I wonder what it would be like

I wonder what it'd be like to never have someone tell you to shutup
Further what it'd be like to slap the people try to stifle our innermost selves

I wonder what it'd be like to never have to be quiet, but to sing at the top of my lungs whenever, wherever, whatever

Just wondering to pass my day by without violence or harsh words :)
Thanks for listening

Singing other people's stuff...

This is the dilemma I have when I go to open mics, not that I've been to one in a while
I was going to an open mic last night with my new friend Alexis (upcoming actress--catch her on stage in less than a year--I promise)
Cafe Wha was the chosen location, but it turns out that their open mic doesn't start until 12 MIDNIGHT!
What is that?
I don't get why open mics start so late!
It kind of makes me sad since I do still have a day job that requires me to get in before 2pm :)

I was going to sing Maxwell's "Whenever, Wherever, Whatever"
It's one of my favorite songs by him, though really, anything he puts out is potentially my favorite
He's just so sweet
I saw him live once...?
WHOA
Oh, and (yes this a shameless plug for ME) I saw, spoke to, and hugged him once a couple years ago.
I'm still (along with several other hundred people worldwide) waiting for his new album to drop. It appears that he's got something coming (for real this time) from Columbia records.
Check his myspace page, there's a snippet

Anyway, just wanted to share this update, as well as a pretty decent version of what I would have sounded like if I'd sung this last night. Enjoy!

Also, if anyone has any suggestions of songs I should consider singing at open mics, or even just having in my repertoire, please let me know. I'm open to ideas and welcome all forms of support.

Love, love, love

Isn't it Funny

Isn't it funny how we can go from not seeing someone for years and years to feeling like we've missed them the whole time, without ever having reached out?
Isn't it funny how a kind word can make you feel like crying, just for the simple goodness of knowing someone actually cares?
Even funnier to know they can lose that ability in a mere split second...

Isn't it funny how we can KNOW what we're put here on earth to do, but doubt it every day of our lives, never listening to the voice inside our heads and hearts, but paying total attention the naysayers who say "it can't be done"?

I think it's rather funny myself
and I laugh out loud
scoff at those who would otherwise scoff at me
i know what i'm meant to do
and i know who I'm answering to
and i know He wouldn't have it any other way

yet and still, I know there are people who feel I have to answer to them
and I know there are times I feel I have to entertain them
but in the end. . .i know, i know, i know
who holds tomorrow, and i know
who holds. . . who holds. . .my hand

live your lives
live your dreams
and don't EVER let ANYONE try to steal them away!

This whole love thing is overrated.

I thought or maybe I just guessed incorrectly that love was some beautiful untainted thing that you could hang on somebody's wall and show it off like fine art.
I am slowly but surely finding it's more abstract than that. Not an Alfred Stieglitz at all but more like any given amateur, prancing around with a polaroid camera and calling posed phrases that resemble his dreams "art"

I would go as far as to say love is bullshit but I still believe in it too deeply to say that.

A while ago, I met a man. Older. Attractive. Similar interests. Smart. Articulate. Artistic. Culturally conscious. Almost absolutely wonderful outside of that deep gut feeling that kept saying something just ain’t right.

Problem: he had a girlfriend the whole 5 months it took me to accidentally fall into the ditch of love, so artfully placed at his f-ing feet. Go fig.

Sometimes it feels like someone's playing a trick on me. Is it you God?
No...couldn't be. You love me too much. I'd believe 200% times more that it's me. I'm the trickster and the fool. How pitifully romantic is that?

Here’s the story: After five months of getting to know the guy I fall in love only to find out intuitively (three days later) about the girlfriend; sever all [too] close ties; eventually drag myself, slimy and muddied, from the completely unglamorousness of being in love (and yes, ugly crying—even if spurred on by the all too familiar PMS monster), and walk away. Now here he comes 5 months later to do it all over again, screwing my psyche up and making me feel this awesome fullness even though I still can't do anything with it because morally "we're almost over" still sounds a lot like "I have a girlfriend" to me.
Correct me if I'm wrong. Maybe slavery wasn't the only peculiar institution . . .

Either way it goes, my heart doesn't stop beating when he's in mind or eye and I know it's love, and God I wish I could do something about it—but what?
Hug him?
Hold him?
Leave him?
Listen to him?
Just be there?

I guess the answer is yes—all of that

You may know the song: “hopelessly devoted (or is it commited?) to you . . .” Guess I DON’T know the song, huh? Well I guess that's me.

I'd rather be at Jamba Juice in Times Square getting 2-for-1 smoothies.
Hey, that actually sounds like a plan :-)
At least I have something to look forward to. . .

