Prerogative

Two weeks ago when I joined the blogger community, the 'Blogsphere’, as I've learned is the proper epitaph, little did I know I was becoming a part of a new microcosm, ripe with its own engaging characters and real-life drama. You have blog rivalries…blog haters…blog biters…blog groupies…blog soap-operas…blog alliances. All ya’ll need is a president and you can form your own country.

Now you have to admit…from an outsider perspective, this shit is way, waaaayyyyy, outta control. It has a cult feel,…similar to that of Tahitian Noni International.

[Quick aside: Why do Noni hustlers sell their product as the world’s greatest panacea? You got ringworm? Drink some Noni. Cancer? Drink some Noni. HIV-positive? Drink some Noni. Addicted to Noni juice? Drink some damn Noni. LOL]

My freshman year in college, I was approached in one of my Composition classes by a girl inviting me to bible study. I had been warned during freshman orientation to beware of church cults, so the invitation sent up all sorts of red flags. Strangely, I’ve been getting a similar vibe from blogging.

Now, I haven’t yet familiarized myself with all of the blettiquette, so in order to be neighborly, I have been trying to do my part to visit blogs and comment wherever and whenever appropriate. I have some favorites, and I am truly grateful to all of those who have stopped by my blog for a read and left encouraging words. (Shout-out to Sarah, Ted, Yanielley, Leah, Lin, Key and others whom I only know by blog titles.) Unfortunately, there are too many blogs to keep up with. As a newbie to the bloggerhood, I’m having to play catch up, reading old posts so I can get a feel for personalities and writing styles. But by the time I have read up on one, I’m behind on everybody else…including myself. I am committing entirely too much time to this enterprise. However, I find it truly fascinating. It’s like people watching, only cooler. Like people watching with x-ray mind vision goggles. Yet, with all of the blogger sites and stereotypes I have come across, I still haven’t yet found where I fit in.

And I’m okay with that.

I haven’t yet grasped the concept of writing for my audience. Doing the Sambo-shuffle just to get a good readership. I like writing, but on my own terms. I haven’t quite gotten to the point where I’m writing to compete with other bloggers or to see how many comments I can get. Even though everybody knows that’s how you determine your own self-worth.

*kidding*

For some reason, people do things based on what others say they should instead of what they really want to do. We work in professions that afford us success, but that we find unfulfilling to our souls. At times, I’ve been guilty of the same offenses, but I know better. And I’m trying to do better.

I’ve spent a lot of time in the last few years comparing my success to that of others. I chose to start a family right after college while my friends went straight to grad school. Now they’re all career professionals and I…I’m…I am about 3 years behind where I would have been if I had made some different choices. And I had been very hard on myself about it. I’ve judged myself harder than anyone else ever could. I’ve allowed myself to be defined by what I thought other people thought I was supposed to be. But recently I’ve done some serious reflections on the things I place priority on in my life. And I realized that I have no desire to be an attorney, or live in London, or to be a Pulitzer winning author.

I’m about to sound like India.Arie right now, but I get joy from little things…from watching sunsets, from baking cookies, from big hugs and juicy kisses, from Sunday dinners at my mom’s, from swimming and sunbathing. I like quiet evenings and uncomplicated relationships. Despite the uppity exterior, I want to learn to change the oil in my car. I’m okay with being taken to Waffle House on a date (on occasions…not all the time). I prefer cottons to silks.

And I’m only comfortable with posting to my blog as the whim hits me.

So while I’m overjoyed, even ecstatic, that some people are enjoying my little ramblings here in the blogsphere, I can’t follow the throng. It may not be appropriate to only post once a week, but that’s all I can do.

Besides, think of it as alleviating the pressure. I’m merely giving you all more time to read all the daily bloggers and work on your own.

Check back next weekend.

