. Dolls don’t.
And unfortunately this tiny tee has led to a nation of women wearing shirts that do not fit. A "babydoll" Large is not a regular Large. It's like trying to squeeze a toddler in a shirt made for a Barbie.
Um?
Maybe Susan Jacoby is right?
Hmm.
"A liberated woman is one who has sex before marriage and a job after."
Sorry MS.
I don't beg to differ.
I differ.
Perhaps I can make virginity Fourth Wave Feminism?
First rule of business, semblance.
clothing to be exact.
This is something that has been bothering me oh since the 7th grade.
Can someone tell me why let's say at concerts and things where t-shirts are sold do they call t-shirts for women/girls babydoll t-shirts? Go ahead and Google image it and see what pops up. Dolls don’t.
And unfortunately this tiny tee has led to a nation of women wearing shirts that do not fit. A "babydoll" Large is not a regular Large. It's like trying to squeeze a toddler in a shirt made for a Barbie.
Um?
Maybe Susan Jacoby is right?
Hmm.
Perhaps it's our new-age dumbness tha has led to this massive movement of muffin tops in this country.
Muffin tops have made their way to the streets, home and office. It's like commonplace now because it IS so commonplace now to wear the wrong size. Sigh. Everyone is jumping off the bridge.
Anna Wintour care to explore this? Wait. Your readers don't have this problem--muffins (carbs) (hello). I know, I know. Too they have the two Ts to keep them from spilling over--that's tailors and trainers.
But really who decided that it would be cute to label and desize us medium/small sized income women/girls?
It's not cute.
I have an idea.
I think that companies started getting leftover shirts at a discount from Asian countries where the women are smaller and thus just thought of a cute way to market these tees and voila--(excuse my French) the shit don't fit! And we must quit.
Please, I don't understand girls, why do we hate going up a size if that is the size that fits?
Denial--it ain't just a river in AFRICA.
Ladies, we are more than a number! Do you know that for the first time in life we have women dying to be a 0. A zero? What is a zero? And pretty soon will apparel come in negative sizes?
Anna Wintour care to explore this? Wait. Your readers don't have this problem--muffins (carbs) (hello). I know, I know. Too they have the two Ts to keep them from spilling over--that's tailors and trainers.
But really who decided that it would be cute to label and desize us medium/small sized income women/girls?
It's not cute.
I have an idea.
I think that companies started getting leftover shirts at a discount from Asian countries where the women are smaller and thus just thought of a cute way to market these tees and voila--(excuse my French) the shit don't fit! And we must quit.
Please, I don't understand girls, why do we hate going up a size if that is the size that fits?
Denial--it ain't just a river in AFRICA.
Ladies, we are more than a number! Do you know that for the first time in life we have women dying to be a 0. A zero? What is a zero? And pretty soon will apparel come in negative sizes?
I think it'll happen. Some really rich bored woman will have her designer friend create her a size -1.
Please email me if you're interested in Fourth Wave Feminism--and as soon as I figure out what it is exactly--I'll be sure to email you!
Please email me if you're interested in Fourth Wave Feminism--and as soon as I figure out what it is exactly--I'll be sure to email you!
Sunday, June 22, 2008
EVERYDAY WITH CONFIDENCE
I AM TIGER WOODS
No, I'm more like a Princess.
Princess (yes, that is her real name) is one of my Girl Scouts and a huge Chris Brown fan.
And like a teenage girl who's just been shown new pictures of the singer, I put my head down to giggle in excitement! Meanwhile, the people at Starbucks (especially the cute stranger seated across from me--he's writing a romantic comedy about a guy...seriously--we met when I sat down--he plugged in my charger ) is wondering what is wrong with her [me]. I was relatively sane when I sat down but this has nothing to do with a cute stranger--well, maybe it does--but not the one seated across from me.
You see, I just logged on to gillettechampions.com.
And oh my, I'm thinkin about giving up waxing and NAIRing no more.
For the record, I'm not really that hairy.
But I am considering shaving. Hey I like to try new things--although the idea of a razor to my skin is frightening--there are women who do it daily. And though I've never been one to follow the crowd (one need only assess my wardrobe for this one) I'm going to give this shaving things ago. My legs shake at the thought.
But I'm not just going to shave. I'm going to Gillette!
And now I've become the equivalent of one of those guys who (circa 1990s) only ate WHEATIES because they saw Michael Jordan's picture
on the box and or heard him saying
"BETTER EAT YOUR WHEATIES!"
Perhaps I'll stop at Duane Reade on my way home and grab some razors and hope that they come with directions.
Agh!!! I haven't been this excited in like 5 hours.
What? Yes, 5. C'mon I live in New York--excitement is all around and when it stops I'll move--to Paris!
But ok, so on gillettechampions.com you can listen to my Thierry (dreamy French accent 101) Henry give his opinions on certain things but it wasn't what he said--it was what I read. Guess what city tops his list of favorites?
NEW YORK CITY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
AGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!(!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) I knew it. I knew it. I knew it.
If there's one thing a man and I have to agree on it's the island.
It's the non-negotiable.
And oh, do you know what this means? This means that I could one day just be at the corner of some avenue and street and bump right into this clean shaven footballer.
Or one day, I could meet him and lead him on a tour of my city (daydreamin and I'm thinkin of you...) first stop Henry St?
LES? Nah!
But I tell you, the possibilities are limitless!!!!!! I know this city like the back of my hand.
And forget SEX , like Gillette , VIRGIN is the best a man can get [ahhmm] if he can get one ;)
Just kidding, Mom! I'm a buyer not a seller!
No, I'm more like a Princess.
Princess (yes, that is her real name) is one of my Girl Scouts and a huge Chris Brown fan.
And like a teenage girl who's just been shown new pictures of the singer, I put my head down to giggle in excitement! Meanwhile, the people at Starbucks (especially the cute stranger seated across from me--he's writing a romantic comedy about a guy...seriously--we met when I sat down--he plugged in my charger ) is wondering what is wrong with her [me]. I was relatively sane when I sat down but this has nothing to do with a cute stranger--well, maybe it does--but not the one seated across from me.
You see, I just logged on to gillettechampions.com.
And oh my, I'm thinkin about giving up waxing and NAIRing no more.
For the record, I'm not really that hairy.
But I am considering shaving. Hey I like to try new things--although the idea of a razor to my skin is frightening--there are women who do it daily. And though I've never been one to follow the crowd (one need only assess my wardrobe for this one) I'm going to give this shaving things ago. My legs shake at the thought.
But I'm not just going to shave. I'm going to Gillette!
And now I've become the equivalent of one of those guys who (circa 1990s) only ate WHEATIES because they saw Michael Jordan's picture
on the box and or heard him saying
"BETTER EAT YOUR WHEATIES!"
Perhaps I'll stop at Duane Reade on my way home and grab some razors and hope that they come with directions.
Agh!!! I haven't been this excited in like 5 hours.
What? Yes, 5. C'mon I live in New York--excitement is all around and when it stops I'll move--to Paris!
But ok, so on gillettechampions.com you can listen to my Thierry (dreamy French accent 101) Henry give his opinions on certain things but it wasn't what he said--it was what I read. Guess what city tops his list of favorites?
NEW YORK CITY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
AGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!(!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) I knew it. I knew it. I knew it.
If there's one thing a man and I have to agree on it's the island.
It's the non-negotiable.
And oh, do you know what this means? This means that I could one day just be at the corner of some avenue and street and bump right into this clean shaven footballer.
Or one day, I could meet him and lead him on a tour of my city (daydreamin and I'm thinkin of you...) first stop Henry St?
LES? Nah!
But I tell you, the possibilities are limitless!!!!!! I know this city like the back of my hand.
And forget SEX , like Gillette , VIRGIN is the best a man can get [ahhmm] if he can get one ;)
Just kidding, Mom! I'm a buyer not a seller!
Friday, June 20, 2008
EXTRA VIRGIN
Back in June 2007 a supermodel spoke these words, words that I've had in the back of my mind and on my harddrive for a while now. Ahhmm.She said:
Well, Ms. Bunchen, I'm not one to burst bubbles but ,babes, consider this one bizzzurst!
Your fellow Brasileiro Kaka'.
See, I'm not even the one to burst it. But if you want to go there...I mean...
Meanwhile, June 2008 this opinionated supermodel's caught dining at Extra Virgin .
Extra Virgin?
I'd never heard of this restaurant untill today. I dig the name!
West Village, eh? I'll have to give it a go--right after Aquavit--Mayor Bloomberg, I'm still waiting!
Join an extra virgin at Extra Virgin for a heavenly dessert? (wink ;) )
I am feeling it today--must be the sleep--I actually got 8 hours last night--talk about a good first time!
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
PARDON MY FRENCH
ALLEZ LES BLEUS!
You don’t kick a dog when it’s down—isn’t that how the old saying goes?
