Okay folks, here’s the deal -I’m again full o’ shit and haven’t posted for over a week or visited any of your pages. You guys were real cool and accepted my explanation last week. You guys were real cool and accepted my lame excuse a couple of weeks before that. I’ve really been doing stuff which is a GOOD thing - I just haven’t taken the time to log in and post, and I apologize.

My massage therapist, Leo asked me to hang out with him a little while back - the plan was to use me as bait for the chair massages he was offering, and since I’m massage crazy (and greedy) I agreed to get up very very early on a Sunday morning to meet him and hang out for the day. (Here’s a quote from the post from my first massage with Leo with the magical fingers: “I treated myself to a massage. Young cutie pie. It’s been too long - my reaction to his hands on me was entirely inappropriate - I’m going back next week.”)

I met one of Leo’s partners at the address he gave me, 660 Irwin Street in the Inman Park section of Atlanta. The Irwin Street Market (unbelieveably funky little spot - ya gots to get over there!).

Leo’s partner is a BEAUTIFUL Sistah named Jacqueline who owns one of markets within this market place. Her business name is 3 Piece, and I hung out with her (between massages) and got the opportunity to really look at her products. Jackie is an artist who creates hand poured soy and beeswax candles and sells them to a long list of clients.

I watched her store for a bit that day while she was doing other things and now I’m her newest part- time employee. I worked for her this past Saturday and Sunday and I had a ball.

I’m used to my regular 5 day schedule for work. It’s when I do a bit more that I don’t have the time or inclination to even check my email - much less visit my ‘roll or post something new. I hung out with my favorite people (The Green Apple , poetry hosted by Seria Mills ) on Wednesday night until about 2. I did a couple of poems on Saturday night after work at the Afrocentric Teaching Museum. An outstanding poet and actor, JuanLove came to the Green Apple to invite us to join him for a benefit that his non-profit group, Esoteric was holding  there and quite a few of us decided to join him. I didn’t perform as well as I had hoped to, but the other performers I heard were amazing! I had to leave mid show in order to make it to the last bus going to my neighborhood.

If I were still driving, I suppose it might be different, but Rapid Transit in the Atlanta Metro Area pretty much sucks, so I waste a lot of time waiting for trains and busses these days.

Accept my explanation and apology? Please?

(If you called me or sent a text and I haven’t answered, you know how I get grouchy and don’t feel like it sometimes - sorry, I’ll call or text you back soon)

Okay. I’ll admit it: I’m a punk when it comes to the dentist. Punk.

I had an issue (that’s the only term that applies here, despite my dislike for this overused word) with one of my front teeth and have been waiting for the money to have it taken care of.

I’ve had dental coverage at work, but the Cigna HMO plan has to be the suckiest of all the sucky dental plans in the world. I waited patiently, looking like a crackhead because of my tooth, until a new enrollment period started so that I could upgrade to the Cigna PPO plan and choose a dentist who was aware of the new developments in dentistry and whose practice was nothing like that dentist in The Little Shop of Horrors.

I chose Dr. Jason Eaglin. (He attended LSU as an undergrad and Howard U. for dental school, he was his class president and gave the commencement speech at graduation…yada - yada - yada) who has an office within walking distance of my home.

He looks pretty nice in the photo, doesn’t he? Wouldn’t hurt a fly…

I am not a fly.

It’s not his fault that the 20 or more injections he gave me (”just a pinch”) had absolutely no effect on me and that I was crying like a kid during my deep cleaning and the first extraction. It’s not his fault that I was crying again when he shaved my teeth in preparation of the bridge I need.

Okay. If I had taken much better care of these choppers, I wouldn’t have suffered so much this week, but if the treatments weren’t so painful, I would have kept all those dental appointments - it’s a crazy circular logic thing.

I had the deep scale cleaning thing, the teeth shaving thing, the extraction times three thing - my mouth was wide open from 8:30 until 1:30 on Monday. After Dr. Eaglin called it quits for the day, I looked like a refugee of war or an escapee from some type of mental hospital. My mascara had run all over my face, my lips were ashy white and I had a crazed look in my eye.

I walked home, feeling very sorry for myself with my sore mouth, sore jaw and sore throat. I took a tour of “pityland” and called my girl Faye at work to try to explain. She’d had a few of the procedures and listened sympathetically to my cotton mouthed mumblings and insisted that I get my prescription for pain killer filled immediately.

I did.

Aw hells yeah! Opiate based pain medication is the silver lining of the dental drama. I floated to sleep, then awoke to take more pills and to float back to sleep again. Rinse, repeat.

