Monday, February 25, 2008
1. Looking at me.
Like that. Quit it. May I help you? Are you infatuated by my shiny ponytail? Is it something about my earrings that move you? You've never seen a 23 year old with braces before? WHAT?!?!?! Get OUT of my goddamn mouth. Thanks.
2. Calling me.
79,816 times. In a row. I didn't pick up on time #1 and clearly everyone knows that most of the time my phone is either in my palm or in my line of eyesight. You have been screened. You left me a message. You sent me a text. You may stop now. Any further communication will cause me to be that much more hell bent on not talking to you. Stop with the jealous boyfriend type shenanigans.
3. My Dougie
WTF?!?!?! How on EARTH did you get a goddamn recording contract? I heard this song exactly 987,164 times this weekend. On the radio, in the club, on the street. It's the worst. AND you have the nerve to have a dance that goes with it? Hoe sit down. And you. You there. Yes you sir with the long tshirt whose length is rivaled only by my high school prom dress. You look like a homo doing that shit. Exit stage left.
4. Telling me I doesn't need to lose weight.
Are you HIGH?!?! I know, I know, you're not supposed to agree with a friend when she says she needs to lose weight. Thanks for being a good friend and blah, blah, blah. Yes, I know I am not grossly obese or ridiculously outta shape. But don't lie to me. And don't provoke me. And to that end...
5. Saying stupid shit.
I'm on a diet because I have 7 weeks until I am in Miami and I refuse to go without looking far more than decent in whatever non-clothing I decide to wear. I'm hungry. I'm irritable. And you're liable to get your throat snapped if you say something like, "But maybe she really was just a friend of his that crashed at his place last night." Right. And I have a Tony for my rousing portrayal of Tracy Turnbladt in Hairspray. (I'm really not that big.) And to THAT end...
6. Telling me what ridiculous, greasy awesomeness you're having for dinner.
Up to and especially including french fries, which I have given up. **blank stare** Fuck you.
7. Being a cop.*
Do you know I got a speeding ticket? And for once in my existence I wasn't even speeding? And the cop was such a DICK about it too. I thought about just paying the fine and going on with my life, but the more I started to look at the ways that not only was I NOT guilty but it was quite OBVIOUS there's no way he could have even clocked me on the radar, I decided to contest it. If for no other reason than I refuse to give $200 to fund your bullshit job you piece of shit traffic cop.
*if you are a cop, please excuse this. I don't hate all cops. Well that's not true. But I don't hate you. Just what you do. And everything you stand for. You see? That's different.
8. Jumping in my conversation.
If I wanted to address you, I would do so. Do you see how I'm not making eye contact with you, how I have created a hard line with my body to purposely send the signal that you are excluded from this conversation? And yet you come and stand over me anyway and join in? Or better yet, catch an insignificant snippet of the convo and run with it, all in the wrong direction? A pox on both your houses.
9. Asking me for a favor.
When I haven't spoken to you in months. This is my life people. I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.
10. Having to relate to every story.
More often than not with bullshit. You know how people Oprah-ize your shit? You ever notice that for every story someone goes on Oprah and tells, she has a life story paralleling it? Just sit down and listen. Shit. I didn't ask you for your autobiography. We're talking about me. Hush.
11. Text message forwards.
Are you fucking kidding me? It's not bad enough that I haven't actually spoken to you in any shape form or fashion since Jesus discovered flip flops and yet you wanna send me random texts? FORWARDS nonetheless? Didn't I avoid this by not checking my email? Sonofabitch!!! And speaking of communication...
12. Calling me while I'm having sex.
This is the buddy to #2. But if you keep calling me, and I'm having sex, chances are, eventually I'm gonna pick up the phone since you are hell bent on getting in on the show. After that point I am no longer responsible for anything you hear regarding me getting it in.
13. Invading my personal space.
Excuse me, kind Texas sir. I know that you have only a passing intimacy with English as your first language is whatthefuckdidhejustsayhoustonian but didn't I just tell you that I am not single nor looking? And yet and still, you are all up in my face, breathing your silver teeth that you are trying to pass off as platinum breath on me and asking if I'm allowed to have friends. **looking down at my notatall small rack, behind me at the curve of my ass** Yeah. Friends. I look like I have a sparkling wit, yes? No Fido. I already have Honey. I don't need another. Oh, and now your hand is on the small of my back? Real talk? Forgive me for stabbing my 4 inch heel into the top of your foot. I thought the elephants were stampeding and I needed to make sure I could stay upright. Gimme 50.