“I will have poetry in my life. And adventure. And love. Love above all.”—Shakespeare in Love (only one of my FAVORITE movies of all time!)

Men who race to sit down on the train (written 11/18/07)

More than a writer I’m coming to believe I’m more a thinker

...This Sunday afternoon as I was heading down to BK to meet a friend at http://www.mocada.org">Mocada I got on the 4 train.
There were a few seats to which several people rushed

Asses are indeed made to be seated

I got on and came face to face with a rather largely built man who wanted to sit down.
His ass was definitely bigger than mine.
I made my well what r u gonna do now? face (kinda like this, but without the sunlight and sunglasses) and was glad when he moved away from my (rightful, or so I felt) seat to another free seat.
I think I may have even sensed a little shame just before he moved away…or was that defeat?
I'm actually not sure but I honestly didn't care until this cute smallish girl got on at the next stop (she reminded me of my sister) and missed a few seat opps to eager unthinking men. Her face of defeat actually hurt.

I was offended for her and saddened at what really bothers me often--men carelessly taking seats that could more politely be used by women.
By no means would I ever suggest that men don't deserve a seat. Sometimes even more than women what with the potentially strenuous and dangerous work they do for cities and offices. But at LEAST extend the courtesy!
It makes me shiver to wonder what their mothers were teaching. . .

I know this could stretch into a three (or more) hour conversation about men and women and how we relate and what expectations we have of each other. And by all means, converse away (via comments.) To me it's as simple as being courteous.

I went as far (after watching the girl flounder and fail for at least 3 seats) to get her attention and offer her my seat. She smiled and declined. Previous to this offer she actually looked sad. Like she’d had one of those days and this seat thing was on the brink of taking her to tears. And I didn't want that for her because I understand “those days” and they are not easy. I worried about her like I do my own sister when she has a bad day.

A bad day coupled with too many unthoughtful men can really be depressing.

So this is a simple plea, not only to men but to everyone. Let's try to look into each others' eyes and see what we can see. Then move to your seat. If your “seat” ends up being a pole to lean on, don't take the seat that's waiting for mr. or mrs. tired ass and feet. Look around, spread love, and give up your seat.

i couldn't go to sleep yet-it wasn't time

tonight i had my first voice lesson in a while--a few months
it cost me about what i'd value my vhs collection at
$65
not too much but it makes a dent when trying to decide whether to eat breakfast or not
whether to buy that evian water bottle or not
whether to stay in or go out and buy that drink you could have substituted with water...from the tap

i've heard so many times that life is about our decisions
that what we choose will guide us to where we're going

as i do my best to (sometimes) stay quiet and listen to the voice of God in my head during this 25th year of life, i'm led both by spirit and faithful friends to believe in me

[faithful] leaps abound in glory
i can't believe anything less than this right now
i'm heading towards my glory
it sounds like the sun is coming too

This is the day of Thanksgiving...

...blessed be the name of the righteous one
This is the day of rejoicing, for all the things that He has done
He reigns supreme . . . over everything,
But yet He listens . . . to the birds that sing
Celebrate
Celebrate
Celebrate Jesus Chriiiiist!

(and this posting has nothing to do with that this Thursday is Thanksgiving--though I do wish a happy one to each and everyone who does and doesn't read my blog)

Indeed, sometimes I need to encourage myself to be thankful instead of pissed at what drama or ridiculousness my days bring me.
I was chatting with a friend and listing the reasons why a recent day of mine stayed afloat, and thought maybe you wouldn't mind me listing a few of my blessings, about which I should be and am in the process of rejoicing.

Here goes:
God woke me up this morning
I actually got work done today
I wore my new red earrings today (by Sophia Loren Coffee)
I have enough money to pay for my voice lesson tonight and I'm excited
I have a house to go home to, and a key to open the door
I have food at home (waiting to be cooked)
Somebody left me a voicemail, which to me means they (whoever they are) were thinking 'bout me
My sister said I can have Thanksgiving with her and her bf's family
Even though I didn't sell ANY scarves this weekend at the trunk show, I accomplished much--finished product with labels (hand-designed by Jaeah Lee, upcoming visual artist/architect)

. . . the list really doesn't have an ending place, but I'll try this:
i read this morning in Isaiah--that's the Bible :)--that God selects all the stars and puts them in their place and calls them by name to shine the way they do

I figure, if he can make a star to shine so bright, I'll be alright

About the...

Rage in Brooklyn that I unfortunately didn't know about until the paper this morning--how uninformed of me!--can i just throw the question out:
What do we think of this?