In between, I sent text messages to friends to explain why I would not be speaking for a couple of days. I received great messages back and a big surprise: my sweet friend Jason came to take care of me. He rubbed my back and neck until I fell asleep and then hung out with my son Jack for the evening. (Jayce is a guy I once dated* (*code for slept with) for a few months, who’s still a very good friend).

I went back to his office on Wednesday for part 2 and it wasn’t half as bad as the Monday torture session. His staff is the greatest and Dr. Eaglin is a wonderful dentist. Despite my many complaints, he continued to encouraged me to “hang in there” and told me “you’re doing great”.  My teeth are cleaner than they’ve been for years and the temporary caps look just like my teeth. I can’t wait until my bridge comes in and I look like myself again. (I do the “Elvis” upper lip down low thing to cover the gaping HOLE in my head).

I’m back to work today and the concern of my coworkers who are stopping by my desk to check on me has brought real tears to my eyes. It’s cool to be missed.

See - I had a good reason for not posting this time. Have a good weekend all!

I remember summers when play was my only responsibility in the world. I was a very conscientious child so my play was charged with that extra ooomph. I played like it was 1999. I gave play my all. Play was my life.

I wasn’t alone in my quest for excellence on the playing field (the streets and sidewalks on my block). We were a devoted block of children. We were determined to play hard and play well for every single day of our summer vacation.

Play was so important to me that there were days that even the siren call of the Mr. Softee Truck couldn’t distract me from my duties. (the fact that my allowance was withheld for certain infractions made it a bit easier to ignore at certain times)

On 200 street in Hollis Queens there were the games we played and then there were The GAMES.

Anyone on the block was welcomed to play our regular games like “Chinese jump rope*”  (we never used the corny rope our parents bought us- we made our own with rubberbands!) or “RCK*” and when we played punchball in the street (first base the tree) we called on everyone to participate.  We even used one kid as base sometimes, depending on our mood. (Hi David!)

The GAMES were “skelly”  (this is how we said it and we used jar caps instead of bottle caps) and “doubledutch” but the hippest game on the block those days were the intricate hand clapping games usually played with a partner, but sometimes with up to four people. There were words to the accompanying songs to learn, but more importantly the moves had to become second nature to anyone who wanted to be part of the block’s ‘in crowd”. Here’s one of the basic songs that used a very basic hand clap move:

Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack All dressed in black, black, black

With silver buttons, buttons, buttons All down her back, back, back

She asked her mother, mother, mother For 50 cents, cents, cents

To watch the elephants, elephants, elephants Jump over the fence, fence, fence

They jumped so high, high, high They touched the sky, sky, sky

They never came down, down, down Until the fourth of July, ly, ly, ly, ly, ly

Songs like this were cool for beginners and the “pros’ played this as a warm up, but if you messed up just once, no matter what your previous achievement may have been, you’d be relegated to the sad position of onlooker for the rest of the day. You would not be permitted to voice your opinion or judge anyone else’s game. You’d be a “non”.  (oh, the horror - just saying the word brings back very painful memories. Non.)

In order to play skelly you would need to have your jar cap inspected by the game owner (the kid with the chalk always owned the game). If your cap passed the initial inspection you would be conditionally approved to play. Final approval was determined by the other participants and there was no strict rule - sometimes you’d be in - sometimes you’d be called a “non”.

We had a bike club on the block too. We rode our banana seat, stingray bikes all over the neighborhood. Our limits were Farmer’s Blvd and Francis Lewis Blvd. (bus route streets), but everywhere between these main roads were game. We had a president, Jimmy who decided where we would be riding for the day. We would pack provisions (a bag of Onion and Garlic Lay’s chips and a Devil Dog) (as if we were going cross country) in the front baskets of the chick bikes and set off in a group. Riding “no hands” was expected of everyone, and the slow riders were left behind.

If it was too hot to run around we would sit on someone’s stoop and play “That’s my car”. To claim a car as your own, you had to be the first to shout out, “that’s my car” - that’s it - the whole game. We amused ourselves for hours playing this game and I can crack up any of my girlfriends if I use the phrase today.

As a kid I believed that all children in every neighborhood played the same as we did. I was shocked to learn that my cousins in Delaware played differently than we did. They actually tied string to Junebugs’ legs and swung them around. Disgusting.

As a teen, I graduated to handball. Going to the park and “running” the court was everything back then. Running the court meant beating every challenger and playing all day. We played with a ‘pinkie”, the same type ball we used for punchball and the greatest move was ‘the roller”. A roller hits the wall at the point where the wall meets the floor and rolls back - there’s no comeback from a roller. Score!

