Cinnamon Ice Cream

Title: Cinnamon Ice Cream
Author: StickyKeys633
Challenge #49: 500 words (or less) about food. Characters can be eating, talking, whatever, but the plot, the thrust of the narrative, the reason you're writing? It's about FOOD. The beginning line is: Give me another bite of that ____
Words: 500, exactly
Time: 35 minutes without edited, 45 with
Warnings: Not really nasty, but some mild sex talk.
Notes: I love feedback of any kind.



"Give me another bite of that yum yum chocolate chip, honey dip, can I get a scoop? Baby take a ride in my coop, you make me wanna Shoop!"

"Why must you always quote Salt N Peppa for everything? I asked her as I grabbed a couple of spoons and some napkins.

"Well you have to admit, it was relevant this time." And it was so I shouldn't have complained, but it's so easy nowadays. Complaining about the world, people in the world and the things they do. But today wasn't a day to complain, it was a day for ice cream. We had these old-fashioned waffle cones that were a little spongy and still warm. The ice cream didn't really melt on them as much as it melted into them. I had cinnamon,

"Cinnamon? That sounds so nasty!" She said as I ordered. I cut her my patented, "Please stop being ghetto in front of the white people" look. The look was an unfortunate part of me because really I didn't mind the way she acted. I didn't mind the way that black people, my people, acted in general The look was one that was passed on to me by my mother, and my grandmother; the women who schooled me into becoming a respectable, "well-spoken" black woman. She caught my look, but she knows me,

"There you go lookin' crazy again!" She played it off, because today wasn't about debating looks, it was a day for ice cream. I smiled,

"It's like cinnamon-sugar, not cinnamon-hot. It's sweet."

"Like me!" She laughed and touched her finger to her bottom, and then put it in her mouth, "Chocolatey and delicious!" I had to laugh at that, I had no choice. Even if it hadn't been funny. For our sake -and for that of the iced cream- I laughed, and so did she. We found a bench to sit on and devoured our treats.

"Girl!" She started. I knew whatever she had to say next was going to be nasty, gossipy, or gross, and I would be interested, "Tyrone!" Tyrone was her man -one of her men- he was the sex fiend.

"Girl, last night Tyrone bought home a chocolate cake. He fed it to me and it was so good, but then he accidentally spilled some and you know how he got it off!" Suddenly I got a vision. It happens sometimes, someone will talk about something and I'll manage to think up the most stupid reference I can. This one involved Tyrone as Charlton Heston, licking her off, and screaming that she tasted like Soylen Green, and that Soylen Green was people.

"Are you listening to me?" And she knew I wasn't, not like I never listen, just, well, you see where I was at the moment.

I'm sorry girl, this ice cream is sooo good!"

It is isn't it?" I nod and think about all the people, in the world, who are missing this. I want to share it with random passersby so that they know it's goodness, but I can't. All I can do is enjoy it on my own, and hope others will get their turn.

Oops! There Goes My Shirt Up Over My Head...

Well, not really. I'm sorry I haven't updated lately (and Katiedid, I haven't forgotten about you. I'm going to rent Bamboozled again and will give my analysis). The QAF site has been taking all my time, and I'm obsessed with livejournal, but I love this blog and I love, and appreciate all of my readers so expect updates this week.


I was talking with my niece on the phone today. I told her that I lost my mind and asked her if she knew where it was. She replied,

"Maybe it got lost in translation..." She's getting so grown!

Telluride Film Festival... Do It!

So there's this small indy film theater on campus here called The Mary Riepma Ross Media Arts Center, and it's totally awesome. Anything that the local theater won't show, they'll show here. I saw The Dreamers (which sucked) there, and Bamboozled (double suck), and She Hate Me (triple sucky suck) there, along with tons of really wonderful movies.

They also have directors and writers come in and give special screenings and presentations. It's really rad and I love it!

