I'm not a marketing professional, but I was wondering, with the hundreds of cable networks in existence, why no one ever thought of a network that could be the source for black or other minority screenwriters and up-and coming directors, to show their work? There has to be a few black or other minority screenwriters out there, fantasizing about someone famous taking an interest in their projects, with scripts collecting dust, right? There could be contests for short film ideas, where the public could vote for the ones having the best potential for full length films, or miniseries. Something progressive, as opposed to the ratchet reality shows where black women are fighting, backstabbing and pulling out weaves, etc. Just a thought. Or perhaps, like in my situation... I'm a short story /novella writer, with no experience in writing screenplays. What if, on this fantasy of a network, there was a show- a contest where there are 5 or maybe 10 script writers asked to come up with a screenplays of one of my manuscripts or other submissions? They could have 20 minute skit/excerpts of their best scenes aired and have the public vote on the person who came up with the best ideas, and the winner gets the opportunity to direct the entire movie for the network? And not just my stories/novellas, but other people as well? That's what I would do, if I owned BET or OWN. Am I the only person tired of the ratchetness, or sequels people produce because they can't come up with anything original?
So I treated myself to dinner at a very nice Seafood Restaurant and a movie. I saw Secret In Her Eyes. It was a pretty good movie. I saved money since I only had to pay for myself.
I got stood up tonight.
I had alot of time to think about why things like this keep happening to me. The only thing I can come up with is that I was an asshole in a past life, because I'm the sweetest, kindest person one I could ever be in this life. We chatted quite a few times before I asked her out. She didn't hesitate to say sure.
I got stood up tonight.
I put on my favorite purple shirt, my favorite black pants, my black leather jacket. I put on my Jean Paul Gaultier cologne- a cologne that my married female friends always ask about so that could buy it for their husbands.
My waitress told me I smelled nice.
I got stood up tonight.
I called and got her voicemail. I texted her, checking to to see if
maybe she had gotten in an accident, but I got no response. I wonder if
she'll be at church tomorrow morning. I met her in church a few weeks ago. I keep being told that I should be able to find attractive single women in church.
I didn't cry tonight when I got home, but I did drink an entire bottle of 2009 Château du Seuil Graves Rouge, Bordeaux, ate a hamburger, and went to bed.
A friend of mine-his mother passed away a month ago and he mentioned the other day that he was going to go to his mom's house to finally pack up things and get the house ready for auctioning off things that he didn't have room for in his house. Without being asked, I offered to help him. That's my nature; I always offer to help without being asked.
He asked me why I'm always so nice?
I told him that that was my nature. It's also because I worry there might actually be a thing called reincarnation. This life for me, has sucked, and I figured that in a past life I must have been an asshole; a tall, good looking, muscled asshole with alot of money and lots of women wanting me, and tons of kids I didn't want because in this life my life is the opposite. I want to be so good in this life, I want to be so loving, so thoughtful, so kind, so giving, so selfless, that in the next life I will be like I was in the previous one.
I think my my brother finally opened his eyes. He vented out on a Facebook post this morning: "Im about to stand up. Everybody that was supportive threw my struggles i
have the most love for. Everybody that tried to throw dirt on my name
and kick me when i was down and out fuck em. Im about succeed on
everybody that thought i was down for the count. I don't give a fuck
about anything but me myself and my kid. I love wen someone says i ain't
shit i love it because that shit just makes me more focused and
ambitious. Fuck what you think" I can tell he was pissed and was fed up when he wrote the above. I know his pain and the source of it. He made good grades in high school. Straight A's, but if you grow up hearing 'you aint shit and you aint gonna be shit," you might grow up believing you aint shit. So he dropped out, turned his life to crime, and had sex with every woman who looked his way. He then went to jail. He had a girlfriend and daughter. He's turned his life around when he got out a year later. He's living alone, and going back to school to get his high school degree. He's working fulltime doing construction, and spending time with his daughter, and supporting her as well, and yet, he's now hearing "I told you, you weren't shit and you aint gonna be shit : "
From our mother.
Subjecting or exposing another to verbally abusive behavior can result in psychological trauma, including anxiety, chronic depression, or post-traumatic stress disorder. According to Wikipedia, Even though there is no established definition for emotional abuse,
emotional abuse can possess a definition beyond verbal and psychological
abuse. Blaming, shaming, and name calling are a few identifiers of
verbal abuse which can affect a victim emotionally. The victim's
self-worth and emotional well being is altered and even diminished by
the verbal abuse and the result is an emotionally abused victim..
The victim may experience severe psychological effects. This would
involve the tactics of brainwashing, which can fall under psychological
abuse as well, but emotional abuse consists of the manipulation of the
victim's emotions. The victim may feel their emotions are being affected
by the abuser so much that the victim may no longer recognize what
their own feelings are about issue/s the abuser is trying to control.