What games did you play on your block? (With your play-play cousins)

 *RCK stands for Run, Catch Kiss. It’s a game somewhat similar to tag that we played, sometimes intentionally falling so that our pursuer would catch, and then hopefully kiss us. (If Gerard ever reads this:NO I’m not talking about THAT time - I really did fall!!!!!!!) The game is played at twilight.

The Mayor Of Arrowhead Blvd.

A friend made a comment the other day, and I’ve decided to post based on his comment.

He told me that he’s been judged by his appearance and despite his long list of credentials and awards he hasn’t always been afforded the courtesies from some that those credentials might merit. I’ve been mulling this over for the last couple of days and I ran into The Mayor of Arrowhead Boulevard this morning and this essay of sorts was born.

The Mayor of Arrowhead Boulevard in Jonesboro, Ga. was never elected to his post. Some in the area may be unaware of his role in the community. Others rely on The Mayor to always be around - as that never changing background to their lives.

The Mayor always seems to be in the area when I need him. He’s willing to carry a package from the store to a car and happy to help to bring your laundry into the laundromat- he just might remind you to use bleach on your whites. He doesn’t help to earn a tip or a gift. He sees a need and offers his hands or back to help.

I’ve seen The Mayor flying his kite on a windy day, grinning like a kid. I’ve seen the mayor flying his kite on days when there wasn’t even a little breeze to inspire his kite to fly, yet he would persist, running as fast as he could, through the gas station parking lot and up the hill towards the strip mall looking back hopefully each time, believing that maybe this time the kite would take flight. I’ve see The Mayor running with the kite string trailing behind him with no kite attached, smiling it seemed, at the simple joy of running fast.

I usually see The Mayor on foot but sometimes he rides in style on his bike which he’s decorated in his unique fashion. He’ll park the bike then gladhand his constituancy, crossing and re-crossing Arrowhead Boulevard in order to greet everyone.

When I first moved to the neighborhood, I thought he was just another “slinger” working on the corner and because of my negative attitude, I didn’t really look at The Mayor. I dismissed him as a thug and barely spoke when our paths crossed.

This changed one Sunday morning when I arranged to meet a date on the corner (I don’t give up my address very easily) and while I waited, I watched The Mayor make his way across the street to where I stood.

Annoyed, I sighed audibly and The Mayor asked me what could be wrong with me on such a beautiful Sunday morning. He was so charming and complimentary that I just had to smile, and a friendship of sorts was begun.

We fell into an easy conversation and he held forth on the state of the economy, the political primaries, the state of Black America, and the neighborhood in general. He showed me photos of the woman who had his baby as well as a few of his child. He explained that a one night stand resulted in his little girl and he promised to “wrap it up” in the future.

I don’t know The Mayor’s whole story. I have an idea where he might live, but I’m not really sure. He’s always very clean and takes time in grooming his mustacheo, sideburns and beard. He dresses in his own style - sort of a hip-hop-hippie, a throwback to the flower children, with a Dirty South twist to make it interesting.

The little kids in the area give him respect and the older guys make a point to chat for a moment or at least stop and give The Mayor daps and a “whassup” to hold him down.

I’ve learned my lesson with The Mayor of Arrowhead Boulevard. No one should be judged before being given the opportunity to present themselves. There’s a beautiful soul under the hippie-thug I met and I would have missed out on the blessing of knowing the Mayor.

The Mayor’s Bike.

This is a rerun. I’m back to writing my novel so this is my effort to keep jalishouse moving while I do my thang.

Very upset woman here. Some truths are just too difficult to face voluntarily and when the truths sink in (as they eventually do) upset is usually the result. I’m not crying anymore, but the feeling of terrible loss has stayed with me since I realized what I’m missing.

I thought I still had it. I thought it would be with me forever but I somehow lost it. I lost it. Me…sigh.

When did I lose my “hip”?

There was a time when my hipness wasn’t in question. You could just look at me and see the hipness radiating from me. I spoke the language and sang the songs. I knew all the right moves and hung out at the hippest spots. I was one of the “cool kids” and I became a cool adult.

My wardrobe reflected my cool. My hair and nails, my walk and talk. All hip to the nth degree. I decided to stop smoking weed in college and my girls followed suit. I’d wear my hair a certain way and others would rock my style. I was hip.

I thought about the four most important people in my life and wondered if their appearance had anything to do with the loss of my hipness. Nope.

I was a hip mom - the Kool Ade mom of the block - the one the kids could talk too. Having children didn’t negate my hipness - if anything my little ones became fashion and social accessories to add to the Jali mystique.

I began to question my hipness recently while driving. A song came on the radio and I didn’t understand what the hell the song was about although I thought I did. I wondered, ‘why would the guy snap rubberbands at a chick at a strip club’. I happened to have wondered out loud (big mistake) and “A” started laughing at me (first sign of loss of hip - folks laughing at you). He explained that ‘popping a rubber band’ had to do with spending a lot of cash at the club - not literally popping a rubberband on some woman’s butt.

Oh.

The hip Jali would have known that. This new somewhat hip neutral person is confused by certain phrases. I don’t like this.

Nah. I’m not talking about the movie. The reality that bites is reality TV which has taken over almost every broadcast channel. It’s Jerry Springer set in better locales. I wish that our newscasts would dare to be real instead of the fluffed up crap we get instead.

Here’s a list of some of the shows I found:

The Amazing Race  American Dream Derby  American Gladiators  American Idol  American Inventor   American Juniors  America’s Got Talent  America’s Next Top Model  Amish In The City  Anything For Love  The Apprentice The Apprentice: Martha Stewart  Armed & Famous  The Ashlee Simpson Show  Average Joe  The Bachelor The Bachelorette  Battle Of The Network Reality Stars Beauty and the Geek  Being Bobby Brown   The Benefactor  Beg Borrow & Deal Big Brother The Biggest Loser  Big Man On Campus Blow Out Boarding House  Boot Camp  Brat Camp  Britney and Kevin: Chaotic Boy Meets Boy Canadian Idol The Casino  Celebrity Cooking Showdown  Celebrity Duets  Celebrity Mole The Complex The Contender  Crowned  Cupid   The Cut Dance War Dancing with the Stars Dog Eat Dog Dream Job Extreme Makeover Fame The Family Family Plots Fear Factor  For Love Or Money Forever Eden Grease: You’re the One That I Want He’s A Lady Hell’s Kitchen  Here Come the Newlyweds The Hills Hit Me Baby One More Time High School Reunion House Rules   I Love New York I Want To Be A Hilton Joe Millionaire Joe Schmo Kid Nation Kitchen Nightmares Laguna Beach Last Comic Standing The Law Firm The Littlest Groom Love Cruise Mad Mad House Manhunt Meet Mister Mom Meet My Folks Miracle Workers The Mole My Big Fat Obnoxious Boss My Big Fat Obnoxious Fiance My Fair Brady Nanny 911  Nashville Nashville Star Newlyweds Next Action Star  The Next Great American Band The Next Great Champ On The Lot The One Oprah’s Big Give The Osbournes Outback Jack Paradise Hotel The Player Playing It Straight Performing As… Phenomenon Pirate Master Project Greenlight Project Runway  Pussycat Dolls Present Queer Eye Race To The Altar  The Rebel Billionaire The Real Gilligan’s Island The Real Housewives The Real Roseanne Show The Real World Renovate My Family  The Restaurant Rich Guy Poor Guy Road Rules robandambergetmarried/ Rock Star The Scholar   The Simple Life Skating With Celebrities So You Think You Can Dance Sorority Life Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Model Search The Starlet Star Search  Starting Over Supernanny Superstar USA Surf Girls The Surreal Life Survivor  The Swan  Temptation Island  Three Wishes ‘Til Death Do Us Part Todd TV Tommy Lee Goes To College Top Chef  Trading Spaces  Trading Spouses Treasure Hunters Tuesday Night Book Club  Unan1mous   Who Wants To Marry My Dad  Wickedly Perfect Wife Swap The Will  World Idol 

I’ll have to admit that I’ve seen a few of these shows and off the top of my head I can name a few more: Run’s House, Rock of Love, Cops, 70s House, Charm School, My Sweet Sixteen. I’m sure there are many others.

I’m embarrassed to admit that I’ve seen at least 1 episode of each of 43 of the shows listed above. I didn’t continue to watch most of them, but I do have a couple that I really like.

Reality TV has taken over to the point that almost everone will have a connection to someone or the other who’s appeared on one of these shows. I know 2 people who’ve auditioned.

How many of these will you admit to? I know it’s cool to say you only watch PBS or CNN, but I want you to give it up. C’mon - I won’t tell.

Protests and calls for a boycott against Absolut have been heard across the country. I wonder if the protestors know their history.