Anyhow, every year the The Telluride Film Festival sends entries to the school, and then people in the community can judge them. Past winners have included Matt Stone, Spike Lee, and others. It's totally awesome and if you have a center near you, I implore you to judge. You could be seeing the first works of America's next great director! And most times, the contestants that don't advance leave their films so like, free movies y'all.


This PSA brought to you by StickyKeys, film geek.

I Don't Know What To Think About This...

I met a girl the other day. She excelled in English, got a 32 in the English section of her ACT's, took honors classes in school. She was a writer, but then stopped when she realized that she was only good in comparison to writers like her. So like, in a field of apples, she was a peach, but she most definitely wasn't a mandarin orange.

She said this to me one day,

"It doesn't matter how much I love grammar, or how well I use it, because whatever I write, it will be exemplory. Because that's all that's expected of me. If I improve, I will improve only by the standards of those who judge me. You see, if I misuse a comma, it's okay, because I wasn't expected to use it properly in the first place. If I fragment a sentence, it will get passed over because that's what I'm known for. Is grammar dead? No, but it only lives in those who have access to it. Being that I grew up in the ghetto, and had no access, I'm not expected to learn."

"But you did." I say inquisitively, "You did learn, and you're wonderful, doesn't that count for something?"

"No." She answered abruptly and blankly, devoid of feeling. It wasn't that the feeling was never there, it was that she had felt so much; that there wasn't any left. So I felt for her,

"Is that okay? To only be able to play on one level?" As I said this I realized that a tear strolled down my face. She looked at me and shrugged,

"I don't know it it's okay, I just know that that's what it is. That's what I have to aspire to, to be the top of my class. but never the Dean."

I wiped away my tear, and I knew why I was crying, but I can't put it into words. It has to do not just with our conversation, but with its implications, and consequences. I see her every now and again, and it's the same thing, brilliance bound by predeterminations.

And I don't know what to think about that...

I Don't Talk The Way I Write...

or is it I don't write the way I talk?

Those are almost the same thing, but not quite. You see, in my head I have these cool turns of phrase that I want to use and when I open my mouth to use them I just get stuck. I don't know if I wuss out or if I just don't have the mouth shape necessary to form cool words.

I'll finish this later, but really, think about it. Do you do this?

I'm on livejournal now...

Well, kind of. It's just soooo much over there so I'm mostly involved in like groups and reading other people's stuff. I'll post there every now and again, but I'll copy it over here.

You can find my livejounal blog here , and my profile here.

I Guess Only Time Will Tell

I went back to choir rehearsal after a year of being gone. Just went back in like I'd never left. And there's a reason why, but I can't go into that in it's entirety right now. There is a whole subsection of topic that talks about the background of the following incident, but I can't muster up the courage to write about it just yet.

This post is about one thing at the moment, so please bare with me.

We were practicing this song, and the girl who directed the song (Jamie**) gave the tenors a note that instead of being harmony, was merely an octave of the soprano note,

"I think you may want to give the men a higher note."

"I really think this is fine." She snapped at me, but I took it in stride. You see, even though I had been at this church for 24 years, suddenly I was new there,

"But it's wrong." Old habits die hard.

"I don't care! That's what they're going to sing, and that's it!" She gave me this cold look that would have sent shivers up my spine except, well, it was Jamie.

"I'm sorry, are you trying to be scary?" She gets flustered very easily and throws down her lyric book,

"Why did you come back here?" She turns towards me with both hands on her hips and a vendetta in her heart. Unfortuantely my vendetta is much larger and much more entitled.

"Why haven't you left yet?" I shoot back, I take a step towards her, "You waltz in and out of here like you own the place and they let you. So I decided I wanted to be like Jamie! I want everyone to listen to me even though I'm a terrible, foul human being!"

Jamie crosses her arms and stares directly into my eyes,

"You don't know anything about me." Never one to be outdone, I take another step forward,

"You haven't given me an explanation!"

"I don't owe you an explanation!"

"Yes Jamie. Yes you do! You owe me an explanation as to why you decided to end a decade long friendship without telling me! You owe me an explanation of how in the world you got everyone to turn against me and openly ridicule me! You owe me, you big jerk! You (point at her) hurt (breaking stick motion) my (point at me) FEELINGS (outline heart on my chest)!"

So we're standing there, and normally I back down first, but I don't this time because this time it's not for me to do. So it's dead silence, and we're staring, and the time is passing, and everyone is watching and doing nothing, as they usually do.

Then she starts to cry. Big, wet, tears bog down her already hefty lashes, and tears are streaking her make up and it looks a mess and breaks my heart, but my heart has been broken for over a year and this time I can't back down.

"No! No, you will not cry Jamie. You will not wuss out on me. You will be a woman and hold yourself accountable for your actions!" And she sits on the bench and everyone shoots me a dirty look, as usual, and they comfort her and I grab my things and leave.

I would have stayed, but that would have been too spiteful. And I know they talked about me like a dog. And it makes me so mad, that this is the kind of thing that always happens to me. That whenever I stick up for myself I get into the most trouble. If I don't stick up for myself than nothing happens. So either way I'm screwed.

The saddest part is that I still love Jamie to death, it's just that, while I know things will never be the same, I know they can be better than this. Than the way they are. I just don't know how to get there.

You can imagine the dialogue I shared with God about this. Resplendent with "Why's", and "How's" and what not. It's a learning experience I know, but what am I supposed to be learning?

I guess only time will tell...


**names have not been changed because screw her, that's why!

My Mom Saves My Friendship... Almost

I was telling my mom about something I watched on Food Network today that involved grilling lamb, and my mom said that she really liked lamb and it was good.

I told her that if 'Dani'** and 'Beef'** make it to their one year anniversary, that we would be having lamb.

"Dani should have the party anyway, it sounds like fun with or without Beef!" I said, nonchalantly peanut buttering my bread.

"She and him should have a Go To Hell party like me and your dad did before we separated."

Uhhhh,

"Who in the what now?"

"Yeah, you've never heard of a Go To Hell party?"

"Should I have? What does a party of that nature entail? Are there games?"

"Naw, we just went out, got high, got drunk, and told each other to go to hell. We had to repent later, but you know."

There's so much about my family that I don't know.

Anyhow, my best friend is currently in DC applying for a job and she hasn't sat and talked to me in like 4 days, just a lot of messages back and forth. I was ready to disown her until I heard this story because I just had to relay it to someone.

So friendship saved right? Well it was until the heiffa didn't answer!

I'm on the BFF market, applications are currently being accepted.


**names have been changed uncreatively to protect the innocent

I Did Nothing Today...

In fact, I did so much of nothing, that when I went to Something, and was like,

"Ay yo, let me do you!" Something looked at me and was all,

"Naw son, it's not my time."

That's how much of nothing I did today,

and it was lovely.

My Mom Bought McDonalds New Fruit and Nut Salad...

I have never been disappointed in my mom, until today.

/sigh

I Hate Cowboy Troy...

but I completely respect what he's trying to do.

Let me explain...

As we all know black folk and country music aren't necessarily synonymous in the minds of everyday Americans. Truth be told, they have a much deeper connection than you think, but it's mostly a Southern black connection that doesn't reach this far north.

One would assume that just being black in country music would be automatic exposure, but the truth is, there is some stigma in that particular industry that has been in place for years. It's hard to get your foot in the door, and when you do it's even harder to keep it from getting stepped on.

In order to make a lasting impact you have to do something outrageous by country standards, and there is nothing more outrageous than the pairing of rap and country.

And that is how you get the mess that is Cowboy Troy.

I saw him while flipping through on Nashville Star and I stopped because I'd heard of him, but didn't really think much of it. Anyhow, it started off well enough, and then he started in with the rapping and I lost it.

I called all my friends to alert them to his wackness, and as I was telling a particular friend, she asked me, "suitcase's, why does he piss you off so badly?"

I had to think about that. I went first to the most obvious source of wackness, that of him being a black man in the country music industry, but I've encountered that before so I had to search deeper to see what the true reason was.

On the surface I actually admire Cowboy Troy mostly for what he's trying to do. I just hate the means he's using to do it, and I'm not too sure of the motives behind it.

Let's see if I can make sense of this.

Black people have had many contributions to the music world since the beginning of this nation. And their influence has spread across every genre. If there is to be a country/black hybrid, I think I would have liked to see it go more the soul root, or blues, or rock, but instead we get the most black, most subversive genre of "Hip Hop" to mesh.

In and of itself, that's not so bad, but why is it existent? Why was this the first try?

If Troy were a hip hop artist it would make more sense, but he's not. So therefore, hip hop to him is a gimmick. And that's what I hate. It's one thing to use your blackness to advance, but it's another to use black culture just for the sake of advancement.

If you are a soul food chef, and you start a soul food fusion restaurant, then that's cool, but if you are a French pastry chef, who's not getting hired, so you decide to open Aunt Jemimah's house of sticky buns, then that's wack. It's insulting and rude, and it's one thing to do this and be white, but to do it to your own people is beyond my realm of understanding.

And it sucks because he's getting play, and I respect that he's opening the door for more black country artists, but his "I'm trying to change the world" attitude just translates to "I'm trying to make some money, and what I was doing wasn't working" to me and that's pathetic.

There's more I want to say to make myself clearer, but I can't get my thoughts together just yet. Maybe later.

Whassup!!!!!!!!!!

I have a sad confession to make about myself. When I hear something, and I think it's funny, I like to wear it out until the absolute death. And then exactly 15 minutes before it becomes nostalgic and cute again, I like to drag it out much to the dismay of family and friends.

That said, I've only recently started watching commercials for entertainment value. I went a long spell without cable and watched every movie in existence during that time. After that I had satellite and then digital cable so if some commercial came on, I didn't find out about it until it became wack or played.

I realized this after the following conversation:

My cell phone rings and I see it's my friend Jerrod, I answer:

"WHASSSSSSSSSUUUUUUUPPPPP!!!!!!!!!"

*silence*

"Jake? (for I call him Jake)"

"What the hell was that?"

"What was what?"

"What did you just say?"

"Is there something that you need?"

"I need you to never say that shit ever again."

"You know you like it."

"No, I really don't. Damn, it makes me crazy cause you're pretty cool on your own, but then I remember you're from Nebraska."

"HUSKERS!"

"See, it's shit like that that makes me love you and pity you. That's sad."

"Fo Shizzle."

"Sticky, for real, stop that."

"Ouch!"

"What? What happened?"

"I've fallen and I can't get up!"

"I'm hanging up on you."

"Where's the beef?"

**call ended**

Cool Like Dat

but not really...

You know those black people who are only cool to white people? They're mostly mixed and they grew up in a rural Ne town and went to school with only whites? One day in jr high they discovered that being black was cool, but they had no idea why, or how? They are completely at ease being black around white people, but black people freak them right out?

I ran into five of them today. And they all went out of their way to ignore me.

And I couldn't be mad.

*sigh*

Charlemagne's First Car Wash

Cause cars need washing too!

Just Above My Head

Have you ever read a book that was so wonderful, so awesome, so life altering that you couldn't re-read it?

It's been more than ten years since I read Just Above My Head by James Baldwin, and I can't bring myself to pick it up again.

Now I've read and re-read Go Tell It On The Mountain, Giovanni's Room, Another Country, Tell Me How Long The Train's Been Gone, and other essays and shorts by JB, and I love them all, but there was something about JAMH that just got to me.

