Reality Literature

Should I be Shame?

2011-02-11T10:47:00.000-08:00

Today, feeling too vulnerable, too exposed and too unsophisticated, I took all of my offensive, ridiculous, shameful postings off this blog and saved them in a word document. I'm starting a new project in my career and I don't want my colleagues to see the deep recesses of my psyche. So, I deleted any evidence of that, represented in my rantings. Funny, right? I don't give two shits about the rest of the world exposed to my psychosis, however, I'm more concerned with potential colleagues. How does that work? It's easier to expose oneself to the world of people whose faces one could not remember than be shamed, however temporarily, by an acquaintance. Well, I digress. I didn't want my rants to be judged by my coworkers and prevent me from accomplishing a great step in my career. I never gave a shit about a career before...
In the process of taking down my posts, I began to read and couldn't stop. I had recorded instances in my life about which I had completely forgotten until I began to read. I read my post, "A Date; An Evaluation" and had not even recalled that guy until now. It's almost two years later. At the time I wrote that post, my feelings were hurt and my ego was bruised. It was my first real rejection. When I thought about it after I read it, I understood that that flighty relationship wasn't meant to last anyway. My experiences in dating, to this point, have brought me to that realization. In two years, I evolved in so many ways with regards to dating, but reading that post brought up feelings for me that I felt at the time. WOW. And when I read "My Nephew Thinks He's Michael Jackson" and I think about how my family is just getting him on the right track, now. Not to mention that Michael Jackson is dead. I thought to myself, "how could I delete this stuff?" I can't. It's like I was reading my past, written at the very moments my past was formed and how lucky I am to have felt passionately enough about it to record it, right then. To me, these posts, this blog, is better than a diary. Banality is absent (at least to me, call me a narcissist). It's better than telling or relating a story because the facts don't become lies and there's no hiding my reality, not even when it was negative. Everything on this blog, is how I felt at the time I wrote it and the feeling, the energy that comes across through my words and your reading it, while they might not be the same, will affect you as it has me already.
So yeah, I took everything offensive down and put it back up again. I did change a few "abrasive" terms to be PC, but the content remains and so shall the story. Even if I'm the only one reading it.

OM…God?

2011-02-11T10:41:00.000-08:00

Originally Posted on 11.14.2010
Okay, I've officially succumbed to the social bullshit humdrum. Yes, I've become a tweeter. WTF? I thought I was too deep for this shit. I used to make fun of people on twitter, updating their bullshit statuses after they ate a banana or just fucked somebody's broke ass, toothless baby daddy in some Podunk black or white town in the heart of bankrupt America (i.e. somewhere in the Midwest). Man, I feel more exploited than that "Hide ja kids, hide ja wife" nigga with that dirty ass red bandanna. Well not really, at least that nigga was on TV and blew the fuck up for a week on YouTube. You sellout! And your sister was supposedly raped, yeah fucking right. But still, I'm no different and if confronted with the opportunity for a week of exposure, I'd probably do the same with my silly ass friends. Actually thinking people are interested in what I have to say is a punch to the gut to me. I can't help but to ridicule and deride myself over the decision to join Twitter. It's not even as if I'm disillusioned as to think I will be different and garner a mass of people following my posts and reading my lips as I text the latest tweet. I can't even say I joined because I"m genuinely intrigued by social media and the development of social technology over the past decade. I have 200 friends on facebook and most of them are so restricted that they can't even see my updates or photos. I don't even have a profile pic listed for random searches. My shit is official. Really, I don't even like facebook. It's a nuisance thinking of witty bullshit just so people can say "like" it or comment "Awesome, me too!" Who gives a fuck? Still, I succumbed to the pressure of my homegirls to join this bullshit "networking" site all on the strength of how funny they think I am after I've been drinking and smoking joints for 3 hours. I suddenly become hysterical through their true blood eyes and slurred speech. So yes, if you're wondering, I did it for my ego. Under an alias however. I wasn't as grandeur as to put MY name on this, believing it would boost my intrigue just a lil bit. Actually a friend and I set it up as a forum for salacious but local gossip and one-liner opinions from our respective social crews. And while all of our friends' stories are hell-fucking-larious to us, I doubt that anyone else would find our conversational meanderings as funny as we do. In fact, I predict that we will have absolutely no "followers" on twitter and even our close homegirls, from which our content derives, will even look at our page. Our skandaloshow (tweet and retweet us ;) will probably fizzle out in 3 months. I'll put money on it.

There Is No More White Culture

2010-06-04T17:35:00.000-07:00

So I was sitting in my room today thinking about my love of exploration and different cultures when my freshman Intro to Anthropology course popped in my mind. Franz Boas immediately was the first person I thought of, and I thought of my anthropology professor speaking, passionately, about the different cultures of the world. I remember how enthusiastic she was about his exploration in Alaska and the remote "tribes" he "discovered" (kinda like Christopher Colombus discovered the Native Americans) and how groundbreaking that was. Then I think of the Nuer tribe, who were "undisovered" by Europeans until the late 1940s and whose civilization was so diverse and progressive, that they had to questions it's validity by brutally "studying" their culture until the Nuer tribe was forced to disband and abandon their traditions. In the midst of my aimless pondering, I had to question our new cultural indenties. The coming of the internet not only made it easier to pay bills and chat online, it also created a much more integrated global society where video chat and Facebook puts one in the same environment as a mate thousands of miles away. I think about my Italian and Portuguese friends, whom I met overseas, and how easy it is for me to communicate with them on my computer. No more letters or phone cards to call internationally. All I have to do is login to Gmail or Facebook or Skype or iChat and they're there, in front of me, thousands of miles away. I can absorb their culture, their environment, their frame or reference or, more simply, their mood at the moment due to technology shrinking the atmopshere of communication and thus meshing the idea of "culture".
I can't help to wonder if the idea of "culture" is fading with the larger ideologies of pop culture, the internet, and fashion trends that represent progress and "democracy". Then I think of Arizona and their recent decision to make it legal to ID someone who looks foreign, or Mexican. I can't understand it, not only because I'm on the side of the Mexicans returning to a land that they possessed long ago (if there were Native Americans, I'd say the same) or that I'm a patriot, but rather the culture of the immigrants will, almost surely, mesh with the dominant culture of entertainment. It's not like these Mexican immigrants are stealing jobs (cause there are none) or that they're gonna negatively influence "American" culture (cause you can find E!, Cosmo or MTV in any country). It's really that they're gonna brown the country. So I guess I'm saying to all the tea baggers, self righteous American patriots to get a clue. That white boy shit is dead.