I feel that given the already tense atmosphere of this America we live in, where police brutality is not railed against with any force by the just-us system, the recent murder of the unarmed Khiel Coppin was quite obviously as ridiculous as all the rest.

From what I read, it does appear that like his mother said, Coppin was suffering from mental issues. But 20 shots?
I am not, nor do I pretend to be anything close to a police, or even in support of that body of citizens. However, I feel my gut telling me that their job is not to shoot with the intent to kill, even if the person is suspected of having a weapon, but to disable the person from being able to kill or harm them. I understand self defense, but DAMN!
Is the shot to the knee no longer an acceptable method?

I'm at a bit of a loss and figured maybe somebody has something to say. . .

Night on the town (with the Rockettes)

And I wish I'd have had my camera, but alas!
Here are my notes from opening night at Radio City Music Hall:

Okay, so right this moment I am radio city, for the 1st time since I've lived in New York.

Why?

Because the wife of one of my best friends since kindergarten (Cousin Christy, I'm thinking of u and your cute accented "kindergarten") is a dancer in this year's Christmas Spectacular with the Rockettes. . . right.

She's wonderful and I love her (yaaay Alia!) and she chose me to get the other comp ticket. Because, she says, I always make her feel good about her performances, post show.
But what's throwing Andre (Alia’s husband, my friend) and I right now is the "glamour and grandeur" of it all.

The line outside?
Ridiculous.

This theater?
Ri-damn-diculous.

I just saw Miranda from Sex and the City in the lobby as we were walking to our seats in the orchestra. Well alright!

This scene (rendered complete by the bar of chocolate and the peppermint candy cane given us at the door) leads us to a conversation:

What is "art"? And further, what is art for Americans?

I think it’s the level of décor and celebration that makes it all too much for us, especially knowing the hard work that’s put in by struggling artists to make their mark through statements that could mean formidable change for the world. Or maybe that’s too deep for this crowd.

From Ailey to Radio City, it appears (preshow by the way) that it's full with glitz, glamour and beauty. But what is beauty?

And says who?

Back to the scene. . .

I forgot to mention the star light they gave us at the door, along with instructions and 3-D glasses. Do I really need this?
Only if it's free. (And a post-show recap makes it all very clear: this show is made for children. It’s a tradition. Breathe and let it be—or else we’ll incite a mass conniption.)

Oh, and apologies to my coworkers to whom I tried to sell an early love for Christmas music last week. With “frosty the snowman” in my ear, I completely understand and revoke my previous inquiries.

(Oh wait, a conversation about the union strike on broadway, which obviously didn't affect Radio City...What about the tours? It turns out that tech crews travel. Wow.)

Final notes (pre-show). . .

The show was supposed to start at 7:30…it’s four til 8, and nobody’s said a word. Andre says: I don’t ever want to hear another word about black people’s shows being late.

‘Nuf said.

Post show reflections:

Similar to the aforementioned sentiment of “breathe and let it be,” not to be confused with laissez-faire :), the Christmas Spectacular with the Rockettes is exactly that. A spectacle of sorts. It’s not offensive. It’s a good show. I think it’s necessary to place things in different parts of our understandings. I don’t know if anyone calls this show high art. I think I can go as far as to say, such a statement would be obviously incorrect.

What it is, is entertainment. A night on the town. And a creative (and traditional) way to usher in the holiday season (and the cheer that comes with it, if you will). . .even if it is November 14th

Merry Christmas!!!

Shooting off at the heart/brain

So I get to work early-ish (yay!) and after admiring my coworker’s dress, see that she’s brought something new into the office: a hot water heater. It resembles a humidifier.

She’s brought it in because the one we have in our kitchen (“our” being the nonprofit where I work) is slow and isn’t quite effective. (Sidenote: though I don’t do any programmatic work here, I think it can be said in a general sense—and not only in reference to non-profits—that organizations tend to go the length to figure out the problems, and to research them extensively, only to leave the solution incomplete or only partially done. I promise this is relevant to the story I’m about to tell.)

The water heater. . .
So she’s brought it in, and it appears to be slightly sizeable, but isn’t ginormous (shoutout to the Tuskeegee crew). I hear her say once: can you find mean extension cord? I ask, for what? It doesn’t fit in the kitchen without one? She tells me our Operations Manager has voiced a concern regarding the water heater taking up too much counter space…blah blah.

Did I mention I don’t like being told "no"?

I hear again: can you find me an extension cord?

Oh, and another thing I don’t like is repeating myself or hearing the same thing over and over and OVER. It begins to feel like someone tapping my shoulder—which I don’t like.

I respond: I’ll TRY!