It wasn't necessarily the writing, which was brilliant as usual. It wasn't necessarily the characters who at the time I couldn't fully relate to, but found myself empathizing with all the same.

I can't accurately describe exactly what it is. It's something though. Something inside of me that fills with great melancholy everytime I think of Aurthur and Crunch, or Julia. Something that churns and aches and there's a time and place for that, but I haven't reached that place again yet.

I feel the same way about Some Men Are Lookers by Ethan Mordden (and as I searched for that link I noticed I wrote a review about the book echoing the same setiments I've expressed here. I'd completely forgotten about that, and it refers JAMH), but only because I didn't want the series to end.

The feelings are the same to a certain extent for Black Bird by Larry Duplechan. Its main story isn't as bitter sweet as the other two, but Efrem's story is very touching if not rushed and a little contrived. I still love it without fail.

Let Me Explain Petey...

More tonight!

Petey's Side of a Key's and Petey Conversation

"You got a what?"

"A blog? What the fuck does that mean?"

"On the internet? That's wack! I thought you was black!"

"Naw shorty, not with no blog you ain't. In fact, give me your black card!"

"For real? She should have made you cut it up and burn it."

"Calm down BG! You know I'm just joshin' you and shit! Naw, for real tho', that's fly. You doin' the damn thang, trying to infiltrate whitey, keep him on his toes."

"Yeah that's what you're trying to do! You say it aint, you say it's all peace and love, and you just sharing, but I know you girl! I know what lies under that weave."

"It is too weave! That's some Yakky 4b shit up on your head."

"You gonna get enough of tellin' a nigga to shut up."

"Heh, I forget how spunky you are sometimes. It's all that white folk shit you into."

"Yeah, like a mother fucking blog, what the fuck is up with that shit?"

"Watch my mouth? Girl if my niggas knew I let you talk to me like this!"

"Damn girl, I'm just playing, slow your roll Baby Girl! For real though, what's up with this blog?"

"That's cool, I can see that."

"Naw girl, I can't do that."

"I would know."

"There ain't nothing wrong with it, I don't know, print it out and publish it and I might give it a run through."

"I'm a what?"

"A traditionalist? Yeah, I like that, back to nature and all that, right? I don't know man, computers hurt my eyes, and I need my eyes to see the injustices in the world. You know that nigga Renee (Renee is a real wack, wack, trifling dude. Seriously he's crazy and a disgrace) from up the block? I saw him yesterday trying to jack some dude for his wallet."

"Naw I didn't stop him. It ain't my job to protect whitey, he got his law to do that for him."

"Yeah, but that's not the point of the story. The point is here was this nigga that grew up in the suburbs right? His dad's a pediatrician, his mom's a teacher, I mean, just the fact that this dude has a mom and dad puts him ahead of the game, and then I see him doing that shit. It's a fuckin' waste. I saw him later and jacked him for the money he stole."

"Hell yeah! See he can go home and eat, but there are niggas on the street that jack because they have to. That's bullshit and you know how I feel about bullshit!"

"Naw, you know Niecy?"

"She's the one with all them damn kids."

"You know you wrong for that. Naw, she's the one that does hair, Steve her baby daddy."

"Yeah, anyhow, you know Steve broke ass can't afford all them damn kids so I gave her the money."

"Robin Hood?"

"Robbin in the hood? Yeah, I like that girl. Big P, jacking wack mother fuckers and supporting the needy and shit. That's fly."

"Hold up."

"My baby mama on the phone, she said she's gonna call you tonight. I'll holla at you later Shorty. Keep your head up and keep doing the blog thang, aight?"

"Aight Baby Girl, peace."

Higher Learning

So Saturday my SIL, and niece and nephews took my mom to Valentinos (local Italian, soooo good) to celebrate Mother's Day.

My SIL remarked that at this time last year we were celebrating my oldest niece graduating from college, and my younger niece (13!) turned to me and said,

"Did you go to college?"

