You Can Learn A Lot from a Parsnip

Parsnips and social distancing. I went to the other market because I needed a walk. Had my mask on. I'm over at the discount veggies looking stuff over. I grab about a pound of crookneck squash and some parsnips. 

Woman with mask come up to me less than 20 inches and ask "What can you do with those?" I back up as I tell her she can use in soups and stews or as a roasted veggie. She picks up a bag and goes on her way.

Los Angeles Public Health Poster

Here is the thing. In normal times, there is only space for one or two people at the discount veggie spot. I honestly didn't think it hit her consciousness that she was too close.

I, however, are conscious of many things. I as a black woman cannot yell " get the fuck away from me" or, more likely "please maintain social distance from me' in any tone of voice without somebody pulling out their phone and calling 911.

Look how long and how many videos it took America to learn to wash their hands. 

I also know that many markets have narrow isles, packed with food, for now. A person would have to wait for someone to leave a section of fruit and veggies before entering it. That ain't happening. 

There are recordings in the store about please maintain social distancing. I kept hearing the recording, the other shoppers did not. 

Not at the meat case, where we all were stunned at the new prices of soon to vanish bacon, sausages, and pork products. Beef and chicken have hit the $10+ mark. 

Which now makes the imitation meat almost more affordable. I'm going to have to work on that concept for a bit.

I am I little woodzy - I was a good girl tody

Update: You know how people say you shouldn't drink and drive?  The same could be said for blogging after being drugged to have your tooth extracted.

I'm going to clean up spelling and stuff but I was so out of my head when I typed this that I don't remember doing it. 

**********

I just got back from the dentist. He listen to me. I told him my situation with other dentists.

He said he could treat me. I had to believe him, I had no choice.

My mind and mouth are still funny. I took 3x my medication than I should.
It was the only way.

Plus, I got the Novocain so it was a two for one special.

The dentist was cute. That always helps.
My mind is numb and I am really tired. So are my lips and cheeks.

I am the living incarnation of I have no-mouth and I must scream.

It is raining hard

My lips are numb.

I'm going to bed now.

On This Day It is About the Choices

On this day it seems time to come back to the stoop. Never a good idea to type in anger and I was really angry for a long time. I still am, but I've coaxed it back into the chamber of invisibility. I've soothe it and fed it some ice cream.

I've told it humans will be ok in the long view of things. I've held my anger as we read books of magic and fantasy. I've given it a carrot spinach potassium boost. Maybe too much Hop Woo's Soy Soaked Chicken.

I've let my anger watch that scene from Luther where Alice does what needs to be done.

(Spoiler Alert: Don't Watch if You Haven't Seen the Series. P.S., this is a rough scene, beautifully written and acted but harsh like real humans. The UK accents can't cover-up everything so, yeah you have been told.)




Alice is straight up crazy but the girl has got style.

And she deals hard. Alice does what some of us wish we could do to the bad people of the world.

We don't because there wouldn't be anybody left breathing. I think we intellectually know this and millions have watched Alice give a listen to her uninhibited side that says "F-ck it, remove the problem."

I hear you Alice, but no, no we can't go down that road. We have to find another way.

As I type this I think there has been another school shooting. Damn.

A.O. Scott from the NYT has an essay about the death of adulthood. I don't agree with all of it but I don't disagree with some of it.

I haven't given up comic books. I'll read anything that has print and if that happens to be a YA book yeah, what's it to you? I shouldn't read Neil Gaiman's Sandman? Cuz if I have to choose between reality TV and old school Doom Patrol then it is the Doom Patrol all the way.

On this day I have to learn not to be so defensive about my choices.

Some days it is hard to listen to what passes for conversation and debate. There are some mean, ignorant SOB/Bs in the world. But you can't allow them dominion either.

So on this day I keep working on the projects that I think could help myself and others. I'm trying to  reduce the amount of unnecessary yakity yak and engage with people who have some sense. A lot of people have been de-friended or digitally kicked to the curb. Others I'm giving a wider bit of distance.

