Black_Snob's Blog

I'm sitting at my computer after pulling another all nighter for no particular reason, listening to classic Lionel Richie. (First "Hello," now "Easy." I don't know why. I was just in the mood.)

Things have perked up some in my world. I got some more free publicity for the Snob blog after being interviewed by two different newspapers on Michelle Obama's purple dress -- The Philadelphia Daily News and St. Paul Pioneer Press.

On "Tha Google" if you put in Michelle Obama and fashion my blog is the first on that comes up because I write so much about Michelle and her clothing choices.

I'm going back on NPR later in the month. Now if only I could get someone to pay me. That's the running theme of my life.

Due to either stress or my new exercise regimen I've lost 16 lbs in less than two months. While it's happening pretty fast I still think it will take six months or more for me to reach my targeted goal.

Per my emotional state, I'm a tempermental person, prone to mood swings with a habit of burning myself out. I'm very passionate about my writing ... all my writing so I can over do it at times getting lost in my own words.

When I lived in Bakersfield I would have these fantasies of walking away from everything, my friends, my family, my job and start over some place where no one knew who I was. I wanted to go to Santa Barbara and sit on the beach for hours and stare at the sea. That's where I went when I got tired of Bakersfield. Even though I'll probably never be able to afford to live there, I loved visiting. It's one of the few cities in California where the air is actually clear.

The first time I ran away to Santa Barbara was after I got out of the hospital in Bakersfield for an illness. I went with a newly made friend and we sat on the beach and painted pictures.

It was therapy, of sorts. More like a fantasy. I didn't have the burden of self there. I'd taken a vacation from my worries ... even if I still had a lot to worry about.

I don't think as much about escaping now. Every now and then, but not as often as I did in Bakersfield because I was under so much stress as a reporter. But when I was so stressed out two weeks ago I realized that I didn't know where to go in St. Louis to calm down. I didn't know where I could go and just lie there and stare at something beautiful, dreaming of a self better than myself. Wondering what I would name my children. Mourning for love lost and love wronged. Wondering how I can forgive everyone else, even those who did me the most dirty, but I couldn't forgive myself.

Of my love wronged I often think of the opening line of a poem I wrote about our co-dependent, unhealthy relationship.

You created an illusion and you named it me.

But I killed that dream, that's not who I want to be.

That's who I was running away from. The person I was when I was with him. Although it was over years ago thoughts of him still linger, haughting me like a ghost, telling me I'm not good enough and I'm not worthy of love. It was all a cruel trick. He was so deft at lying that I question everything, every motive in our brief marriage. Was he a con artist? Was he a controlling aspiring abuser? Was there passion behind his manipulations or was it simply calculation. That I was the mule to pack when he needed a ride. The mule to kick when it was all over. It was all blame and all game. There is no greater truth or deep thought in this relationship of the living dead.

I know things will get better in time. This is just a thing I'm going through.

It's weird. Everything is going really great with the blog. I'm developing tons of new readers. I'm going to be a guest on NPR's News and Notes again and I've finally got a literary agent willing to give me feedback on my book. Yet I feel like crap. I'm never happy with where I am. I always want more. I should be more successful. I should be doing more things. On top of that I'm really lonely. All my friends in St. Louis are married with kids. I'm broke. I'm stressed. I'm just tired. T-I-R-E-D, tired. Plus I'm not sleeping, but maybe I'll feel better tomorrow.

I've been in a creative funk lately. Not one where I can't write or mock things because I still can TOTALLY do that. But I feel like my life has been stagnant for nearly seven years now. And I don't mean that I've been unsuccessful or a hermit because I haven't. But I've been emotionally stagnant. Inside I am stagnant. I'm not moving forward. I'm not turning initiative into action. I'm not turning inertia to initiative.

I make jokes all the time, but I've got a serious streak in me that feels like this year is my year if I don't ruin it with my own fears and doubts. I got on NPR for my blog last week. I'll be back on NPR again in a month. I gaining readers and lots of interest but as usually I'm stuck. I don't know how to push things to that next level. I don't know how people even get to that next level. Sometimes I feel like there's this secret phrase you're supposed to whisper and suddenly your career is on the rise and you're not purchasing $1 Ginos frozen pizzas for dinner anymore. That you're out there and you're helping people and encouraging people and you're the conductor in the orchestra of your life.

But I'm still stuck on stupor. I'm still at inertia. I'm still stagnant. What am I doing wrong?

I've been feeling a little nostalgic lately, mostly for Bakersfield, Calif.

While the 'field was one part cow town/one part oil town, I made some great friends there and got into all sorts of trouble. Getting wasted at expensive sushi bars. Over tipping attractive waiters. Telling everyone how good looking they were when I got drunk. Dancing in gay bars (those were the best. You could dance and not get hit on. Marvelous.) Going to rock concerts, house parties, plays, country music festivals, and making music with my friends.

In the 'field I had two sets of friends -- my journalist buddies and my artsy fatsy crew. I loved them both but the artsy fartsy were far more dramatic. As a jazz vocalist I got to sing with a diverse array of people. I recorded with a Senegalese rap/reggae act. Worked with a local jazz saxophonist and his band. Sang with a Northern Soul/reggae group. Sang a cappella. I was just singing my little heart out. And we all had fun together. Got to hang out with A LOT of B-boys. (My heart goes weak for break dancing and a tight pop-n-lock routine.) And actors, comics, folk music performers, writers, and fashion designers.

I miss my upstairs neighbors, a pair of brothers and aspiring filmmakers, who I hung out with all the time.

The strange thing about the 'field though, was that I didn't have that many black friends. Save one straight edge black punk who I fell out with. I hung out with a diverse group - Senegalese college students, Jamaican Americans, Filipinos, British expatriates, Mexican Americans, biracial folks, white people, Okies and Puerto Ricans.

The few black people I did hang with occasionally were the jazz saxophonist and his son (who are black Puerto Ricans but were raised in the states so they don't have accents), a super sharp PR rep who everyone called "the Oprah of Bakersfield," and some churchniks.

I don't have a problem with churchy black people, but they can sometimes be a little one-dimensional, belittling everyone's struggle by opining "pray on it." My response in my head was always "Then what?" And I was especially annoyed when I would be depressed and they would talk to me as if my misery was my own fault because I didn't pray enough and focus on Jesus.

I'm like, "I'm bipolar, you ass. My brain chemistry is out of whack." But I never said that outloud. Mostly because the churchniks refused to believe that bipolar disorder was a real thing and that I could just "pray it out." I'm fine with prayer, but don't I need to actually DO SOMETHING PROACTIVE?

Sheesh.

So I guess I don't miss that necessarily.

Man, I have not been on the Black Planet in a minute.

Between the three jobs I was trying to hold down amongst other things I had no time for the Planet.

First off, the good news: The Black Snob blog is going fabulous. I hit 20,000 visits in less than three months now that I'm actively promoting the blog. I've started a journal at DailyKos, this Lib political blog site, got accepted into the AfroSpear (it's a black blog group) and now the folks at Huffington Post (bigger Lib blog) want to post my rants and raves. I feel so attractive and in demand.

Naturally, I'm hoping this eventually leads to a job that actually pays. Until then I'm still bloggin' fo free. Got laptop, will travel. In a perfect dream world this will all lead to all sorts of wonderful things, but I'm hoping for health insurance. That would totally be tight. Man. I remember when I had good health insurance, vision and dental. I would just go to the doctor for whatever. Good times.

Bad news: I totally quit my one blog-4-pay job today. Over the phone. I know that was wrong, but I just didn't feel like looking at him at the time, you know? I mean. I was getting very little pay and he was expecting so much. We really had different ideas of what you should get for $200 a week. So I feel bad, but not really.

