My Black History Project

Sankofa: (an Akan word)

"We must go back and reclaim our past so we can move forward."

Looking back now, my black history project began when I was about ten. While spending a summer with my aunt in Maryland, we'd befriended a sista from Cameroon, who had become our downstairs neighbor. A ritual was soon born: Almost every evening, my cousins, friends, and anyone else within the apartment complex were invited to gather; to sit on the floor around a community bowl big enough to fall in (my perception) to eat with our bare hands; to laugh and fellowship while devouring the delicious, spicy rice dishes Ishtu would make for us to enjoy.

One evening, an elder joined us. I was told he was a "wise man," a relative of Ishtu's. After dinner, the children politely gathered around. We took turns kneeling in front of him. He took each of our hands, would look at us thoughtfully, then spoke:

"You," he said to one boy, "are Ibo." "You are Hausa," to another. Soon, it was my turn. I took my place in front of him. He studied me, then leaned forward and smiled.

"You," he said, "are Fulani."

We all giggled; these words sounded so strange to our young ears.

"Come," he said. I followed him over to a giant shelf. He retrieved a book, opened it, pointed to a picture of a girl. "There. You see?"

I stared at it. And wondered how a picture of ten-year old me somehow got in this book Ishtu's wise relative was now holding. It was the first moment I actually seemed to make the real connection that somewhere, at some point in time, my relatives where there, before they were here. That my lineage stretched all the way back, back over and across the Atlantic, to another continent. It seemed to me a distant, magical place.

Africa.

***********

Where are you from? It's a question most black Americans have the short answer to: We rattle off our birthplace, the city and state we were raised, where our relatives migrated from and to. Usually within the confines of the States, sometimes, the West Indies. Not many of us can say (with a degree of certainty) that our people were originally from the Congo, or Liberia, or South Africa.

This is my beautiful mom. ( She's where I inherited the Supa gene)

For as long as I could remember, people would notice her queenly presence, and stop to ask where she was from. Ethiopia, maybe?

"You definitely come from the East," we'd hear (constantly), from those folks familiar with people on the continent. As I got older, people began to ask the same of me. Depending on how I was rocking my hair at any given moment, people would guess, Trinidad, maybe? Ethiopia, Indian (dots, not feathers)? "Nah, I'm authentic black girl. From the States," I'd assure them. But it bugged me that I didn't have more to offer. "Someone once told me I looked Fulani," was my usual reply.

"Yes, I can see that. Strong possibility. They have a very distinct look, you know," my once Nigerian love, Yinka, would often co-sign. "A Yankee girl Fulani," he'd tease. "Well. One can only guess."

*******

Last year, for a variety of reasons - I was compelled to do more than guess. My mom had done a great deal of tracing our roots over the years, and had gathered a detailed history and records of our relatives, going all the way back to a plantation in Dublin, Virginia. (and yes, I already know that my great-great-great-(maybe one more great)-grandfather was the half-white son of a slave owner). We were so excited, and intrigued about what we'd found. We couldn't wait to dig deeper.

Around the same time, my mom (an avid traveler) had booked an educational trip to Egypt, but was forced to cancel. The wicked breast cancer had returned, for what would be, the last time. It began to quickly spread though her body; she became too sick to travel. Less than a year later, mommy was gone.

I promised myself two things. One - I would make that trip to Egypt for her, in her honor. (which is why Dr. Smith's suggestion a few weeks back is personally significant.) Two - I would pick up where her genealogical dig had left off. Except, I wanted to now explore a different route. I wanted to start from the beginning.

Soon enough, I'd come across information about Dr. Kittles, a biologist and co-director of Molecular Genetics at the National Human Genome Center at Howard University. He started an organization, African Ancestry, which through his research, has allowed him to compile an African Lineage Database (ALD) which contains 11,747 paternal lineages and 13,690 maternal lineages from over 160 ethnic groups across the African Continent. The ALD contains DNA sequence data from individuals throughout the continent of Africa, and there is a specific concentration on regions that are known to have participated in the TransAtlantic Slave Trade.

I did my research, and felt comfortable enough to pay the fee and request a kit. Then came the consent form, the cheek swabs, and off it all went, back to the lab. The rest..well, the rest is MY history.

Weeks later when that package finally arrived at my door, I sat and stared at it. Had a few glasses of wine over it, while quietly contemplating. What would be revealed? What if my DNA type couldn't be matched? (this is a possibility, Dr. Kittles warns, although slight) What if I'm not from Africa??? (don't laugh, it can happen). What if, what if....

I finally woman-ed up; opened the package. The results? Well, it was a 99.4% match. And it said: Look to the east, black woman. Look to the east...

This is part of my report, my actual DNA sequence, and how my type was matched.

Seems that I received from my mother, who received from her mother, and then her mother, and all the way back - a unique genetic mutation which indicates my maternal lineage began in or around Egypt. (I would later learn after inquiring, that my results overlap into areas of Ethiopia and the Sudan)

After years of study, I'd also learned that the Fulani were one of the most widely known group of nomads in Africa, who presently, live in communities throughout much of West Africa, from Senegal to Cameroon and as far east as Sudan and Ethiopia. It is also said that slavery and colonialism dispersed Fulani throughout the Middle East, the Americas and Europe. American history books are full of individuals of Fulani origin who have distinguished themselves in North and South America and the Caribbean.

So, perhaps that wise man from Cameroon wasn't too far off, after all.

My black history project has been such a wonderful instrument on my journey toward self. It's not the entire picture, but it gives me a valuable piece to integrate into my cultural autobiography. As a result, when I look in the mirror - now, I see so much more. Yes, I'm still the thick-haired, round the way girl who came up in Inglewood, by way of Ohio, by way of a Virginia plantation - AND, I'm a Nubian sista in the New World, distant daughter of Isis, descendant of the most original people on Earth. I now watch my daughter compose her black history reports with pride; for she now has two places, on two maps, she can point to.

(picture of a Fulani woman) (picture of me)

(Resemblance?)

In regard to the reparations argument for African descendants in America, I now think this is something that should be included in the prospective package: A DNA test should be offered to any black person in America who wishes to trace his or her roots. Considering our forced migration, I think this would be a positive form of restitution; a unique way to allow us to reinstate the missing parts of our past.

Until then - we can choose to start down the path on our own. For more information on how to start on your individual Black History project, visit these links:

African Ancestry

African American Lives PBS special hosted by Henry Louis Gates, Jr.

Ancestry by DNA

Roots for Real

Motherland: A Genetic Journey (program on BBC)

Be sure to check out these bloggers who have mentioned their journeys:

DNA Can Set You Free at OTV.

Tracing Our Roots at Emerging Phoenix

My DNA at Mz. Powderpink's

Happy Black History! It's not just for a month. It's fo' life.

New South African Flic: Tsotsi

Synopsis: Set amidst the sprawling Johannesburg township of Soweto -- where survival is the primary objective - "Tsotsi" traces six days in the life of a ruthless young gang leader who ends up caring for a baby accidentally kidnapped during a car-jacking.

Tsotsi is already being compared to my favorite all-time flic, City of God. I believe it's a limited release film. Check it out if you're able, sounds interesting.

A Lesson Before Dying

Wassup Blogger Fam! No Weekend Wrap Up today. Suffice it to say, I did a lil' of this, not enough of that, but it was all good...make sure to check out Tam's lovely art..

