Hips Don't Lie?

"If the world was crazy, you know what I'd eat?
A big slice of soup and a whole quart of meat,
A lemonade sandwich, and then I might try
Some roasted ice cream or a bicycle pie,
A nice notebook salad, an underwear roast,
An omelet of hats and some crisp cardboard toast,
A thick malted milk made from pencils and daisies,
And that's what I'd eat if the world was crazy..."
-Shel Silverstein

I'm thinkin I better be on the lookout for that lemonade sandwich... because in addition to all the really crazy things going on in the world today, I was told today, by someone who owns a modeling and talent agency* that if I want to do runway work, I'm probably gonna need to LOSE A LITTLE WEIGHT IN MY HIPS.

To which I (internally) responded "You're kidding, right? Do you know how much steak & chocolate cake I've had to eat to even get THESE?! Or have you not seen me enough to notice that I'm a half-black woman fully entitled to whatever curves I choose/am able to maintain?!?!"

I mean, she didn't say it disdainfully, she's a nice woman. And she's been in the business a long time, so I guess she would know...

But... have you SEEN the skinniness that is me?! Because I have. For 23 years now. And I'm perfectly happy with my weight AND my hard-earned little hips, and have no desire to ever appear malnourished or skeletal. Hence my intense but healthily moderated devotion to beef and cookies.

Man... good thing I don't have a passion for fashion. Or body image problems, for that matter! If I did, I sure wouldn't have gone straight to Fat Mo's after taking my headshots...

Next to anything from Red Robin, that might be the best cheeseburger and fries I've ever eaten. :)

~lady j

*Yeah, I finally signed with an agency. After years of being asked about it, it seemed like a good move. I'm hoping to make some $$$ to pay off all my retarded school loans... but judging by my diet, I'm probably the worst model ever. Hehehehehehe! :)

Leave The Pieces

I have no idea what I'm about to write... you're entitled to be slightly nervous.

I am.

I found something tonight... and upon examination of said mysterious thing, it got me thinking.

There was a point in my life where I fell in love-- i mean, really fell in love-- with a man who had secrets. Kept secrets. He did it to protect me. But he also did it because he-- didn't know what else to do.

One day, not so terribly long ago, he left me. I still don't know why. I never will-- and I can live with that. But if I allow myself the masochistic luxury of pondering, I find myself unsettled. How disorienting it is, to be abandoned, left with your heart in pieces, in the center of a complete mystery.

I wonder how long God is going to have to work on my heart before I truly forgive him and let it all go.

Sometimes I'm terrified that I still love him. I wonder how strong the love of the next is going to have to be to trump my investment in this man from my past. On one hand, there's no doubt in my mind that God is bigger than my judgment lapses, bigger than my ability to hold on to the past, and bigger than my fear of placing all my trust in His divine love and wisdom.

But the feebler, human side of me longs for something microwavable, something warm and instant to slap on my heart and soul that will heal it instantly and blur the hurt of the past into some charming impressionistic piece of art that I can sell on eBay.

Somewhere in the middle of all that, my writer's soul is scowling at me, chiding me for giving voice to the most blasphemous of wishes-- "how dare you-- a woman divinely deemed a raconteur, by the loving, generous, Almighty God-- even think of wishing to muddle the greatest gift and tool of your trade you've been given-- your memory? You should be stripped of your latest tale for even entertaining the thought!"

But the Lord understands my heart. He made it after all. And of all who have witnessed the pain it has endured, He knows better than any, its weaknesses and joys and how much pressure it can withstand.

And He does not rebuke me or love me any less for wishing my pain away.

But he shows me, in small, tangible ways, that my vision is dim and that my plans are nothing compared to those He has for me.

When you were a kid, did you ever actually attempt to carve up a puzzle piece to make it fit into the big picture?

Although I know that my life sometimes has a way of looking pretty together on the outside, some part of me feels that I've secretly made a lifelong hobby/habit of sawing away on puzzle pieces with little useless, plastic safety scissors*-- too stubborn to quit or admit defeat, too defiant to be patience and wait for the right piece to present itself at the right time.

So i guess tonight... I'm finally taking a good look at my retarded scissors.

And I'm putting them down.

No guarantees that I'll never try to touch them again... but I pray I'm wickedly convicted next time I even give their wretched plastic blades a second look.



Psalm 27:14 (New Living Translation)

14 Wait patiently for the Lord.
Be brave and courageous.
Yes, wait patiently for the Lord.



*I had a very specific set of scissors in mind while writing this. Plastic yellow ones with a blue and white sticker of a monkey's face right on the joint that connects the blades. At age 4 or 5, I snipped the single lock of hair off my Carebear's head with one such pair of scissors, thinking it would grow back. It didn't. Therefore, I think it's safe to say that plastic yellow monkey scissors will always spell trouble for me.

Salute to Beardedness

Beards -on men- in winter, are sexy.

They just are. I mean, I'm a fan of handsome manly stubble anyway, but there's something incredibly old world romantic about a man growing a beard when it's cold outside. Several of my friends have begun their journeys into beardedness this month and I am very much a fan.

And so, Men of the East, I entreat you, this No Shave November-- go forth and grow beards!

"Good 'ol Rocky Top..."

So... lots of states have unofficial theme songs.

New York- "New York, New York"
Alabama- "Sweet Home Alabama"
Texas- "Deep In The Heart Of Texas"

California's been serenaded by everyone from Tupac to Phantom Planet. One of Ohio's odes got remixed by the entire cast of the Drew Carey show... there are all kinds of unofficial theme songs. They get played at football games, sometimes at concerts too.

I wasn't even aware Tennessee had an Unofficial Theme Song until I moved here and everyone knew the words but me. It was like my first ACU Chapel all over again!

Tennessee's U.T.S. is "Rocky Top"-- and because I haven't heard it my whole life-- I think it's adorable. It's so catchy! And I still find it really novel because I'm fairly sure everyone in Nashville knows the song except me.

UT (TN, not TX-- even though they're both orange and represented by big T's.) uses it as their fight song, and at any major city events, the folks in charge end up playing it over a loudspeaker. The Franklin cloggers practice dancing to it on the steps of city hall, artists cover it at concerts, and anywhere it makes an appearance, *a sing-along ensues.

And I secretly love it. :) Know why?

Eecause every time it comes on, life turns into a musical. Everyone knows the words, and everyone sings along. (Of course after visiting the dueling piano bar this weekend, I've realized that the same thing tends to happen with "Ice Ice Baby" and also any hits by Michael Jackson or Bon Jovi... but Rocky Top still has sort of a wider appeal... in TN at least.)

Anyway, I'm happy my new state at least has a catchy U.T.S.... "Music City" oughta know a thing or two about writing a hook.

*This is not the best or most complete version of the song... but it's how it usually sounds when I hear it. :)

I'm So Over It.

I hate to be negative, but blogging is about sharing your thoughts, and lately, these 5 things, when brought up in conversation, tend to invoke those four little words in bold printed above.

1. Celebrity gossip. I don't care. I especially don't care about Britney Spears. Or Paris Hilton. Or Lindsay Lohan. Maybe if we stopped stalking them and paying so much attention to them, they'd calm the hell down.

2. Red Bull. People are all jacked up on it. But it hasn't been around long enough for us to know whether overconsumption of it will really wear out your heart faster or cause your body to do other weird stuff. I just don't like it. It's just one more thing to be addicted to. (How and when did our nation get so prone to/apathetic about addictions?)

3. Reality TV Shows About Rich People. Boring. Stupid. Overdone. I'm tired of getting sucked in by them and having my life wasted.

4. Slasher Movies. They will always be gross, and they're just getting worse and worse. And it seems regular tv has to get more intense just to keep up with people who get bored when blood and brains aren't being slung everywhere. Fact is, there are real blood and brains of innocent people being slung everywhere in countries all over the world everyday... and we hardly ever even hear about it-- because the news is all caught up with the life and times and uh-ohs of the people from bullet #1. And we (as individuals) subsequently, do nothing to stop it.

5. The overabundance of hip hop music that insults my gender and my intelligence. At the moment, namely "Crank Dat Soulja Boy". If I hear that ridiculous song one more time... nothing will happen. Because it's just on, everywhere, all the time and I can't get away from it.
I hate music that doesn't mean anything. I thought that was the point of music. To convey a message, a mood. To tell a story, to give the listener something to relate to. Not just background noise. