When you need to smile, watch this: The Senior Hip Hop Choir
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
PT Diaries...Entry #6: My Nosy, Happy Moment on the Train
I need a lil extra dose of Jesus on some occasions...and it seems lately, public transportation has caused me to need a gospel prescription. (This blog is completely random, I warn you, but then again, aren't blogs for venting?)
These are the PT (Public Transportation) Diaries:
I'm sitting on the 7 train heading to Queens. The car is pretty empty (I mean, who actually GOES to Queens nowadays? j/k ) While studying my poems for this project I have at Lincoln Center, I couldn't help notice a couple gushing over an accordion of photos.
I'm a New Yorker, and I'm a female. I'm predisposed to being nosy, so I look over to see what could be worth the cheese smiles and giggles. The woman moves her long black hair over her shoulder only for it to fall again at the edge of the photo. The Indian guy holds her around her shoulders with one hand and the other holds the end of the link of photos. I realize they are pointing at a row of black and white photos from an ultrasound. I smile with them at their beautiful moment. He kisses her on her cheek, and she giggles. As she leans her head on his shoulder, I lean mine on the back of my seat. I say a prayer of blessings on them, push the envy to the back of my cluttered mind, and thank her for the joyful addition to the world and my diary.
These are the PT (Public Transportation) Diaries:
I'm sitting on the 7 train heading to Queens. The car is pretty empty (I mean, who actually GOES to Queens nowadays? j/k ) While studying my poems for this project I have at Lincoln Center, I couldn't help notice a couple gushing over an accordion of photos.
I'm a New Yorker, and I'm a female. I'm predisposed to being nosy, so I look over to see what could be worth the cheese smiles and giggles. The woman moves her long black hair over her shoulder only for it to fall again at the edge of the photo. The Indian guy holds her around her shoulders with one hand and the other holds the end of the link of photos. I realize they are pointing at a row of black and white photos from an ultrasound. I smile with them at their beautiful moment. He kisses her on her cheek, and she giggles. As she leans her head on his shoulder, I lean mine on the back of my seat. I say a prayer of blessings on them, push the envy to the back of my cluttered mind, and thank her for the joyful addition to the world and my diary.
Monday, February 16, 2009
MovieLife.tv's Review (and revised trailer) for "Frost/Nixon"
SO THE CREW HERE AT MOVIE LIFE WERE EDITING THE REVIEW FOR FROST/NIXON AND WE REALIZED THAT WE ONLY HAD PARTS OF THE ORIGINAL TRAILER TO INCLUDE IN THIS REVIEW. SO WE PROCEED TO FILL IN THE BLANKS ...
Here's "Frost/Nixon"- Trailer plus review from Shaun Cruz, Shanelle Gabriel (and LaVarro in the peanut gallery.)
Here's "Frost/Nixon"- Trailer plus review from Shaun Cruz, Shanelle Gabriel (and LaVarro in the peanut gallery.)
Shaq dancing with the Jabawockeez at the All-Star Game
Only Shaq would do this and get away with it...
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Not Easily Broken...My Ideas on Love
I went by myself to see the T.D Jakes movie, "Not Easily Broken," a movie about marriage, family, and forgiveness.
I come from a world where marriages disintegrate as soon as I dos are exchanged. Where married men aren't considered off the market because they never act like they are. I've seen the majority of the marriages around me fail, and most of the others just look so darn unhappy. My definition of marriage has been summed up into one word: Submission.
Submit your dreams, heart, passion, love, and life into the hands of someone who may not know what to do with it or may realize later on that they really don't want all of that. It's scary.
Both my biological parents have been married more than twice. The mother who raised me, once, and her one failed marriage seemed to have led her to raise the rest of her daughters to be strong women without the need of a man or anyone for that matter. She showed us how be independent, unmovable Black women, but not wives.
I remember being home from college one break and I asked her to wake me up one morning so I could learn how to cook. She asked me why. I thought it was a strange question, and I think my response was even stranger to her. I told her, "Well, one day I'll need to cook for my husband, so I should start learning now." She was silent for a moment, then replied, "Girl, just focus on your books." My mom had a way of ending conversations without much discussion, and that one was over. (Later she would say, "I meant that if you really wanted to learn, you would wake yourself up. But, I don't like people in the kitchen getting in my way.") Needless to say, I taught myself how to cook in college. My mommy taught me how to love everyone, how to be self-less, just not to a man. She is the most generous person I know, but after my dad, she refused to date, and clung to her kids.
Meanwhile, my biological mother and father both "had to kiss a few frogs to find their prince/princess." Both of their present spouses are absolutely perfect for them, but should it take so many bad situations to find your soul mate?
As I watched this movie, I thought about how my parents' marriages (and separations) trickled into my views on marriage. I recognize the extremes (one side being married numerous times and the other giving up after the first), and have created my own special blend. I never adhered to the idea that all men are selfish (although I've seen more than my share of selfish men), nor have I been one to ignore the flaws I see in an individual. As I watch my friends around me get married and pro-create, I'm forced to examine my ideas on the subject. I am, in fact, scared of marriage. And that leads to my trepidation when it comes to love. Disney fantasies never talk about whether Snow White and her prince stayed together forever or if the Prince tried to holla at Sleeping Beauty after Snow White gained a few pounds.
Amidst my skepticism, I watch the Obamas (the new ideal for 2009) and the few other happy, wholesome marriages, and I realize that I have to speak prosperity into my life. Cycles of dysfunction can be broken if we take the time to not repeat our parents' and their parents' and their parents' parents' mistakes. "Love" is one of those words spoken when someone seems to have SO MUCH in common with us like the love of cheesecake and the color green. There is more to love and marriage than the happy honeymoon phase. I've learned from those around me that truly loving someone isn't easy. There isn't a set way to be successful in a relationship. People are complex, so imagine how difficult a union between 2 people can be. Make sure that the person you choose to be with is worth the effort, the long talks, the prayers, the counseling, the disagreements, the annoyances, as well as the kisses, the hugs, the laughs, the fun, and the love. Make sure that God is the tie that binds you two together, not money, friends, or parents. That should equal out to a fulfilling relationship.
Let's break the cycle.
I come from a world where marriages disintegrate as soon as I dos are exchanged. Where married men aren't considered off the market because they never act like they are. I've seen the majority of the marriages around me fail, and most of the others just look so darn unhappy. My definition of marriage has been summed up into one word: Submission.
Submit your dreams, heart, passion, love, and life into the hands of someone who may not know what to do with it or may realize later on that they really don't want all of that. It's scary.
Both my biological parents have been married more than twice. The mother who raised me, once, and her one failed marriage seemed to have led her to raise the rest of her daughters to be strong women without the need of a man or anyone for that matter. She showed us how be independent, unmovable Black women, but not wives.
I remember being home from college one break and I asked her to wake me up one morning so I could learn how to cook. She asked me why. I thought it was a strange question, and I think my response was even stranger to her. I told her, "Well, one day I'll need to cook for my husband, so I should start learning now." She was silent for a moment, then replied, "Girl, just focus on your books." My mom had a way of ending conversations without much discussion, and that one was over. (Later she would say, "I meant that if you really wanted to learn, you would wake yourself up. But, I don't like people in the kitchen getting in my way.") Needless to say, I taught myself how to cook in college. My mommy taught me how to love everyone, how to be self-less, just not to a man. She is the most generous person I know, but after my dad, she refused to date, and clung to her kids.
Meanwhile, my biological mother and father both "had to kiss a few frogs to find their prince/princess." Both of their present spouses are absolutely perfect for them, but should it take so many bad situations to find your soul mate?
As I watched this movie, I thought about how my parents' marriages (and separations) trickled into my views on marriage. I recognize the extremes (one side being married numerous times and the other giving up after the first), and have created my own special blend. I never adhered to the idea that all men are selfish (although I've seen more than my share of selfish men), nor have I been one to ignore the flaws I see in an individual. As I watch my friends around me get married and pro-create, I'm forced to examine my ideas on the subject. I am, in fact, scared of marriage. And that leads to my trepidation when it comes to love. Disney fantasies never talk about whether Snow White and her prince stayed together forever or if the Prince tried to holla at Sleeping Beauty after Snow White gained a few pounds.
Amidst my skepticism, I watch the Obamas (the new ideal for 2009) and the few other happy, wholesome marriages, and I realize that I have to speak prosperity into my life. Cycles of dysfunction can be broken if we take the time to not repeat our parents' and their parents' and their parents' parents' mistakes. "Love" is one of those words spoken when someone seems to have SO MUCH in common with us like the love of cheesecake and the color green. There is more to love and marriage than the happy honeymoon phase. I've learned from those around me that truly loving someone isn't easy. There isn't a set way to be successful in a relationship. People are complex, so imagine how difficult a union between 2 people can be. Make sure that the person you choose to be with is worth the effort, the long talks, the prayers, the counseling, the disagreements, the annoyances, as well as the kisses, the hugs, the laughs, the fun, and the love. Make sure that God is the tie that binds you two together, not money, friends, or parents. That should equal out to a fulfilling relationship.
Let's break the cycle.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Q-Tip, J. Period Drop Free Mixtape 'The [Abstract] Best'
Best'Rapper/producer and former Tribe Called Quest front man Q-Tip is celebrated on a new mixtape produced in collaboration with DJ Period.
Titled The [Abstract] Best, J. Period's latest mixtape is a combination of tracks from Q-Tip's deep catalog, as well as remixes, interviews and new tracks from a list of popular MC's, who pay homage to the Queens, New York rap star. Busta Rhymes, De La Soul, Skillz, Talib Kweli, Prince Paul, Consequence, Pharoahe Monch, Black Thought, ?uestlove, Black Sheep, Kid Cudi, Blu and others are among the list of rappers featured on the mixtape, which was made available for free download today (February 10).
"I greatly appreciate the time and dedication J.Period has put into this mixtape," Q-Tip said of the collaboration. "He has pulled together an amazing group of contributing artists, and I am honored that my music has been inspirational to all of them. The feeling is mutual." The [Abstract] Best is the follow up to the track "Q-Tip for President," which their pair released in November in celebration of President Barack Obama.
Q-Tip's latest solo album The Renaissance is in stores now.
For the full story or to comment log on: http://www.allhiphop.com/stories/news/archive/2009/02/10/20847649.aspx
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
Titled The [Abstract] Best, J. Period's latest mixtape is a combination of tracks from Q-Tip's deep catalog, as well as remixes, interviews and new tracks from a list of popular MC's, who pay homage to the Queens, New York rap star. Busta Rhymes, De La Soul, Skillz, Talib Kweli, Prince Paul, Consequence, Pharoahe Monch, Black Thought, ?uestlove, Black Sheep, Kid Cudi, Blu and others are among the list of rappers featured on the mixtape, which was made available for free download today (February 10).
"I greatly appreciate the time and dedication J.Period has put into this mixtape," Q-Tip said of the collaboration. "He has pulled together an amazing group of contributing artists, and I am honored that my music has been inspirational to all of them. The feeling is mutual." The [Abstract] Best is the follow up to the track "Q-Tip for President," which their pair released in November in celebration of President Barack Obama.
Q-Tip's latest solo album The Renaissance is in stores now.
For the full story or to comment log on: http://www.allhiphop.com/stories/news/archive/2009/02/10/20847649.aspx
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
Monday, February 9, 2009
I'm a convict...Nah I just got arrested yesterday.
I just had to share this experience. Trust me, a song or a poem is coming out of this. If you think it's too long, just read the paragraphs with the *s next to em. lol. I was venting. :)
--------
While everyone was enjoying the unseasonable, random warmth of yesterday (Sunday), yours truly was in a cell at the 71st Precinct. Some reckless kids and gangsta artists welcome trouble with the law as ways to up street credibility or inspiration. Nah. I was pissed!
*Imagine, my newly washed car glistening sun-rays off his hood. My car, Bobby, was looking on point, and so was his girl Shanelle. My cream turtleneck perfectly complimented my tortoise shell Burberry shades, the window was down, my make-up and hair was tight, blasting T.I.'s "Swing Ya Rag," I swear I was in a 90s So So Def music video. I was on my way to link with my booking rep to pick something up and then to see the movie Push with a fella friend of mine out in the city. I make a right turn (later I find out I breezed past a sign that said "No Right Turns"), and I get pulled over by a police VAN a lil past the corner of Flatbush and Empire.
*This is my first time being pulled over so I turn down my music, turn off the engine and roll my window down. Two officers approach the vehicle and one tells me of my bad turn. I suck it up as he takes my license and registration back to his van. I text my friend Lawrence about the situation, and he jokingly writes back:
"Damn! Look cute and take it on the chin. Don't let em take you to jail. Call me when it's over."
*I chuckle, then I hear the van door slam. I lean out the car window as I see 5 officers get out. As I think it, I say it, "Why are all of you getting out?" Oh gosh...Rodney King, Oscar Grant, Sean Bell. All these names rush in my head. 5 cops for little old me. But then I shake it out because, hey, I've done nothing wrong. I paid any tickets I've gotten and I've never been pulled over before.
*He asks me to get out the car. I get out, aware of the busy intersection of cars slowing down to see what looks like an episode of Cops. One officer tries to explain everything.
*"We ran your license and it turns out you received a summons that you never showed up for, and your license is suspended." I cut him off to stammer, "I've never received a summons. If you look at my record, I paid off every parking ticket I've gotten. If I'm so adamant about paying off tickets, why would I ignore a summons? No, there's a mistake." He shakes his head and says, "I'm sorry miss, but we have to take you in. Can you put your hands on the vehicle? We have to search you." An indignant tear creeps from my eye, as I hesitantly and disgracefully put my hands on the car. I try to breathe slow to calm myself down and to hold back the tears, only for them to pour onto my cheeks as he says, "We have to handcuff you now." I start shaking my head no and say, "Please, don't cuff me. I'll go peacefully, just don't cuff me." He says they have to, and I put my head down. I walk to the van, feeling like a runaway slave being dragged to a plantation, spirit feeling broken and just trying to figure out how this happened. The White female officer who searched me seemed to have pain in her eyes for me. I realized this van was filled with rookies, and I was a lesson on 'standard procedure.' She'll probably become emotionless like many other cops after a few years on the force, but for now, at least one person felt bad.
I get to the precinct, aware that the last time I came to one, I was hooking up an officer I knew with a free case of Redbull. They take me to the desk and get my information. A male officer held my arm as if I was going to run away and as if they took me in for armed robbery. I was relieved when he passes me to the female officer who just lightly held my arm.
*I get put into a cell with another young woman, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I had these images of masculine women lined against the wall, looking at me like a piece of brown-skinned cake for the taking. I sit down on the bench, and take it all in. I'm in jail. Wow. And no one could tell me, to this day, what the summons was for and when it was given. Just that my license is suspended because of it. People sell drugs a few blocks away, and I'm in jail for something no one can quite explain.
The only thing that kept me sane was the conversation I had with the women there with me. One was there for a $15 summons she ignored back in 1997, and the other lady that later joined us had a more serious case because she spoke up on the arresting officers' use of excessive force on her son. (Because she held on to the night-stick they pressed against her neck, pinning her to a wall, they tried to say she "held on to an officer." They brought her in without shoes.) A man in the male cell next to me got arrested for ripping up a BS summons he got right in front the cops. A kid got punched in the face by a White Officer, and two other Black Officers who were standing said they "didn't see anything." It was crazy being around the things I and other poets write about. Why do people want to come here? What is it about being in a urine-scented, cramped cell that is alluring to some? Repeat offenders can't possibly get used to this, and if they do, they've got serious issues.
*The officer finally tells me after 2 hours of waiting that they're giving me a DAT (Desk Appearance Ticket). It took 7 hours to process this. I did my fingerprints, mug shots, and watched as the other prisoners were taken downtown to the court houses.
Being alone in a cell for an hour will drive you mad. How do people do that for years? Imagine, having to ask to use the bathroom, knowing someone may peak to make sure you're not doing anything like drowning yourself in toilet water or whatever they think you'll do.
*However, being there alone in my thoughts led me back to the story of Paul and Silas who were in the prison singing praises to God. The thought comforted me. I started humming Richard Smallwood's "I Give You Praise" to myself, and then I busied myself with writing a song about my situation.
They bring a sister in with me who was a kindred musical spirit: she was a songwriter who's mom called the cops on her after starting a fight with her, a mix-up that led to her being dragged to jail while wearing a pretty black blouse, jeans, and cute leather black boots. She made my time move a lot faster because we started cracking jokes on Etta James, Whitney, and on ourselves because "Now, all we need is to get shot and we can sell hip hop records. We're gangsta; we did hard time." LOL.
*At 11:00pm, I was released from the cell. Sad to leave my friend behind but glad to get away from the dirt and brown-whatever stained walls I'd been in for 8 hours. I put my coat back on, only to be handcuffed again to walk up front, as if I'd fight on the way out to my freedom. He uncuffs me at the front desk, and says under his breath, "I'm sorry about all of this. I wish I'd met you under different circumstances." It was then that I actually looked at him. Yes, he was okay looking, BUT he handcuffed me...against my will. I can never forgive him for that. Nor could I imagine telling people "I met my boyfriend when he arrested me for some BS." I have no license, and can't get it back till I appear before the judge in March. My sister picks me up, and I see all the missed calls from the guy I was supposed to meet in NYC for the movies. He waited a whole hour for me. Poor thing. :(
*Moral of the story: Well, there is a way to make the best of every situation. Nothing we go through is unbearable. Two texts for you:
1) Psalm 30:5 says, "Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." Praise God it wasn't morning when I got out, but being that I didn't give trouble, I got out quicker than others did.
2) Proverbs 17:22 "A merry heart doeth good like a medicine, but a broken spirit drieth the bones." It would have felt much longer if I stayed in my pit of despair. Once I began trying to cheer up those around me, I felt a whole lot better, especially the sister that was there right before I got out. Often times we focus on what's wrong rather than find reasons to laugh or praise or be thankful. I went to jail and wasn't raped, killed, or harmed during my stay. (I know it wasn't going to be an episode of HBO's OZ, but still, you never know.) God put cool people around me to keep me safe and sane, and He kept a song in my heart so I didn't flip out on any of the officers. While I plan to get this arrest removed from my record, I do say that it's an experience to remember. To anyone out there involved in illegal activity, seriously, if this is step one, you do NOT want to see step two of the justice system.
BTW, as the guys walk by my cell chain-gang style while heading downtown, one burly dark-skinned guy says to the officer, "Hey, why y'all got my future wife locked up? Heehee...Don't worry, I'm coming back for you." I said, "No need. I won't be here." He replies, "Babes, you never know."
I assertively respond, "Oh, I know. I will not be back here. If you look for me, you'll be here by yourself." That made me laugh for at least an hour.
--------
While everyone was enjoying the unseasonable, random warmth of yesterday (Sunday), yours truly was in a cell at the 71st Precinct. Some reckless kids and gangsta artists welcome trouble with the law as ways to up street credibility or inspiration. Nah. I was pissed!
*Imagine, my newly washed car glistening sun-rays off his hood. My car, Bobby, was looking on point, and so was his girl Shanelle. My cream turtleneck perfectly complimented my tortoise shell Burberry shades, the window was down, my make-up and hair was tight, blasting T.I.'s "Swing Ya Rag," I swear I was in a 90s So So Def music video. I was on my way to link with my booking rep to pick something up and then to see the movie Push with a fella friend of mine out in the city. I make a right turn (later I find out I breezed past a sign that said "No Right Turns"), and I get pulled over by a police VAN a lil past the corner of Flatbush and Empire.
*This is my first time being pulled over so I turn down my music, turn off the engine and roll my window down. Two officers approach the vehicle and one tells me of my bad turn. I suck it up as he takes my license and registration back to his van. I text my friend Lawrence about the situation, and he jokingly writes back:
"Damn! Look cute and take it on the chin. Don't let em take you to jail. Call me when it's over."
*I chuckle, then I hear the van door slam. I lean out the car window as I see 5 officers get out. As I think it, I say it, "Why are all of you getting out?" Oh gosh...Rodney King, Oscar Grant, Sean Bell. All these names rush in my head. 5 cops for little old me. But then I shake it out because, hey, I've done nothing wrong. I paid any tickets I've gotten and I've never been pulled over before.
*He asks me to get out the car. I get out, aware of the busy intersection of cars slowing down to see what looks like an episode of Cops. One officer tries to explain everything.
*"We ran your license and it turns out you received a summons that you never showed up for, and your license is suspended." I cut him off to stammer, "I've never received a summons. If you look at my record, I paid off every parking ticket I've gotten. If I'm so adamant about paying off tickets, why would I ignore a summons? No, there's a mistake." He shakes his head and says, "I'm sorry miss, but we have to take you in. Can you put your hands on the vehicle? We have to search you." An indignant tear creeps from my eye, as I hesitantly and disgracefully put my hands on the car. I try to breathe slow to calm myself down and to hold back the tears, only for them to pour onto my cheeks as he says, "We have to handcuff you now." I start shaking my head no and say, "Please, don't cuff me. I'll go peacefully, just don't cuff me." He says they have to, and I put my head down. I walk to the van, feeling like a runaway slave being dragged to a plantation, spirit feeling broken and just trying to figure out how this happened. The White female officer who searched me seemed to have pain in her eyes for me. I realized this van was filled with rookies, and I was a lesson on 'standard procedure.' She'll probably become emotionless like many other cops after a few years on the force, but for now, at least one person felt bad.
I get to the precinct, aware that the last time I came to one, I was hooking up an officer I knew with a free case of Redbull. They take me to the desk and get my information. A male officer held my arm as if I was going to run away and as if they took me in for armed robbery. I was relieved when he passes me to the female officer who just lightly held my arm.
*I get put into a cell with another young woman, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I had these images of masculine women lined against the wall, looking at me like a piece of brown-skinned cake for the taking. I sit down on the bench, and take it all in. I'm in jail. Wow. And no one could tell me, to this day, what the summons was for and when it was given. Just that my license is suspended because of it. People sell drugs a few blocks away, and I'm in jail for something no one can quite explain.
The only thing that kept me sane was the conversation I had with the women there with me. One was there for a $15 summons she ignored back in 1997, and the other lady that later joined us had a more serious case because she spoke up on the arresting officers' use of excessive force on her son. (Because she held on to the night-stick they pressed against her neck, pinning her to a wall, they tried to say she "held on to an officer." They brought her in without shoes.) A man in the male cell next to me got arrested for ripping up a BS summons he got right in front the cops. A kid got punched in the face by a White Officer, and two other Black Officers who were standing said they "didn't see anything." It was crazy being around the things I and other poets write about. Why do people want to come here? What is it about being in a urine-scented, cramped cell that is alluring to some? Repeat offenders can't possibly get used to this, and if they do, they've got serious issues.
*The officer finally tells me after 2 hours of waiting that they're giving me a DAT (Desk Appearance Ticket). It took 7 hours to process this. I did my fingerprints, mug shots, and watched as the other prisoners were taken downtown to the court houses.
Being alone in a cell for an hour will drive you mad. How do people do that for years? Imagine, having to ask to use the bathroom, knowing someone may peak to make sure you're not doing anything like drowning yourself in toilet water or whatever they think you'll do.
*However, being there alone in my thoughts led me back to the story of Paul and Silas who were in the prison singing praises to God. The thought comforted me. I started humming Richard Smallwood's "I Give You Praise" to myself, and then I busied myself with writing a song about my situation.
They bring a sister in with me who was a kindred musical spirit: she was a songwriter who's mom called the cops on her after starting a fight with her, a mix-up that led to her being dragged to jail while wearing a pretty black blouse, jeans, and cute leather black boots. She made my time move a lot faster because we started cracking jokes on Etta James, Whitney, and on ourselves because "Now, all we need is to get shot and we can sell hip hop records. We're gangsta; we did hard time." LOL.
*At 11:00pm, I was released from the cell. Sad to leave my friend behind but glad to get away from the dirt and brown-whatever stained walls I'd been in for 8 hours. I put my coat back on, only to be handcuffed again to walk up front, as if I'd fight on the way out to my freedom. He uncuffs me at the front desk, and says under his breath, "I'm sorry about all of this. I wish I'd met you under different circumstances." It was then that I actually looked at him. Yes, he was okay looking, BUT he handcuffed me...against my will. I can never forgive him for that. Nor could I imagine telling people "I met my boyfriend when he arrested me for some BS." I have no license, and can't get it back till I appear before the judge in March. My sister picks me up, and I see all the missed calls from the guy I was supposed to meet in NYC for the movies. He waited a whole hour for me. Poor thing. :(
*Moral of the story: Well, there is a way to make the best of every situation. Nothing we go through is unbearable. Two texts for you:
1) Psalm 30:5 says, "Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." Praise God it wasn't morning when I got out, but being that I didn't give trouble, I got out quicker than others did.