Anyway...The death of my co-worker, then of the writing pioneer Octavia Butler kinda put me in a wierd space, but maybe I'll blog about that later.

This is a piece I wrote when Aaliyah died, but the sentiments are still the same. Live, give thanks, and BE, ya'll! Hope you enjoy.

**********

A Lesson Before Dying
(A Personal Tribute to Aaliyah)

I didn’t know her.

No better than anyone else did, who grooved to her latest infectious cut on the radio, or watched her image whenever it charmed the television screen. I’d always enjoyed her music, though never having purchased one of her CD’s, I dare not call myself a fan. Simply put, I admired Aaliyah as an artist, as a gifted young black sista, and I appreciated her style and presence.

No, I didn’t know her. Yet her sudden absence weighed on me.

Not because she was one of the few, if not only young female recording artists whom I didn’t mind my lively seven-year old daughter looking up to. Not because my man, along with every other b-boy on the planet, had a mad crush on her. Not because I have a distinct and prevalent fear of my demise being in conjunction with the mangled wreckage of a nasty plane crash.

No, it was brought closer to home than even all that.

Just six days prior, I had returned from my maiden voyage to the Caribbean. It was my little-girl dream. Along with that, I had just received an award for my first book by a prestigious literary organization. I was living wide, loving and being loved, writing and being recognized, all at the same time.

Pretty live stuff.

I’d flown back to Los Angeles, feeling complete. At thirty-two years of age, with a host of life’s triumphs, dramas, and a few dreams tucked proudly under my belt - I’d had a peaceful moment of self-actualization. And, while uneasily gazing at the ocean’s depths from that jumbo jet at about thirty thousand feet, I now find it curious that my thoughts went something like this: If I were to die tonight, at least I’d die happy.

I had to wonder, when I was jolted by the news of Aaliyah’s death, if she had, for the briefest of moments, thought the same.

Her passing was so poetically tragic, so unexpected. Watching the news reports, I felt as if the universe had dealt us a blow, straight sucka punch style, while we naively looked the other way. What a loss, I thought, as I watched the video montages and heard the radio dedications in her honor. All that humility and beauty and talent and promise.

Gone.

Each second, I resisted the desire to challenge, to mouth the unanswerable words, ‘why’. As much as I didn’t like it, this was God’s call. How could anyone argue with that.

No, I didn’t know her; but I still felt lost. Her untimely death touched me, and we were strangers. I can only imagine the anguish of those whose life she graced personally. For them, I said a prayer.

Finally, after watching one of her many interview clips being replayed, my heart received a tiny piece of solace, where previously there had been none.

There she was, soft-spoken with that startling smile, proclaiming ‘she was a happy girl,’ and how wonderful a feeling it was ‘to be able to get up every morning and do what she loved to do.’ She was fulfilled and happy and complete. Realizing that, I was able to let her go.

Which brings me to this: The fact of the matter is, Aaliyah Haughton lived and died doing what she loved. From very early on, she had a sense of purpose in this life. Her purpose.

She knew it and honored it. She was exceptionally good at it. No doubt, it’s the reason folks loved her. We watched her grow up and bloom, virtually before our eyes. Of course, we mourn her death. And although most us feel she was taken far too soon, we must try to remember, she lived a lifetime.

One of my favorite quote reads:
Don’t be afraid your life will end. Be afraid it will never begin.

Aailyah was doin’ her thing. She was young, beautiful, talented, gracious, and grateful.
She was a self-respecting, classy artist with a loving and appreciative audience, and she had financial compensation to boot. If she had never known commercial success and fame, I’m sure she would’ve sung just as passionately in the shower, at the churches, weddings, talent shows and birthday parties, in between her nine to five gig. She knew what she was born to do, and she died doing it. How many of us will be able to say the same?

More fact: Each day, millions of black people get up and drag ourselves to jobs we hate, jobs we swear hate us. We gripe, curse, and complain ‘till days end, and exit the high-rises and offices and stores with less than when we came. Day in and day out, we toil; feeling unhappy and unappreciated, and inadvertently hand over pieces of our souls that we can’t get back.

Ever.

Perhaps we all need a lesson before dying. Many of us aren’t in the position of doing what we love and getting paid for it. A great deal of us don’t even know what we want to do, really. Have yet to discover our gifts, our purpose. Our passion.

Here’s my take on it:
Find out.
No matter how long it takes.
And when you find out what it is: Do it.
As often and as hard and as honestly as you can.
It will keep you sane and motivated.
And if at present, you can’t do it in connection with your current nine to five, that’s cool.
Do it after work. On the weekends. In your spare time.
Find time. Make time.

Get movin’. Go outside. Read. Turn off the TV. Listen. Pray. Step outside the box. Find some inspiration. Stop complaining, blaming, and hatin’ on other folks. Chances are, they’re busy doin’ their thing.

Find your thing, and do your thing. Start. Don’t wait. Don’t stop.

Do whatever it takes to be happy in this life. Not the selfish kind of happiness, but the kind that radiates and reaffirms your uniqueness. You’ll inspire other folks, folks you don’t even know, to do the same. Just like Aaliyah did.

See, God made sure that everyone has their something. When you resist finding it, or doing it, or believing in it, all you really do is piss Her off.

Everyone’s “thing” won’t catapult them into mega-super-stardom or present itself in multiple figures on a paycheck. Doesn’t mean it’s any less important. Your gift or passion could be fixing cars, styling hair, succeeding in the entrepreneurial arena, coaching little league, salsa dancing or collecting jazz CD’s.

Whatever.
Whatever it is that replenishes you, sustains you, honors you; that makes you feel alive, and human, and in tune: Do it.

Don’t wait ‘till you get your bills paid, ‘till you lose twenty pounds, ‘till you fall in or outta love. Don’t wait ‘till you’re married, or ‘till you have children. Or ‘till those children grow up and out, or ‘till you’re retired. You might not live that long. Or, you just might.

Just don’t be afraid your life will end. Be afraid it’ll never begin.

For those who only knew Aaliyah from a distance, maybe her short life was a big lesson.
A cutting, hard, seemingly unfair lesson. Maybe someone needed a reminder.
Maybe it was me.
Maybe you.

A reminder to also hail and celebrate the super stars in the real world, the brothas and sistas in the daily grind, inspiring and thriving and doin’ their thing, outside the limelight of the million dollar sports contracts or the record deals.

As a reminder to honor the people close to us, who lived and died without a line of type in the newspaper or a mention on the airwaves. Because they were loved, too. They were important, too.

We all should learn a lesson before dying.
That life itself is a blessing.
That there are no guarantees.
That tomorrow is not promised.
Time waits for no one.
To appreciate our loved ones, and to tell them about it. Every day.
To be thankful and strive.
To grow and stay real.
To celebrate another day.
That life ‘aint no dress rehearsal.
It is here, now, today.
Don’t be afraid your life will end.
Make it begin.
Now.


Thank you, Aaliyah. May you rest in peace.

Today's Daily Om is about A Life of Passion: Getting Back to What you Love! Check it out.

That Girl Tam....

...is so damn talented!