I want to be thoughtful. I want be respectful. But there is that teeny tiny part that is keeping a side eye on Alice. Keeping an side eye on the Alice in all of us; which can be exhausting.

On the archiving tip, I think I'm going to hang out a bit more at the BBC 1914 website where they are reviewing events in that year. The site is 1914 Day by Day. You might find me in the cartoon section. Hmm, the podcasting section looks tasty too.

Later.

When A Song Reminds of Of A Ruckus Memory

Accidents happen because of circumstance or carelessness. And then there is that dang song. Awesomely Luvie and company put a hurting of truth and humor on what should have been left the song writing notebook. Scribbles, yes. Song, no.

I didn't want to pay attention to the verbiage about the Accidental Racist song. The resurrection of the symbols of genocide as badges of honor do not interest me. I'm getting worn out about stepping up to the soap box to once again remind people that slavery was not a life style choice or a hangover of regret for a bad weekend.

You can't put it behind you if you can't recognise some of y'all are doing the same shit that your ancestors use to do. Like voter suppression. Like controlling women fertility and what she wants or needs to do with her choices and options in life.

There is blood on that Rebel flag. Which isn't even the correct version of the Confederate flag. If you are going to bring up history get it straight.

I know people do not want to talk about slavery in terms of genocide but if you take people involuntarily from their home country, pack them into ships and then force them into labor, sexual abuse and cultural indoctrination then you got to figure on some people being killed because they did not want to go or they did not want to be in bondage.

Most people don't. 

Anyway, I didn't want to talk about the song as much as bring up fragments of an Uncle Ruckus memory.

Uncle Ruckus does not like black folks. Even though he is one himself.  I have met a Ruckus or two and it rings true to my experience.

The speech is wiped clean of any inflection or intonation that could remotely be associated with the African American experience. This does NOT make a person an Uncle Ruckus. No, no and no!

(I'm a little sensitive on this point for reasons I choose not to go into at this time.) But it could be a teeny-tiny clue if other elements are in place.

We are talking about a person who makes such an effort to speak in an un-accented neutral English that he make Tom Brokaw sound like he's dropping slang.

Uncle Ruckus can be immaculate in his attire. No hair on his head that would be allowed to be in any form of a curl or a kink. Whoops, forgot about those that are aiming to emulate Dean Martin's hair from the 70s.

It can go either way.

Uncle Ruckus finds safety in dressing as someone from 1965 and it isn't because he is a hipster. Dude lives in culturally neutral clothing.

Uncle Ruckus does not associate or allows himself to be seen with other black folks. Socially, he can be forced into it but he don't like it and will bolt on over to the other side of the room if white folks are present.

He will tell you he is not African American. He is American. Not of African decent.

Seriously, I've had this conversation with the Ruckuses. My understanding is that they feel it is a self imposed limitation they do not want to be associated with; an association that can cause them to be distant from their families of origin even if they are living in the same house.

Politically, Ruckuses can be Republican. However, not all black Republicans are Ruckuses. And  Uncle Ruckus wouldn't associate with black Republicans anyway. Even hanging with Black Tea Party folks would make him uncomfortable.

It is just that extreme.

He is not a white man trapped in a black body. He is a black man who is doing all he can to be white and racist against African Americans.

It is a puzzlement but there you go. So when you co-sign to sing lyrics on a song like:

I’m just a white man
(If you don’t judge my do-rag)
Comin’ to you from the southland
(I won’t judge your red flag)
Tryin’ to understand what it’s like not to be
I’m proud of where I’m from
(If you don’t judge my gold chains)
But not everything we’ve done
(I’ll forget the iron chains)
It ain’t like you and me can re-write history
(Can’t re-write history baby)

You gotta take a pause. You have to ask yourself why would somebody sing those lyrics? Why would you put your gold chains higher than the suffering of the ancestors?

I'm just remembering people from long ago and yet not so far away.

Accidents can happen. By circumstance or they are caused by carelessness.

The Places and Spaces In My Photos

I have been taking photos since I was thirteen. Sometimes it is a snap shot. I try to make quality prints. No, that isn't true. I try to be in the moment and take the photo. Very rarely is it print quality.

It tried to be great when I had my homemade darkroom.They still were snap shots but I gave it a go.

It was hard. The chemicals sometimes made it painful. That D-75 used to eat through my fingers something awful.

I didn't like tongs. 

After a few more prints I learned to use tongs.

There was a time when I gave up taking photos. Making prints. Taking snap shots. Looking at the world.

Part of it was the expense of it. It did cost money to do it on the cheap and that was the only way I could do it.

I was discouraged by a so-called teacher. Male. Worked very hard to get the undesirables out of his classroom. He was good at it.

Mostly it was the vision that I had didn't seem to mesh up with what the world was telling me was acceptable for women and black folk to do.

It beats you down after a while.

I wouldn't even pick up an Instamatic because I couldn't afford to have the film developed.  Yet I kept taking photos in my head.

I have to say that when the first glimmers of digital photography started to appear the stone around my heart started to crack. I laid eyes on that Kodak DS240 or something like it I knew I needed to get in on the action.

It took a while. A long while.

Stocked up on many a photo magazine in the meantime, getting ready.

Reclamation takes a while to kick in. I had to find out what this digital photo business was, did it involve darkrooms or enlargers?

No? Count me in.

I do actually like the darkroom process but no, I'm not going back.

So I take photos of people I've seen on TV. Or buildings. Or the chunk of hunk that is walking down the street. 

They no longer have to be perfect. Unless I want them to be. They are my memories of what I just saw as I move though this place called Southern California.

The Dickination About Gun Control

Who are we trying to kid? This nation has no interest in gun control. This nation is made up of people. It is made up of people that are raised to see guns at almost every stage of our lives.

Toy guns, games, cartoons, westerns, and feature films.

I watched The Rifleman as a kid and thought the dude was a half step next to God.

The Rifleman was a good guy. Where he lived there was a steady stream of bad guys trying to take his land, a woman or his town. Every dang week that good peaceable man was killing about three to five people a week.

I took in the lesson. The world was bad but good people had guns to shoot up the bad folks.

I took it in and didn't question it. Every other show on television had a gun in proximity. When I was allowed to go to the movies it was a good time for all if it was on of the Sergio Leone Spaghetti westerns

I took in more lessons; don't ever live in an arm pit of a town and you are screwed unless someone who has a gun can shoot the bad guys for you.

I can't think of a day where I didn't see an image of a gun as a kid. And I was a city kid, not in the boonies.

So our relationship to guns goes a bit deeper that people propping up the Constitution as a right of co-existence with guns.

America worships the gun.

And yet we expect grown men and women to make rational choices that would respect the rights of honest gun owners with the equal rights of those that don't want to be blown to hell by other people.

You'd think that 20 school kids would be enough motivation to come to a center point for discussion.

You would be wrong. As wrong as the death of Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy. As wrong at the attempt on Ronald Reagan. As wrong as the thousands of children that have died before Sandy Hook in their homes or on the porch who were victims of drive-by shootings.

So yeah, I'm a little bitter that those children are being used by the political opportunists on the right and the left of the political spectrum.

I'm bone angry that we as a nation don't have a systemic way of dealing with guns.

We have no required gun training for those that want to legally purchase a gun. There isn't a skill level that is required before you are allowed to fire one. It is optional.

I can't drive a car without demonstrating proficiency. Gun owners can and do purchase guns without demonstrating skill levels.

We don't have a safe way to educate children about the dangers of guns; there is no counter balance to what they experience in fiction, games or television.

My god, we talk less about gun safety, usage and awareness than we do about sex education and we have proven just how damn ignorant we are as a country about that haven't we?

You'd have to talk about the "manhood" thing so folks would be clear that strong men do not necessarily have to blow your brains out after a disagreement. No, better to decimate the opposition and have it all your way until somebody blows your ass out of the water.

Think I'm kidding? Do a Twitter search on #guncontrol. That will lessen your faith in humanity.

We don't even begin to have a better enforcement to prevent illegal purchasing and distribution of guns to those hip deep in crime and other unsavory activities.

Don't get me started. 

I would like to see true gun control that would allow folks to protect themselves in their homes but would smack them hard if they shoot somebody in the mall.

I want balance. I want fairness that doesn't involve allegiance to a political party or rhetoric.

In reality this is about grown men slinging their metaphorical dicks back and forth trying to show who has the power or the power of revenge.

Because if we really meant what we say about protecting our children we'd get to work and bring our solutions to the table.

Peacefully.

Respectfully.

And like the mythical cry and wail about gun control,  that ain't gonna happen.

You Can Learn A Lot from A Mug

I went to the Urban Dictionary because I needed a few more words for penis. Because I want to write something and there might be a penile limit to how much I can type penis.

Mugs and Shirts for Sale at Urban Dictionary

I hit the home page and the first thing I see is this citation and the option to buy mugs. I get the person wanted to make a point. I do.

I get that Urban Dictionary uses contributors to the site to help generate income and it is on auto-pilot. I'm not asking for outrage or action against anybody.

But I say unto you, the fuckers still do not get it or understand.  And as much as the concept of having those two words fused on to mugs and t-shirts irk me I have to say that the next citation just adds fuel to an already burning fire.

I didnt want to date the ho, I was just DTF

Now help me out here. Women are being told you can't have access to birth control. Can't have access to the morning after pill. Can't even be sure that if you miscarry in certain states you won't be arrested.  But plow boys can whip it out day and night. Expectation of plenty and you, female person are considered a ho if you give it up. Hypocrisy 101.

I don't know. Maybe we should go all the way back and have young men raise sheep.


We need to make it understood that rape is not a commodity to be sold. Like it is now being done politically. Like it has been done in the marketplace.

Do what you need to do, I'm just showing you a bit more of what we are up against.

How I Scared Myself Silly and Learned A Lesson

It was Saturday night and I went for one more walk in New York. I went to the bank ATM and then bought a salad. I was trying to figure out how to pack my stuff preparing to head back home.

I went back to my room. I put everything on the bed and started packing. It didn't fit. I thought maybe if I went to the 24 Duane Reed store I could by a box or something. I walked out of the door and as soon as it closed I knew my wallet was on the other side.

Stupid, stupid I said to myself as I stood in the lobby waiting for the hotel clerk. All I had was my BlogHer badge. The clerk explained that she needed a photo id card.

The clerk called security and a gentleman walked me back to my room; opened the door and I head for the center of the bed where I thought I left my wallet.

It wasn't there. I'm feeling all over the bed and in my suitcase. Not there.

We go back downstairs to the security office. My mind is trying to think but the fear is blocking the connections. How am I going to get home? Where is my wallet? My god, the ATM card is in my wallet too.

The main security dude ask me questions. Exactly where did I go when I left the hotel? What did I do next? How did I get back into the room? In the meantime it was suggested that I cancel my credit card.

Did you put it in the room safe? No. (I didn't because I have a fear of forgetting the combination. Stupid, stupid and in hindsight, dumb.)

In my head I was bouncing in terror. How was I going to pay the hotel bill? Get to JFK? Get out of LAX? How do I prove I am who I say I am?

Dragnet time. I understood, he didn't know me from nothing. The security dude kept asking the same questions and slowly the logic portion of my brain came back over the fear.  I had to prove what I was saying was the truth. 

I had to have the card to get back into the room. I knew my wallet was in the room but I couldn't put together what happened. No one was around me to be able to take my wallet. How did I get into the room if I didn't have it?

I asked that I return to the room one more time with the security guard. If it wasn't there then I would cancel the card.

In the elevator, I heard TexasBeth say that it was a great fashion show. I told her what happened. I remember her telling me her room number if I needed help. I really appreciated that but I was in find it mode. I was in a bad fix and my mind was trying to remember.

The door opened and I hit that bed like my life depended on it. I touched everything. I found my wallet in one of the handbags. I had forgotten that I switched the handbag when I went out.

I truly didn't remember. (Insert maximum amount of cussing myself, I ripped myself a new seam of pain.) Really a bad time to have a midlife moment of mental blankness.

I started crying like a fountain in relief. I apologized to the guard multiple times. He backed out of the room. The main security guy radioed back for him to to check my photo ID.

No problem, I wanted to show him and anybody at that hotel I was who I said I was. It was like being on the other side of CSI. I could prove I wasn't the bad person.

After he left I started crying again. I was so angry with myself. I wasn't leaving that room again until I checked out of the hotel.

Let me stress that the Hilton hotel security was professional, kind and they had to balance trying to help versus allowing some woman enter a hotel room she can't prove she belonged in or trying to skip out on the bill.

Lessons Learned

That radical acceptance thing has to kick in. This is the situation you are in, deal with it and figure it out later. I had to lean on what I knew was right for me versus what the security guy was telling me to do which was to cancel my card.

In this case I lucked out. But what if it had been stolen? I needed to be ready to find a way to make it right. To tell the truth, I didn't have a clue where to begin.

If you can't afford to lose it keep it home. I didn't need to have both my credit card and ATM card. I could have pulled cash before the trip and use the card for day to day expenses.

Use the hotel safe. They probably have a master key to open it if you forget the combination.

Have a back-up person at home that you can contact if you need some help.

I'm grateful how it work out.  I'll travel with more awareness and self-protection next time. Also will invest in brain boosters. 

PS - I did manage to pack everything in the suitcase and two handbags. I got double screened at TSA but I made it home to tell the tale.

There Is Still Much to Say

There was a time when 999 was the highest amount of posts you could upload on Blogger. I wasn't too worried about it because I didn't think I'd reach 999 posts. I don't think about things like that because they intimidate me.

Here I am. Number 1,000 according to my post log. Dang! I feel good about it.

I wrote long before there was blogging. Use to do an e-mail news letter. Had a old school user page that required HTML. I never warmed up to Dreamweaver but I gave it a go because I had much to say and thought my voice was as valid as some of the others on the World Wide Web.

In 2004 I came to Blogger.


In one of my early post I shared the lyrics to Sky Pilot. There was no way to easily embed video. There was no YouTube and I would not have known about this video from the CBC in Vancouver.  This is a video montage created by the CBC performed by Eric Burdon and The Animals:



I have an attacment to this song because I would hear it on the radio. I might have been between 9 and 11 years of age. I don't remember. But I didn't connected the song with the Vietnam war.

I thought of Snoopy and the Red Baron. I was a kid.  I related to the world that I knew.

This is such a different place. I now understand about the price of war on human bodies and minds. I understand that there have been other wars and some folks are now shopping for a new one to keep the military industrial corporation going.

"You'll never, never, never, reach the sky."

There was a time when I did not have my face on the blog. In 1999 had read a book about being on the Internet that talked about this guy who was making serious cash money doing web work but it got out that he was a black man.

His work dried up. At that time there were people that would attack you for being "the other."

Not much has changed. There are increasing attacks on women and feminist bloggers.

I have learned that you can't hide who you are. There are people that need to see that an African American woman has a blog. That I write about a variety of issues and concerns.

There is no point in trying to pin me down to a specific topic, not in this blog. One day it is politics, the next is noticing that Brookstone in the mall has a bunch of vibrators on sale for the holidays.

Seriously, not the cheap stuff. We are talking the upper level stroke, stroke, stroke until le petit mort kind of gear.

I get distracted. Too much is going on these days.

I bought a fountain pen. I'm going back to writing on paper first and then uploading. Has more to do with eye and hand preservation. It also has to do with allowing the words to come at a contemplative speed. I want time to think, not just react.

I don't like Facebook but I check in on friends. I like Google+ better but I don't have the time to do more than and comment on friends and followers post. There is some new widget that allows me to copy my post here to my G+ page. I might do that. Not sure.

Twitter, which I didn't initially care for, has been my day to day catch up with folks.

My blog - this is my home ground. My stoop. I know it. I'm okay here. I haven't been posting much because I got stuff going on. I have to make decisions about my life in 2012. What do I want to do? What do I need to do?

No matter what those choices are I still intend to blog. And write. Maybe a video now and then.

This blog is what made the connections with other people possible.

There are days when I get fed up with the stupidity of human beings. The American branch has plum lost their minds. Not sure they are going to get it together, it will take something awful to re-connect with each other.

It doesn't have to be that way but not sure if we can come together. Too many forces profit from keeping us apart.

So I still blog. One post at a time. I hope I remain unpredictable but who knows what changes can happen. Be open to the possible has served me well. I commit to that and the future.

TOWS NY and Words From Jay Smooth

I pay attention to what Jay Smooth has to say. Brother can post once every three months and it is all right with me because when he does hit record it makes sense to me. I've been trying to write my own thoughts but I can yank three pages of them cuz Mr. Smooth has scope out part of the signal.

Case in point about Occupy Wall Street New York:



Especially the part about the ringers. The guy from American Spectator that started the ruckus at the Air and Space Museum and all the media pundits, pundi, pontificates and those that cannot see non-scripted reality for the life of them.

Oh yea, oh yea there will be co-opters, on both sides. There will be a voice that will be worthy and then not worthy. I know this. I've seen it. I also know that once a fuze is lit all it takes is some kindling.

The kindling catches and boom, you have illumination and heat. It might take a little longer for the kindling to catch up in Los Angeles but once folks get their iPhone 4S they will be back to normal. Can't do jack with them until they get the Apple fix.

I'm keeping my camcorders charged just in case.

The Day After A Very Sad Day

It is the day after. You might have calmed down after at the asinine behavior of various members of the citizenry but I haven't. It isn't about Trump. It is about deep, well no so deep, racism.

I said racism and I mean it. Old time, connect the dots "Where is your papers, boy?" racism. My fellow miner at the j.o.b. had to keep reminding me that I was at work.

I couldn't listen to President Obama because it would hurt to hear him have to say those words. I dang sure couldn't keep listen to Trump because I was cussing after he made that statement of victory.

Hence the repeated reminders that I was at work.



I had to turn off my radio because the ass in the wine was ridiculous. Moving on to grades in school are we? Oxy is a low class nothing school? We have a right to know?

It should have said Negro?

Baratunde Thurston is a comic writer, techie and social media doer and thinker. This ain't about politics. This cuts to the bone of my, his and our collective citizenship. If you have not seen this video watch it.

I gotta take the pledge to back up on recommending people to listen to Nina Simone's Mississippi Goddamn. Really, it has become an ear worm that I am trying to shake and cannot.

I hope I am strong enough to stand up to the days to come and the idiocy that is now walking around in the name of taking my country back.

Now that we know how far back they want to go.

It Is Friday at 5:28 a.m.

My brain is mush. I'm supposed to be writing, creating and researching things for other posts. I want to. Really. And then thoughts of paying taxes, filling out forms, getting dressed, remembering not to order fatty foods at lunch and all of the grown-up things I am supposed to do.

It is a frigging drag man.

When does the fun stuff kick in? I mean, doing stuff for the joy of it without boundaries or time limits? When does the part where you have the time and energy for the kind of expansive thinking that embraces you so you can spark it up?

I don't blame my brain for wanting to go on strike. It is just that I need it to get dressed and go to work. Promising my brain the weekend is no longer enough.

The back-up system has taken over but it is clear that only limited tasks will be handled in the order received. I'm screwed.

It is gonna be a long day.

This Is What I Want to Remember

On this day I have what I want and what I need. I try to remember that each and every day but there are some days and weeks that make me want to separate myself from everyone.

I get lost in the woulda, coulda and the pernicious shouldas that I forget that there is beauty around us.


I have proof. I was in a room of people talking and no one really saw what was occurring out the window. I almost missed it because I was scarfing down lunch but my eyes shifted and I saw the light burst through.

I could curse myself that I didn't have a better camera to take the photo but that is not the point. The point is that even in the darkest hour there is beauty in the smallest things.

There is a spot of peace in the middle of turbulence and it might take a shift in perception to see it. A willing shift in perception. But if it happens by accident that is cool too.

It is a reminder to be kind to ourselves and to each other. It is a bit of natural wonder to be respected. It could be my emotional overlay telling me not to curse the bad times but to appreciate the good times more.

You bring to it what you will.

Deep breaths, healing thoughts and best wishes.

Winter Solstice Lunar Eclipse 2010 by Kareem Brown

Once of the reasons I'm crabbing about the rain is that there was no way to record the lunar eclipse that happened on December 21, 2010. Fortunately other folks with cameras and camcorders did not let that stop them.



Kareem Brown shot this time lapsed video of the event. The actual eclipse was four and a half hours, this will take about 1:30 to watch.

Big Girl You Are Beautiful on the Finally Friday Freakout

Laurie White wrote a post about her body and peoples reactions to her body. The name of the post is How I Got Fat.

As with most things it isn't just about the food but how other people perceived the validity of your body. This current culture is not very affirming. But there are days and there are moments in a day when it is safe to be who you are. I have learned to treasure the minutes and moments that I feel at peace. I am learning to tell the haters inside and outside of my head to go to hell.



Every couple of years or so there is a song to celebrate those of us on the curve swerve side. Sir Mix-A-Lot and Queen come to mind at the moment as being artists who have made a buck or two singing praises for the more puffy among us.

I have no idea who Mika is, he seems like an energetic kind of fellow.



I just zipped over to http://www.mikasounds.com and he is all over the place. Touring that is and singing his songs. Being who he was born to be and hopefully no one is prejudging his singing ability on his looks.

He looks fine to me. The kid is alright.

The Other Prescott Mural - There Is Diversity in Prescott, Arizona

Despite what certain members of the Prescott community would have you believe there are diverse populations in the area. This is another mural project that took place at Mile High Middle School.



In the video it explains the process of how the coordinator and the students got together, connected with nature and created the mural. The students also spoke with the Yavapai people to learn of their culture.

This is an example of helping students make the connection between what they learn in the class room and applying it to their environment.

My Squirrel Story or Just Do It

I turn the corner and walk down the block. Actually while my legs were moving I'm was thinking of what I have to do to be worthy of drawing continued breaths. The laundry, the kitchen, updating software on the computer, research, edit video, plan, dream, exercise, blah, blah and blah.

My eyes glance down at the ground for a moment. A squirrel is walking up the block with either a kid's ball in it's mouth or an orange. I'm leaning toward orange because there are orange trees on the block.

This sphere is 3x the size of the squirrel's head. He/she can't see where she is going but the destination was a tree. The fuzzy one scampers up the tree with the object firmly in the teeth.

I loose sight of the squirrel. I can't remember what I was thinking about on account that squirrel was making me feel like a slacker.

I went home and took a nap. I needed one. Later, I did a little bit of everything and it was good enough.

Will the lesson hold? Probably not.

But I have to tell you I see squirrels all over the place. Makes it kinda hard to forget.