And yes, it’s okay to express emotion in this office space. So I raised my voice.
My mother might be shamed. My sister would be appalled.
I say we are not all the same.

Back to storytime. . .
When things get annoying, I make a decision to either ignore them or to fix them/change them from being annoying to being not. So when I heard: can you find me an extension cord? again I may have snapped a little bit. I uprooted myself from my desk, grabbed the hot water heater, and made my way to the kitchen to do a little experiment. This seemed an easier option than finding an extension cord that has nothing to do with me or my job.

I rearranged some things: coffee maker #1, to the left; coffee maker #2, to the left; current hot water heater, offline; new hot water heater, to the right. Everything fit perfectly, thus proving the previous statement or concern incorrect and invalid, and hence irrelevant. Solution? Replace old hot water heater with new hot water heater. Water flows freely at a reasonable pace, everybody is happy. No excess or lost counter space. Tah-dah!

I walk back to my desk, victorious, to get my coworker (to whom the device belongs) and her approval. I am indeed quite proud of myself.

A note on my not taking “no” for an answer:

I believe strongly that when there’s a will there’s a way. If you want something badly enough, you’ll figure out how to do get it done, how to reach the next level, how to win the prize. “No” will always lose to a winner. I’m a winner.

Previous to her getting up off her ass to follow me to the kitchen she says: uh-oh, arin’s gonna get me in trouble. Do I appreciate this assumption? No. Do I care to respond to stupidity? No. I don’t generally choose to give life to something that never should have been born. The proof is in the doing.

So I take her to the kitchen. But as you might be able to guess, any forward movement is hindered by the presumption that “Arin’s gonna get me in trouble.” All reason is tossed to the wind and the fact that this hot water heater fits perfectly without any unfavorable change becomes irrelevant.

All that’s relevant is:

But then she’d have to get rid of the old hot water heater.

Right, but it wouldn’t make sense to have two anyway.

But we already kind of have two.

Right, well the point is, her point of there not being space is irrelevant.

(is this [chick] panicking?—this type of communication and hesitation and dumb [mess] is what starts riots, or at least what gets [ofays] screaming “rape!”. . .I’m just saying)

Well I’m just gonna take it home.

Fine—I was just presenting it as an option.

(She unplugs it and takes it back to her desk.)

End scene.

My issue with the whole playout is this:

That I had to hear: can you find me an extension cord? one too many times, urged me to find a solution to the apparent problem. I know she didn’t ask me to put it in the kitchen. I also acknowledge that it’s not my hot water heater and so is not mine to do anything with. However, when something is brought into my knowing, I have the tendency to try to make them as best as is possible. That’s not anyone’s fault, it’s just who I am. Love me or hate me…

Maybe I jumped the gun. Maybe I care too much. Maybe I should find some work to do. But my thing is this: so you lugged this thing all the way from home, only to have to take it back home without having presented a valid and solid (and sound) argument in favor of your desired goal? How weak and useless of you. (This may sound a bit harsh, but some people are conservation and others are a bit more radical. I'll let you choose where I fall on the spectrum. I don't judge--I just have my opinions.)

My ability to stay true to myself and to maintain my strength of mind through voicing my opinions when I choose to or when it's necessary or even asked for, is one of my favorite things about me.

This is just who I am—some kind of passionate, involved, dedicated to trying to actually FIX problems instead of think about potential solutions and why they do or don’t work—I've always had a special place in my heart for geometry. Why? The proofs . . .some kind of wonderful (if I do say so myself)

Good morning! And please (if anybody’s out there) I’d love to hear your thoughts.

I recently realized...

...that I haven't been as true to myself as was originally intended with this blog-o-mine.
The whole point is for me to get to mention things I love.
And yes, I would LOVE to highlight things and people that strike my attention, but seriously...toothpaste?

I hate to go against anyone's impressions of me whether they be from initial meeting to years of knowing me. But going against the grain is the point of living, I think.
So there will be a shift in my musings from now on.

I'll mention things like the place I went to get my pedicure last week in BK (shout to all you wonderful Brooklynites (i don't know if that's a real word, but deal with it)) called Purple Nails, where Christy (I think that's her name) stayed until the place closed down, PAST the bad episode of Everybody Loves Raymond--p.s. I do NOT love Raymond, and the trash was ready to go out with her, JUST to make sure my pretty little toenails dried.
It was too cold for flip flops!

Big ups to the prices, which have remained the same since I first came to know them (only $10 for a pedicure; $14 for mani and pedi) when I lived at 83 Hall Street in the wonderful summer of 2003, and the people. (The guy at the front will harrass you, but only in love.)