Look:


The picture simply cannot do it justice, but I wanted to give you a visual. This is my beautiful, intricately detailed, bomb-azz custom stationary, crafted by one fabulous artist and designer - Tamra, via her business Artsy Fartsy Creations. I was totally blown away by the final product, and not because I had any doubt they'd be fabulous (I'd already seen the drafts), but because when I finally received, the detail and workmanship were so much more fabulous up close!


Each card is individually made, and signed by the artist. The detail and care that must have gone into creating each piece is just astounding. And the fact that she turned around my order so quickly was a special bonus. Thanks, Tam! I called her up gushing, as soon as I opened the package.

You can imagine that given my "unique" name, it's impossible to find beautiful, funky, and/or fly notecards just by walking into a store. And I'm always on the hunt for it, because I'm a big-time note-writer. So now, I have an affordable way to have quality custom stationary, created by a talented designer with mad creative vision, who has the highest standard of professionalism, along with a personal touch from start to finish - because it's Artsy Farty's goal to ensure the customer is completely satisfied.

So. I'm about to place my next order this week. And I encourage ya'll to do the same, because her business is really picking up! And once she sends her cards to Oprah and lands on Aunty O's favorite things list, she 'aint gonna have time for ya'll medium-willies. Ha. :)

Really, though. Check out her website to browse all her services, and to place an order. A set of 12 custom made note-cards are $25.00. She will get your input regarding style, colors, fonts, etc., and then leave the rest up to her.

Just ask P, or me - you will NOT be disappointed!!

I Love You, Black Love! *Updated*

Say it with me, Blogger Fam: Happy Fucking Friday!

And it's my day off, so I'm feeling kinda nice..here's hoping that those of you on the C.S.S. can get to the weekend without any drama! We all know about those zany co-workers...

There was a hot discussion over on DPM's blog this week, head on over if you wanna check it out. The main thing I must acknowledge is - it's truly a beautiful thing that technology allows us (especially black folk) a platform to voice our opinions, feelings, and ideas; to share and receive knowledge and information, and gives the opportunity to dialogue & feedback with people (and personalities!) on such an immediate and far-reaching level. And man - there are so many intelligent, diverse, talented, interesting, witty, focused, enlightening, thought-provoking black bloggers out there, I mean it's truly stimulating, affirming, and liberating. And even if/when we agree to disagree, it's all love...

Anyway (back to the blog convo), there was a line that was written which said: "I love love...and especially Black love.." and I couldn't agree more. I love to see black couples, black people being loving and positive with each other (and themselves), I love seeing black families, shit, I just love black people. And look, I don't say that to down or diss anyone or anybody else. That's just me. We are constantly bombarded with so much negativity and bullshit images in the media and challenges within our communities, and dis-unity within our inter-personal relationships, that I just love to witness any and everything that reinforces the positive..

And yeah, I know nowadays we're encouraged to try "Something New," but Supa loves the brothas like nobody's business. Let "them" tell it, only a fool would love a black man as tough and true as I (and most sistas) do. Yeah, sometimes we have problems & issues, yeah we've got some definite shyt to work out, but whatever, man. I accept. Loving a black man is like lovin' myself. And I sure do loves myself... (lol)

And on that note, I wanted to compile
Supa's Top Ten Black Love Flicks.
Criteria being: basically any movie where a black couple gets and/or tries to stay together. And I'll be damned, this one took some time. We need more positive, human love stories that feature black folks. (NOT that Baby Boy bullshit!)

Here's my list: (in no particular order. Except the first one!)

1. Claudine
2. Jason's Lyric
3. Love Jones
4. Mo' Betta Blues
5. Best Man
6. Jungle Fever
7. Love and Basketball
8. Soul Food
9. Mahogany
10. Love Come Down

Honorable Mentions:

A Rage in Harlem
Sprung
2 Can Play That Game (hated it, then loved it. So shoot me)
Inkwell
Out of Time (purely for the "intimate" scene w/Denzel)
Devil In a Blue Dress (same as above)

What have I forgotten?? Because now I want to build my "Black Love" DVD Library...holla

Update: Here are the updates to the Black Love Flic list:
Boomerang
Brown Sugar (Thanks, P)
Five Heartbeats (okay, Furious, P, Cocoa, Miss Ahmad - My "negro" card is suspended until viewed)
Deep Cover (DPM's pick)
Their Eyes Were Watching God (Ms. Ahmad)
Black Orpheus (Ms. Ahmad, Satisfied Sistah)
Crooklyn (SPD)
Carmen Jones (Satisfied Sistah)
Stormy Weather (Furious)
Disappearing Acts (Mwabi)
Roots (P)
Poetic Justice (SingleMom)

Thursday's Gumbo!

Whas gwaan, Blogger Fam??

Supa's a little shaken this morning, got word that a sista co-worker died of cancer last night...Just like my Supa Mom, she was just too young, man. SO. Guess the message is, we've gotta take care of ourselves.. (as in, GOTS TO) The OG hip-hop generation is fast approaching middle age, and these are fast times we're living in. (wink goes out to One Cool Sis & SPD) Physical, emotional, spiritual health all goes hand in hand.....we owe it to ourselves and the people who love us, to be present and active and healthy so we can ENJOY this journey called life.

I've added a healthy living motivational message to the blog called The Daily Om. (scroll down, look on the left hand column) Check it out, there's a new message daily.

So hey! What's happening out there in the world??

First the Shawn and Nasir collabo..






then Bush and Osama's peeps are makin' deals.





Hell, what's next???!! Never mind, don't think I wanna know. Re: Bush - For the love of God/Jah/Allah/Osiris/Jehovah - who's gonna stop this man?!?

Did anyone happen to catch TV's Illest Minority Moments on VH1? Anyone? Anyone? And if you don't already watch Best Week Ever - ya trippin'.


Hey DPM, we can say what we want about Fiddy
least he sticks with the sistas.... he's no gangster on the verge! (yet) Oh, but wait a minute..he's not even a gangsta. Neva mind.

Some hot blogs to check:
Aside from Supa's already established group of favorite BOMB BLOGGERS (look to the left), she's also stumbled upon some new folk who are doing their thizzle:

Sangin' Diva - She's fabulous, she's talented, she's a singin' Diva! She's currently flexing her singing skills in Tokyo, Japan. She's keeping her blog updated while she travels and roams the world. Check her out!

Those Angry Black Folks - She's fearless, she's smart, she's the ruler of the universe, and she's angry! Now that's hot. (no homo) lol

Cornbread & Curry - A meeting place for African-Americans, Indians, and Arabs.

A Girl Named Shawn - a fellow writer, hailing from the LBC, who gave us something to look at & talk about this week!!


Happy Thursday, ya'll!

Supa, out.

Supa: Slow Down!!!

So I'm running around on my lunch break, the usual; gas station, post office, pick up some eats, and it's West Coast Wednesday mix on the twelve o'clock hip-hop station, and then on comes Ice Cube's "Pushing Weight" (I push rhymes like weight, I push rhymes like weight, that one) and so I start feeling the beat and get to flllyyyyin' down the parkway, then my cellie rings and it's my son just checkin' in, and I'm still jammin' (push rhymes like weight), then my cellie rings again and it's that girl TAM wanting to run past the design she had in mind for my custom stationary, and I'm still flyin', (pushing rhymes like weight) and then BAM - red lights flashing all in my rear view!! Damn!