California African America Museum Events

You don't have to be African American to visit the California African American Museum. In fact, if you are not African American I definitely think you should go for a visit. If you are African American and haven't been what the heck are you waiting for, an invitation?

Ok. I invite you to visit the museum. It is free, by the way.

There are a bunch of events that folks should know about so here is a quick run down:

• Harlem of the West - Jazz, Bebop and Beatnik
• An Idea Called Tomorrow - 1 , a collaboration with the Skirball Museum - according to the web site it is "intended to inspire visitors to reflect upon the active role we must all play in bringing about a more just, equitable, and peaceful future."
• Dance Theatre of Harlem: 40 Years of Firsts - Costumes and history of one of America's premier dance institution.

In addition to the exhibits there are art workshops. As soon as my secret inside source mails me the flyer (um, she is retro old school) I'll post the freebie art event.

So if you home school or looking for something to do with the kids on your weekend and, you don't have cash for Disneyland, this might be an option for you and the little darlings/devils.

The address of the California African American Museum is 600 State Drive, Exposition Park Los Angeles, CA 90037. The museum is open Tuesday - Sunday. They are closed on Mondays.

The Gift of Permission For the Imaginary Box

This is one of those moments that smacks you upside the head. I have had a mental loop of a scene in a movie that comes back to me from time to time. The movie is The Devil in Miss Jones. The link is to the specific scene in the movie and nothing more.


For those on work lock down it or otherwise video prohibited it is the scene where Miss Jones is about to be enroll in the School of Carnal Knowledge. Miss Jones meets "The Teacher."

The Teacher removes the inhibitions that probably caused Miss Jones to take the express train out of life in the first place. The scene has always been my favorite part.

Now I know some of you are not happy that she bowed down to a man and he was the one to remove her blockage. I get where you are coming from really. In 1973, and even much later when I saw the movie in college, the removal of inhibitions was hot stuff.

When you turned 18 and was free to do it but you were unclear as to what it was or how to get going. Truthfully, some of us needed help. So no, I can't do the revisionist history thing. This is how it was expressed at the time.

Did the scene cause me to go buck wild? No.

It does serve as a on-going mental talisman about constructing my own personal spheres of sexual permission. What do I like? What is the about and does it fit with where I am now? What are my boundaries? What is the limit?

The photo below is of modern day Georgina Spelvin. Many years later I find myself reading her web site. She is a real person who writes about how she really did not expect people to see the movie.

Older. A woman with perspective of the path that got her where she is today. Georgina tells a bit of the story in the (NSFW) video. You can click the photo for the video.

The older woman in the video is a hoot. I like her. Does it take away my appreciation for that scene? No. It is more like looking at a painting. That scene and what I bring to it is separate and apart from the artist who created it. One is imaginary. The other is flesh and blood.

So the first gift in the imaginary box for Valentine's Day is the gift of remembering to honor and validate internal and external (if you choose to) expressions of sexuality.

Those with faith based restrictions or who believe that it is only for procreation purposes shouldn't have been reading this deep in to the post in the first place.

For the rest of us, well maybe a reclamation project is in order. For some people try a new stroke or meet a new bloke. For other folks perhaps a time to pull back and review how thin you are spreading yourself around.

On this day, I place the gift of permission into the box.

Colors After the Rain In Pasadena

I miss recording and shooting video. I miss taking photos too so this past Saturday I did something about it. I had cabin fever so I needed to go outside.



What I noticed was that it was very bright and clean, the buildings, the colors and I wanted to take a moment to really look at the colors that were popping out. I used my trusty Kodak Zi6 with the intention of shooting video but it just so happens that photos did a better job of showing the colors. I love this camcorder. I love almost any camcorder but I do have high affection for my Zi6.

The photos were not tweaked or color adjusted. The music is called SunSpark and is it from Dan-O at DanoSongs.com I'm working on a tutorial screencast to explain the process.