Just News: I waste too much money on music. I just downloaded a ton of Queens of the Stone Age, Gladys Knight and Velvet Revolver. I'm addicted to music. Always have been. I'm kind of late getting hooked on Queens of the Stone Age. Velvet Revolver has Slash from GNR so I was on that from day one, but since I'm not an entertainment reporter anymore I'm not getting cool indie rock, big studio releases and hip hop for free any more. Unfortunately, I'm a fiend now. It's sad. And I like so many different kinds of music. I straight up downloaded Dolly Parton's "Jolene" because I liked the White Stripes cover of it. I own six different covers of Chris Isaac's "Wicked Game." I'm a junkie. Kanye was right, ya'll. This is straight up crack music. I'm feenin' like Jodeci. (And I own all three Jodeci albums, thank you very much. Please make another album Jodeci!)

Everything: I've been really cranky and bitchy lately. And not just because it's "that time of the month" but really pissy. I don't know what that's about. I'm just mad. No good movies have come out. Black folks getting on my nerves more than usual. (I've threatened to break up with blackness twice on my blog now, but I can't break up with it. Blackness got me WIDE OPEN. I always say I'm going to stop messin' with insense, fried chicken, 'gettin' crunk' and B-boys, but I'm all classic Mariah Carey over it. Even though I try I can't let go!)

On days like this I actually miss Bakersfield, CA which is weird because when I lived there I thought I hated it. But I got to drink at all the clubs for free and everyone knew my ass and kissed my ass all the time. Fuck. Why did I leave again? Right. It was Bakersfield. Not to knock it too hard though. I had some excellent drunk times there. In Bakersfield I could really afford my rock n' roll lifestyle. Thanks for the memories!

Do you ever get sick of EVERY "black" moving being either a comedy or a mesage film?

Save for Spike Lee's efforts (and some of John Singleton's lesser efforts) black film seems to be trapped in this paradigm. I don't know why Hollywood thinks that Martin Lawrence in a dress or Tyler Perry/Terry McMillian "You Go Girl!" diatribes with the occasional Denzel Washington, uplifting Oscar bait is enough.

I crave more creative black films. I desire variety. Where are the suspense flims? Where are the period dramas? Where are the romances, the action/adventure, the film noire, the mystery and the sci-fi. The closest black people have ever gotten to sci-fi was "The Matrix" trilogy and I can't tell you how many fellow black sci-fi lovers I knew were like "Lordy Jebus! We finally made it to the future."

The future is always so amazingly white considering the majority people on earth are non-white.

I guess I just want more. I want complexity. I want more edgy, mentally challenging films that still entertain through their inventiveness. I'd love to see a gripping, jaw-dropping suspense thriller in the vein of "Body Heat," "The Last Seduction" or "Basic Instinct." I'd love to see another black super hero film. The original "Blade" was wonderful and is easily the sexiest and sleekest sci-fi action film featuring Negroes other than Laurence Fishburne's Morpheus in the original "Matrix."

The black experience is so unique. When I think of films I love, Kasi Lemmon's directorial debut "Eve's Bayou," Spike Lee films of the late 1980s and 1990s, grandly ambitious comedic films like "Harlem Nights" and "Coming to America," I wonder, what the hell happened? When did it all become "buffoonery" or nothing all over again? Even though people decry the hip hop hood film genre, even it offered something different. I stand by my belief that the Hughes brothers set the standard with their ambitious debut "Menace II Society."

But despite the talent of Lee, Singleton, the Hughes and other filmmakers like Antonie Foqua, Lemmons and Malcolm Lee there have been few advances in black film variety. No one has taken up Lee's mantel of complex and diverse films. And the arguement that blacks won't watch a "heady" piece is false considering countless African Americans across the educational and socio-economic spectrum love many of Lee's films.

Where are the fresh ideas? The innovation? I don't know why black film today is in such limbo