A sista gettin' pulled over by the most notorious gangstas...the LAPD!!!

So now I'm sweating cause I don't have insurance papers on my person, and the motorcycle cop is taking his sweet time walkin' up to my ride, and I see it's an older white dude and I'm thinking !DAMN! my cute ass flirting routine might not get me out of this jam, so I straighten up and attempt to erase ALL signs of my natural screwface, and then do my best to breathe and try to give him THIS face

you know, the "oh hello was I speeding really I didn't even realize it I'm so sorry I just got momentarily sidetracked" look, and then he just goes "LICENSE and REGISTRATION....in a dry-ass manner.."


So THEN I am forced to pull out my usual line that I offer, each time I do something illegal which goes:

"I'm so sorry! My husband works for _________ division, can I just tell him I've been a bad girl and have him spank me when I get home?"

Heh heh. Cops love that kinda shit. And ladies, don't you even pretend that you don't post up with the feminine wiles when necessary. I mean, it's not like I was gonna screw the old ugly dude, but a lil' smile and sweetness can smooth things out a bit....feminine power used wisely is oh so potent...

And hey, "my husband" is now my EX, but whatever. Semantics. We're the best of friends, and he's still an LA police officer. He'll cover for me. Always does. So, big ups to the Supa-Ex. You're still THE MAN. (see? that feminine stuff again)

SO! After a few more minutes of skinnin' and grinnin', ya girl was sent off with a stern warning. No ticket. See?


And thank goodness. Cause I hate taking internet traffic school....



Today is turning into Wacky Wednesday.
I need a drink...

Tales from the Corporate Slave Ship

You know, Supa had an entirely different post ready for today, but this subject right here deserves some attention...

How many of you have fucking IDIOTS for co-workers, raise your hands? GOOD! Let this be the slam board to release all your stories and rants for all the stupid shit you must endure in the workplace on the regular.

First, lemme preface...I hate stupid questions. I hate stupid ass rhetorical questions, especially in the workplace, especially by stupid-ass people whom apparently seem to never tire of my screwface when they ask a stupid-ass question, i.e.

"Supa, can I give this to you to look at?"

"Supa, do you have a minute?"

"Supa, can I bother you for a sec?"


OOhhhhhhhh. ohhh!!! B*tch, if you wanna give me something, just give it to me. Mkay? Interjecting the phrase "can I" while simultaneously HANDING ME WHATEVER THE FUCK IT IS is just inane, and in my opinion, annoyingly passive-aggressive. Just...get it over with, say what you gotta say, and miss me with all the bullshit. If you know you're bothering me and you know I don't HAVE A GODDAMN MINUTE, don't try to assuage me by stating the obvious in that faux polite tone. So, grow some ovaries and take my wrath like a real woman. Then get the hell up outta my office.

My boy Mr. Gobbledygook wrote a delightful description of his corporate days/daze, entitled
Pettiness Pending at Corporate Incorporated. Check him out, shit is hilarious. We need to start a fucking support group or something!!!

Whew. Need to go home and watch Office Space, and be glad I don't work for Lumbergh at Initec with those TPS reports.
Cause I got the memo..



That is all. Carry on!

Poverty Statistics: America's Shame

After ranting about my daily triteness, Supa feels obligated to post some real shit.

Stats to ponder: An America divided

Click here for entire article.

· There are 37 million Americans living below the poverty line. That figure has increased by five million since President George W. Bush came to power.

· The United States has 269 billionaires, the highest number in the world.

· Almost a quarter of all black Americans live below the poverty line; 22 per cent of Hispanics fall below it. But for whites the figure is just 8.6 per cent.

· There are 46 million Americans without health insurance.

· There are 82,000 homeless people in Los Angeles alone.

· In 2004 the poorest community in America was Pine Ridge Indian reservation.
Unemployment is over 80 per cent, 69 per cent of people live in poverty and male life expectancy is 57 years. In the Western hemisphere only Haiti has a lower number.

· The richest town in America is Rancho Santa Fe in California. Average incomes are more than $100,000 a year; the average house price is $1.7m.

Supa, Queen of Screen

Supa's infamous moodiness tends to play itself out in a variety of ways, primary one being - the hardcore habit of not answering her phone.

Direct your attention to Exhibit A:

That's right, boys and girls. What you are witnessing is Supa's home phone, with approximately 45 messages anxiously awaiting her review.

Last time I checked my messages was, umm, hell if I know! Won't be sure until I hit the playback. If Cingular is calling to harrass me about my non-payment of February's bill, then it's safe to say this is an accumulation of a few weeks. But..who cares. I might just hit "erase" and start all over. That's always fun.

So Supa, why all the screening, you ask? Besides the fact that I'm a moody loner writer chick and sometimes just don't feel like fucking talking, you mean? Well, truth is, I also screen out of pure laziness and indifference. It's that simple.

I'm just too damn lazy to buy a replacement for my cheap ass Bell South cordless phone with the faulty Caller ID function, which is another reason why I don't randomly pick up the phone, because I can't decipher who the fuck's calling me wantin' to chat. (What in the hell did we ever do before Caller ID?!!) My true and important peeps have my cell digits, and hardly bother ringing me at the tilt anyway.

Besides, when I'm at chillin' at the Supa Pad, I'm usually doing something infinitely more exciting than trying to answer my phone, like mixing up a double martini, advising the Ruff Ryders that YES IT'S PIZZA HUT for dinner AGAIN, spying on my ghetto-ass next door neighbors, playing the Dog Whisperer with Sassy, or simply re-organizing my TiVo shows for the week. You know. Important shit.

I mean hey, between us having home and cell phones, email addresses, Instant Message, textin', Blackberry's and Treo's and all that, whatever happened to the good ole days of being inaccessible?!?! Sometimes we're some communicating fools, and still 'aint sayin' SHIT!

Supa, out!

And yo, don't forget to call me!!

lOvE oF mY LiFe

"ooh you know you rock my world
you be boy and I'll be girl
it don't stop until the break of dawn.."
- E. Badu, "Love of My Life"


Now, this may not mean a whole helluva lot to those who don't flow from my era....


But all the true headz will be feelin' me!!!


While (forcibly) cleaning out my garage this weekend, I found my Public Enemy "Fight the Power" on wax (33 ya'll!) circa 1989, on Motown Records!


And, also my EPMD "Business As Usual"
on Columbia Records, 1990.



In addition to my other 33's - Boogie Down Productions, Brand Nubian, Kid n Play, Kool G Rap & DJ Polo, 2 Live Crew, Run DMC, Beastie Boys, and other "classics" which were just pure, beautiful hip-hop music back in the day.








"Today was a good day"

Today's Inspirational Note

The Weight Of Objects - Clearing Your Space For Change

In life, we tend to have an easier time acquiring possessions than we do getting rid of them.

Just as we harbor emotional baggage that is difficult to let go of, our lives can tend to be filled with material objects that we may feel compelled to hold on to. Most people are not conscious of how much they own and how many of their possessions are no longer adding value to their life. They fiercely hold on to material objects because this makes them feel secure or comfortable.

While it's true that the ownership of "stuff" can make you feel good for awhile, it seldom satisfies the deep inner longings that nearly everyone has for fulfillment and satisfaction. It is only when we are ready to let go of our baggage and be vulnerable that it becomes possible to recognize the emotional hold that our possessions can have on us.