14. Talking to me about the weather.
Yeah, I know. It's raining. Oh look now it's sunny! Oh and now it's gray. Weather in Houston is temperamental! What a revelation! Get outta my damn face.
15. Asking me repeatedly for advice.
When I've already told you that I am probably not gonna be too much help in said arena. You want advice about shoes? Electronics? Cars? Movies? Sex? I'm in. Notsomuch with marriage advice though, other than telling you shoulda never married the pervert in the first place. And dammit now you're mad.
16. Trying to charge me $14,982 for a plane ticket.
To downtown Houston. With a straight face. Are you kidding me Delta? You want how much for a 2 hour flight? Wtf?!?!? Am I gonna get some kinda special in flight entertainment in this hoe? For that much someone better be available to blow me at my leisure in the bathroom. Fuck outta here.
WHAT?!?!??! Enunciate nigga. Muttering to yourself like you have another personality who is constantly telling you to kick puppies into traffic is not swag friendly. Nor does it make me particularly inclined to fulfill your request to let you "sop me up wit a biscuit." And furthermore, why are you so wack?
18. Bad weave.
You mean to tell me that you look like you and Britney Spears had a sleepover and did each other's hair and you have the nerve to tell me, "You know you'd look really pretty if you wore your hair differently." Who bitch? And then you have the nerve to slip me your card in case I want to utilize your services? Your hair is literally growling at me from on top of your neck and you want to get hold of my natural and beautiful hair? Good on that.
19. Being negative.
And not how this post is rude and offensive and negative in a totally delightful fun kinda way but like that "oh that won't work" before you even try kinda way. Just try. DO something. Aren't you tired of talking about how much your life sucks? Cuz Lord knows I am tired of hearing about it and if you don't get off your lazy ass and start making some plans to do something other than run up my goddamn daytime minutes bitching about what you don't have and can't have and won't do I swear 'fore God it'll be the last thing you do in this here life. Tabernacle in the church.
Can you tell that I'm kinda having a bad day? :-(
And last but not least...
20. When people tell me to "feel better".
Or "keep your head up." Or "it all happens for a reason." Or "focus on the positive." **blank stare* Fall back. Today sucks. I'll be better tomorrow (hopefully). But I swear 'fore God if one of you leaves one of those bullshit trite ass cliches in comments, only the fishes will find your body.
So tell me, what is something that is likely to make you fuck someone up today?
Thursday, February 21, 2008
It was almost like the energy was crackling in the air. Even from way high up where I was, I could see the expression on everyone's faces. A mixture of excitement and anticipation. The underlying feeling that something big was going on, we're not sure exactly what, but we know we need to be a part of it.
It was like someone took Dr. King's dream and shaped it into a photograph. Every type of person from every walk of like you could possibly imagine. White, Black, Hispanic, Asian, every hybrid of mix in between, standing shoulder to shoulder, smiling, laughing, helping each other find and hold seats, lifting up children who were not their own to see. Elderly people in wheel chairs. Infants. Toddlers straining on tippy toes. Baby boomers in docksiders and khakis. High school kids with backpacks. Young professionals in $2,000 suits and $600 shoes. Grad school students with Chemistry books studying between speakers. Blue collar. White collar. Jeans and t-shirts. Sunday best. Sorority and fraternity colors. Straight, gay, lesbian, old married couples, lovers, brothers, sisters, friends locking arms to maneuver through the massive crowds. The kindred spirit was palpable, the atmosphere ringing with harmony. I've never heard such a beautiful melody.
It was like someone sensed that the fundamental things that all human beings desire, despite age, race, color, religion, or creed could be transcendent to the differences embodied therein. Like someone felt that now was a time for change. For prosperity through unification. That the things that divide us are far less powerful than the desires that connect us. Responsibility seemed to be the unspoken theme.
It was like someone had taken what is commonly relegated to the lowest form of human life on this earth, the most hated, most repressed symbol of inequality and lifted it. Like someone had taken this beautiful creature and tested it's core. Told it that it would never amount to anything. Took away it's family structure, it's financial opportunities. Stacked the odds against it. Beat it. Lynched it. Hosed it down. Told lies about it. Made it an icon of fear, of desolation, of violence, of wasted potential and inferior intellect, of hatred and insignificance. Broke it down to within an inch of its last breath.
And yet and still, here is that symbol, standing before me, the ability to change the entire world mere inches from it's grasp.
A black man is running for president.
I closed my eyes and felt the silence around me, cut only by the powerful but still comforting sound of Barack Obama's voice. Tears streamed down my face. Here I am, 23 years old, and watching one of my own, one that, by all accounts, should be the pimped out, strung out, violent archetype our society tries to make black men be. I don't think I can even recall another moment in my life that compares to the weight of that realization.
It's like someone took a boy from my old neighborhood. Took him from impossible circumstance and told him to live his life according to one fundamental premise:
Yes you can.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Thursday, February 14, 2008
You have GOT to be kidding me with this shit.
I remember last year going to New Orleans for the Jazz Festival. We went to a juke joint over off Bernard in 5th ward to see some family.
It looked like we were only about a week from missing having to wade through the muddy waters Katrina left.
Most of the houses that were still standing were boarded, half of most of the structures rotten. Gaping holes decorating the the foundation. Windows knocked out. Mold eating at paint. Roofs caved in. X's still spray painted on doors and broad sides marking how many bodies had been found in each house. 1. 6. 3. The ruin went on for blocks. It didn't just look like your regular, run down hood. It looked like we'd stepped into the middle of a battlefield. The house may as well had been bombed. Trailers littered the sidewalks and brown patched front yards. You could see where some people were living in half a house, the other part unlivable but still being forced to stay there. And all I could think was, this was summer of 2007. Damn near 2 years after the storm hit.
And now you mean to tell me, these people that have been living in trailers all this time that they probably had to fight tooth and nail to get to begin with starting complaining of respiratory issues in 2005 and you are JUST NOW realizing the trailers you gave them are giving them formaldahyde poisoning?
Screw this 08 election. I'm moving to Toronto.
(I didn't mean it Obama!!!!!)
(and please don't forget about this post cuz I do need some advice.)
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
In case you haven't already inferred, I am not particularly close to my family. My mother's side nor my father's side. I love them, and they me, but we aren't exactly familiar with each other in any real, fundamental way. It's never really bothered me. My friends and lovers have done a pretty marvelous job of filling in the blanks. I am not one of those people that believes that you have to just deal with your family because they're blood and that's just who they are and blah blah blah. No. I have the power to choose who is in my life, whether we share blood or not. And if they are subtracting more than they're adding, you had best believe they're getting cut from the home team roster. I can't handle it.
My family is pretty negative. They aren't bad people. They love me. They're just short sighted and negative. And for me, for the transition period I'm in, for the things I wanna do in my life, I can't handle it. I can't shoulder their negativity and still be in a place where I can do for me. I can't sit through an hour and a half phone conversation of updates about all the negative shit that everyone is doing. Maybe that's selfish. But you had years to either fuck up your life or get it right. Most of you chose the former. My life is just starting. Let me live.
I said all that to say that while I recognize that family issues are complicated, do they have to be? I rarely speak to my fam. I don't call. More often than not when they call me they're screened. If I do pick up, they're asking for something. We email sometimes. But as I've gotten older, as I've lived, I have no desire of any kind to form relationships with these people. I have a family. It's the positive, supportive one I made for myself. The ones that were there for me in my darkest hours, that know even the parts of me that I try to hide. Is that wrong of me? To have no desire of any kind to connect with them?
And inversely, who says I SHOULD have that desire just because we share blood? We certainly don't share anything else. If it was a friend or a lover, and our relationship was this strained and forced and based on nothing of substance, everyone would be telling me to break up with them.
I am a huge balker of what I'm "supposed" to do in life anyway. Mostly because I refuse to live my life according to conventions rather than my own needs and desires. Sometimes the conventions line up with who I am. Sometimes they don't. Fuck em.
But am I being extra?
For the longest my family had no desire to get to know me. I had my role that they expected me to play in our family and they weren't really interested in anything outside of their perceptions of me. They still aren't really. It only kinda bothered me then and it really doesn't bother me now because I have surrounded myself with people who DO know me outside of their impressions. (I have a cousin that constantly calls me prissy. Yeah. Curses like a sailor, constantly threatens to beat bitches down, kisses chicks in a bar, drinks most men under the table and frequents the strip club but yeah. Prissy. Mmhmm.)