The result is the victim's self-concept and independence are
`systematically taken away' Here was my response to him: I
love you bro. Keep your head up. You know how to reach me if you need
any encouragement. I had to remove everyone from my life that was
hurting my spirit, even if I loved them. You are capable of anything you
set your mind to. Remember that.
I'm not too conscious to not enjoy a bullshit holiday like Thanksgiving, because the fact of the matter is, black folk might as well come together with family and go through the motions. We all know it's bullshit. But what's even more bullshit is that if it wasn't for the holidays, the only time family is coming together is for funerals.
Earlier this month, Kenya was rocked with a terror attack that left 148 people dead. Of those, 142 were students.
The brutal massacre happened at Garissa University College in the eastern part of the country close to the porous Somali border.
Members of the Islamic extremist group Al-Shabab claimed
responsibility — calling it revenge for Kenyan troops fighting Somali
rebels in 2011. This same group gained international attention in 2013
when they brutally killed 67 people at the Westgate Shopping Mall in
At Garissa, a handful of militants stormed the campus. After
separating Muslims from Christians, they killed the Christians execution
The New York Times called it the worst terror attack against the
nation since 1998 when the US embassy was bombed in the capital. Yet,
many felt the atrocity did not garner as much attention as other
international terrorist attacks. The frustration played out on social
media with tweets like this
Terrorism theorist Max Abrahms, from Northeastern University said
there is no one explanation, but thinks there is an element of racism at
“In the Garissa University attack, both the perpetrator and the
victims are black and that may help to explain why the international
community paid relatively little attention,” he said. “Another
explanation is I believe there is probably weak local media coverage
within Kenya . We didn’t actually watch in real time and that’s
different say than in the case of Charlie Hebdo. ”
The twelve French cartoonists were mourned from every corner of the
globe in January. In that very same week, hundreds were massacred in the
city of Baga in Nigeria. With little attention, Nigerians used the only
tool that seemed effective — a hashtag — #JeSuisNigerian.
And now Kenyans, in hopes their loved ones will never be forgotten
are sharing pictures of when the victims were alive using the hashtag “#147isnotjustanumber,” a reference to the initial victim count.
Since the attack, the Kenyan government vowed they will respond in
the severest way possible. Last week they bombed two Al-Shabab training
I think that 5 years from now, I'll buy an apartment in Paris and live there part of the year, and then come back to California, Wisconsin, and the Disctrict of Columbia periodically . I will only tell my coworkers, my landlord, my one friend who I have coffee breaks with, my best friend, and my one Thursday lunch friend.
No one else will even know. Not even my 289 Facebook friends.
I won't tell my family.
They won't even know I've moved, since I've been here in Oregon for 8 years, and though I'm always inviting them to come visit, I haven't have one person visit me the entire time I've been here.
No one else will even know I have moved, since I'm doing all the vacationing anyway. I fly to see family once a year.
But for some reason, I get the feeling people would want to visit me if I lived in Paris. I'm going there early 2016 for another vacation. I can't can get Paris out of my mind. It's all I can think about.
I'm determined to sell enough baked goods, and sell enough poems and short stories to buy an apartment there.
I'm putting it out into the universe and I'm praying.
Three years ago today, I was having dinner at the 58 Tour Eiffel Restaurant, in the Eiffel Tower, for my 50th birthday. It was a gift from my best friend, Father Steve Demuth.
I miss Paris. I'm going again in the Spring, next year.
But anyway, I got to see 53 today! And I'm in Maryland/DC for the week.
52 was HORRIBLE; one of the worse years of my life. I'm not going to say It could have been worse because it could have. I had to shut the door ( well, leave it ajar) on someone I loved, for my sanity.
I've basically given up on everything I dreamed of having a generation ago. I've resigned to never getting married and never having kids.
So, I return from the cafeteria after eating breakfast and getting my
coffee, and I see this spread, and I'm thinking who's desk is this? It
my desk,and someone else brought in treats for me, for my birthday (
I'll be on vacation on my actual birthday). A Pineapple upside down
cake, and cupcakes with bacon on top! Someone knows me!
I work with some cool people!
An incident transpired when Muhammad Ali’s daughters arrived at his home wearing clothes that were quite revealing.
Here ...is the story as told by one of his daughters:
“When we finally arrived, the chauffeur escorted my younger sister, Laila, and me up to my father’s suite. As usual, he was hiding behind the door waiting to scare us. We exchanged many hugs and kisses as we could possibly give in one day.
My father took a good look at us. Then he sat me down on his lap and said something that I will never forget. He looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Hana, everything that God made valuable in the world is covered and hard to get to.
Where do you find diamonds? Deep down in the ground, covered and protected.
Where do you find pearls? Deep down at the bottom of the ocean, covered up and protected in a beautiful shell.
Where do you find gold? Way down in the mine, covered over with layers and layers of rock. You've got to work hard to get to them.”
He looked at me with serious eyes. “Your body is sacred. You’re far more precious than diamonds and pearls, and you should be covered too.”