It's not uncommon to hold on to material objects because we are attached to them or fear the empty spaces that will remain if we get rid of them. Giving away the souvenirs from a beloved voyage may feel like we are erasing the memory of that time in our life. We may also worry that our loved ones will feel hurt if we don't keep the gifts they've given us. It's easy to convince ourselves that unused possessions might come in handy someday or that parting with them will cause you emotional pain. However, when your personal space is filled with objects, there is no room for anything new to enter and stay in your life. Your collection of belongings may "protect" you from the uncertainties of an unknown future while keeping you stuck in the past. Holding on to unnecessary possessions often goes hand in hand with holding on to pain, anger, and resentment, and letting go of your material possessions may help you release emotional baggage.

When you make a conscious decision to fill your personal space with only the objects that you need or bring you joy, your energy level will soar. Clearing your personal space can lead to mental clarity and an improved memory. As you learn to have a more practical and temporary relationship to objects, positive changes will happen, and you'll have space to create the life that you desire.

Did you like this article? You can sign up to receive daily inspiration messages like this, or look to the left column for The Daily Om:Nurturing Mind, Body, and Spirit on my blog when you visit. :)

Happy Tuesday, Blogger Fam!

Supa Sore...

Supa is under the fantastic delusion that since she spent most of her childhood intensely training as a gymnast and dancer, that despite now being damn near middle aged thirty something, she can still bust out in a back handspring or side arial or any otherwise flashy athletic move that showcases her above average physical condition anywhere and anytime she wishes.

Well. This is the exact same delusion which led her to believe that she could simply bounce into her new beginner's level yoga class and gracefully execute required moves without even stretching or warming up nare a muscle. Which led Supa to do pretty okay in class on Saturday morning, but subsequently left her suffering from some sort of severe muscular paralysis syndrome come nightfall.

Supa only became aware of her affliction when at 2 am she went to go potty, and realized that she had lost any productive use of her arms and legs which would faciliate any walking or moving motion.

Supa then whimpered pitifully in her newfound parapalegic state, praying that she wouldn't be forced to call RR#1 on his cell phone, so he could come downstairs and carry his brokedown rickety ass mother to the bathroom. Supa knew that if she forced his participation in this instance, that once grown, he would use this scenario as the main reason for him needing years & years of intense therapy....

So. Supa has spent most of the weekend doped up on Tylenol PM and soaking in epsom salt baths (REFUSE to do the Bengay!!), while hissing and moaning and proclaiming "lawd jesus" while walking around with the swiftness of your average crippled 94 year old. Which, don't misunderstand - didn't keep her from hobbling off to Ikea's President's day sale today - but it did cause the checkout boy to gather that Supa was making a pass, seeing as how she moaned and smiled at him upon reaching for her wallet. Because "pain sounds" kinda mimic....good sex sounds, ya know. Ummm. Yeah.

Oh, and Supa's friends are having a fucking ball with this one, trust and believe.

Thank goodness tomorrow's a holiday...Happy weekend, blogger fam!

Supa, *moaning, groaning, hissing* out!

Something About Supa

My cyberpal Obi from South London. gave us this little quiz. Check out Glam, 'cause she did it too. I'm just now getting around to mine. And now's the perfect time, since I've just decided I'm not doin' shit else at work today.

So here's the deal. Read it, copy paste and answer the questions yourself, put it on your blog:-)

1. Name: "Mally Mal" aka Supa Sister aka "Soup"
(moniker annointed by somebody over at dallapenn.com)

2. Date of birth: June 14th on Planet Earth in this incarnation :)

3. Where you live: La La Land. Los Angeles, California

4. What makes you happy: writing, hearing my children laugh, soul-kissing, great hands, cosmic sex, sugar cookies, traveling, sunbathing, sunflowers, house parties, great music/books/movies

5. Currently listening/the last thing you listened to: "Everybody's Gotta Learn Sometime" by BECK

6. Do you read my blog? Yep

7. If yes, what makes it especially good or bad? Your love of hip-hop, dope tracks, your personal insights, your African Music Round-up articles.

8. An interesting fact about you: I'll give two:
(1) I was named in honor of a famous jazz musician
(2) I've got a scar from a 9mm shell case

9. Are you in love/do you have a crush at the moment?:
Yes I'm in love (with life), and yes I have a crush.

10. Favorite place to spend time: My bed

11. Favorite lyric: now there she goes again/the dopest Ethiopian/and now the world around me be like movin' in slow motion/whenever she happens to walk by/why does the apple of my eye/overlook and disregard my feelings/no matter how hard I try

12. The best time of the year: the Carribean in July. Summertime, anywhere.

RECOMMEND
1. A film: Cidade de Deus (City of God), Sex y Lucia, Mama Africa (don't limit me, man!)
2. A book: Letters to a Young Poet, Ranier Maria Rilke
3. A band, a song, or album: Mystic "Cuts for Luck and Scars for Freedom"

PLUS
1. One thing you like about me: you are Nigerian and live in London and you remind me....oops that was three.

2. Two things you like about yourself: My smile and my wit.

3. Look at my friends-list and tell what you like about one of our mutual friends: Glamazon aka Ms. Ahmad - she's a bomb poet and she's mad deep, and she joined in with me on the James Frey literary beatdown.

4. Put this in your journal so that I can tell you what I like about you: Here it is

Pixelations, as Promised

Downtown Los Angeles
(the US Bank Building is to the far left)
That's the one they "claim" was targeted.

The high-rise to the right is the Library Tower
(I'm pretty sure)


Help me out, Ms. Ahmad, Tam, or P.
(Or any other SoCal readers....)




More skyline photos....

(there was light rain yesterday, that's why the pics look so grimy)









The bane of my existence. Los Angeles Traffic. Everyday. All the time.









Some of Supa's coworkers....

Not the best picture, but don't worry.
You 'aint missin' nothin.....










My STILL unfinished living room!

(It's coming together, though)









Trying to get Sassy to smile.

(She's like: B, please. Put me down.)











Supa, clowning and delirious right before bed, after the Dr. Smith lecture night!!!






PS - Blogger was straight PMS'n this a.m.!! Ohhh, Blogger - go take some Midol and spare us the drama!!

Whimiscal Wednesday!!

Man!! I'm here to tell ya, there's no rest for the weary!!!!

What up, Blogger fam?? Supa been traipsing her ass TO and FRO all damn day!! Had a meeting in beautiful downtown Los Angeles (took pictures but I left the usb port thingie at home - I wanted to show ya'll the high-rise building Bush n 'nem claim terrorists were plotting to blow up). And you know what, if it is true and they really were targeting that building, then I'm mad at Massaoui and them! That's my favorite building! Humph!

Anyway. Supa was stuck down in that meeting all morning, then had to bust out early and high-tail her butt BACK on the over side of the freakin' earth (well, it seems like it, when fighting traffic from Downtown LA to Hermosa Beach) to make it to one of my crazy ass co-worker's promotion/farewell luncheon. Quiet as it's kept, I'm kinda glad he's leaving - he's the fun, rowdy, always ready to party type, the main one who kept buying Patron shots for Supa at the fated holiday luncheon. So yeah. He's a bad influence.

So, in order to save time, had to call cellie up a co-worker whiles on the road, to order my food before I got there, 'cause I was runnin' hella late. Got there, sat down...and just stared at this plate of pitiful lookin overcooked minature shrimp and soggy fries. That shit looked like some bootleg Van de Kamp frozen seafood meal or somethin'. 'Aint this supposed to be some kind of top-notch quality seafood joint?? Dang. Where the lobster at???

Sigh. So we eat, take some camera shots, farewell speeches, yeah, yeah, whatever dude. I'm ret ta go. Supa aint had a chance to even sit and chill in her own office today, and being around work folks for extended periods of time make me itch. Yeeesh.

Get back to my office, and got a voicemail from co-workers, begging me to hang AFTER work, to have some cocktails off company time. Jesus-H Christ, what do these people want from me????? They're trying to get me to cut loose again.

'Aint happenin'!


That is all, carry one!

PS - Thank you guys, for even suggesting starting a "Egypt" fund for li'l 'ole me! Ya'll are so sweet, you gon' make me cry. :) I am REALLY considering the trip - it's been one of my traveling dreams. Anyway, thanks for the love!! Who ever said black folks 'aint happy for one another?! Tell 'em go fuck themselves.

Feeling Supa!!!!

So...


...who toiled away for the last month, despite encountering a WICKED case of the "I-Can't-Do-This," yet still managed to complete research paper/essay she's been stressing and obsessing about since January?


...who escaped the C.S.S. in barely enough time to run home, order pizza for the kids, walk the dog, shower, change clothes, relocate keys, fight traffic to the University, park, wander the campus, then miraculously arrive five minutes early to lecture hall?


....who had the mind-blowing experience of presenting her work in person to her bona fide academic crush, who's career she's followed and admired since college, only to have said intellectual heavyweight read her essay during lecture break, and have said intellectual heavyweight comment that her essay and research were "excellent" in front of the entire class?????


....who had the opportunity to share, build, feedback with said academic crush for an hour after lecture ended, and was given the suggestion that she should seriously consider attending the Educational Tour of Egypt at the First World Conference being held in July???

Dr. Ernie Smith and yours truly!

Pepperdine University, February 13th, 2006

Yes!!! I DID IT!!!!!!!! I'm on such a high right now, 'caint nobody talk to me!!! I strolled up in here LATE as usual, and I'm walking around like "Dr. Smith, yo! He gave me props on my word skills, wha!?! whaaat!!! You can't even talk to me, son, I'm a literary gangsta, what what!!!!"

LOL!

My mommy and sis were truly smiling down on me from above.

Full details to come!

(Shout out to Mwabi, SingleMom, One Cool Sis, Tam, Cocoa Girl, Sexy Petite Diva, Cinq, Jones, Auntie, Jude, the Ruff Ryders, and everyone who gave me love, encouragement, guidance, support, and positive energy during this process, especially when I caught the evil flu then had an emotional meltdown and didn't think I could pull things together in time)

Happy Valentine's Day, Blogger Fam!!!!

Supa's Playlist for Today:

Feelin' Good - Nina Simone
I 'Aint No Joke - Eric B. and Rakim
Hot Damn - The Clipse
I'm Coming Out - Diana Ross
Fu-gee-la - Fugees
Samba de Bencao -- Bebel Gilberto
Umi Says - Mos Def
Everyday I Write the Book - Elvis Costello
Cleva - E. Badu
Dynamite - Ms. Dy-na-mit-tee-hee
The Life - Mystic
Run Into the Sun - N.E.R.D.S.
Touch the Sky - Kanye
Smile - 2Pac
Ether - Nas
The Specialist - Ali Vegas
Through the Wire - K. Weezie
The Next Movement - The Roots
Say How I Feel - Rhian Benson
Beautiful Struggle - Talib Kweli

Astronomically Yours

Astronomically Yours

(a love poem)

If what you say is true and I'm a celestial being

then I'd spend a billion light years

just hangin' around your galaxy

eclipsing you like the moon radiating like the sun

orbiting spinning circulating rotating

three hundred and sixty degrees

at epic speeds with intensely terminal velocities

entrapping you within the depths of my soul

completely exhaustively infinitely like a limitless black hole

I'd believe in you like astrology

study you like trigonometry

figure you into my complex equation

become the inverse to your square relation

because my passion and adoration

can only be measured by powers of ten and scientific notation

I'd defy the laws of gravity

mock Einstein's relativity

to illustrate precisely what you do to me

see

your touch makes me explode pulse spin like a quasar

fall like a shooting star

can't fight it won't deny it

you get my protons neutrons electrons and atoms

over excited

and when we kiss move melt collide

I'm suspended like space-time

transported to the outermost tip of the cosmos

baby, don't you know?

if I was a planet I'd exist

simply to revolve around

you

excerpted from:

Passion, Pride, and Politickin': Homegrown Poetry and Essays

by Ms. Jamal Sharif, 2000

Movie Review of "Something New"

Here's Sheisty's of Playahata.com review of "Something New"

Rating: PG-13 for sexual references.

It's no secret that Hollywood doesn't have a lot of love for sistas. Whether it's the Tragic Mulatto or the all-knowing, all-seeing Mammy, black women have had it hard over the years. Only recently have we seen the climate shift to an era in which black women can just be portrayed as women: simple and complex at the same time. With Queen Latifah, Halle Berry, and (until recently) Angela Bassett firmly established as bankable leading ladies,the pathway has been cleared for the enormously talented Sanaa Lathan.In her first starring role, she fares relatively well in the romantic comedy Something New.

I'll be the first to admit, I wasn't too crazy about the premise of this movie. The whole "urban" romantic comedy thing peaked with Love Jones,and Hollywood's reliance on this familiar formula reeks of patronage.And since I, like %99 of the other brothas in the nation, have had a grown-man crush on Lathan since Love and Basketball, I wasn't too enthused about watching her laid up with some white dude. Thankfully,Something New adds some debate-worthy dilemmas and a solid cast to the old recipe, sparing us from the wrath of such recent movies like 2004's dreadful Breakin' All the Rules.

Lathan stars as Kenya, an uptight thirty something accountant on the fast track to professional success, but a personal failure who finds herself dateless on Valentine's Day. Lamenting upon the fact that %42.4(the film's original title) of all black women have never been married;she decides to spread her wings and go on a blind date. When she arrives at (product placement alert!) Starbucks and discovers her date Brian(Simon Baker) is white, Kenya is caught off guard and cuts things off immediately. But when she runs into him at a party a few days later, she is awed by his work and reluctantly hires him as her landscaper. True to form, the usual cut-and-paste romantic comedy courtship ensues: she finally gives him a shot, they hit it off, a superficial conflict arises, she momentarily falls for someone else (Blair Underwood in his usual sleazy role) and they end up married happily ever after. There aren't many surprises in this movie; the genre pretty much requires you to stick to the formula.

So why do I recommend this movie? Lathan. The camera loves her, and so will you. Finally given the opportunity to carry a movie, she doesn't disappoint. Her screen presence is notable, and even when the sometimes sophomoric dialogue fails her, she still manages to emit an aura of grace and likeability that's hard to deny. Simply put: she's a star, and stars can sometimes make average movies worth watching. Hopefully Hollywood noticed and gives her some heavier material to work with in the future. Baker, however, isn't very likeable, nor believable as her jungle lover (what landscaper do you know that digs trenches in $200 Ben Sherman button downs?), but I'm pretty sure his inclusion was one of those concessions they had to make to get the movie green lit. The rest of the cast (Blair Underwood, Alfre Woodard, Donald Faison, Taraji Henson, etc.) is a gaggle of faces and names you've seen elsewhere and,with the exception of Mike Epps, is mostly forgettable.