Well, I’m no bitch—but I’m definitely down—and getting to the Theatre District from Union Square I took a number of kicks. But before I could dial 3-1-1 I run into NYPD.
And guess what NYPD says to me, your friendly neighborhood France football supporting neighborhood virgin.
He says “I got a question for you, what happened to France today?”
That topped my Mexican brothers who kept poking their heads out of the back to catch the score and glimpses of the lone France fan staring up at the screen and occasionally hitting the stool. I couldn’t sit. I occasionally used the barstool as an elbow rest and I wasn’t willing to relinquish it
After the cop, as I’m still thinking about the cop, I hear someone yell, “No good today. 2-0.” But the worst…I’m waiting for my train at Union Square and this guy comes up to me—talking. You know I prefer the handsome silent types.
But oh, this guy came up talking…"Have you ever been to France, I lived there so many years, university blahblahblah... He says, “2-0 did you see it?”
(I think) ‘No, sir, I’m only wearing this gleaming Euro 2008-I-just-got-it-in-the-mail-today-imported-from-another-hemisphere-Thierry-Henry-jersey-for-nothing.’
“Yes.”
After talking on the platform we continued chatting on the N train (listen, I try to be a good ambassadress for my city)…and he said a lot of stuff. In fact this guy talked more than me.
Synopsis anyone?
Well, he (Muhammad) from New Guinea says that "Americans are bizarre."
“Bizarre like weird?” I say.
“Yes, weird…”
But skip all of that. He tells me to forget Thierry Henry. He says it just like that "Ah forget Thierry Henry!" "Thierry Henry is too arrogant and that at Barcelona this year he had like 1 goal in 3 games. "
FYI: Total #14 for Barca had nine or was it 14--but whatever, he was suffering from an injury and out some and played out of position--yet still managed to score.
I said little.
He says,
“I’ve seen Thierry Henry (he starts counting on his fingers)”
[AGH! I’m screaming silently….]
“How do you know he’s arrogant,” I ask.
He explains.
“But I love Thierry Henry.” Sorry if I sound like a 13-year-old Chris Brown fan). “I’m sorry,” Muhammad says. “I don’t mean to break your heart. It’s ok. Go take a shower, have a tea and remember Germany.”
STAB!
Can you believe that someone would say that—to me?
Does he not know how many cranberry juices I’ve invested, how many prayers when he was injured at Barcelona and how many arguments I’ve had inside my head about putting a poster on my wall? You’re grown, Danielle. Grown people do not put posters on their walls. In fact grown people don’t even THINK about putting posters on their wall.
“What is your name again?” he asks. “Do you go to school here?”
I felt faint. But it was my stop. Any other day I’m left explaining who HEN-REE is…today though, on what could, but let’s hope not, be Henry’s last international game, I left at half time. I didn’t have a good feeling. I still don’t. It wasn’t looking good and I couldn’t bear to see him lose.
Sigh. France will inevitably be part of my great American novel… after speaking with the guy on the train today—I’ve decided to visit. I’ve got my piggy bank on my desk and it’s ready to save.
6 HOURS, one church service, a tea and snack later I’m on the (1) Train heading home when these two guys stand in front of me, one says, “They lost today, I’m sorry. I was rooting for them too."
Well, I’m no bitch—but I’m definitely down—and getting to the Theatre District from Union Square I took a number of kicks. But before I could dial 3-1-1 I run into NYPD.
And guess what NYPD says to me, your friendly neighborhood France football supporting neighborhood virgin.
He says “I got a question for you, what happened to France today?”
That topped my Mexican brothers who kept poking their heads out of the back to catch the score and glimpses of the lone France fan staring up at the screen and occasionally hitting the stool. I couldn’t sit. I occasionally used the barstool as an elbow rest and I wasn’t willing to relinquish it
After the cop, as I’m still thinking about the cop, I hear someone yell, “No good today. 2-0.” But the worst…I’m waiting for my train at Union Square and this guy comes up to me—talking. You know I prefer the handsome silent types.
But oh, this guy came up talking…"Have you ever been to France, I lived there so many years, university blahblahblah... He says, “2-0 did you see it?”
(I think) ‘No, sir, I’m only wearing this gleaming Euro 2008-I-just-got-it-in-the-mail-today-imported-from-another-hemisphere-Thierry-Henry-jersey-for-nothing.’
“Yes.”
After talking on the platform we continued chatting on the N train (listen, I try to be a good ambassadress for my city)…and he said a lot of stuff. In fact this guy talked more than me.
Synopsis anyone?
Well, he (Muhammad) from New Guinea says that "Americans are bizarre."
“Bizarre like weird?” I say.
“Yes, weird…”
But skip all of that. He tells me to forget Thierry Henry. He says it just like that "Ah forget Thierry Henry!" "Thierry Henry is too arrogant and that at Barcelona this year he had like 1 goal in 3 games. "
FYI: Total #14 for Barca had nine or was it 14--but whatever, he was suffering from an injury and out some and played out of position--yet still managed to score.
I said little.
He says,
“I’ve seen Thierry Henry (he starts counting on his fingers)”
[AGH! I’m screaming silently….]
“How do you know he’s arrogant,” I ask.
He explains.
“But I love Thierry Henry.” Sorry if I sound like a 13-year-old Chris Brown fan). “I’m sorry,” Muhammad says. “I don’t mean to break your heart. It’s ok. Go take a shower, have a tea and remember Germany.”
STAB!
Can you believe that someone would say that—to me?
Does he not know how many cranberry juices I’ve invested, how many prayers when he was injured at Barcelona and how many arguments I’ve had inside my head about putting a poster on my wall? You’re grown, Danielle. Grown people do not put posters on their walls. In fact grown people don’t even THINK about putting posters on their wall.
“What is your name again?” he asks. “Do you go to school here?”
I felt faint. But it was my stop. Any other day I’m left explaining who HEN-REE is…today though, on what could, but let’s hope not, be Henry’s last international game, I left at half time. I didn’t have a good feeling. I still don’t. It wasn’t looking good and I couldn’t bear to see him lose.
Sigh. France will inevitably be part of my great American novel… after speaking with the guy on the train today—I’ve decided to visit. I’ve got my piggy bank on my desk and it’s ready to save.
6 HOURS, one church service, a tea and snack later I’m on the (1) Train heading home when these two guys stand in front of me, one says, “They lost today, I’m sorry. I was rooting for them too."
His buddy asks “Who lost?”
“France,” he replies.
So taken by his sincerity I decide to ask the kind stranger his name.
Kind stranger (I don’t say) “What’s your name?”
“Muhammad,” he says. And that my friends is the tale of two Muhammads. As for me, with football season being abruptly over, I will work on my French.
“France,” he replies.
So taken by his sincerity I decide to ask the kind stranger his name.
Kind stranger (I don’t say) “What’s your name?”
“Muhammad,” he says. And that my friends is the tale of two Muhammads. As for me, with football season being abruptly over, I will work on my French.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
AFFIRMATIVE ACTION
WHO YOU GONNA CALL ;)
That's me. Your friendly neighborhood virgin. No, I didn't wear this for Halloween--I wear this whenever it's clean or I want to.
Meanwhile, I'd just like to note that when you Google"Ghostbusters costume for girls"--it doesn't look like this one.
That's me. Your friendly neighborhood virgin. No, I didn't wear this for Halloween--I wear this whenever it's clean or I want to.
Meanwhile, I'd just like to note that when you Google"Ghostbusters costume for girls"--it doesn't look like this one.
THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME
RATS.
ROACHES.
ROOMMATES. These are the 3Rs of habitation in New York City. If you’re telling me you have none of the above…well, congrats on living alone and tell your exterminator to call my landlord. But for the rest of us, we’re helpless. We’re inside Fairway contemplating things like what if the rats tear into that— can’t buy it, cardboard box, no, no and the roaches can crawl into it too—Big No! Or nah [ insert roommate’s name] will eat that up—. Some of you right now are paying $700+ a month living with all your snacks stored not inside cabinets in the kitchen but in Tupperware in your rooms. (shakes head)
I remember those days. Now I don’t even buy groceries. I might come in with a bottle of Volvic at night or on a celebratory evening about $1.60 worth of olives from The Gourmet Garage. Speaking of which, have you noticed that roaches, rats and roommates all have one thing in common? Well, let’s face it—they have multiple things in common, but one thing that baffles me is that none, neither roach rat nor roommate ever bother my healthy stuff. I can leave a bag of Goji berries open on the floor or atop the refrigerator and nothing—not even a trace of a bite. Hypothesis? Roaches, rats and roommates don’t like healthy food. I meant to ask Dr. Jubb, if he has any unwanted creatures at his house… I bet he doesn’t. Seriously, my Kashi cereal—nada. My blueberries, all there—I counted. My Frosted Flakes—well, why bother? It’s always the same thing. The roaches eat the crumbs, the rats leave the droppings and the roommates leave the box. Perhaps you’re thinking, OMG, how does she know the trouble I feel? Well, virgins are smarter than the average ho…mo sapian! Conclusion. The 3Rs can promote healthy food choices. What? Listen, my glass stays half full--why cause I keep it in my room:) Just kidding. But this is New York City, where many things are possible but getting rid of roaches—many have tried, who has succeeded? Rats—ditto. Roommates, well there are times that you have to decide life or life in prison.