Not to mention the Chinese food place next door, whose prices have unfortunately gone up, but only a quarter so far as I can tell, whose french fries (with ketchup AND hot sauce) are to die for! And don't forget to grab the tupperware full of fresh pineapple (in juice...and quite possibly straight from the can) for $1...or is it $1.25 now?

This is who I am. I love a bargain. I love to shop. I love to treat myself. I love art. I love people. I love naming the stupidity that surrounds me on a daily basis. Because it puts life in perspective.

So join me if you will, and if you won't, my love will still find and follow you everywhere you go.

I hope to see you all again, and again, and again.

"I miss you"

Not be like Usher or anything, but I do every now and then (more often than not if i'm being completely honest) have confessions that bring me closer to myself--to my true self.

This confession is that even though I have emotional hangups and don't always like to be as open as God's arms...and even though I seriously don't say it a lot (quite purposefully, because of what i feel and know these words to mean--i know their gravity) i really do miss a lot of people a lot. It's because I love a lot. And I like to love. Even when I'm upset with someone and don't really understand why things may not have worked out the way I wanted them to... And it's not even always a dramatic feeling. It just is what it is.

Life is so fleeting, and we're all so busy and moving here and there--I just recently realized, or determined, that I don't have the time to waste on not telling the people I love that I love them, in this way. It's a bit more subtle, but to me no less meaningful.

My "I miss you"s used to come in the "I think I might miss you" form. A huge defense in case the other person didn't share my sentiment, or even had nothing to offer on the other side of my statement. Silence is not always golden.

So if I see some value in you as a person, as a friend, or in the opportunity to hear your voice at any point, I really do miss you

Mommy (cause you're always going to be crazy and I've finally accepted that--just KIDDING--really just for putting up with me and understanding how your craziness has made me who i am :))
Daddy (for keeping the best parts of you in your life's transition and even at a distance still loving me)
Nia (even though we live in the same city)
Caira (cause you'll always be my play lil sis)
CAMILLE (I'm listening to Anthony Hamilton right now!)
Radiance (when will i see you again!?)
DeJaundre (though logic tells me not to, you caught my heart at an early age)
Earle (for your sometimes and often brutal honesty--I appreciate that in you)
REV!(for being your loving, sometimes grumpy old man self--thank you for being you)
Jon (for always listening)
Melody (for being the best not-quite-auntie ever!)
Jamar (you were something like amazing, and I'll never forget you)
Eric (for being loveable even though you weren't available--i hope one day I can accept your friendship in whatever form it comes)
Kamaria/Tiffany/Florence (I sometimes wonder if we could go back to the old days...)--the list extends and extends
Rasaan (for sticking it out)
Dave (i hope your girl doesn't mind my always and forever stance on us as friends--i only wish you happiness)
Steph Young (there's always been something real and genuine and beautiful about you that I really appreciate--thanks for keeping you in tact)

this is my confession: i miss and love you all

It's Been A Long Time--I Shouldn't've Left You...

By the way, the word "shouldn't've" has a LOT of syllables.
A big round of applause to all who are able to pull it off with ease.

I can't quite explain why I haven't had much to say lately. Work has been a *****, personal life a slight reflection of such, and you know, one thing leads to another.

I can say, I'm glad that I have God, friends, knitting, singing, and happiness (and the potential for more in the near future) on my side.

I've been preparing for a trunk sale on November 17th here in Manhattan, by making many scarves, which will hopefully translate into much money. Because I am choosing broke right now. If I can keep up with this savings schedule (of not really shopping at all) I can save enough money by the end of the year when I may need it.

I would like a new laptop. I think I'm gonna go with a Mac this time. The ads have sunk into my psyche and Mr. PC isn't looking so hot anymore.

Fall has finally fallen. This fact has a large potential to make me happy, except that I can't seem to figure out what has happened to my wardrobe.

I haven't read much in a while.

There's so much to do with so little time.
Right now I'm listening to Richard Smallwood's Persuaded Live in D.C. If you've heard it, you know God's power through it.

I'd like to go to Central Park and walk with someone who I know well enough to know I don't know all there is to know of them. And to talk and learn more.

I hope to be patient and to not make the rash decisions that I've made in the past, and that have led me nowhere closer to my real destiny.
At the same time, I wish to not waste my time listening to sounds unpleasant and seemingly necessary for growth--I want to listen and allow goodness to come into me. If I must listen through filters, so be it. Let God be that filter. Or let me use my brain and wits to sort through all the stuff out there.

I'm in the place where it's necessary to be conscious of my temple, while trusting that God will do the guarding while I do the living.