SK: "Yep, for a year."

A: "So that makes you a college dropout?"

SK: Uhh, yeah.

A: I don't think I'll be following in that part of your footsteps.

And that's why I have to go back to school.

Stinking positive role-modeling!

And Some Crap About Carrie...

Carrie: I hate Carrie.

I hate her guts, I do, and it’s sad because she’s so pretty and she sings so perfectly and it’s a shame that I don’t enjoy her, but I don’t.

I watched this movie called 200 American, and it was a pretty nice time. It was a movie about an Australian that decided to become a hustler to pay for his wedding (looonnnng story), and I got it because the guy on the box was hot and I wanted to see some campy gay action that night.

Anyhow, the whole movie goes by, and there is no sex. Not one ounce. And while the movie had a decent story line, and hot guys, and some throw away gags, it was not what I signed up for. I was disappointed because I had already wasted 2 previous hours of my life on Blue Citrus Hearts, and that at least had a decent kissing scene.

I think my problem with Carrie is that you look at her and you expect something. You expect the sassy southern girl with the rock hard voice, but you get everything but the sassy. It’s very unfulfilling and leaves you wanting something that she just can’t give. And you can’t take her back to the store and trade her in, you just have to sit and take it.

That said, her 2nd performance sucked, and I really hope she goes home. I was expecting more from her pop side, but it’s like she has two voices, and she tried to use them both while singing that song.

(Probably Not) Sticky Keys Final Thoughts on One Ms. Vonzell Solomon

I really like Vonzell, but I can’t help but think there’s something about her I’m missing.

You know that movie, The Hanging Garden? I hate that movie with a passion. It can’t really decide if it wants to be Art House, or just drama, and it’s oh so representative, and I guess the acting’s not too bad and it has some good parts, but overall I just don’t like it.

On the other hand, there are people who love it, and love it with an obsession. They see it as a reflection of their own lives and believe it was a movie made just for them. The interesting thing about the movie is that you can only love or hate it, and even when you pick a side, there’s something that prevents you from fully understanding it.

You’re watching and say, “Ohh, the fat kid is him and he’s killed himself off, that’s so cool and repress- oh wait… wait, other people can see him? So what does that mean? What?"

It’s like a huge jigsaw puzzle of something, and you’re missing the piece that tells you what that something is.

That’s how I feel about Vonzell, that there’s something that we don’t know about her even though she’s told us everything about her. Even though she is so generic that there are millions of her. Even though she wears her emotions on her sleeve for all to see, there’s something crucial she’s holding back. It used to make her intriguing, but months into it, it’s a bit tiring, and confusing.

She has become a mystery wrapped in an enigma.

Get Your Sugar Off My Muffins!

And I mean that in the most literal sense of the word.

I love muffins, but I hate that stinkin' crust of sugar they insist on putting on top of them. It's not crunchy, and it's not chewy, it's just gritty and that bugs me to death. I knoew they think it's cute, but it's not.

Please stop.

Now.

StickyKey’s final interpretation of all things relating to one Mr. Scotty Savol

This post is actually at TWoP, but I'll be doing my analysis of Carrie later this week so I wanted everything in one place.

Enjoy!

05-03-05

First of all Scott did fantastically tonight. He was great and I would have voted for him if I could have gotten through, but I watched a movie this weekend that related so much to Scott it was ridiculous so I’d like to share it with you.

It was called Blue Citrus Hearts, and it was a no-budget, indy movie shot on digital film and so edgy in it’s un”Hollywoodness”. Anyhow, I saw the movie got good reviews, and I love movies in that gendre (read, gay coming-of-age soapy dramas) so I was fairly excited to see what this movie was all about. It had a pretty good start, and then quite suddenly, it began to suck.

And so badly. I was sitting there watching like, nothing could ever be this bad ever, but then the next scene came on to prove me wrong. And it wasn’t the story that was bad, as much as the misdirection, the lighting, the angles, the bad acting. It wasn’t even fun-bad like Anthony Federov, it was just horribly bad mess.