ROACHES.
ROOMMATES. These are the 3Rs of habitation in New York City. If you’re telling me you have none of the above…well, congrats on living alone and tell your exterminator to call my landlord. But for the rest of us, we’re helpless. We’re inside Fairway contemplating things like what if the rats tear into that— can’t buy it, cardboard box, no, no and the roaches can crawl into it too—Big No! Or nah [ insert roommate’s name] will eat that up—. Some of you right now are paying $700+ a month living with all your snacks stored not inside cabinets in the kitchen but in Tupperware in your rooms. (shakes head)
I remember those days. Now I don’t even buy groceries. I might come in with a bottle of Volvic at night or on a celebratory evening about $1.60 worth of olives from The Gourmet Garage. Speaking of which, have you noticed that roaches, rats and roommates all have one thing in common? Well, let’s face it—they have multiple things in common, but one thing that baffles me is that none, neither roach rat nor roommate ever bother my healthy stuff. I can leave a bag of Goji berries open on the floor or atop the refrigerator and nothing—not even a trace of a bite. Hypothesis? Roaches, rats and roommates don’t like healthy food. I meant to ask Dr. Jubb, if he has any unwanted creatures at his house… I bet he doesn’t. Seriously, my Kashi cereal—nada. My blueberries, all there—I counted. My Frosted Flakes—well, why bother? It’s always the same thing. The roaches eat the crumbs, the rats leave the droppings and the roommates leave the box. Perhaps you’re thinking, OMG, how does she know the trouble I feel? Well, virgins are smarter than the average ho…mo sapian! Conclusion. The 3Rs can promote healthy food choices. What? Listen, my glass stays half full--why cause I keep it in my room:) Just kidding. But this is New York City, where many things are possible but getting rid of roaches—many have tried, who has succeeded? Rats—ditto. Roommates, well there are times that you have to decide life or life in prison.
You can’t hurt your roommates—no matter how much of your Orangina’s been sipped—unless you catch them with their mouths on the bottle. That’s contamination. Contamination is grounds for extermination. Oh, for any other virgins out there living amongst the sexually active. Ha! That’s a post for another day. Keep a pair of earplugs on the nightstand or establish some kind of agreement with the mates. I live with guys—and I’ve occasionally awoke to moans and screams and the sounds of creaking bedsprings. At first I hadn’t a clue—then I heard “OOOHHHH [__can’t disclose name__]!”
When I gave my friend the scoop, she said, “Poor thing—he should’ve at least played some music. What kind of man is that!? Now I drew from this that sex typically has a score? I never knew! --But then I still can’t believe people have sex other places than beds? Eww just knowing this can make visiting friends' homes feel like visiting public restrooms--squat, stand but never sit. Have a seat? No thank you. Sofas—especially futons are totally off limit. Ew. Just thinking about it makes me feel dirty; thinking about roaches rats and roommates however makes me feel like a New Yorker.
When I gave my friend the scoop, she said, “Poor thing—he should’ve at least played some music. What kind of man is that!? Now I drew from this that sex typically has a score? I never knew! --But then I still can’t believe people have sex other places than beds? Eww just knowing this can make visiting friends' homes feel like visiting public restrooms--squat, stand but never sit. Have a seat? No thank you. Sofas—especially futons are totally off limit. Ew. Just thinking about it makes me feel dirty; thinking about roaches rats and roommates however makes me feel like a New Yorker.
And New York, as tourists discover after coming into their hotel rooms, slipping off their flip-flops and taking a look down at their feet--is dirty.
;)
Thursday, June 12, 2008
KATSU OVER CROISSANT
Opinions are great--the most honest sections of most news media. And online comments are fun because they are immediate reactions. Thus most of them tend to be funny, idiotic and passionate...Sometimes you run into a brilliant comment--one of those you want to email or suggest someone else read...those are rare. Ahhm...
" RickyBobby
June 9, 2008 10:46 PMYork/gbr
Horrible, lifeless performance from the French. It would seem that the spirit of that wonderful Euro 2000 side has well and truly been extinguished. Watching the other game in this group tonight, it is clear that it will take something special for them to go through.
France need to drop Malouda (from a great height) and play Nasri or switch Ribery to the left and play Govou. Domenech should also be encouraging the full-backs to get forward more - so long as there are two holding midfielders in place there's absolutely no reason why they shouldn't. I'd say there's also a case for bringing in the busier Diarra and Evra for Toulalan/Makelele and Abidal. Henry must come back as well when fit. He may have had his worst season in ten for Barcelona, but he was still their top scorer (playing left wing) and remains head, shoulders, waistband and knee-high socks above Nicolas Anelka.
But all that would be far too sensible for a manager whose stock in trade is identifying the right decision and doing the opposite.
" RickyBobby
June 9, 2008 10:46 PMYork/gbr
Horrible, lifeless performance from the French. It would seem that the spirit of that wonderful Euro 2000 side has well and truly been extinguished. Watching the other game in this group tonight, it is clear that it will take something special for them to go through.
France need to drop Malouda (from a great height) and play Nasri or switch Ribery to the left and play Govou. Domenech should also be encouraging the full-backs to get forward more - so long as there are two holding midfielders in place there's absolutely no reason why they shouldn't. I'd say there's also a case for bringing in the busier Diarra and Evra for Toulalan/Makelele and Abidal. Henry must come back as well when fit. He may have had his worst season in ten for Barcelona, but he was still their top scorer (playing left wing) and remains head, shoulders, waistband and knee-high socks above Nicolas Anelka.
But all that would be far too sensible for a manager whose stock in trade is identifying the right decision and doing the opposite.
Giggle! Now that's an opinion--funny and not completely untrue.
I have no more comments. Ok, one more. I have always and continue to adore Domenech's eyebrows. I'm giving compliments to a man who's name I (honestly) don't know how to pronounce. I've got to work on my French? I've been trying! Although #12/#14 speaks 3 languages--one being English so I mean... j/k!
As of press time--I have seen no EURO 2008 footage--meaning no Henry updates to report. I'm have an outing scheduled with one of my Girl Scouts who I promised a trip to Little Tokyo and I don't know how I can work Holland vs. France in there...plus all games are shown at bars. Oh, well! I just hope that Henry's fit to play! Meanwhile, tommorrow's co-adventurer is a very lively 7th grader who wants to be a lawyer when she grows up. :) Awww!!! Summer vacation. I'm going to miss my Girl Scouts. It's been a very special year. But I'm thinking of leading a troop in their neighborhood--so that we can keep up. But back to my little Scout and her Japanafascination... Yeah, I don't know?! This year she developed quite a taste for Anime , Manga and Japanese language? BX Castle Hill Projects stand up!! She's amazing, bright and all yours. I've been talked into buying chopsticks and Manga. I don't know what Manga is. I'm just hoping it's not some kind of adult animation...and if it is--please believe I will whoop her right to the Sanrio store! But wait, I didn't include "In case of bad behavior ,I, _______ authorize, you, Ms. Danielle, to whoop..." knew I forgot something!!
À la prochaine...
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
THE TIPPING POINT
People are really nice to me. Do you ever just feel like that, like you’re being smiled upon because people are so nice to you—especially in a city not known for its hospitality?
I know it sounds too simple and good to be true. But it isn’t. It’s the truth—especially at restaurants around the city. Of course at restaurants you want people to be nice to you and like you so that they don’t spit in your food or drop your salad on the floor and scoop it up back in a bowl and “bon appetite!”
And I love that at restaurants people are so nice to me—I just wish my bank accounts allowed me to be more monetarily friendly to them (the servers). For instance, when you walk into a restaurant in Times Square and a server automatically remembers your order—after only one visit—you want to TIP. Of course I tip. But I want to TIP! Or when you’re sitting in your favorite restaurant and you’re given extra beef after already ordering extra. This happened to me last night at KumGangSan.
I know it sounds too simple and good to be true. But it isn’t. It’s the truth—especially at restaurants around the city. Of course at restaurants you want people to be nice to you and like you so that they don’t spit in your food or drop your salad on the floor and scoop it up back in a bowl and “bon appetite!”
And I love that at restaurants people are so nice to me—I just wish my bank accounts allowed me to be more monetarily friendly to them (the servers). For instance, when you walk into a restaurant in Times Square and a server automatically remembers your order—after only one visit—you want to TIP. Of course I tip. But I want to TIP! Or when you’re sitting in your favorite restaurant and you’re given extra beef after already ordering extra. This happened to me last night at KumGangSan.
This server comes and sits my Tofu Bulgogi Dol Sot Bap and side of extra beef down then seeing that it was “me”—he smiles and says “I get you more beef (wink)!” Then like clockwork he swoops back dropping more tender thin delicious bulgogi into my bowl and dashes off.
Too yummy to be true—but oh, it was good and I felt bad because I desired to TIP my thanks but couldn’t.
I expressed gratitude of course. And before I left we chatted a while, long enough to learn that he lives in Jackson Heights…
But is that as good as a good TIP? I’ve never been a server but I guarantee you that on a good night a good tip registers higher than a good talk…
Ok, so I even have a favorite busboy at KumGangSan—even the sushi chefs and I are cordial…one met my mom when she came to visit. Sigh, it’s a big deal when you introduce a man to your mother. OMG I want to TIP!!!!!
But let’s face the facts. I’m just not a TIPper.
I’m a tipper.
Too yummy to be true—but oh, it was good and I felt bad because I desired to TIP my thanks but couldn’t.
I expressed gratitude of course. And before I left we chatted a while, long enough to learn that he lives in Jackson Heights…
But is that as good as a good TIP? I’ve never been a server but I guarantee you that on a good night a good tip registers higher than a good talk…
Ok, so I even have a favorite busboy at KumGangSan—even the sushi chefs and I are cordial…one met my mom when she came to visit. Sigh, it’s a big deal when you introduce a man to your mother. OMG I want to TIP!!!!!
But let’s face the facts. I’m just not a TIPper.
I’m a tipper.
Monday, June 9, 2008
AND HE COOKS TOO
I took Sunday vittles at my Godmother's house in Yonkers yesterday and I'm still full.
And like the end of any good soul food Sunday mine ended in a nap.
Too, a nap is always the best dessert.
I mean a walk around Central Park is nice or a Kombucha if you can afford it... But yesterday I was out of my element--upstate and with television. I awoke to the sounds of Iron Chef and sight of this beautiful man. I actually stood up and walked up to the TV to get a better look. And I was not dissapointed. He's no "Monet." Close up it got even better.
And wouldn't you know it, this Ethiopian born Swiss guy is a New Yorker!!!
His name is Marcus Samuelsson. His restaurant is Aquavit.
Now, I'm sure I can't afford anything other than water at Mr.
Samuelsson's restaurant but I'm thinking about popping in (at some point) ( in the near future).
Perhaps, I can talk my favorite New Yorker into joining me...Oh Mayor Blooooommmmberg-- the tip is on me ;)
Note: After reading the article, I'm convinced God woke me up right on time!
And like the end of any good soul food Sunday mine ended in a nap.
Too, a nap is always the best dessert.
I mean a walk around Central Park is nice or a Kombucha if you can afford it... But yesterday I was out of my element--upstate and with television. I awoke to the sounds of Iron Chef and sight of this beautiful man. I actually stood up and walked up to the TV to get a better look. And I was not dissapointed. He's no "Monet." Close up it got even better.
And wouldn't you know it, this Ethiopian born Swiss guy is a New Yorker!!!
His name is Marcus Samuelsson. His restaurant is Aquavit.
Now, I'm sure I can't afford anything other than water at Mr.
Samuelsson's restaurant but I'm thinking about popping in (at some point) ( in the near future).
Perhaps, I can talk my favorite New Yorker into joining me...Oh Mayor Blooooommmmberg-- the tip is on me ;)
Note: After reading the article, I'm convinced God woke me up right on time!
Sunday, June 8, 2008
THE NAME SOUNDS FAMILIAR
Picture it. Teeny-town USA. Late 90s. Me tossing clothes left and right, shoes back and forth and occasionally spilling baby powder everywhere—ok, not so different than now—but back then I had TV. I wasn't living in NYC. And I would get dressed to The Bloomberg Report every morning before high school. The Bloomberg Report was like The Weather Channel sans the elevator music—both entertaining enough to keep you company but not entertaining enough to cause you to put your left shoe on your right foot or vice versa But I never knew that “Bloomberg” was the same as this Bloomberg.Who knew?! Just when I was beginning to feel sorry for him—poor thing 'n' all what will he do after he leaves office etc...? I realize he can pretty much do whatever he wants after he leaves office. Let me put it like this, it’s one thing to be in The Wall Street Journal. It’s another thing to BE The Wall Street Journal. Who is this mayor of mine? He’s an Aquarius—which gives him great…ok, ok, I’m bias there but that’s all that I know. But I bet he’s written a book—everyone’s written a book. I just finished Autobiography of Andrew Carnegie by Andrew Carnegie. Don’t ask. I’ll explain how I came to read that book later—just know that it was standing outside of Carnegie Hall (March 21, 2007 ) that brought about the creation of my website.
Now, I was about to start the The Code of Jewish Ethics by Rabbi Joseph Telushkin—my fingerprints are all over the single copy at a certain midtown bookseller so the least I can do (after weeks of quick reading) is buy it, right? I get paid on the 15th, so we’ll see. And I KNOW everyone is like why don’t you just order from Amazon.com ?
Well, I would but I don’t have a mailbox key—and sometimes I run into the postman and he’s like “No more mail can fit in the box” or “Your mailbox is full tell…”
You see, my mailbox-key-having-housemate travels often, but he has apartment seniority and so I dare not ask for the key…What?! I know. I know… Listen, I tried to get a P.O. Box the other day, but it seems these boxes are like virgins in this city.
“Sweetheart," said the postal clerk , "there are none available." "Those are real hard to come by around here.”
Saturday, June 7, 2008
AMERICAN DENIED ADOPTION
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PLEASE HELP ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!MR. JACK BELL?
NYT?
SOMEBODY?
ANYBODY?
PLEASE!!!
HELP ME!!!
LISTEN, MY ADOPTION DIDN'T GO THROUGH AND I'M VERY UPSET!!!!
IT'S DISCRIMINATION!!! THEY WON'T LET ME ADOPT HENRY BECAUSE I'M AN AMERICAN!!!!
Seriously, I went to adopt a footballer at adoptafootballer.com and was shut completely down.
This is what happened.
It's EURO 2008 time!!! Whoohoo right? Well to drum up support for the games this brilliant marketing plan game about allowing folks to adopt s footballer.
Well, to adopt a footballer you have to be registered with this other website. That's not a problem--registering is annoying but I'm accustomed. And I'm good at it too like I'm a professional registerer you know TAB TYPE TAB TYPE ...ENTER.
I'm practically the Henry of registering, right, so I begin registering when I get down to the category that reads Country of Residence I scroll down the list and I see the entire world like every country but no United States--and just as I'm thinking maybe we're filed under America or New World or something ---I see"
We do not accept US customers."
We do not accept US customers." WHAT?!
First of all, I am fit for this adoption--who better than me to adopt a footballer?
Even when times were tough and I was picked on for wearing soccer related items, pestered by Guinness-breathed men, hastled for calling "soccer" football and not to mention I've spent $$ that I didn't have on glasses of cranberry juice (sometimes with lime) at pubs just so I could see the games and I can't even count the amount of time spent explaining HENRY is pronounced Ahn-ree (French). And despite all of this I stood my ground. I was responsible. I remained loyal--faithful to the sport of the world. And this is the thanks I get.
Now I have Les Blues.
[[Sniffle]] I just wanted him to be my baby... [[Sniffle]]
[[Sniffle]] I just wanted him to be my baby... [[Sniffle]]
But the world has left this American girl out. And do you think I have support from my countrymen? Nope.
I can't call anyone and spiel about this. I could. And they'd lend me an ear, but just to humor me--kinda like what you're doing right now. Merci!
Oh Henry, whoever gets you is very lucky. May you have an adopter who provides you with the discipline, support and kindness...someone who'll support your standing and speaking up... someone who'll eagerly lace your boots...
Hopefully though, it won't be one of these guys...
GYPSY-GYPSY(!!!)PARIS-PARISA(!!!)
I have no air in my apartment, no fan in my room and it's hot outside. But I'm not complaining. Central Park is beautiful. Tourists are here. And I'm never home anyway--no wireless. So it's roaming for your friendly neighborhood virgin. I feel like a Bedouin woman and I look like one too (sometimes)--which causes some attention. But I'm accustomed to that as my American apparel is rarely found in stores--or put together like things approved my WWD or Elle or Vogue. So I don't mind when people make comments on what I wear--if something is strange--you notice, c'est la vie!The Hebrew name Danielle means God is my judge ;) And in French it means the same...
That's my name.
But with that being said, we should really have "peace talks" in this city so that hurtful assumptions may be eradicated. We need to water the garden of understanding. Peace for peace of mind.
" Tolerance is the positive and
cordial effort to understand another's
beliefs, practices, and habits without
necessarily sharing or accepting them. "
- Joshua Loth Liebman
We should have old people sit down with young people. We should have Christians sit with Muslims. We should have the man who stood outside the window staring at me for five minutes while I took buns at Dragon Land Bakery in Chinatown sit down with me. Why, my Orthodox Jewish brother , stand outside, stare and assume when you can talk to me? Shalom! I'm friendly!
And I probably have just as many questions for you as you for me. So let's chat!
Sometimes I wear a keffiyeh. I do. I bought 3 of them from an African man on 1rst Avenue a long time ago for the same reason people buy pants at Brooks Brothers or Forever 21. The
pictures are all of Bedouins.
Hate the hattah.
Love the virgin.
Last summer a guy yelled "Parisa, Parisa Gypsy Gypsy!!" I didn't know what he was saying.
The person with me said, "I think that he's calling you a French gypsy!"
Later my mother said, "A gypsy--oh my, what were you wearing..."
Note my mother is rarely in kind when it comes to her daughter's attire. And she really isn't a fan of the times that I cover my head. Tis why I've stopped explaining my "fashion."
Please, reference THE WAR ON WARDROBE.
In the words of that Reebok campaign, I AM WHAT I AM!
With that being said, I'm off to write an apology to Ms. Michelle Malkin before this blog is pulled!
Thursday, June 5, 2008
WIRELESS VIRGIN
You know, my collegiate neighbors have all fled for the summer taking with them their unsecured networks leaving your friendly neighborhood virgin with nothing but secured networks and after guessing millions of wrong passwords—I’ve given up trying to tap into the secured ones. It’s not worth noting, but I will: hacking will never be a crime of which I’m found guilty! 
P.S. Manami--New York City misses you--give my regards to Tokyo--it's on my list--right after rent...and laundry...and wireless
So I’ve no longer got internet access at my home. And with rent to pay, laundry to do becoming a paying member of the wireless community is a dream deferred. One day I am going to be able to afford rent and laundry—all in the same week—but until that happens…I’ll keep lugging my pc around and scheduling time to pop in and out of Starbucks or public libraries. Did you know that a “Day Pass” is $9.00 at Starbucks? Spending $9.00 a day on something you can’t touch will bring the miser out of a monk. I sat in Starbucks once from 7 P.M. to 4 A.M.—me, the laptop, some homeless folks and the baristas. I’ve had two laptops stolen in the past—one was taken right off my shoulder as I was walking home. It was late at night so my better judgment says go home before midnight but a girl’s got to get her money’s worth. Some people say “It’s hard out here for a pimp.” Well, I think it’s harder out here for the homeless. You thought I was going to say ‘a virgin?’ Nah. It’s not so bad out here for me. In fact, it’s pretty good. It’s my blog so I can moan if I want to—but in reality—not having wireless vs. not having shelter is of no comparison. God is faithful* I'm wearing my favorite Kaka' jersey today, ok, my only Kaka jersey which if you watched the video posted above is fitting. And so I’m going to post this blog and move on because right now time is money. To my neighbors who’ve left with the unsecured networks—I make an appeal to you—please come back soon!!!
P.S. Manami--New York City misses you--give my regards to Tokyo--it's on my list--right after rent...and laundry...and wirelessSaturday, May 24, 2008
CALL ME NOW
High school?
I think we even had a True Love Waits wall displaying everyone's signature at mine --if my memory serves me right. Though I didn't need their words to tell me that which is in my heart--I can see the use for something of this nature now coupled with really amazing sex education courses. Once while working at Boys' Club New York (BCNY) --[ sniffle. great memories] I listened as some of the boy's (fifth and sixth graders) vented their frustration over not having "a real sex ed class." But wait, their words were "They don't tell us what to do or nothing!"
I said, "What to do--WHAT!? You shouldn't be doing anything!" One boy said, "I know but the 13-year-old girls be mad fast!" They all giggled and concurred.
Umm...I will not explore that at this moment, in fact... Nope. Let's just say that I'll never forget that moment. And I'll never forget my moment signing this card. I see they have plastic wristbands now. I might buy one. I can wear it with my Stand Up Speak Up bands.
I should get like 26 True Love Waits bands and wear them on one arm--to commemorate each year of waiting and perhaps a couple extra just in case. My status doesn't seem to be
changing any time soon.Right, Miss Cleo?
Thursday, May 22, 2008
THE WAR ON WARDROBE
I don’t understand why in the most diverse country more of it [diversity] is not embraced within mainstream media. Sometimes I wear a head covering or a hijab (depending on who’s looking) and it brings about all kinds of questions. For instance, today while deciding between flavors of tic tacs—
Orange —taste good—not gonna help the garlic breath or White—will help the garlic breath—but won’t be as tasty—I was asked a question by the cashier at the little quickie mart inside the Uptown 6 at Astor Place. She said, “You’re not a Muslim are you?” I answer her. Then she goes on to say, “Because I saw you wearing the hijab before and …” While my ego was like ‘Oh neat-O someone remembered me’—my mind wandered back to this other cashier at a cafe near my house who while ringing me up asked, “Why are you covering up that beautiful hair?”I thought, ‘Mr. when have you ever seen my hair?’ I said, “Why can’t I be a Muslim?” He said, “Oh, you’re a Muslim?”
I said, “No but I’m saying…”
I left on request.
He said, “Next time I want to see hair…”
Perhaps he was flirting? I never pay guys enough attention—Prince Charming Complex ya know I just believe THE ONE is going to come…Giggle ^-^
I really do. All the women reading this are like—“Yeah get over that sweetheart!”
You know I had a 12-year-old tell me rather matter-of-factly in these exact words “Sorry babygirl fairy tales don’t come true.”
I have fun in this city! Why so much fun? It’s fun to be in the one place that you think NOONE pays anyone any attention and realize YES they do. This is no longer ya know Odyssey “Native New Yorker” NYC. We have a lot of Midwesterners and imports who import a lot of ideologies that they’ve assumed from a lot of TV shows and magazines—which are cool but are often stifling to the creative soul.
I personally, could not care less about what anyone thinks of what I wear. I’ve had a war on wardrobe for the last ten years. And I won it back in January.
Having returned home from holiday here in New York my opponent called me one morning and conceded. She said, “I’m never going to talk about what you wear again. I’m proud of you.”
Talk about an AFTER SCHOOL SPECIAL moment!! I couldn’t believe it--these words coming from my mom.
Now, we all know that you should never say NEVER…but to hear these words come from a woman who’s questioned almost every ensemble I’ve ever assembled was big.
On Christmas Eve, our last battle was fought. It was over this Christmas frock.
She couldn’t believe that I’d wear "a Christmas tree bow" as a bowtie. I couldn’t believe that after all these years she couldn’t believe that I would wear "a Christmas tree bow" as a bowtie. Well, I was wearing it and it wasn’t coming off. So she huffed and puffed and almost blew my Christmas spirit and my house down but I wouldn’t give in. How did I win the war—well, my mom realized that though what I wear isn’t generally found on models in retail stores—it’s me, and I’ve been consistently me for the last 10+ years. My Southern belle mama discovered that in this city her daughter has a pretty good repertoire—be it at KumGangSan, Nepa Bhon etc. And no one she met who was acquainted with me looked at me like WTF? Not to say people don’t. But I’m used to it. You know parents naturally want to shield and protect their offspring—and when you don’t look like everyone else you will draw some attention. So I had to see her POV—but whatever, I won the War on Wardrobe(!)
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
SHOCK OF THE HOUR
It’s 7:10 A.M.
Who are you going to call?
Ghostbusters?
If you’re living in Tennessee, call every and anybody—they’re up, right? (stereotype about Southerners being rooster risers)
Who are you going to call?
Ghostbusters?
If you’re living in Tennessee, call every and anybody—they’re up, right? (stereotype about Southerners being rooster risers)
But in New York City—there’s an unspoken law about not calling before Double Digits.
Ten=10=the start of the double digits. While this city may not sleep, its people sure do.
Ten=10=the start of the double digits. While this city may not sleep, its people sure do.
But rewind, my phone sang at seven. Super Virgin wakes at 5:30. Giggle. I do. Good crime-fighting hours. Most mornings I battle stereotypes/work on the website...a lot of desk work. Wait, I don't have a desk. I digress. But check it out, this morning Super Virgin got interrupted. . .I see a picture pop up on my phone. NOTE: only a couple of my Girl Scouts have pictures attached to their phonenumbers because they entered their numbers themselves. So what does a 7th grader have to say at 7 : 10 A.M. ?
“Um Miss Danielle can you bring your camera and your laptop so you can take pictures and email them to me?”
Today was Twin Day at her school.
Despite the rainy day everyone was amazingly cute.
Meanwhile, this day may have boasted the neighborhood economy. There were so many matching tees, jeans, jewelry…
One girl told me that she didn’t participate because her mom didn’t have the money, so she carried a mirror in her bag. “And if anyone asks me where’s my twin,”she said, “I show them my reflection and say “Right here!””
By far, out of all the twins— the AA Combo—two sisters whose names begin with the letter A they came in matching traditional Indian dress.
And of course I brought my camera.
Wanna see pictures?
“Um Miss Danielle can you bring your camera and your laptop so you can take pictures and email them to me?”
Today was Twin Day at her school.
Despite the rainy day everyone was amazingly cute.
Meanwhile, this day may have boasted the neighborhood economy. There were so many matching tees, jeans, jewelry…
One girl told me that she didn’t participate because her mom didn’t have the money, so she carried a mirror in her bag. “And if anyone asks me where’s my twin,”she said, “I show them my reflection and say “Right here!””
By far, out of all the twins— the AA Combo—two sisters whose names begin with the letter A they came in matching traditional Indian dress.
And of course I brought my camera.
Wanna see pictures?
In unrelated news:
WHAT IS HAPPENING TO THE TEAM?????
ADIOS TO MR. RIJKAARD!!!
Well, we knew that was coming.
Now the question is who's next to vanish from this Barca pic? Sniffle. Muito obrigado, Ronaldinho!!! Mr Eto'o, are you leaving too???????
Now the question is who's next to vanish from this Barca pic? Sniffle. Muito obrigado, Ronaldinho!!! Mr Eto'o, are you leaving too???????Sunday, May 18, 2008
AT LEAST HALF OF ALL NEW HIV INFECTIONS ARE AMONG PERSONS UNDER THE AGE OF 25
The first letter that I ever wrote was to someone living with AIDS.I was in elementary school and part of a drama ensemble called Act II and one day we had a guest speaker come in from another a town to speak to us about HIV/AIDS. This was at a time when HIV/AIDS was new and an extremely “big deal” unlike today as it’s seemingly fell of the radar? When do you hear about AIDS? Hmm...if you have to think--the answer is not often enough. Where were you the first time you heard of AIDS? Where were you the first time that you begin to care about it?
I remember sitting in that little desk silent as a mouse listening to the strange man speak although I can’t recall exactly what he said, but he was HIV positive and I was fascinated and saddened listening to him speak. After he left I couldn’t get home fast enough to write him a letter. Someone with AIDS right before my very eyes? C’mon only people on TV had AIDS not a person…Oh man, was my mind spinning. I had no clue what to say—but I had his address and something to say. I mean this was big stuff for my little brain. So I wrote him, his name was Richard, I believe. I have no idea what I put in that letter. But I’m sure that it was multiple pages, involved a few questions and opinions. Given that I was in 4th grade or so, I don’t know what I would have discussed (Saved By The Bell?) but I must have said something fore he replied (in a return letter) that my words made him cry and he thanked me for writing -- which in turn made me fall in love with the written word.
Since then it’s been me and the pen/keypad have been like this (signaling eye to eye).
Meanwhile, I’ve never been in love with books and I was named after an author. Some writers will tell you, Oh I read this book and that book changed my life inspiring me to begin a magical literary journey of my own and here’s a list of my favorite books etc.
Me = no list of favorites.
But I have a box of letters mostly from people that I’ve never met. And my favorite, despite having letters from Finland, Australia, France, Uganda would undoubtedly be the one from a place less than 50 miles outside my hometown.
So, on this day of AIDS WALK NEW YORK 2008, I’d like to say congratulations to all the participants! Keep fighting to all those living with the disease! Hello to everyone I met during those fun evenings volunteering at the phone bank—especially a big hello and thank you and bear hug to William! I hope there was lots of $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ raised and awareness spread!
Lord willing, I will see you guys next year circling that magical place called Central Park!
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
AMERICA'S FAVORITE PASTTIME
To: New York(ers)
From: Your friendly neighborhood virgin
Subject: VIRGIN AND THE CITY
Perhaps you’ve heard.
A virgin is coming. And now you’re wondering who she is, what she is, where she is and why she is... Well, for all of that, you must wait until the launch of the site.
For now all you should know is that I’m not 40, I don’t walk in heels, own a thong, knot cherry stems with my tongue, strategically lick ice cream cones, knowingly expose cleavage or understand crotchless underwear. And oh, I’ve never made it to first base either. First base?
What is it with bases?
I really don’t understand this common correlation between baseball and sex. Yes, Derek Jeter is cute but baseball is boring and only fun when someone’s hitting it out the park. Soccer, now that’s a real sport! 90 Minutes up and down. Too, soccer and virginity have something in common—they’re popular overseas ;)
Meanwhile this American girl lives here, 10110, Temptation Island AKA: Manhattan where the preservation of sexy is serious business. There are Stiletto Strength classes, Toe-bone trimming, Vaginoplasty… Just walking on the streets is a constant invitation to go Nuts 4 Nuts—and sometimes they smell so good and I’m so poor and they’re so cheap that I find myself crossing the road just to get away only to find them at the next block.
And then I stop. And I smell. And I hear the man say, “Sweetheart with a smile like that I’ll give you a bag for a dollar ya want almonds?” And I think to myself… anybody could have these nuts or they’ve been marinating in NYC air all day…And I say, “No sir, cashews please.”
Kidding;)
I really don’t understand this common correlation between baseball and sex. Yes, Derek Jeter is cute but baseball is boring and only fun when someone’s hitting it out the park. Soccer, now that’s a real sport! 90 Minutes up and down. Too, soccer and virginity have something in common—they’re popular overseas ;)
Meanwhile this American girl lives here, 10110, Temptation Island AKA: Manhattan where the preservation of sexy is serious business. There are Stiletto Strength classes, Toe-bone trimming, Vaginoplasty… Just walking on the streets is a constant invitation to go Nuts 4 Nuts—and sometimes they smell so good and I’m so poor and they’re so cheap that I find myself crossing the road just to get away only to find them at the next block.
And then I stop. And I smell. And I hear the man say, “Sweetheart with a smile like that I’ll give you a bag for a dollar ya want almonds?” And I think to myself… anybody could have these nuts or they’ve been marinating in NYC air all day…And I say, “No sir, cashews please.”
Kidding;)
Sunday, May 11, 2008
THE MORE YOU KNOW
Was it ever cool to be smart? Highly educated : yes. Dumb : accepted. Stupid : cool. But smart? Ever? Was it? But first let me address
what you're probably wondering. What's the difference between smart and highly educated? A lot. I won’t give you my definition. But remember, the first person to give out a degree didn’t have one. And George W. Bush graduated from Yale. Let's just say I know a lot of highly educated people. But I don't know many smart ones.
I look, listen and can’t help but ask the question that many of us think, but fearing challenges to our own intelligence, dare not put forth, WHERE HAVE ALL OF THE SMART PEOPLE GONE? I said it. Now go ahead, ask me if I know the capital of Islamabad?
I don’t.
Have you ever known people who pleasure themselves in asking things like this? While the rest of us are like ‘WHAT?’
But don’t feel dumb if you don’t know the capital of Islamabad.
Islamabad is not a country. Islamabad is the capital of Pakistan. The reason that I know this is because one of my highly educated and very smart role models was from Pakistan and foreign policy—which may sound like something for the highly educated—and I began a relationship in middle school.
So now, as I (through Girl Scouts (GS) the USA) work with middle school aged girls in the Bronx—I’m often left feeling stupid—but in a good way. Their topics of discussion almost always involve some famous entertainer/someone famous for being famous. I’m always the odd girl out (some things never change).
My Scouts say, “Ms. Danielle doesn’t have TV?” They ask, “How do you live without TV?”
I answer, “I don’t have a radio either.”
“AGH” they sigh. “That’s crazy!” "I can't live without TV." “You need to get some Cable!"—And then, like little paid advertisements, they start singing a vowel song from a commercial advertisement for digital cable …” I-O (?)
One day last year one of my GS went around the classroom showing off a newly received text message to her girlfriends—I noticed (knowing the history of this particular young lady) them coo'ing and giving each other the eye and I turned to all of them and said, “ I hope that you aren’t giving away anything you can not get back.”
Then one of her friends looks up and says, “Ms. Danielle you’re really smart to be a virgin.” “Right!” echoes another.“Ms. Danielle be saying some stuff!”
What?
Did I miss a MTV News report—Sex has been linked with smart? Surely everyone who text me to say that fellatio has been linked with throat cancer would’ve sent me one to say sex has been linked with intelligence… I'll have to find more on this :)
Meanwhile, I’m finding that "smart" is not on the priority list at this age for many of our girls. Too many. Open your window, turn on your TV (never thought I'd find myself saying that). Who desires to be smart when so much attention is paid to pretty and so much money is paid to graduate schools?
“Although people are going to school more and more years, there’s no evidence that they know more,” says “The Age of American Unreason” author Susan Jacoby in a recent NYT article titled “Dumb and Dumber: Are Americans Hostile to Knowledge?”
I have tête-à-têtes with my Scouts, getting the goods on pop culture, their take on the world and am finding that smart isn’t cool. Smart is not what’s being promoted. Smart has no corporate sponsorship. Smart has no appealing face. Smart is irrelevant. Smart is only cool in this age when “street” precedes it...or so it seems.
One day after a chat about Divine, a Ghanaian Fair trade chocolate supplier , one of my favorite 7th graders says, “Ms. Danielle’s always trying to make us smart!”
“What’s the alternative,” I quip.
She had to think.
As for me, I’ve been thinking and thinking working and working planning and planning committing the plans to God, and I keep committing them to God, sometimes I think God must think I’m dumb—like “Danielle, from where (who) do you think these plans have come?”
Yesterday as sure as I type these words I had a moment, I was typing and all of these ideas came rushing at me, I just collapsed back on my bed looked up and said, “LORD HAVE MERCY, GOD.
WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?”
(I'll relay THE answer in the next post) As for now, PEACE IN THE NYC!
And HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!!!
In remembrance:
what you're probably wondering. What's the difference between smart and highly educated? A lot. I won’t give you my definition. But remember, the first person to give out a degree didn’t have one. And George W. Bush graduated from Yale. Let's just say I know a lot of highly educated people. But I don't know many smart ones.
I look, listen and can’t help but ask the question that many of us think, but fearing challenges to our own intelligence, dare not put forth, WHERE HAVE ALL OF THE SMART PEOPLE GONE? I said it. Now go ahead, ask me if I know the capital of Islamabad?
I don’t.
Have you ever known people who pleasure themselves in asking things like this? While the rest of us are like ‘WHAT?’
But don’t feel dumb if you don’t know the capital of Islamabad.
Islamabad is not a country. Islamabad is the capital of Pakistan. The reason that I know this is because one of my highly educated and very smart role models was from Pakistan and foreign policy—which may sound like something for the highly educated—and I began a relationship in middle school.
So now, as I (through Girl Scouts (GS) the USA) work with middle school aged girls in the Bronx—I’m often left feeling stupid—but in a good way. Their topics of discussion almost always involve some famous entertainer/someone famous for being famous. I’m always the odd girl out (some things never change).
My Scouts say, “Ms. Danielle doesn’t have TV?” They ask, “How do you live without TV?”
I answer, “I don’t have a radio either.”
“AGH” they sigh. “That’s crazy!” "I can't live without TV." “You need to get some Cable!"—And then, like little paid advertisements, they start singing a vowel song from a commercial advertisement for digital cable …” I-O (?)
One day last year one of my GS went around the classroom showing off a newly received text message to her girlfriends—I noticed (knowing the history of this particular young lady) them coo'ing and giving each other the eye and I turned to all of them and said, “ I hope that you aren’t giving away anything you can not get back.”
Then one of her friends looks up and says, “Ms. Danielle you’re really smart to be a virgin.” “Right!” echoes another.“Ms. Danielle be saying some stuff!”
What?
Did I miss a MTV News report—Sex has been linked with smart? Surely everyone who text me to say that fellatio has been linked with throat cancer would’ve sent me one to say sex has been linked with intelligence… I'll have to find more on this :)
Meanwhile, I’m finding that "smart" is not on the priority list at this age for many of our girls. Too many. Open your window, turn on your TV (never thought I'd find myself saying that). Who desires to be smart when so much attention is paid to pretty and so much money is paid to graduate schools?
“Although people are going to school more and more years, there’s no evidence that they know more,” says “The Age of American Unreason” author Susan Jacoby in a recent NYT article titled “Dumb and Dumber: Are Americans Hostile to Knowledge?”
I have tête-à-têtes with my Scouts, getting the goods on pop culture, their take on the world and am finding that smart isn’t cool. Smart is not what’s being promoted. Smart has no corporate sponsorship. Smart has no appealing face. Smart is irrelevant. Smart is only cool in this age when “street” precedes it...or so it seems.
One day after a chat about Divine, a Ghanaian Fair trade chocolate supplier , one of my favorite 7th graders says, “Ms. Danielle’s always trying to make us smart!”
“What’s the alternative,” I quip.
She had to think.
As for me, I’ve been thinking and thinking working and working planning and planning committing the plans to God, and I keep committing them to God, sometimes I think God must think I’m dumb—like “Danielle, from where (who) do you think these plans have come?”
Yesterday as sure as I type these words I had a moment, I was typing and all of these ideas came rushing at me, I just collapsed back on my bed looked up and said, “LORD HAVE MERCY, GOD.
WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?”
(I'll relay THE answer in the next post) As for now, PEACE IN THE NYC!
And HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!!!
In remembrance:Friday, May 9, 2008
SELFISH VACCINATION
“I asked Mom if I was a gifted child... she said they certainly wouldn't have paid for me.”--(?) ^-^/
While everyone else throws questions out about the website, work, etc. my mom asks when’s the last time that I washed my hair, what I ate for dinner, what I wore today (my fashion still amuses her). My mom is my mom. And my mom is my friend. I know that couldn’t sound more kindergarten but it’s the truth.
I am a complicated soul and no one walking the Earth’s surface gets as close to understanding this virgin as she does. She knew me before I knew me. That’s deep. That’s my mama. And with Mother’s Day coming up, it’s only right that I talk about her behind her back. And post pictures of her making funny faces too :) haha!
The great thing about being the daughter of a busy mother who doesn’t count reading as a favorite pastime is that she has no interest in what I do. Her interest lies solely in who I am my whole life she raged against me becoming selfish—often inevitable for an only child. If someone said sit down and write a list of all the selfish things you’ve done—I could do it. And because not being selfish was so deeply drilled I now have no problem recognizing it in others and backing away when I see it rearing its ugly head. I met this really cute guy, a total gentleman, a true blue football fan (do you know how hard that is to find around here), everything—but despite being cute to boot—he was selfish. I don’t know about you, maybe I’m selfish in saying this—but being selfish is not a quality that I can overlook. And speaking of guys, oh my mom is the best—she never mentions them. I mean she’ll listen to me go on and on and on and on about how CUTE so and so is. But she never pressures me to snog or snag any of New York’s finest. (And I have FDNY right across the street ;)
And then there’s football. My mom having no interest once so ever, sat through the entire game of France vs. Brazil in the semi-finals of WORLD CUP 2006. I was on Fellowship at Northwestern and this, her first time visiting me, not even 24 hours after her plane touches down at O’Hare, are we sitting in ESPN ZONE awaiting the start of the game. To make it interesting I insisted she cheer for the opposing team—France. I was suited up (Robinho jersey) and ready to give a lung for Brazil. And when Henry scored that goal breaking my heart in 4 different places (oh, baby did it break my heart) it was her who cheered (like a true fan) and then, seeing my contorted face, it was her who said “Oh I‘m sorry!” …. Yes, the one I like (Henry) broke my heart but the one who loves me, as we later window shopped our way down the Magnificent Mile, pieced it back together.
People have said, “TELL YOUR MOM SHE DID A HEAVEN (word change) OF A JOB, GIRL!” And “GET HER SECRET SO WE CAN SELL IT.”
I tell them no need for all that. Just be your kid’s best example as a human being and oh, occasionally threaten to knock your kid’s teeth down their throats—and mean it. That’s all she did. She and Nike shared the same mantra—JUST DO IT (sex, drugs and alcohol excluded).
Funny, my first official day of college I called to ask my mom what Opium because someone had asked me to try it. Unfamiliar and unwilling to ask the cool kid, I decided to call the real mom. She didn’t flip. She didn’t run to the university and snatch me up. She laughed, told me it was a drug and that I should not try it but that she can’t stop me. Talk about a good save!
My mom has never desired to be my friend; she’s always been my keeper. I’ve been told that parenting isn’t easy, and with bogus environmental pressures on the rise, it’s not looking to get any easier. But oh well, so what if it ain’t easy. It also shouldn’t be optional. Don’t be selfish. If you did it you gotta do it, right, Mom?
I am a complicated soul and no one walking the Earth’s surface gets as close to understanding this virgin as she does. She knew me before I knew me. That’s deep. That’s my mama. And with Mother’s Day coming up, it’s only right that I talk about her behind her back. And post pictures of her making funny faces too :) haha!
The great thing about being the daughter of a busy mother who doesn’t count reading as a favorite pastime is that she has no interest in what I do. Her interest lies solely in who I am my whole life she raged against me becoming selfish—often inevitable for an only child. If someone said sit down and write a list of all the selfish things you’ve done—I could do it. And because not being selfish was so deeply drilled I now have no problem recognizing it in others and backing away when I see it rearing its ugly head. I met this really cute guy, a total gentleman, a true blue football fan (do you know how hard that is to find around here), everything—but despite being cute to boot—he was selfish. I don’t know about you, maybe I’m selfish in saying this—but being selfish is not a quality that I can overlook. And speaking of guys, oh my mom is the best—she never mentions them. I mean she’ll listen to me go on and on and on and on about how CUTE so and so is. But she never pressures me to snog or snag any of New York’s finest. (And I have FDNY right across the street ;)
And then there’s football. My mom having no interest once so ever, sat through the entire game of France vs. Brazil in the semi-finals of WORLD CUP 2006. I was on Fellowship at Northwestern and this, her first time visiting me, not even 24 hours after her plane touches down at O’Hare, are we sitting in ESPN ZONE awaiting the start of the game. To make it interesting I insisted she cheer for the opposing team—France. I was suited up (Robinho jersey) and ready to give a lung for Brazil. And when Henry scored that goal breaking my heart in 4 different places (oh, baby did it break my heart) it was her who cheered (like a true fan) and then, seeing my contorted face, it was her who said “Oh I‘m sorry!” …. Yes, the one I like (Henry) broke my heart but the one who loves me, as we later window shopped our way down the Magnificent Mile, pieced it back together.
People have said, “TELL YOUR MOM SHE DID A HEAVEN (word change) OF A JOB, GIRL!” And “GET HER SECRET SO WE CAN SELL IT.”
I tell them no need for all that. Just be your kid’s best example as a human being and oh, occasionally threaten to knock your kid’s teeth down their throats—and mean it. That’s all she did. She and Nike shared the same mantra—JUST DO IT (sex, drugs and alcohol excluded).
Funny, my first official day of college I called to ask my mom what Opium because someone had asked me to try it. Unfamiliar and unwilling to ask the cool kid, I decided to call the real mom. She didn’t flip. She didn’t run to the university and snatch me up. She laughed, told me it was a drug and that I should not try it but that she can’t stop me. Talk about a good save!
My mom has never desired to be my friend; she’s always been my keeper. I’ve been told that parenting isn’t easy, and with bogus environmental pressures on the rise, it’s not looking to get any easier. But oh well, so what if it ain’t easy. It also shouldn’t be optional. Don’t be selfish. If you did it you gotta do it, right, Mom?
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
THERE'S ONLY ONE RONALDO
America, we should align ourselves with the rest of the world and reconsider calling football football and football something else. By calling football soccer we separate ourselves from the other nations—and being an American—at these times—we can use all the unity we can get.
With that being said, let me spiel about what’s really on the brain. Football.
This whole Ronaldo and the transvestites thing is crazy!
What is it with superstar-athletes and hoes? Well, I suppose prostitutes and paupers wouldn’t make any cents since the objective of a prostitute is to get money. But Ronaldo! Come on. It’s different when it ain’t personal. But this feels personal. This is Lenny’s Ronaldo—my ambassador of Joga Bonito.
I was cheering for Brazil in the last World Cup—not France (as some would suspect)—not Landon Donovan. Why? Well, before Ronaldo, soccer didn’t exist. Ok, let’s just say Ronaldo = America. And I = Columbus.
See, New York, your friendly neighborhood virgin grew up in a very rural town in the South—to this day I credit God for giving me football. There’s no other way to explain my passion for this game. It’s still not popular down there. Last summer I sat alongside two of my cousins (both male) at my mom’s house and as we watched the 2007 MLB All-Star Home Run Derby—well, as they watched it—I (with the compute on silent watched football). But as soon as a commercial would come on it was “Oh, you gotta see this one!” I’d just discovered YOUTUBE and couldn’t get enough of showing clips of Robinho and Thierry Henry. I was so hype trying to win them over to the bonito side.
My little cousin said, “We’ve got this kid from Africa on our team at school—he’s pretty good.” I beamed! I’ve been beaming since 1998—the year that I discovered football. One of my pen-pals, a Singaporean named Lenny wrote me about Ronaldo. She was so excited. She LUVVVVVVVD RONALDO. #9. And she was excited about The World Cup.
“The World what?”
I had no clue but I would soon learn come summer.
In June it will be ten years. Wow. Picture it. 1998. Summertime. A kid fresh out the country into the big city recognizing nothing and no one but my mother and her friends riding along behind me up the escalator inside of Trump Tower—imagine the thrill, being this fish out of water and seeing a larger-than-life-sized familiar face welcome you at the entrance of Niketown. I think I scared a few people with my shriek. “ RONALDO!!! MOM, THAT IS LENNY’S RONALDO. TAKE A PICTURE!! OMG OMG LENNY IS GOING TO LOVE THIS!!!” And she did. And I do.
So, when people, making conversation, ask me if I heard about that Braziliansoccer playerandthetransvestites, I cringe. It was only a couple of weeks ago that I sat at Celtic Bar eating fries sipping cranberry juice watching Barca play Manchester Utd. that I chatted about this game with an Irishman who was amused by my puzzled look. You see, Henry didn’t play in the first half of this game and being the American that I am I like to know why and actually see the player sitting on the bench and/or hear an announcer give an explanation to the player’s whereabouts and why-they’re-outs, but I didn’t get that. So I of course expressed my concern with a “Where is Henry?” But it was a quiet exasperation I didn’t think anyone heard. Wrong. An Irish accent came at me like lightening, “The Frenchman?” “He probably got a sniffle and needed pampering. You got his phone number? I’ll call him.” he said.
I laughed. And we chatted and later he asked “What about Ronaldo?”
To which I bemused, “RONALDO—WHO DOESN’T LOVE BRAZIL?!”
Then it hit me. I realized that he was referring to the Ronaldo who’d just missed a free kick, the one on the screen in front of us. “Oh,” I said recognizing my error… “You’re talking about Cristiano Ronaldo.”
He chuckled. “Yeah,” (in the most Irish of Irish accents) you were referring to the fat guy?” he said.
“What?” I was taken aback.
“Ronaldo,” he said.
“The fat guy?” I said.
“Yeah that one’s past the expiration date!”
He laughed.
I crossed Ireland off the Bucket List.
You know, New York, this summer I will commemorate a decade of devotion to the beautiful game. Perhaps I’ll go back to Niketown. Truth be told I haven’t been back there since 1998. Perhaps I’ll unite with an old pen-pal and tell her “Thank you.”
Perhaps I’ll fly to Europe and watch my favorite footballer lead France in this summer’s Euro 2008...Perhaps that’s a stretch of the imagination. But it is a dream. And you know what, in a time when reality and its strangeness leave little to the imagination. I still have a dream. One day we’ll all call soccer football, my little cousin will call football "cool," Thierry Henry and I will have a tête-à-tête and Ronaldo will be remembered for defining Joga Bonito.
Amen.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
DID YOU SEE IT
O. M. G.
DID YOU SEE IT? DID YOU SEE IT? TELL ME YOU SAW IT?!!
Ok, I know this is where my people are all thinking NO, FOOL, we didn't see it the website hasn't launched yet and since nobody still knows you exist little-virgin-that-could nobody saw it and nobody cares about your "French Chocolate"!
YES, I KNOW YOU ALL QUITE WELL :^P
DID YOU SEE IT? DID YOU SEE IT? TELL ME YOU SAW IT?!!
Ok, I know this is where my people are all thinking NO, FOOL, we didn't see it the website hasn't launched yet and since nobody still knows you exist little-virgin-that-could nobody saw it and nobody cares about your "French Chocolate"!
YES, I KNOW YOU ALL QUITE WELL :^P
BUT WHATEVER. HE SCORED. FRENCH CHOCOLATE SCORED IN WHAT WAS A DELICIOUS--ARSENAL'ESQUE GOAL . BUT WHY LIVE IN THE PAST? THIS HAPPENED TODAY-- BLAUGRANA TIME!
and umm...DID YOU SEE IT!!!
I'm not even asking anymore. I'm exclaiming!
FC Barcelona beat those oranges to a pulp, baby!
Valencia what? Valencia who? 6-0 oo oo oo!!!!!!!!!! YOU SHOULD'VE SEEN IT!
HEY, THERE'S ALWAYS YOUTUBE.
Meanwhile, this is where the guys who are interested in you, knowing your interest in the sport actually YOUTUBE it and try to have discussion not knowing that I'm saving myself for
a true futbol fan. Oui!
BUT I DIGRESS :)
DID YOU SEEEEEEEEEEE IT.
I'm not even asking anymore. I'm exclaiming!
FC Barcelona beat those oranges to a pulp, baby!
Valencia what? Valencia who? 6-0 oo oo oo!!!!!!!!!! YOU SHOULD'VE SEEN IT!
HEY, THERE'S ALWAYS YOUTUBE.
Meanwhile, this is where the guys who are interested in you, knowing your interest in the sport actually YOUTUBE it and try to have discussion not knowing that I'm saving myself for
a true futbol fan. Oui!
BUT I DIGRESS :)
DID YOU SEEEEEEEEEEE IT.
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