2) Proverbs 17:22 "A merry heart doeth good like a medicine, but a broken spirit drieth the bones." It would have felt much longer if I stayed in my pit of despair. Once I began trying to cheer up those around me, I felt a whole lot better, especially the sister that was there right before I got out. Often times we focus on what's wrong rather than find reasons to laugh or praise or be thankful. I went to jail and wasn't raped, killed, or harmed during my stay. (I know it wasn't going to be an episode of HBO's OZ, but still, you never know.) God put cool people around me to keep me safe and sane, and He kept a song in my heart so I didn't flip out on any of the officers. While I plan to get this arrest removed from my record, I do say that it's an experience to remember. To anyone out there involved in illegal activity, seriously, if this is step one, you do NOT want to see step two of the justice system.
BTW, as the guys walk by my cell chain-gang style while heading downtown, one burly dark-skinned guy says to the officer, "Hey, why y'all got my future wife locked up? Heehee...Don't worry, I'm coming back for you." I said, "No need. I won't be here." He replies, "Babes, you never know."
I assertively respond, "Oh, I know. I will not be back here. If you look for me, you'll be here by yourself." That made me laugh for at least an hour.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
The PT Diaries #5......The Rudeazz Cab Driver
I need a lil extra dose of Jesus on some occasions...and it seems lately, public transportation has caused me to need a gospel prescription. (This blog is completely random, I warn you, but then again, aren't blogs for venting?)
These are the PT (Public Transportation) Diaries:
Saturday:
After catching a movie late in downtown Brooklyn, I figured I'd stop by a spot where my friend would be spinning just for a bit. Being that it was late and I didn't, I hailed a cab. I give my directions, and we take off. I decided to double check the address on my Blackberry only to find that I was off by maybe 6 blocks. I yell to the Haitian cab driver my mistake and go back to my random texting. As he turns onto 5th Avenue, which is not where he's supposed to go, I correct him. He huffs and puffs and says, "You told me 5th and 1st Street. I didn't know you were talking to me." I say, "Well, I wasn't on the phone, and there are just two of us in this cab, so I don't know who else I could have been speaking to." He gives me attitude, but continues on.
As we drive I start feeling a little ill. Apologetically, I tell the cab driver in my sweetest voice to scratch all of that and drive me home. Mercy! Who told me to change my mind?
"What?? You have to be kidding? (Huff) (Puff) (Sigh)"
I get fed up and ask what the attitude is for. He says "Cause you don't know where you are going. You say, 'Here,' then 'Here.' Make up your mind."
I refute, "You are a cab driver. You drive a cab. You take me where I want to go. You get paid either way; the meter is running."
"No. It is my job to take you from point A to point B, not point C and then D."
Rather than say the four-letter words that came to mind, I loudly told him to pull over because I don't need this [insert four-letter word].
(I used the word 'crap'.)
I gave him $5 for the $4.75 and made sure he gave me my quarter.
Praise God I have a car.
These are the PT (Public Transportation) Diaries:
Saturday:
After catching a movie late in downtown Brooklyn, I figured I'd stop by a spot where my friend would be spinning just for a bit. Being that it was late and I didn't, I hailed a cab. I give my directions, and we take off. I decided to double check the address on my Blackberry only to find that I was off by maybe 6 blocks. I yell to the Haitian cab driver my mistake and go back to my random texting. As he turns onto 5th Avenue, which is not where he's supposed to go, I correct him. He huffs and puffs and says, "You told me 5th and 1st Street. I didn't know you were talking to me." I say, "Well, I wasn't on the phone, and there are just two of us in this cab, so I don't know who else I could have been speaking to." He gives me attitude, but continues on.
As we drive I start feeling a little ill. Apologetically, I tell the cab driver in my sweetest voice to scratch all of that and drive me home. Mercy! Who told me to change my mind?
"What?? You have to be kidding? (Huff) (Puff) (Sigh)"
I get fed up and ask what the attitude is for. He says "Cause you don't know where you are going. You say, 'Here,' then 'Here.' Make up your mind."
I refute, "You are a cab driver. You drive a cab. You take me where I want to go. You get paid either way; the meter is running."
"No. It is my job to take you from point A to point B, not point C and then D."
Rather than say the four-letter words that came to mind, I loudly told him to pull over because I don't need this [insert four-letter word].
(I used the word 'crap'.)
I gave him $5 for the $4.75 and made sure he gave me my quarter.
Praise God I have a car.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
While I was looking for a Birthday Card for my dad...
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
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