But why should I be made to feel bad that this is the way things are? Why is the responsibility squarely on my shoulders to "accept them as who they are" and get to know them? Why is it my fault that I've gotten along just fine in life on my own terms? Is THAT what you're mad at?
I just don't know. Maybe I'm in the situation so I can't be objective.
Am I supposed to work to maintain contact with my family despite not really having a need or desire to do so?
Monday, February 11, 2008
Award: Oh God. You know how on Friends, Ross had an entire room full of trophies and plaques and awards and shit? That was totally me. Every certificate, award and ribbon you can think of, I have. Track, oratorical contests, dance, honor roll, basketball, volleyball, gymnastics, performance awards, departmental prizes, community service, certifications. Everything. It's rather obnoxious actually.
And stop calling me a geek in your head.
Bikini: I've never worn a traditional bikini. Why you may ask? Cuz I have ASS. And this shit:
ain't gonna work for the kid. Also, I've got a pretty impressive rack. So this:
is also a no-go. No way in the world that's gonna hold down the home team. Usually my bikinis are more of the shorts (that still only cover the top part my ass and leave the bottom out just a lil) and a halter that I can tie.
Character: I always wanted to be Jean Grey growing up. Did she not seem like the world's most fantastic bottom bitch? lol And then she had the nerve to transform into Phoenix? Son.
Dreams: Dreams have been the bain of my existence lately. I very rarely remember my dreams. The ones I do remember are usually in movie form and most of the time implies something that may happen in some shape or form in the future. They can be highly symbolic. Lately I've been dreaming some crazy things, people chasing me, killing me, taking me captive. There was one where the entire dream was me walking a series of mirror decorated hallways in the dark and each mirror I looked into was me at a different time in my life. The very last and biggest mirror I got to at the end of a particularly long hallway, I had no reflection. Then I lay down on the floor and went to sleep. Then there's the one where I drown myself while reciting the lines to some random poem I can't place.
river, river cold and deep/hold me now and let me sleep/death with you is
hardly more/than the little deaths before
(WTF is that from?!?!?) Except I don't die. I become a fish, lol. But I've also had some good dreams too. The one where my grandma is in my dream house cooking and singing. The one where I lived in a tree and could fly. So it balances. I'm sure pretty soon we'll see how the symbolism in these dreams plays out in real life
Eco-friendly: I read an article a couple years ago that stressed that being eco friendly didn't have to involve some huge crazy lifestyle change like moving into a solar powered house and making your clothes out of wheat. It gave like an entire list of tiny insignificant changes you can make that make a huge difference. I recycle. I adjust the thermostat 1 degree. I unplug my phone chargers when my phone isn't actually attached. I make sure I get regular maintenance done on my car. I bought a cloth bag to take with me to the grocery store. Even little tiny things like that can make a difference.
Fashion faux pas: Lord. I'd have to say my middle school years when I was channeling my inner chola more than anyone probably ever should. Think crunchy curly hair or bone straight black hair, brown lip liner and clear, silver, or gloss, heavy eyebrows, baggy jeans and tight tops, flannel shirts and combat boots. It wasn't an everyday thing but Jesus it was enough. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Who's glad there are no pictures? ME!!!!!
Goals: Taking over the world of course. I wanna be the best new age hippie feminist Renaissance woman my generation has ever seen
Hidden talents: hee hee. Well... there's this thing I can do with my... WHAT?!?!? Fine. I read really fast. Like, almost disturbingly fast. I have been known to finish 500 page books in 2 hours or so. And while I am speed reading, I read and comprehend every single word. And not only that, I can recall in alarming detail pretty much every single book I've ever read, quotes and all.
Inspiration: People. I LOVE to people watch. It started innocently enough, with being nosy as a child, lol. As I got older and started studying acting, it became a really good tool for performance. I had a director once tell me, "Acting is the study of people." And that simple philosophy has helped quite a bit both professionally and personally. I can read people better than most people I know. And my attention to detail is often a lifesaver.
Jokes: I'm funny.
If you get me.
Otherwise you're just gonna think I'm a bitch, lol. A friend once referred to my humor as "dry intellectual sarcasm". And I think that describes it pretty well. Think Daria but slightly more outrageous and snippy. (and by slightly I of course mean HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!)