On Tha Edge

2009-05-09T05:09:00.000-07:00

So, yeah. I love my sister's building. Last night I came up on the M100 bus. I was headed toward the subway when the rum I had been drinking smacked my face and pulled my feet toward Smiley's, the corner store that sells loosies (single cigarettes). Of course, since I was well on my way to being tipsy, I grabbed a smoke for 75 cents, bumping into a fine tendah who was doing the same; smoking the poison! Anyway, I light my cigarette, still in the bodega (I think smiley prefers that so people don't walk out with single cigarettes thus alerting the ever-present police of of his illegal tenders.) Smoking, within 5 seconds, intensified my tipsiness to drunkardness and I stagger out of the bodega. Geez, I thought, I'm fucked up! I decide then and there that I will NOT take the C train or the A for that matter. Fuck the train; it was so sunny and warm and I had flip flops on for the first time since last summer. I definitely did not want to go underground in a crowded, dirty, dank, dark ass subway station and squeeze onto the A train. So I waited at the bus stop but I forgot how EFFING long the buses take and I ended up waiting 20 minutes for one bus. There were hella buses that passed and read NEXT BUS PLEASE which just got me in a rum rage. There was a Mexican dude waitin with me, but I turn around and see him 3 blocks up the street, preferring pounding the pavement than being disgraced by public transit in the hot afternoon. He rather WALK, then wait. I follow suit and take off toward the train station but, lo and behold, I see a M100 bus on the corner. I run towards it only to be rejected by the bus driver; it was too full...but I was gonna ram someone to squeeze my ass on there but homeboy wasn't having it. "Next bus ma'am, we're full!" First reaction; DO I LOOK LIKE A MA'AM JACKASS? Second: Fuck this stupid, fucking bus I've been waiting over 20 minutes for you to tell me NEXT FUCKING BUS! Luckily, there was a bus behind the full one that was full too but I'd be daaaaamned if they rejected me from this one. I didn't even wait for the bus driver to say anything, I swiped my card and sidestepped an old lady, sucking on a hard candy producing a mess of saliva down her chin...GROSS!
I made it to 155th and to the EDGE! I was excited that my sister's neighbors were having a potlock. THere is always something jumping off in her bldg. There's a wonderful Ethiopian community of sisters, husbands, cousins and brothers. They're always acting uber-Ethiopian but most of those guys grew up right here in the U.S. of A. I love them anyway. Nicole was there, hookah hogging and tellin me to "fall back lil' homie!" I was the youngest one there but shit I'm grown. Big Time! JB was up in there (my special partner in crime) and I had him rollin in the kitchen. There was this guy (whom, turns out, my sister fooled with much to her dismay) who was dancing in the living room to some song...I will say it was "Gimme" by Abba just to relate the ridiculousness of the man's proposition. So, JB and I were sitting in the kitchen, bullshittin and chillin when LAME-O guy yells from the "dance floor", "Come on JB, show me your MOVES!" while he steadily pop and locks his way around the lonely dance floor. I think JB might've turned his head 2 degrees in homie's direction, then I said "Who the fuck is the corn ball?" and we fall the fuck out. We continue to clown until he locks his ass OFF the dancefloor. We continue to laugh in his face. It was the best! I hope he wasn't offended, but I didn't (and still don't) really care. My sister was running around, watching sports with the fellas. Salaam, her gym buddy, danced in the kitchen the whole night, free and light! There was even Richmond there, a chick who was visiting, not part of the Edgecombe community, but still there to kickit...it was a great time!
Well, I love the Edge. Last night was a partyin potluck. I was in bed by 2, up by 7 and writing by 8, to share this excitement with you.

A Date; An Evaluation

2009-05-07T12:38:00.000-07:00

So what's going on? Why is dating such a difficult thing for a black female. And I'm not even THAT picky. I met this guy a few weeks ago walking to the A train from my sister's house. He was very nice looking, cocoa brown, straight teeth, argyle sweater. I was like "Whoa, uptown!" I know what you're thinking. Why should this excite me the way it did; let me elaborate, a little, on my community. I live in Harlem. There are plenty of good looking brothas around my neighborhood. Plenty! They might even have good conversation, nice cologne and pressed clothes, but ask them about an email account and it's all shits and giggles from their end. So when I see homeboy, I'm like wow, he looks like he has email. He reaches out to me by commenting on the cigarette in my hand. "You really shouldn't smoke", he says. "I know, I'm quitting." I respond. It was my first smoke in 3 days AND I was tipsy, but no excuse! Anyway, we get the chattin and he has great convo so we exchange numbers. Of course we hang out for a few weeks and everything is gravy. He meets me after work, I help him with his job hunt, we watch Zodiac like 80 times. Let's just say the last few weeks were chill. No funk. Now, it gets tricky. I know he's been recently frustrated with his job hunt. He commented to me several times how he "hates having no money." I know how he feels; it took me seven months to find a 9 to 5. And I ain't the type of chick to berate brothas for being trifling and all that hooplah because that's some entitlement, resentful shit that I can't get down with. I'm humble and I share. So, the last few weeks I've tried to be as encouraging as I could. I know people are broke. Shit I'm BROKE and I HAVE A JOB. So I digg his situation, ya digg? Anyway, out of the blue, homeboy starts fakin on dates. He says he'll meet me after work like he's done numerous times but around the time I get off, he cancels. Now I know we've been kickin it for a little less than a month but it's been like everyday so it was a little intense...so anyway, the dude starts canceling and I can't figure it out. Eventually I stop calling and he doesn't call either. So that's where it left off...weird, I thought. I can't seem to figure it out. I'm not the one to stress over dudes or even give it that much thought, but I can't help to wonder...hmmm, what's up with homeboy?
My friend just started a blog and she had a posting on there that relates her experience with one dude at a club one night. Long and short of it, he calls her and her "kind of black women" stuck up because they expect too much from a man. I know we're all familiar with the Angry black woman bullshit that manifests from a period of time where black women were, in fact, angry with black males. I know we used to be resentful of interacial dating and the negligence on behalf of black men and rightfully so. But I just don't be trippin like that because I ain't stuntin what everyone thinks, I occupy myself with what that one black male thinks...but I remember. I'm 24; I recall Queen Latifah being like "who you callin a bitch? U.N.I.T.Y. That's a UNITY!" but I can't really say I feel angry with brothas. I don't feel anything of the sort actually. I ain't trippin off your financial status or your educational history. You got good convo? Good. You read? Excellent. You like to have money in your pocket? Even Better. Love ya momma? I thought so. Me? Well, I did go to a great school and I've lived overseas and I can say I look pretty damn good, but I ain't goin shun a nig for not going to school or not having a job or having crooked teeth. Seriously, it sounds shallow but so many sistahs do it. So, back to the point at hand, I wonder what happened with homeboy?
Some chicks can't figure out why the ugliest bitch in the room got dudes flockin to her. It's because of the confidence that she exudes and the non-judgment that she represents. No one wants to be judged and berated, especially by their mate, so I can understand where woman get verbally mushed because of these "standards" of a black man needing to have a job, straight teeth, nice clothes, great convo, no criminal record etc. They say they're not asking a lot but relative to the plight of black dudes (1 in 3 having a criminal history), it's not likely they'll find this guy and if they do, he's probably married...sorry.
So I'm just saying, I'm not a stickler, but I still seem to have dating issues. Don't get me wrong, finding a man isn't the problem; finding one ready to deal with me is. My guy friends complain all the time that if they could just find a chill chick, they'd be good. Either they're full of shit or deluded...or maybe I'm the crazy bitch...