Sadly, like any Hollywood movie dealing with the "R" word, racial politricks are in full effect. Brian is just too perfect, and the way hewins over Kenya is unnerving. He says all the right things, supportsnoble causes, has all the right answers, is great in the sack, AND is hung like a stallion (an emasculating point the movie is quite emphaticin stating). Unlike every black man she's ever met, Brian is thoughtful,romantic, and allows her to be her (even encouraging her to get rid of her weave!). With very little effort, a broke white dude who drives around in a filthy truck with a mangy dog is able to smash a top notch professional sista in less than a week. It's almost like some white guy's interracial dream come true. Would a movie about a black landscaper bedding a white woman have even been green lit, hell, even been written? I think not. The underlying message seems to be to tell black women to stop putting up with brothers' mess, and just to take anywhite dude, cause heck, you can be yourself with them, and who caresabout color anyway? There's an interesting subplot with Epps' character(a chef) "marrying up" to a black female judge, but when you add it all up, brothers seem to come out on the short end of the stick with this movie. Big time.

Furthermore, the movie presents a very unrealistic view of how blacks handle interracial dating. Kenya's parents and friends are openly hostile towards Brian, something that just doesn't happen in real life.Sure, black folks will talk trash about you when you turn your back, but the way that many of the characters confront Brian about dating Kenya is mean spirited and borderline racist. In my limited experience, whites inexclusively black settings seem to get treated better than vice versa,not worse. Just think about the last time a white family visited your church and you'll know what I mean. Black people are oppressed and excluded enough as is, the last thing we want is to impose those same feelings on someone else. Likewise, when Kenya and Brian get into a racially charged argument about how her white co-workers are treating her, an otherwise hefty debate on how blacks are treated in hostile work environment gets reduced to a lover's quarrel. It's as if the writers had to find someway to create tension between the characters and chose to fabricate something that didn't exist. In failing to adequately address the obvious issues of race, the movie misses the mark that could have made it something far more substantive.

All things said however, I'll recommend it for no reason other than Lathan. Hell, I'd pay $9 just to stare at her for an hour and a half,but she proves herself more than worthy of leading lady status.Something New isn't necessarily anything new, but it is a smart,though-provoking date movie, and there's nothing wrong with that.

Grade: B-

Comments, feedback?

Nerves!

Hey Blogger Fam! A sis is feeling a little better after some much needed rest (prayer, meditation, solitude time, journaling, love from the fam bam, etc) Thanks again for all your thoughtful comments. Right now I'm up late, printing my essay, watching Dave Chappelle on Inside the Actor's studio, bumpin' Floetry and getting all giddy about my date meeting with my academic crush tomorrow night. (Ha!)

So anyway, Happy Monday! Please send Supa some good luck and positive energy! She's nervous. Prepared, excited...but nervous! And the lunar forces are in full effect...

Details to come!

Missed ya'll.

Ya'll Be the Best...

Thanks, Blogger fam. Your words help soothe this black girl's soul.

Truly!

Hope everyone had a great weekend, catch you on the flip side.

Love,

J.

Cuts for Luck, Scars for Freedom

Healing, boys and girls, is the word of the day. Supa's dealing with some stuff. Seems like it's going around...everyone is having life issues, work issues, relationship issues, self issues, etc.

I've been fighting a wicked mood, and shoulda pulled back and took some quiet time for myself (some days off work). Have to remind myself (again and again) that healing is a process, you might feel better for days or even weeks at a time, then some shit'll hit and pull you under and make you feel like you're back at square one...

Times like this I get so overwhelmed with dealing with my own feelings/emotions/grief/rage that I find it absolutely unbearable to deal with anyone in my space...I become completely unfit for human interaction, believe me, I don't wanna see anyone, talk, etc. For an already loner, moody type chick such as myself, this causes some major stress amongst my friends and fam. I'll disappear, won't answer my phone, return emails, etc. for weeks. Shit is tough. On everybody. I just miss her.

So. Aside from the knife in the chest I walk around with on the daily, whenever I get any news (expected or otherwise) about my baby sister's murder case, I just have to take like fifty steps back and just chill....I got anger issues, man....hurt issues, pain issues...trying to resolve and deal.

But I just fucking can't see straight when I think about how this premeditated murderous fool gets delay after delay (the trial was supposed to start this month, now we were just informed he got a continuance until SEPTEMBER 06) and is sittin up talking with his punk ass lawyer and has three hots and a cot and time on his hands, when my lil' sis didn't have a second to react before he put a 9mm shot through the back of her skull. I'm sayin', I have to go somewhere, be very still, then sob and yell and throw things and try to box with God in a way where I won't scare my kids or get someone worried enough to come and sit with me for the rest of the fucking night. And don't worry, ya'll. Supa's not suicidal. She's homicidal. But lemme stop 'cause I've already been warned by the authorities on what constitutes a valid threat on a punk's life....

SO, last night I just cried. Didn't throw anything, no threatening phone calls to the jail, no calls to loved ones to share my anguish. Just listened to music. Smoked half a joint. Saw to the household, then got in bed.

I'm being real when I say the shit I've been through over the last five years should've fucking killed me. In a way it has. What I just wrote about is only about 1/4 of the entire story....Folks ask me about my ankh tattoo. I tell them that I got it there for spiritual/emotional reasons, I know what the symbol meant to my people, and I chose the symbol to anchor me back down to the earth. A sista been floatin'. I put it on my left foot (the feminine side), so it can serve as a reminder.

Yep, I'm still here.

So since I'm also working on my essay deadline for next Monday, Supa gon' take a lil' posting break. I'll reconnect next week when the pressures off and I've had more time to sit with myself and regroup. Have a great weekend, blogger fam. I'll still be checking in on your drama/foolishness when I get a sec.

Peace.

Supa

Yawn!

Look. When Supa wakes up and quickly calculates it'll be approximately 17 more hours until she can get her fabulous hustlin' ass back in bed - a sista's tired! Gah. I found myself severely annoyed yesterday when co-workers kept coming into my office and interrupting my quality writing time with C.S.S. projects and other nonsense....yeah, I'm on the clock, but fuck all that! Supa recalls that she specifically requested set hours for "inquires and feedback" during the day. Otherwise folks'll be all up in your grill and hounding you 24/7. Everybody - get the fuck out! Can't you see I'm trying to do something totally unrelated to my job duties? Sheesh.

See? Never give a moody black girl a juicy promotion. Shit goes all to her head...

On to Supa's self-accountability chart:

Reasons why Supa was late to work today:

1) General snooze alarm abuse.

2) Friend called at 6:30 am saying she's coming over early to help pick out paint colors for living room (yes I decided to paint now, it'll never end).

3) Spent 45 minutes spatting over "warm" vs. "cool" color selections, playing tug-o-war with color chart paint wheel, ooh and aahing and walking through the rest of the house with other decorating ideas, planning the next house party, invite list, menu, etc.

4) Employing various tactics trying to wrestle an old piece of pizza from Pooch's mouth (Ruff Ryder #1 left it on the floor in his room. Just nasty.)

5) Indecisive wardrobe selection process.

6) Riding around on "E", forced to stop and get petrol.

7) Ridiculous muthafucking Los Angeles traffic.

I'm sleepy.

Happy Wednesday! Going to the Grammys or any after-parties, Miss Ahmad?

Late Afternoon Update:

Unh hunh, time for this chick to bounce. I'm "under pressure" as David Bowie would say.....I've got too many projects going on, and I'm having issues with this nasty temper/smart-ass mouth of mine....BUT, on a more positive note, I'm quite proud of myself for not going straight 'hood today at the C.S.S. (Corporate Slave Ship, for all you newcomers...)

Example # 1:

Supa's whiny co-worker: Can we talk about something?

Supa's mental response: The fuck you wanna talk about now??????
Supa's verbal response: Sure, gimme a second, I'll be right with you.


Example #2:

Supa's nosy co-worker: Going home already?

Supa's mental response: What you want me to do, bitch, spend the night?????
Supa's verbal response: Yep, I'm off early. Didn't take a lunch today...


'Bout to go home, fix a big fat martini, chill out and watch the Grammy's...I'm giving myself the night off!!!!!

Supa, out!

Supa's Tuesday Kicks...

Mwabi, I do this for you, sis.....gotta showcase one pair at a time. :)



Told ya'll I had wedgie fever...
and it's 85 degree's in La La Land today!....
(Miss Ahmad, Pat, and Tam can co-sign)

Tuesday Tidbits

What it be like, blogger fam? Right, right!

So Supa's been toiling away on her essay for Dr. Smith's lecture next Monday. I'm in the zone, man. Creative energy just flowin' from a sis! It's the kind of mental stimulation a writer gets when you start feelin' your flow, kind of shyt that keeps you up at night, infiltrates the subconscious, inspiration seeps into your dream space, you wake up and can't settle down until you pick up where you left off............creative madness penetrates your entire being. Kinda like a slow, hard, intense, complete mental orgasm. Yo, it's not as good as the real thing, but it's damn close! (ha ha) Guess that's why it's called a writer's high! It's like crack, baby! (Dave Chapelle voice) I mean, not that I would know..but you feel me. Probably gonna need some herbal refreshments to calm down a lil' tonight, though...

So! Some quickies today.....

The "Thank God He Wasn't Black" crime award goes to this fool:



It's been all the talk out here in LA. Some fool hops out of a Lexus to snatch a gold chain off a 5 year old girl's neck. Entire incident caught on surveillance tape. Both chain snatcher and get away driver (a chick) were later arrested. Chain snatcher turns out to be Latino. Though, no matter who - this nonsense was just fucking disgusting. Someone needs to whoop THAT trick. But, ya know..just glad it wasn't one of our "brethren"....I think the show "COPS" did enough for showcasing ignant negroes and their crimes on TV.....


Anyone catch Dave Chappelle's appearance on Oprah?



Supa just got around to watching the episode last night. (I love you, TiVo) Anyway, I was proud of Dave and the sentiments he expressed. Granted, he's still a fool, but I think Dave's consciousness and awareness have been raised (re: social responsibility as a black man in the entertainment industry) after this mess with Comedy Central.

Thought, comments?

Happy Monday...

Look at this photo! It's a vase of star gazer lillies I put on my desk before I left the office Friday...today I walk in, and they've bloomed like crazy. Beautiful! And they smell so...serene..

Anyway, be sure to get caught up with the Weekend-Wrap Up...

So! Supa no longer measures her success by if she gets to work on time, but by just how late she actually is....Today I got here at ten past eight, which is a monumental event in Supa's perpetually late book. Had to wait around for the contractors to arrive, so that foiled my aspirations of punctuality. On a good note, the renovations should be complete by tomorrow. (hurrah!) As Supa snuck into work, she almost thought to come clean and explain that she'd been tardy the past few weeks due to the contractor issue....but quickly realized she'd be forced to offer up an explanation for every other damn morning..(yikes)...needless to say, Supa kept her mouth shut.

For everyone who posted on the movie line post, Blogger ate your comments..apparently there were complications on Friday and throughout the weekend. Don't worry Blogger, we still love you...

Hope everyone had a wonderful, safe weekend. (I know Tam had a great "beatin" session...LOL. Cocoa girl was a lil' stressed out but I think she's back on her A game..Doc, keep your head up! One Cool Sis was out being a stone cold diva, Skidmarks, sweetie, take your meds) Unfortunately, the world of hip-hop took another sad, senseless turn... Busta Rhyme's bodyguard was shot and killed outside a video shoot in Brooklyn Saturday night. Damn, man...can't we all just get along? On an even more disturbing note, Supa heard the new 50 cent and Mobb Deep single and she actually liked it....it's the last days, ya'll.....

Anymore signs of the apocalypse out there?

Weekend Wrap-Up

Happy Super Bowl weekend, Blogger Peeps!

So Supa must have been really feeling herself, because she went out not one, not two...but three nights in a row this weekend! Whaaat?! Ya girl was out roaming these beautiful eighty-degree Cali streets like Whitney Houston lookin' for a hit. All of this was due to my ace girl Kishna flying in from Jersey to visit and have some good ole' diva-style fun. (Shout out to SPD!)
(pic of me and Kish in Jamaica)

Friday night, we had dinner and cocktails, then went to see "Something New"...




Supa's quick review: Grade - C+ . Cute. Corny. Cliche'.

Saturday we went out breakfasting with some fam at CJ's, a cute homestyle diner type joint in off Pico Blvd. in West LA. And then we went shopping, of course. Bounced on down the street to Pinkie Rose boutique (the place where I got the fly wedgies), and damn near lost our minds! It was the owner's Ms. Pinkie's birthday, so we sang (Happy Birthday Marcia!) and ate rum cake and laughed and shopped.
(Kish, trying on fabulous threads).

For all you LA girls, you gotta stop by Pinkie's spot! She's a sista businesswoman doing her thing, and her clothing and jewelry is so fly and unique. She promises to get her website up and running soon.

Saturday night we hung out with all the flossin' folks at Grand Lux Cafe in Beverly Hills.
One of Supa's favorite spots. Best Mojitos I've had outside of Miami. Good eats, cool atmosphere. We were joined by Mikal (my ace's brother) and RR#1 even blessed us with his presence. Family, food, fun. That's the good shit right there...

Sunday, and on to the infamous Super Bowl party! Hosted at my boy Jon Jake's pad. By the time Supa and her crew walked in, the poker game was on, the house was full, steaks were on the grill, and the drinks were flowin'.

Hung out with my girls, saw some cute guys, sipped on Sangria and parlayed the night away. Oh yeah, and Demitri at the Super Bowl party wanted me to mention that he likes my realness and thinks I'm sexy. So there ya go. Shout out to Demitri! (let's see if you leave a comment this time, playa..)

Some other regular and/or boring stuff happened in-between Supa's social spree, but it isn't worth a mention...had a great weekend! Look closely and you'll see I'm smiling and content....

(updated pic for wise-crackin' ass anonymous at dallaspenn.com) lol! PS - I don't like this pic, I look sweet. It's very deceiving.....

Supa, out!