Seeking to better control the border region of Texas, which had few settlers, the Mexican government permitted a few hundred U.S. families to settle the area. This, however, led to settlement of Texas on a scale unanticipated by the Mexican government, as its inability to control the border allowed thousands more Americans to settle than had been agreed upon. English-speaking settlers quickly formed a majority in Texas.

…and this is how Texas became a state.

The following poem was written and performed (by me) at the Green Apple in East Point - Atlanta on Wednesday April 2, 2008. It’s meant to be read aloud. 

I Want To Know 

It’s been said that wisdom comes with age

I beg to differ.

I have many more questions today than I had when I was innocent

And now…

I WANT TO KNOW WHY!              

I want to know why some will rant and rave in rhyme

And cry for the need for change

But do nothing in November to effect that change – and encourage others to do nothing with them

(too light skinned I’ve heard some say)

I want to know why

Babies dead in Rwanda, Iraq, New Orleans, New York, New Guinea, Jamaica, Brazil, Ghana, El Salvador - babies dead babies dead babies dead babies dead babies dead.

And you still tell me Jesus saves

I want to know why.

Four thousand American and thousands upon thousands of brown skinned casualties as a result of an unsanctioned and thus illegal military invasion and it’s still allowed to continue.  More are protesting the loss of Chikeze on American Idol than the loss of all these lives.

I want to know why.

I want to know why research and development in the treatment of fatal childhood diseases or even menstrual cramps lags far behind the research and development of Viagra. Why I was expected to have a happy period back in the days before my uterectomy.

Stop. Yes – Uterectomy. Hysterectomy is a misnomer – my hysteria is well intact thank you very much.

I want to know why bullets in the backs of suspects make the 10 o’clock news but don’t register in the hearts of the citizen. Why no one believes that next time it just might be your child. Or you.

I want to know why grandma no longer watches “As the World Turns” from the sitting room. Why being shot in her own home and framed as a criminal seemed a reasonable byproduct of the war on drugs to some.

I want to know why.

I want to know why thousands had to lose their homes before the Fed stepped in and why Bear Sterns is being saved but my ex husband lost everything to the predatory policies endorsed by this administration. And now we watch another commercial offering credit protection.

I want to know why.

I want to know why the call for “English only” in the workplace isn’t scorned, especially by we who were forced to give up our native tongues and adopt this language that still tastes funny in my mouth.

I want to know why.

I want to know why some feel that love between two people could ever be a sin. Why some wish to legislate love, control it and tax it. How someone else is threatened if two women kiss. How a marriage will unfold if a penis touches another penis.

I want to know why.

I want to know why those who choose to protest abortion don’t lead the way to adopt and provide for the unwanted babies who are already here. 

I want to know why.  I want to know why those in the forefront of the prolife movement who will never be pregnant and never have that hard decision to make still feel comfortable in making the decision for those who do

I want to know why.

I want to know why mothers dress their little girls like hookers, but seemed surprised when they’re treated that way.  I want to know why you let your babies dance along with soulja boy “off in this hoe.” Why you would allow a little misogynist to make a cum-stained Superman’s-cape dreamscape for your child.I want to know why.

It’s been said that wisdom comes with age

I beg to differ.

I have many more questions today than I had when I was innocent

I want to know why

There are some things that went waaaay over my head at some point or the other and I’ll post them today so the world will know I finally get the sexual messages.

Yeah me!

Remember this deodorant? “The little tickle with the big ball.” It was a hot seller for a while.  Oh… I get it.

Remember this slogan, “It’s going to be an Aviance night?”  Oh…I get it.

Name That Movie!

What movie had a cast of unknowns, many of whom, went on to film success?

Laura San Giacomo,  Dermot Mulrooney, Sean Astin, Balthazar Getty, Will Smith, Ricky Lake, Laura Flynn Boyle, Kyle MacLaughlin, Adam Baldwin, Rachel Ticotin.

(from IMDB)

A group of teen-age runaways try to survive in the streets of Los Angeles. Drugs, prostitution, violence and bureaucratic indifference all pose threats to the kids, who nevertheless prefer this harsh life to going back to their families. Heather, somewhat older, provides some leadership and mothering to the kids.

In Los Angeles, the gang of teenagers leaded by King survives on the streets begging, prostituting and stealing money. Among King’s best friends are Little J, who is a gay prostitute; Greg, who is drug addicted capable of stealing to buy drugs with the dealer Ted; and the paralytic Manny. When the newcomer and runaway from Chicago Heather meets King, they fall in love for each other. But when Little J kills Tommy Ray to protect King, he is falsely accused of murder and chased by the police, with tragic consequences.