Fabulous

I always keep a pen on hand when I read. If I ever come across a word or topic I’m not familiar with, I underline it, with the intention of looking it up when I put the book, newspaper or magazine down long enough to get to a dictionary or to Merriam-Webster online. At this very moment I’m sitting near the gate at the Chicago-O’Hare airport reading Pearl Cleage and highlighting patchouli with my blue uniball. I’m pretty sure that I know the word…I think it’s a food. But, I want to be sure so I’ve made a mental note to look it up before I read the next chapter.

I think it is so important to be knowledgeable. I never want to appear unintelligent. I don’t want to be the person who is asked by a member of the press how ubiquitous I believe hip-hop to be and think to myself…”Huh? Who bit who?”…while I stare utterly dumfounded by the question. I don’t want to be the person who is engrossed in an intellectual discussion about African-American social responsibility but who continuously pronounces Dubois like du-bwah, while the rest of the group of people I’m speaking with are too ashamed or too polite to correct me. Or don’t know themselves which is correct. I don’t want to be like an employer I had who, at a staff meeting, brow-beat her secretary for using poor grammar in her correspondence, but then says, “You should send he and his wife a follow-up letter…” ARGHHHHHH!!!!

[Side note: Don’t feel bad if this sentence does not seem wrong to you. But know that it is. The pronoun ‘he’ is functioning as an indirect object in this sentence and indirect object pronouns should always be in an objective case, i.e. him.]

I think it is so important to be open to learning things. People seem so afraid to say, “I don’t know” that they are pigeoning themselves into saying “I’m an idiot.” Please people, I beg you; don’t be dumb.

And that goes for more than just language. And rest assured that ‘being dumb’ is not exclusive to the uneducated. ‘DUMB’ is anytime you are uninterested in becoming better than you have been. ‘DUMB’ is when you have an opportunity to expand your knowledge base but then don’t take it.

My case study for this topic involves two women I know.

Woman A is a twenty-something dancer at a club in Atlanta, shakin’ tits and twat for cash. Good money. She just bought a new SUV and is living the good life (at least “the good life” as she believes it to be and in contrast to her lower middle class upbringing).

Woman B is a nearly 50, university vice-president and business executive. She was once recognized by a popular magazine as one of the 100 most influential black women in America.

Okay, so what’s the connection between Woman A and B? Both are extremely intelligent. Both are tremendously beautiful. And, both were single mothers at the age of 17.

Now I hear you. A lot happens between “twenty-something” and “nearly 50”. But do I think that Woman A will ever reach Woman B’s stature? Hell-to-the-nah! Why? Because Woman A is DUMB.

Now I’ll concede that W.A. makes more money than I do and works fewer hours making it. But what makes her dumb, in my humble opinion, is that she has given up believing she can do better or wanting to. She wanted to be a nurse but found it to hard to juggle school and kids, so she dropped out. She considered joining the Air Force, but she settled for marriage to an ex-convict. She just gave up. She now will never become a nurse or a business executive, not because she’s not smart enough to, but because she is no longer interested in any kind of existence other than a day-to-day one. Just barely makin’ it.

Ralph Waldo Emerson says that “a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds”—and while I tend to agree, I would venture to say that complacency is a far worse troll.

You never hear 5 and 6 year old kids saying they want to be strippers and drug-dealers when they grow-up. (Okay, maybe in some places you do, but that another monster I’ll tackle another day) Kids want to be ballerinas and basketball players, doctors and singers, or like my daughter, firefighting ballerinas with a medical practice on the side. Yet somewhere along the line, they lose those dreams and they lose the hope and determination it takes to reach those dreams and they end up as shift leaders at Arby’s and Oil Lube specialists at Wal-Mart’s Auto Service Center and no longer dream about putting out fires with a stethoscope in a tutu.

So while I myself am not even close to posing for my first cover of Black Enterprise, I’m going to keep underlining words in my books so I don’t become satisfied with a marginal existence. And if I were you (please never say, if I was you…), I’d do the same. That way, when you host your first book signing party, or opening night for you first concert appearance or dinner celebrating a major promotion, you can tell the caterer that you would like to serve crudités with a gorgonzola dressing as opposed to celery and blue cheese.