Vapid Expanse

2009-05-07T08:23:00.000-07:00

Okay, for real ya'll. I'm not tryna joke on people or nothing but, seriously, BLACK PEOPLE, WE NEED TO START READING MORE. Now, I don't have many friends or enemies for that matter. I keep to myself, show peace and love to most, and do me. I enjoy working out in the mornings, chanting by morningside park, listening to the rustle of the tress on quiet NYC mornings...Yeah, I be doing some hippy shit. Maybe that's why I read so much. It started long ago, I think. When I was 10, my family took Amtrak across country and I began reading seriously then. I read Goethe at 13...not to toot my own horn, but damn, that's pretty fucking good. So anyway, I'm getting off point. I get tired of talking to the few friends I have and discovering that an overwhelming majority of them don't read. AT ALL. The news reel on news channels? Nope. Online newspapers or journals? Nope. Books, novels, shorts, newletters? Hell naw. I mean, they don't even read the fucking free papers. But let me mention BOSSIP or some other ignant ass shit, and omg, their eyes alight and they start spewing "facts" on celebs like they live next door and shit. Sometimes I stare and think, don't you ever want to REALLY know what's going on in the world? Where do you get your information if you don't read? Their sources thus comes from the most unreliable source. Television. They can spit off Drake lyrics quicker than they can name the Speaker of the House. Eruditeness at best for them is citing Newt Gingrich. No I shouldn't say at best but that's like a step up...FUCK, sad state of affairs.
I can't speak for other people except the ones in my sphere. I don't mean to target black people particularly, but my interactions with my black friends and their lackluster depth is quite disturbing. Not to mention that most of these niggas went to college so I find that kind of abstruse (some may also argue, validly, that my use of Nigga is regressing our advancements but I feel like I don't care what those people think because that is a trivial argument that spuriously draws attention to an issue that has a feeble impact on progression.)
But, seriously, I would like to see some more young black people reading. Read anything. You can start off slow...Eric Jerome Dickey maybe. He writes like most dudes rap--plastic baggies & drugs, killin haters, knockin off hoes et cetera. Or maybe you'd like one of those Midnight Love books...whatever your preference, I just encourage you to read. Open your mind, expand your boundaries. You'll be a better person because of it.

Oh Bama, You're Just Too Much...

2009-04-14T11:11:00.000-07:00

Yes, I'm still mad giddy over him. I love this man! Obama, of course, is the shit. I was sort of surprised at myself when I went to upload another post and discovered no info on my man. Now, I'm not one to get overwhelmingly involved in politics, but homeboy has made me get up and pay attention. Recently, he's overturned so much bullshit that Bush enacted, including enviromental legislation (firing CEOs, pushing the GM merger with Fiat for the production of enviro friendly cars, firing old EPA directors etc.), healthcare reform (I'm still getting emails from tha boy Mitch Stewart and his ceaseless campaigning to call legislators and push for healthcare stimulus package), and finally, shutting down this fear tactic, Guantanamo Bay, media jargon that began in a fearful, early 19th c. America in order to generate profits and spending on behalf of Central Banks and coorporations. Needless to say, Obama's had a lot to deal with. A shit ton of bricks is what he inherited, not to mention, the ever-crumbling economy. I can't help to think that maybe he won't be able to fix all this. What if he fails? But after so many questions, and so much MSNBC and CNN watching, I resolve myself and relax. The fact is, I don't want him to fail for numerous reasons (chiefly, because I want another minority president and I don't want white folks using the excuse that Obama didn't fix shit although shit was already suprememly fucked up when he got the job). But the reality remains that he has so much to do in so little time that even if he continues on the overturning path he's on now, the results of his tutelage might not be recognized in many years, and, I think people (conservative media) will say, that my main man FAILED! I just don't think that's right. I mean, of course it ain't right. I'm gonna continue to stick by him, however, regardless of the haters out there. I say to them, you just mad cuz a black man's the ruler of the world. It's about fucking time.

My Nephew Thinks He's Michael Jackson

2009-03-25T13:16:00.001-07:00

Okay, my newphew doesn't really think he's Michael Jackson but he's damn close to thinking/believeing that he is supposed to be caucasian, God made a mistake, and, by any means necessary, he's going to hold onto this truth, his truth. I must say, when he was 3, we thought it was hilarious. He would go around saying that he's not black (he is light-skin and his school is 95% Dominican and Catholic so I can see where the confusion comes in.)He lives in Harlem, a predominately Black and Latino quartier so his exposure to white people is very limited. He is obviously victim to the vicious color complex that assaults the minority communities, carried over from Willie Lynchism of slavery times. In his class photo, all the kids are light (including my nephew who looks more Dominican than black) and, when I asked him what the only little dark skinned girl in his class name was, he shrugged, made a disapproving scowl and said, “she’s black,” to which I responded, “What the hell you think you are?” He shook his head no.
I was confused as to where he was developing this kind of mentality. I know kids are cruel and say racist things derivative of their parents’ conditioning (I was called a “nigger-bitch” in first grade by a classmate who was probably repeating what his parents had said many times). But where is my nephew learning to be so ashamed of his skin color. At school, of course. I’m pretty sure he knows he’s black. His dad and grandmother are light (he says his grandmother is white) but his grandfather, aunts and mother are brown-skinned women. We are very much apart of his life interacting with him positively on every level possible. How could he develop racist tendencies usually associated with black kids who go to all white schools who are confused and disillusioned? My nephew has had the “best” of the blackest experience; a Harlem baby, a black nuclear family, a militant grandfather, and college educated parents, aunts and grandparents. He’s already been to Mexico several times on our family vacation and goes to Cali twice a year (where we’re all from). The only white person he knows and realizes is truly white is my dad’s girlfriend (how appropriate) who is 30 years younger, an aerobics instructor and has no problem walking around uptown singing the Jonas Brothers. Anyway, so my nephew, every time he sees my dad’s girlfriend, flips the script. He bats his eyes at her, he rubs her legs, he cries and pleads to sit on her lap and he follows her like an orphan would a prospective mom. Let me reiterate, we all thought it was hilarious that he wanted, so deeply, to be white…when he was 3. He’s now going on five, with a new little brown-skinned sister, and he is still fighting the forces of nature and assuming to be Caucasian.
So, of course, the next question is what should we do? I know his mother, aloof as can be, is not going to want to restrict his “creative outlets”. Whatever the fuck that means. I guess she wants him to be holistic and accepting of all creatures on God’s Earth. Which is great but she IS Buddhist and they want good to come to all, all the time, for eternity…His father is Buddhist, too, but a little more practical. He just thinks his son’s confused but something he’ll eventually grow out of. Of course, all the extended family thinks that this is a serious issue that must be dealt with soon.
I think we (meaning non-white people) have all experienced a pang of pain by not being accepted in a world where white trumps all. We’re continuously conditioned on white culture and success while subconsciously rejecting aspects of our culture that are delightful, unique and worthy of adulation. I believe my nephew is simply fascinated by white privilege, not knowing to the full extent how painful a black man’s experience in a white world can be. His father, also from Harlem, suffered greatly at an all white boarding school in Connecticut. He was also disillusioned by white culture at a very young age. After boarding school, however, he was awakened to real experience of racism. I know times have changed, especially for my nephew’s generation, but I wonder what it will take for him to accept people for who they are and overcome racism and white privilege. I want him to be proud of being black while his Puerto Rican best friend introduces him to his proud parade every summer. I want my nephew to not disgrace his grandfather because he is dark or disgrace his aunt because of my locks. Most of all, I don’t want him to disgrace himself, because he really can stretch himself as much as he’d like. He is growing up in an America where, by the time he’s 10, he would have never remembered a time without Obama’s influence. But, although the weather of America has become sunnier, the climate has shifted minimally and the old sentiments of Willie Lynch still apply. I just hope my little man will discover how to break out of his own chains that bind him.
Photo is of my Moonwalkin' nephew...

The Roommate Woes

2009-03-25T12:37:00.000-07:00

This photo represents how I feel today: SIDEWAYZ. I took this about a month ago outside my building facing the ever-looming projects to the north and east of me. This is the project building to the east. But anywho, speaking of apartments and feeling sideways, let me update you on my circumstance of late. Currently, I’m not looking for a new apartment but I do need a roommate for my roommate’s room (if this makes any sense). If it doesn’t, well, lemme break it down to you. My roommate is leaving this summer to live at home. She is in Seminary school here in NYC and, upon learning that her loans would NOT cover her living in the apt during the summer, she decided to move into her parent’s house back in Orlando. I had a problem with this for several reasons…1) we all know those people who avoid confrontation like the plague. I think of them as avoiding challenge. I’m talking about the kind of person who shies from verbal and physical attacks, who does not stand up for oneself, who always prefers someone fight for him or her. If someone insults them to a deathly degree, they'll complain to you and cry instead of telling the insulter to "Eat my shit". They're the type of person to always say "yes" when they want to say "no" and be upset about it later, asking the question, "why do they want to take advantage of me?" They are also heavy users of the passive agressive tactics, e.g. slamming doors or playing their music really loud to make you wonder. They are those kind of people who are not necessarily fake, but you'll never know what they're really thinking. If you have read any of my previous blog entries, you will know that I’m NOT that kind of person. Not the total opposite; I don’t go looking for fights but I’m not running either. I stand up for myself. I'm not saying my roommate is all of these things either. She is a wonderful person with a wonderful heart (or else she wouldn't be my roommate). I mean, I got plenty of shit with me and most people can't put up with me, but she does, so THAT is to be lauded. Seriously.
Anyway, back to the subject. I wouldn’t call these kinds of people weak; on the contrary, I think it takes a lot of courage to be a punan (a pussy.) BUT, these kinds of people irritate me because they’re submissive. That’s kind of my roommate in a nutshell. So, when she was confronted with the prospect of having to work to pay rent this summer, she decides to bolt. No problem, I understand. Times are hard and $900 is a lot of money for one month. I could understand if she was unqualified to find a job, had already been struggling, or just loves to live with her parents. But she DOESN'T like living with her parents (she’s gay and cannot have women over and she’s 28 yrs old) and she’ll be away from her girlfriend the whole summer. I know she desperately wanted to live in the city but, instead of hustling to find a job, she took the easy way out (in my opinion). 2) Now, I must muster up some energy in finding a sub letter. My roommate has been extremely patient with me about our rent arrangements. I couldn’t find a job for a while so she sucked it up and let me pay her what I haven’t paid later. I am presently doing that and it’s working out fine. After all, I’m a hustler and hate owing people money. But, I do find this (me having to find a sub letter) somewhat problematic. My senior year in college, I decided to get away from my roommate and move into my own place. Because I knew I was moving before our lease expired, I hustled to find someone in a short time and, I did. I found a sub letter for my room until the lease was to be renewed. My ex-roommate was pissed that I had not included her in the process but I felt that it was my responsibility because I was moving before our lease was up. I’ve heard different opinions about this but I feel like I did the right thing. I know Karma’s a bitch so I’m not in the business of fucking people over. With that being said, my current roommate, I feel, has the responsibility of finding a new sub letter for her room because she is moving before the lease is up. But I know, for a fact, that her meekness is preventing her from being tenacious in a city (we live in NYC) that demands it. It will be a lot of work and a little heartache but not impossible. I think she’s just taking the easy road, once again, and running from confrontation. Maybe I’m just tripping but I don’t think so. I hope not anyway…I just needed to vent my good friend.

In This World, We Need To Wake Up

2009-03-23T11:28:00.000-07:00

Will the times ever get any better in this world? I hate to sound Bono-ish, but seriously, will the times ever get any better? Financially, we are broken down and riddled with crises that our government, working on behalf of corporations, have created. I watch documentaries like "Zeitgeist", where a very apt filmmaker elaborates on the links between Hitler and the Bush Family (Hitler and Prescott Bush, W.'s grandfather, shared some company ties). I am saddened by the monopolization of media outlets (Rupert Murdoch, William Buffets and Time Warner's). The same corporation who owns Fox News owns The New York Post. I am flabbergasted by the number of people to lose their jobs and by the rate at which food pantries in suburban neighborhoods cannot support all the people in need. The foreclosed homes that have turned places like Flint, Michigan and parts of Detroit into ghost towns. In Nevada, there are so many foreclosed homes that mountain lions have taken whole neighborhoods, living in once plush, gated communities overrun now with weeds and vines. And health care, our poor, sick people suffering either overcome with medical bills or slowly decaying out of fear of the mountain of medical bills they'll acquire once they visit the emergency room.
I am disgusted at length with the despicable avarice of the Bush administration and those previous administrations that have sucked the resources out of taxpayers and the natural resources of the world. Of course, there are a multitude of factors that led to our present situation but, personally, I believe that corporations are the sole reason for our suffering. In 1954, Eisenhower warned of the danger of corporations being treated as people. He warned of the greed that grasps individuals in power, especially as their power pertains to the government. Andrew Jackson warned of the central bank, or Federal Reserve, that creates money literally out of nowhere and who, by creating this money as debt, increase incrementally the debt of the average American. How can this be? How have we been so bamboozled into thinking that charming, gun-slinging presidents cannot possibly lead their country into an abyss of suffocating "I owe yous". I'm pissed off, I'll tell you that much. I'm pissed at the people who blindly voted for incompetent assholes in office whose sole focus is material gain through embezzlement la bled bonuses. I'm pissed off at our media who refuses to highlight the dangers of corporations because they, themselves, are part of the very framework responsible for the crisis. Finally, I'm pissed myself and others for failing to get pissed the fuck off sooner, and take to the streets in protest. What did our parents fight for? And I'm speaking to everyone when I say that. My parents witnessed/participated in those revolutionary events of the 50s, 60s, and 70s. I don't care if you're not black, your parents were subjected/witnessed to some form of revolution. The Sandinista guerrillas in Nicaragua, the revolution in Panama over the criminal construction of the canal, Che Guevara and nationalism. In West Africa, there was revolution and fights for independence in almost every country. Even in Asia there were Chinese demanding freedom of speech in Tienanmen Square. Sri Lankans, Bangladeshis, Siberians, Mongolians even the aboriginal tribes in New Zealand had their revolutions. So what did our parents NOT relay to our generation with respect to individual rights and the government across the world? When did we lose our zeal? When did we cease to be angry and agree to be complacent? Like a bobble head on a dashboard? You know it's bad when even the Frenchies become super-conservative (remember the xenophobic tactics of Sarkozy?)
I want people to get mad. Get angry and then get involved. Write your legislatures, put pressure on lobby groups. Attain some power by hosting fundraisers to support your local food bank. Then write your mayor explaining your disappointment with his dealing with the homeless population. Just do something. It's the only way we can ensure that our government works for us and not the other way around. And, in case you were wondering, I have done most of the above to make people aware of their condition and what they can do about it. I try to practice what I preach (sometimes).

Read a book, jackass

2009-03-17T18:37:00.000-07:00

I've chosen a unique headline for several reasons. 1) The title amuses me. hahaha. 2)I've encountered people who mock those who read. I know, it seems archaic as hell, but it happens and it's so disappointing. Now, I'm not saying that all books are meant to teach. Au contraire, I'm saying that there is definitely something to learn from a book. I know my history books were bullshit. Know how I knew? 'Cause I read other books that put me on to the miseducation that the textbook writers were slanging. History writers write history...but anyway, back to the subject.

I started this book when I was in West Africa. I love the story telling ability of Allende in this book. She is so descriptive and adept with her words. As a serious writer, I really admire her usage and form. She is tight and precise and I think that a tight technique is very hard to acquire. They are fantastical and mysterious. I wish I could describe her to many authors but only one precedes her ability to tell a book so cleverly. I read One Hundred Years of Solitude years ago and I reread it overseas and it blew me away. I thought no one could match Marquez's gift of storytelling but I think Allende captured it beautifully. I'm excited to be rereading her book and I can't wait to read some more of hers. I hope to finish this one this week.

I had to leave Saul Bellows alone. I think he writes like a self-adulating asshole who prides himself on his grandiloquence. I think it's bullshit and arrogant. Maybe I got the guy all wrong...

9 tuh 5

2009-03-17T18:01:00.000-07:00

Damn, that's just what I needed. Since my return in August, I've applied to approximately 160 jobs. The industries ran the board from restaurant hostess to financial planner and building inspector. I applied to jobs in fields in which I had no experience. I dropped dimes to friends who dropped the same to me on places hiring. My homegirl pounded the pavement everyday, calling from locations, then, calling again 15 minutes later to report on the rapport of her interview. My brain swirled. I tried all types of shit. I worked at a restaurant, as a house inspector and freelance hotel reviewer. I busted open doors with dope fiends in the foreclosed homes which my team was supposed to secure. Property Preservation the banks called it. My last resort was Duane Reade but I never did it to myself. Hell naw, I thought, I ain't going out like that.
But I was willing to do some shit other people wouldn't work hard for. Half the people I knew weren't working. Shit, the economy was and still is twisted. Finding a job boiled down to inner hustle. I searched everyday; I mass e-mailed on craigslist and Yahoo. Monster was bullshit but for 7 months I used every avenue I could to find a 9 to 5. I've never had one so I was excited to find a steady job with a regular check. I mean, I'm 24 and I really want some expendable cash to kickit. My finding a job was critical to that goal. The inner hustle came and my voracious drive kicked the do'(door) in! Holla!!! After 7 months of searching, my "dream" came true. I just know I'll be getting a steady check to fuck of with! The doubt tho, the doubt.
Was it really what I was looking for? Do I want to live my life in an everlasting Office Space? I don't know. I can say this: this job vapidly sucks the intellect out of me . I mean the tasks require absolutely no critical thought. They are simple and mechanical and repetitive. Good for those into daydreaming and fucking off their money on drunk weekends and gadgets (e.g. me) or for writing and blogging (there I am again).

It All Started When Grass Started to Grow

2009-02-12T06:32:00.001-08:00

Recently, I began working with Grassroots Campaigns, Inc. The office is downtown Manhattan. From 125th street, it takes me about 15 minutes to get to 30th street via Penn Station. It's so convenient, especially with the D Train and A Train running right next to my house. The other day on the train, this old homeless man was sitting at the far end of the subway. I didn't see him at first; all I noticed was the empty car in the middle of rush hour (yes, usually too good to be true). So I board, excited to get a seat and read. It wasn't until I sat that I realized the smell. What the hell was that? But I knew: it was an overwhelming fetor of urine. That's no exaggeration. It burned my nostrils and watered my eyes. My throat pinched and my lips began to curdle. The whole car was cleared out and only one brave soul (besides myself) was sitting, pretending as if one of his senses temporarily failed him. He was the stiff, white-collar type and all he'd do to show his frustration with the stinking man was to flip his newspaper extra hard, too frequently, in a spurious attempt to appear as if he couldn't get his paper to act right. I love NYC.

But back to Grassroots Campaigns, Inc. I've been working with the them for a little over a month. GCI raises money for independent campaigns for certain organizations. For example, they raised money for the Democratic National Convention during President Obama's campaign (GO OBAAAAAMA!) Currently, we're working on a Save The Children campaign where we're raising money for the most efficient relief organization on the planet. There is no other organization like Save The Children. They give .92 cents of every $1 earned to program services like wells for clean drinking water, preschools and education. They are, hence, the SHIT! I've enjoyed working with GCI and even more, participating within a framework of nonprofit and, somewhere in that framework, helping the babies. It's like an extension of my Peace Corps service and I'm proud of it. Although, I think it will be a million years before I live in the RIM again, although I'd be more than happy to visit. This Stella Artois is for you Mauritanie. Je t'adore et j'apprecie toujours. Vous avez aide me mouler!

Adding Adventures

2009-02-07T17:51:00.000-08:00

I'm currently reading this book. I like Saul Bellows although the first book I read by him, I had to read and re-read until I was able to decompress his dense prose. That, for me, is part of the addiction to reading. The denser the concepts, prose, subject matter, the more the author draws me in. I haven't finished it yet--subway rides don't give me near enough time I need so I've reserved mornings for reading. Nothing like it.

The Boondocks--I love it...

2009-02-07T17:49:00.000-08:00

Along with Reality TV, I also watch THE BOONDOCKS a lot. Just wanted to share a clip. Stinkmeaner...those who watch will know what I'm talking about and for those who don't, look it up.

My Homeboy Luis

2009-02-07T17:37:00.000-08:00

I have a good friend named Luis who I lived near in Mauritania. He worked on the road from Selibaby to Goree, the boarder town to Senegal. He's from Portugal and he's the shit. So far, he's the only one who has read my work-in-progress novel. Well, it's finished, but just not quite where I want it. That's not to say that I didn't send it out to HELLA of people. They just didn't read it. But he did. This is what he had to say...and understand that English isn't his first language.

Friday, January 30, 2009
Bulge II
30 de Janeiro de 2009, sexta-feira. Caren said “Luis! That's why I love you! Are you telling me the truth? Don't lie, be honest...I need to edit it a whole lot more. Do you get it? The storyline I mean? Give me some details!” So let’s do it. I agree it still need edition. I consider it like a Beta version. Regardless, the story picked me up, transport me to places I’ve never been before, showed to me people Human, that goes trough situations that we all do. When I first started the reading and didn’t new either the characters or the story, I was expecting a lot from Mattel. She made me love her in the first lines. It was a character that had everything to be a heroin. It’s like if she was mend for higher scores in the course of life. So her path was bitter to me. When we love someone, we want the better for. Salim, could easily be a gangster and be killed or turn into a well succeeded business man. That was easy and expected. Anyone could have written that story. Where I think the magic start is when you gave to the most important, a sad destiny, without glory or violence, or without anything that made them be special. I mean, what made this characters be so special, is that they are not special at all. This direction you gave to de story, it’s like a cruel description of life, in our days. We’re just parts of the all. We’re pieces of the machine. Back to the Book! I think you only could be so cruel to Mattel, in the end, because you loved her too. You can’t be so sarcastic, to who is indifferent to you. To me, this story is not a story of lesbians or black people or middle class folks. Or Harlem, or Texas… I’ve felt’ it like a story of life, with people struggling for their chance, and to whom life is a bitch. This is the story of us all. We’re not mending to be heroes, villains or news in eight o’clock bulletin, we’re just ordinary folks, doing what everybody does. And that fact, although leaves a bitter taste in the mouth, is what makes me like more of the text. I’ve felt in the skin with pain, when you gave, specially to this characters, a destiny so humiliate, so ordinary. There are two different approaches to tell a story. You can make a story of Superheroes, or ordinary people. You can be sweet or can be hard. You can be pretentious and tell us a message or let us pick up our one. I understand that most authors - as owners of the text until it’ s published - take profit of and want to tell us about. If I was asked for, I would say, what I understood, is that “Life’s a bitch”.
Posted by Luis Pereira at 3:38 AM 0 comments
Labels: Books

Off the Handle!

2009-02-07T17:09:00.000-08:00

Okay, I can't get enough of reality television. The shit is so absurd and ludicrous and delightful! The more scandalously vapid they are, the better. My favorites are on Bravo, The Housewives, but Man vs. Wild isn't bad either. Anyway, enough of that. I've posted a Chelsea Handler video because she's hella funny and hella offensive. Just like Reality TV.

It's Been A While...

2009-02-07T16:23:00.000-08:00

This is the view from my building. The far cross street to the camera angle is 125th street, Harlem, New York. The Apollo Theater, a famous music hall, is a a few avenues away. Harlem swells with history and I can't help but to feel so grateful that I live here. New York is a delight and calling Harlem home is like an everlasting gratitude. I'm just happy to be a part of it.
I was excited about my first winter because I was tired of the heat. The Sahara's a bitch! So when the cold hit, I wasn't ready. The frigid, bone chilling, expletives inciting wind got my ass. One word can sum the freezing pain I felt that was worse than the worst heat of the desert- "Goddayum!" The cold realization of winter and what that meant for my toes, fingers, and B.A. (black ass) kicked in. Then I wanted to be back in Mauritania, with all the heat and fresh food. Not really, but it's nice to think about sometimes...

The Popcorn Apopka Park

2008-06-24T01:44:00.000-07:00

The skulls of the land in Gambia. The Apopka National Park was, I must say, a disappointment. Just a little bit... Now, I'm not one of those people expecting to see lions and giraffes and hippopotamus as I traveled closer to central Africa. I mean, most people expect lions and animals inherent of the jungle to pop up as soon as one lands on the continent. Bones through the noses of natives are other ideas inherent of this kind of thinking. With that being said, I believe my expectations were reasonable. I didn’t expect an American zoo with gargantuan cages housing the silver-backed hyena or the lion-cheetah or something else created behind the walls of zoologists turned genetic modifying scientists (I don’t know if that’s true, I’m just making it up.) But still, I expected to see something. Instead, *shaking my head* I saw hyenas languidly strolling the cages putting forth more energy to lay down and swat flies from their head. There were no other animals to speak of. The “crocodile pond” was a joke. Needless to say, no crocs showed their faces. The park even had the nerve to have a look out post with binoculars to check out the reptiles (or are they amphibians or mammals?) but, last time I checked, I didn’t need binoculars to see a fucking crocodile, I just needed the crocodile. Anyway, my father and I had a great time anyway. We made the most of it. And here, we were able to stroll the beaten path, arriving at this clearing with skulls on display. I really just wanted to sit down on the only bench that the display was resting on, but I guess that would’ve meant the end of the attractions at Apopka.

Gambia and Parks

2008-06-24T01:25:00.000-07:00

Here is a park in Gambia where 6m alligators are said to be...but I didn't see any. Although the park was a BIG disappointment, I did see some hyenas and baboons and large snakes weaving through the leaves. Gambia is a beautiful country and very relaxed. I stayed in Surrekunda, Banjul and Bakou. I enjoyed it thoroughly. I'll be updated some more information on Gambia asap. Also, more pictures.

Island Streets

2008-04-18T10:32:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's been a while.

Here is a photo of a random street on Goree Island, off the coast of Senegal. Goree Island was one of the largest transit ports for slaves transported across the Atlantic. Visiting the island gave me mixed emotions, but the strongest one I felt was compassion between the habitants of the island, as well as my relation to its history. There were many independent artist, selling their artwork and sculptures. The energy was great! There was also a large monument at the top that(to me, anyway) carried NO significance in design. The museum was also dilapidated and dissappointing. I hate sounding so negative, but the beauty of the island (the buildings, the coasts, the mini-beach, the cobble streets, the artist and habitants) impacted me more than the lackluster representations of history. Anyway, I had a great time and enjoyed myself.

Only 7 Months Left Until...

2007-11-30T01:22:00.000-08:00

Tislime and I on a lazy day. I only have seven months left in Mauritania and I am quickly realizing that my relationships here of 2 years will slowly disintegrate as I readjust back in the States. That makes me really sad, but I am still grateful that I've had this experience and I've been able to share it with so many people, within and outside my Peace Corps network. I hope that these next seven months will help me to reflect and soak up every moment I have left! It's time to really live it up...

Donkeys, Rivers, and Writings

2007-11-30T01:08:00.000-08:00

Donkeys in Wonderland! This is the frontier in my village. I'm facing West in this picture and if you look across the river, that's Mali and upstream a little ways is Senegal. I took this picture hanging out in my favorite tree on the bank until the donkeys ran me out...it's mating season.

Sticks and Paddles

2007-10-19T02:56:00.000-07:00

In a row boat that I mentioned (see post below). The rowers use no paddles rather sticks from trees to steer. The river is not shallow so I don't understand how sticks provide leverage to navigate. But it works, and I'm with it. This kid was especially good at rowing. We were traveling in swift water across a broad river and he got us there safely without much freaking out (on my part).

Don't Rock My Boat, 'Cause I don't need my boat to be rocked

2007-10-19T02:37:00.000-07:00

My road during the rainy season. Water washes out bridges regularly during the "saison des pluies". The trucks in which I usually ride become boats to cross the washed out roads. It's always fun and exciting until you get into a boat made from a trunk of a tree and it starts to wobble from the myriad of people inside. Once, I inquired about the safety of the pirogues to my dad and he said, quite reasonably, that, "Girl, they've been doing that since the dawn of man. Of course it's safe." I couldn't agree more. But every time I do it, I'm scared as hell.

Becoming a Writer

2007-10-19T02:23:00.000-07:00

Black Arabia

2007-10-19T01:39:00.000-07:00

Here I am hanging out with my friends in my regional capital. Ethnically, they are black Moors whose culture closely identifies with Arab culture. Most black Moors do not identify themselves as black, which directly juxtaposes their social position in Mauritania. In 1989, there was a brutal war here between blacks and Moors. To relate the fear and bloodshed of the time, imagine a routine market run and being killed on the road because of one's skin color. Incredulously committed to Arab culture, black Moors still refuse to identify with black Africans albeit similar, oppressive treatment from the government. The unifying facet of cooperation is their religion. Everyone, black, black Moor or Moor, is Muslim.

Black Tongue

2007-10-19T01:28:00.000-07:00

Here is just an example of odd sicknesses that I've had here. It started with strep throat. I had it for about 4 days, then one morning I wake up to a black tongue and a mountain range of bumps on the back of my throat. This picture was taken after 3 days of having a black tongue. Before, my entire tongue was covered with warts and lesions. DISGUSTING! I'm still alive, though, so I can't complain.
The doctors never figured out what caused it. I didn't expect them to.

Freedom Town

2007-10-19T01:00:00.000-07:00

Trekking along in Nouahdibou in the North of Mauritania. This city serves as a transit point for Europeans who travel over land to West Africa, as well as, illegal immigrants trying to go to Europe. Although Mauritania is an Islamic Republic, Nouahdibou has regular bars, and an abundance of prostitutes. The climate is ideal for "audacious" tourists (meaning those who think going to Africa is daring and bold) and the beach is close. Many volunteers placed there find it luxurious because of all the amenities (electricity, alcohol, sinks, toilets, cold sodas). I must admit in the beginning I was envious, but in my village I have learned how to do and deal when one doesn't have. Besides, what's the use of living in an under-developed country with all the amenities of the States? THe Nouahdibou volunteers have different experiences. I find they are not as integrated into the community and barely speak a local or national language. Contrarily, village volunteers are much more integrated and can speak either one or both of the national/local languages. For me, I rather learn and work through the sometimes unbearable frustrations of living in a village than have the easy, complaisant and unchallenged city living in Mauritania. I must say, when I do get have access to the cold beers and air conditioned rooms, I appreciate them much more. I assume it depends on perspective.

Wrapped Tight

2007-08-22T00:58:00.000-07:00

Me wrapped in my typical Mauritanian travel gear. As I say below (view sandstorm post), sand gets into and onto everything. When traveling in the back of a pickup, the wind in combination with dust creates a serious problem for la rhume (allergies). I have bad allergies so I have to wrap up tight in order to ensure when I arrive at my destination, I'll be well. I traveled without a wrap only one time and when I got to my regional capital, I was a shade lighter from all the dust that had accumulated. I had sand in my ear for weeks. Needless to say, I won't make that mistake again.

Sand Blasted

2007-08-22T00:51:00.000-07:00

A wall of Sand. Usually these occur before a big storm during the rainy season. If you get caught outdoors in this, most likely you'll find sand in crevaces of your body that you didn't know you had. It's pretty tight.
Picture compliments of Ben Bergen, a Peace Corps volunteer.

On the Road again...

2007-08-08T01:01:00.000-07:00

Here I am on Taxi brousse. Pick up trucks are the principal mode of transportation in Mauritania. The cab seats 4 people and the back seats up to 25 people. Usually there are goods (sacks of potatoes, onions, gasoline, etc...) that serve as one's cushion. It's pretty uncomfortable though not unbearable. I've found ways to deal with the mayhem of taxibrousse travel...zoning out into space. Then you're there (wherever you're going) before you know it. Recently, I was riding taxibrousse to Kaedi, which is about 150 km from my regional capital. It was midnight and we still hadn't made it to Kaedi although we left at 4 in the afternoon. On the road, something went wrong with the rim of our front right tire and the rim fell off taking the tire with it. The chaffeur lost control of the car and sparks started to fly creating a small fire on my side of the car. Because the doors don't usually open from the inside (broken door handles), I had to jump from the car via window. It was the scariest most exhilirating experience I've ever had in Mauritanian. Afterwards, some locals found my panic hilarious. I still don't understand why.

Fight the Power!

2007-08-08T00:54:00.000-07:00

A rally in Kaedi. I am unsure what these people
were protesting specifically but I can safely assume that it was a
political rally (it took place right before provincial elections).
Sometimes political rallies can turn violent as they did last year. In
November of 2006, a friend and the nephew of my village mayor, was
stabbed to death during a political dispute. InKaedi , a man was shot
and killed. Relative to American crime, this does not seem like a big
deal. But in Mauritania, violent crimes are always a shock and a
tragedy, especially in a village as small as mine.

Temple of My Familiar

2007-08-08T00:39:00.000-07:00

The oldest mosque in Kaedi, a regional capital in southern Mauritania. Mosques are a focal point of Mauritnanian culture and livelihood. Five times a day an Iman,
a Muslim holy man, leads the community in prayer call which summons
worshippers by loud speaker. In my village, my host father is an Iman and every morning I awake to the first prayer call of the day at 5:30 in the morning. Often times the Iman will disclose local happenings which serves as some villagers' only source of news within and outside their communities. After all, Mauritanian is an Islamic Republic. No separation between church and state. Everybody born here must be Muslim. It's the law.

The Sanctuary

2007-06-13T03:30:00.000-07:00

Here is the hospital at which I work. I have mixed emotions about working as a Health volunteer. Sometimes I find it difficult to fulfill my Peace Corps duty. I understand that I have a vague commitment of contributing something to the bigger picture of humanity but I still can't figure out what that is. What exactly is the nature of my role? I work in a hospital and I have zero medical experience. So what exactly am I supposed to do? If my joining Peace Corps. was simply a matter of patriotism, I should have stayed in the States. That realization further convoluted my understanding of a Peace Corps. volunteer. I was and am confused about the nature of my duty. On the other hand, I am grateful to work in such a unique environment, learning a new language and gaining incomparable experience. Just the other day, I found someone in Harlem who is from region where I live. We spoke in his local language for over an hour. My volunteership was finally validated and my training and hard work had materialized. That brief interaction helped me to realize that Peace Corps. is paying off...I guess.

The Road to Prosperity

2007-06-08T13:12:00.000-07:00

This is the road to the fields where most people in my village tend to their farms bringing food back for the family. Mauritanians eat what they produce in the fields. A lack of productivity or a skimpy rainy season causes families to starve. Ironically, this is the same road to the district hospital.

River God

2007-06-08T12:53:00.000-07:00

The Senegalese River plays an integral role in Mauritania. Villages along the river benefit from the flow of water. If cultivated, farms are more likely to flourish despite the barren terrain. Fishing industries bring capital to the village. Some of the most prosperous villages are along the river. Unfortunately, the river brings a host of serious diseases including cholera, guinea worm, schistosomiasis, and river blindness.

Young Congolese

2007-05-23T05:56:00.000-07:00

Here is Fisenou. He is a Congolese refugee who left Congo when he was very young. He came to Mauritania with his 2 older sisters, his twin, his older brother and an older cousin. His parents and smaller siblings are still in Congo. His oldest sister told me they fled the war but I doubt Fisenou realizes the situation he's in. He can be deported at any time.

Happy Face

2007-05-21T09:58:00.000-07:00

Souleymane is a French instructor for 5th grade girls. He is also Soninke, the ethnic group that I study and work with in Mauritania. He taught me his language for 3 intensive months of training. Good man!

Gory

2007-05-21T09:56:00.000-07:00

My first village in Mauritania. Gory is uniquely Soninke but share a market with their neighbor Djeol, a Pulaar/Fulani village. Basic interactions in the market were difficult for me at first. People speak a minimum of 4 different languages, all of which are required to buy in the market. You might have a Moor lady who only speaks a dialect of Arabic. Or a Soninke lady who only speaks her language. The same for Pulaar/Fulani speakers, French speakers and Arabic speakers. Needless to say, I was literally crazy my first few months in country!

Sentiments

2007-05-20T08:21:00.000-07:00

Welcome...Feel free to be free...