Keepsake: I'm pretty big on mementos, mostly cuz my memory sucks. I have 2 boxes; one for high school and one for college. They're absolutely full of all my fav memories from that time. Typical stuff like pictures and programs but some random stuff too. The notebook Joy and I used to keep and write back and forth in. The ribbon from the first present First Love ever gave me. Pom poms from the assembly where I fell on my ass in front of the entire school in my cheerleading uniform. A handwritten note from my teacher telling me how great a writer I'd be one day. The pictures me and my sister took in the photo booth when I worked at MTV. Keys. Sash from homecoming court. So random. But they make me remember every single thing about those moments.
Liberal: I'm sure that's one way to put it. Then again, there are still some conservative practices I hold on to. Changing my name. And um... well I'm sure there has to be some more. I AM still from the South.
Mom: Maybe one day I'll be one.
Or else I'll have alot of puppies.
Nudity: I'm comfortable with it in a contained setting, lol. Less is more I think. But I hardly see the use in clothes if I am walking around the house
Online surfing: I spend FAR too much time on the internet. Either at work or on my phone, I'm ALWAYS on. Even if I'm not surfing, I'm emailing or IMing. I read the news, shop, make plans, look up travel, read gossip, read your blogs, handle my finances, EVERYTHING alllll day long.
Perfection: I am such a perfectionist. It my defense, I don't ever expect perfection from anyone else. I only demand it of myself. I actually really admire imperfection and flaws in most people. And I certainly don't know what that's like, lol
Query: All this does is remind me of something I do at work. And now I'm blue :-(
Reading: I love to read. Any and everything. I just finished The Five People you Meet in Heaven and I know I'm like 46 years behind everyone that read it a long time ago, but I really loved it. I need some book recommendations so that I'll have something to do during my second job. Help me out!
Song: I refuse to pick a favorite song. It's like picking a favorite child. It's mean and impossible.
Trip: I'm all over it. I have NO LESS than 5 trip plots in rotation as we speak Traveling makes me feel at peace while simultaneously reinvigorating me for everyday life. Except for loser week. That BLOWS.
Ultimate indulgence: Food. And shoes. Right now I am craving cheese fries and these. I am obsessed with those shoes and need them to live.
Virgo: I have had nothing but bad luck and run ins with Virgos in my life at any capacity. I avoid them at all costs.
Workout: Every other day, at the very least 3xs a week. It usually ends up being about an hour to 2 hours.
Xtra: They just didn't have a word that started with X huh? lol
Yuck!: summer in Houston. Ugh. I hate being cold but I LOATHE being hot. And here it's all sticky and humid and gross. Not to mention I can't do anything with my hair with it being natural and you KNOW that's a no go, lol
Zen moments: Sleeping. Bubble baths a deux. Laying on the couch watching the Style network. Sleeping on my side of the bed. Eating. Drinking. Wearing my newly acquired fav red shirt. Being in the same room as joy. Driving in silence with the sunroof open. Cooking. Listening to my favorite laugh. Putting my cold feet on someone to warm up. Napping with Honey. Sundays.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
The question seems absurd on some level, but I know she's not being an asshole. I curl up in a ball, my legs sinking into the comfy purple cushions of the chair. I gaze through the sheer gauze posing as window shadings down to the sparkling street below. The sky is gray. The earth is wet. No cars drive down the treelined street. I can't hear any of the ambient noise from below. The earth is still, if only for a moment.
"My hands," I say, and I'm trying to figure out how to complete the sentence because as much as I know I should have, I didn't anticipate even this simple question. "My hands have gotten too small... to carry... everything. I... I don't think I'm dealing well."
"That's terribly astute." I shrug, my eyes on a red bird in the tree limb closest to the window. "So, these things," she uses the finger quotes, "that you're carrying; is it that your hands are too small or that you're carrying too much?"
"Logically I would say I'm carrying too much, but me being me, I'd say my hands are too small."
"Hmm... that's interesting. Would you say you're a pefectionist?"
"Not so long as everything is in order." She laughs, and I like her laugh, full and round, genuine.
"We all feel that way don't we?" She gets up to pour tea from an old white kettle. "Would you like some?" I nod. "So what's out of order La?" I stifen instinctually.
"It's really not that bad-" She cuts me off with the lifting of her hand.
"There's no need for false bravery here. I'm guessing, just from the little conversation that we've had, that you're very adept at carrying way too much. Which is admirable, but not good for you. La I'm concerned with how much you carry around. My hope is to help you learn to differenciate between the things you need to carry and the things you are just used to carrying."
I'm silent when I take my tea from her, looking back out the window, curling myself up tighter. I'm aware of her observing me from her own chair across from me, quietly, patiently sipping her tea.
"Maybe that isn't the best question to begin with. Let me ask you this," she sips, long and drawn out, before giving me her kind eyes softened by wrinkles and smile lines, "how long have you been alone La?"
And I start to cry.
She's quiet, slowly sweeping me over, and for once I don't feel judged for my weakness. She is smiling at me, just slightly, but it's encouraging. She places her tea cup on the table beside me, brushes a silver stand of hair behind her ear and scoots her chair a little closer to me.
"Let's talk about your life La."
Friday, February 1, 2008
In the begininng, I was pretty sure I'd vote for Hilary.
I've always liked Hilary. Despite her early career penchant for tap dancing better than Savion, I think she's smart. Effective. A nice balance between brass balled and emotionally sound. Fair. Not so liberal that she makes no sense, not so conservative that there's no way I could relate. And Lord knows I didn't wanna be one of those black folks who voted for a guy just cuz he was black. What would that accomplish? What if he wasn't right for the job?
And then I started listening to him speak.
Barack Obama is eloquent. He's moving. And more importantly, he's passionately invigorated about the change he speaks of. He believes not only in the concept of change, but in the possibility that the changes that he speaks about with such conviction CAN come to be. He has a set plan. No, he doesn't have the same amount of experience as the other candidates running but maybe that's what we need; someone who is not all that familiar with the antiquated and outdated ways this country is run. Someone who can come in with fresh ideas and perspective, someone who is literally the change he speaks of. How can you not get behind a candidate like that?
I only have one, very serious, very fundamental problem with voting for Obama.
And it's not even his fault.
And while it is completely rational, it's not at all fair.
With the exception of the four years I spent at Howard, I have lived in the south all my life. Especially having spent the last almost 2 years in Texas, I am more than well versed in the blatant racism that still steeps in the citizens of this country. I was barely in Texas a couple months before the night a pickup truck full of white boys brandishing a Confederate flag decided to follow me home with it's lights off, obscenities and racial epithets pouring from the windows. Hardly seven years ago I believe it was, a black man was lynched barely 2 hours away from my front door. I think you recall 10 years ago when a man was tied to a pickup and dragged to his death.
10 years. As in 1998.
Don't let anyone tell you that racism is dead.
I fear for the daughters of a man who is brave enough to want to lead our country despite the inherrent danger automatically entrenched in such a task. I fear for a wife, another Coretta, an archtype of a grieving widow to be scrutinized and pitied. A family who would forever become the face of a tragedy, a picture run a million times in publications all over the world. A blurb in a history book that has yet to be written.
That scares me.
And I know, logically speaking, that my not voting for him is not a big enough force to keep this from happening if it is meant to be. I also know, objectively, that this is unfair. It is not a good enough reason to keep a man from what could more than likely be his destiny. He is the right candidate to lead our nation. I believe that firmly in my heart, in a way that I am convicted about only the most fundamental things.
But still, it scares me. I am scared for a nation that may not be as progressive as I, that maybe, as I type, is stewing in hatred in the small towns of Texas or Georgia or Mississippi. That is maybe plotting the demise of a senator, a presidential hopeful, but more importantly, a father and an husband. A son and a friend.
I worry for the children left behind in the wake of tragedy, as that is my way to worry about the innocent. I worry even moreso about those children who suffer their tragedy publicly, share their grief with a world that isn't always ready for a mirror to be turned to their deepest, darkest places. Have the Kennedy children ever led normal lives? Any of the King children? Have not their lives been defined by the early childhood violence they were forced to experience at the hands of the world, forced to deal with in the spotlight?
Come November, I will cast my vote for Obama of course. Because I believe in him in a way that I cannot remember having faith in any candidate that has influenced my generation.
But still, despite my elation at the progress that has been made, I will know fear. Fear of the unknown. Of those so radically opposed to change, those who believe staunchly in superiority discerned by race. I fear those who would rather kill a child's father than see a nigger run a nation.