Remember, before you can strive to be supernal, you have to know what it means.

Virginity

The first time I heard of this thing called "a blog" was during the 2004 elections. Peter Jennings suggested that we all text, e-mail or blog our opinions about the presidential race.

"We should what?!"

So being the nerd that I am, of course I tried to research it. Every time I Google'd the topic, I got a list of websites that featured everything from Kerokoppi the frog to obituaries to random folk with random thoughts about random topics. Essentially, I still didn't 'get it'. Now, I'm not technologically retarded or anything (maybe just a little slow), so I have the ability to grasp the concept of a blog. It was just that everybody knew what this enigma was but me. What rock had I been under? Either way I was embarrassed to ask anybody about blogging as I wasn't sure if it was a sport or fallen piece of tree bark in the swamp.

But since the turn of the year and the introduction of high-speed Internet access into my home, I have been trying to do a better job of joining the computer age like the rest of the folks my age. I am absorbed in it now. I belong to several list-serves. I send IM’s to mobile devices. I e-date. I chat like an old pro.

Chat is fun. I like it because it allows me to multi-task. I can eat a sandwich, watch TV, and paint my toes, while still being deeply engrossed in conversation. What I find interesting about it is the amount of effort that goes into it. I feel like I have to try way too hard to convey my personality. I have a sarcastic, sometimes dry, always quick wit. I’m usually pretty quiet, but I throw in some comical jabs here and there. Chatting, I have to always be ON. It feels like an audition or a performance. I feel as if I need to have a video of me doing some huck-a-buck song and dance in a bowtie and tap shoes in order to entertain. …LOL, LMAO, ROTFLMAO…Is it really that funny?

No…wait, let me answer that…uh…no.

I was even told that I seem too serious. What? Because I didn’t tell you I was laughing at my own jokes, you couldn’t tell I was kidding? Anyway. This coming from a grown-man whose love is manga and Yu-gi-oh. I’m not too serious…I just no longer get my toys from the bottom a cereal box.

But I digress (<---- I love Tavis Smiley!) But yes, the concept of a blog has opened my eyes to a whole ‘nother world. There are blogger conventions, so it seems (kinda looked like a bar-hopping fest from the photos…I was expecting Freaknik). There are people who post everyday, who have fans and groupies, who have folks hang on their every word, no matter how foolish. And while it may sound like I’m doggin’ the whole concept, the contrary is true. The fact is, I want in. Yes, I want my followers to wait with baited-breath until my next sprinkle of wisdom rains down upon them. I want people to wish me well if I post that I have a dental appointment. I want my own connection into the club where people give you tips on where to eat, shop and club when you visit new cities. Essentially, when it all boils down to it, I want to be like Brutha Code. If you haven’t been there, please visit his site. (http://www.bruthacode.blogspot.com/). This man is a living, breathing ball of silliness. He has had posts that have brought me to tears, gut-wrenching pain, and an occasional guffaw because he is so blunt, honest and crazy. But the people, they love him. And I must admit, I, too, am a BC groupie.

But I feel like I deserve groupies too. Granted, I have no earthly desire to post everyday like him, but I still want the fans and the paparazzi. I have a lot to say. NO, REALLY, I DO! I can be just as crazy as he (okay…maybe not AS crazy…but in a close second). I am a writer and retired actor and I see this as a bit like theatre…like Hollywood. You go on, perform, and leave people with something to talk about. Bloggers are the thespians of the Internet. I can write, tell a few jokes and laugh at them…LMAO! I can do this. (If for nothing more than the therapeutic qualities of the art and act of writing).

So BC, if you’re reading this, thanks again for popping my blog cherry. I hope I make you proud. And next time you come to Atlanta, maybe I’ll get an invitation to the drinking fest that is the Blogger’s Convention