So I’m sitting there, and I get to the point where I just want to turn it off, but I’ve already invested too much of MY LIFE into this so I couldn’t back out without feeling completely taken advantage of. So it hits the two hour mark, and there is crying and running and general acting out, and I'm about to fast forward, but I force myself not to.

Then, there it was. In the last five minutes of this horrible film, there was a scene that completely blew MY MIND. It rocked my world, and changed my life, and it was so mind-blowingly beautiful and wonderful and insane and lovely and subtle and predictable yet wholly satisfying. Then it started to go over the top again, but for those five minutes I was in bliss. I would never recommend the movie to anyone. Not even for those five minutes because in order to appreciated those five minutes you have to sit through 2 hours and 15 minutes of crap, but for those already along on the journey, it’s just a breath a fresh air. Something to let you know that humanity does exist in the midst of utter terribleness.

And that’s how I feel about Scott Savol.

He is wrong in everyway. He’s a thug who just can’t get right. After his scandal broke, a lot of questions have been asked about how you could vote for someone like Scott, but many failed to realize that Scott had problems from the very beginning. He was crazy, he basically told us so in his audition. He is one of those people that every would love to help, but you know it wouldn’t do any good, and the only thing he has to redeem himself is that beautiful voice.

People who vote for Scott are people that knew this, I think. They knew he had some skeletons in his closet, and there was nothing they could do about that, but maybe give him some positive reinforcement, and he won’t add to them?

Anyhow, tonight, I think he solidified himself as the blackest contestant on this show. My best friend’s SIL is white and calls Scott “that light skinned boy”. It didn’t phase me at all when he sung about what kind of brutha he was and about his homies. (Some speculate that the girl in the audience was his baby mama, but I don’t think so.)

Scott’s like that guy that you know, that just couldn’t make it as a white person. That just couldn’t handle the pressure so he decided not to be, and black folk are the one that took him in. Black folk in general seem to love cast offs and I know several that vote for him just because he’s the last “black” guy on the show.

In conclusion, I love Scott, I’ve tried to hide my love for him, but tonight it was solidified. I love him in all of his wrongness, and triflingness, and just plain social leperness. I wish him the best, and would totally cop an album by him. Blah dee blah. Oh yeah, On eBAYYYY!!!!!!

Won't Tsombody Tsthink of Tsthe TsChildren?!

My friend Nina, and I love American Idol, and we were watching yesterday when Vonzell sang the Tsunami Tsingle (tm the lovely Jacob) and how the judges keep pimping it. I thought it was nice that they did the album, and that the proceeds are going to charity, and Nina made the comment that every few years there's some national even that brings the country together. This is that conversation.

Nina: You know, every few years there's some huge major event that brings this country together.

StickyKeys: I know,

Nina: There's 9/11, then World War 1...

StickyKeys: Uhhh

Nina: The Civil War...

StickyKeys: I like how "every few years" to you means like, "every few decades or centuries". The Renaissance...

Nina: Slavery...

StickyKeys: The Big Bang, Jesus dying on the cross...

Nina: When Penny got burnt by the iron on Good Times...

StickyKeys: That was a big one, my mom says she remembers exactly what she was doing when that happened.

Nina: What was she doing?

StickyKeys: Getting her hair done, so it really hit home.

Nina: Michael Jackson...


fin.

I Have Nothing! Nothing! Nothing....

to really write about tonight.

Or rather, I have a lot to write about, but very not enough energy to really go into how I feel about a subject.

Has that ever happened to you before? You get to that point in a situation where it's not that you feel very strongly about it, but you just feel so much about it? It's an odd feeling. Like being full. You know you have to get rid of the feeling, but you don't have the energy to.

You know that once you start talking about one aspect of the situation, you have to explain the other aspect for it all to make sense and sometimes you'd rather just let the situation escalate than actually deal with it?

That's how I feel right now. Huh.

Eating Chicken and Being Black is Stereotypical

No really, it is. That's what I was told anyway. By a white girl I work with.

Let me explain...

You see, the girl who told me this - we'll call her Triflin' - is a girl that works in the restaurant if the hotel where I am currently employed. Triflin's a nice enough girl, she's fun, she's loud, she's brassy. She's like Mikalah Gordon in 10 years when she's calmed down just enough to be bearable.

She's also one of those people that will say anything to anyone because she's so above predetermined social limits. She'll call her gay friends "fags", and her black friends "niggas", and her white friends "honkies", and she's just so very politically incorrect because screw the status quo! And while that's so open and liberal, and new to everyone else, it's really just tired and played to me. I mean, have some respect for the struggle. I'm not saying don't ever open your mouth, don't ever push envelopes or whatever, just do it with regard to the additional people in the room. Don't ever call a black person a "nigga" in front of me because it not only makes you look bad, but it makes your black friend look bad too. And even though that's more about my agenda than anything else, it's something I feel should be taken into consideration. I have black friends that will not let me say nigger around them, and I respect that because seriously, everybody has a different tolerance level and if you want to push it, then you do it at a pace that provides constructive results. I hate shock value for the sake of edutainment.

Did that make sense? Ahh, I might try to explain that more in the future, but feel free to draw your own conclusions.

Anyhoo, I was sitting at my desk eating a dinner I got that night. It was chicken, and some Hawaiian Sweet rolls I got at the store. I was chowing down, and Trifling came to the back office to sign in her keys because she was about to go home from her shift. We had a little bit of small talk and she asked me what I was eating.

I showed her, and then she opened her big stupid mouth and said,

"Chicken and biscuits? Isn't that a bit stereotypical? I expected more of you." Wha-?! What the-?! What just -?! Okay y'all, it's very rare that I get livid, but I was LIVID!, I mean, what the crap? What the piece of hot, buttered, steaming crap was that!? She was disappointed in me? For frickin eating chicken!?

Perhaps I should clarify. Would you go up to a Chinese person eating rice and say, "Isn't that a little stereotypical"? Would you go up to an Indian eating curry and say, "I expected more from you."? You wouldn't right? (God, please say no, and if you don't understand why, ask someone, but make sure they like you because they will laugh). So what makes it okay to go up to black people and say, "Oh my GOD! That is so like a black person to want to eat chicken!"

But chicken isn't a black food, Sticky Keys! Well, my eagle eyed readers, you are only partly correct. You see, the whole Soul food genre is one that was built on the backs of slaves. Many times blacks were given the leftovers, or the less choice ingredients, and we found a way to make due with what we had. The whole concept of chicken wings is one that was built on slave recipes so culturally, Soul food is very important.

Of course, there is a difference between Soul food, and food that black people frequent. If I had been eating watermelon and drinking a 40 I could understand Triflin's response, I still would have told her to go f*** herself, but I would have at least walked into that comment.

Anyhow, I just shook my head at her and said, "If you don't get out of here!", and she left. There was a ton I wanted to say to her, but I just didn't have the time or the energy. I wasn't eating chicken to be "black", I was eating it because I was hungry, and it was cheap and readily available. And while I wouldn't be completely adverse to the art of eating chicken becoming an act of racial pride, it's just not what I had in mind at that moment.

Rest assured Triflin', that the next time I eat chicken, I will do so in a dashiki with a pride pick in my newly blown out Afro. I will have We Shall Overcome playing on a boom box beside me and my fingers shall be adorned rings that spell out BLACK and LOVE. I will wear badges proclaiming that Black is Beautiful, and that I am indeed, Black and Proud. I will do this all with a drumstick in one hand, and a bottle of Louisiana Red in the other.

I hope this time, you won't be disappointed.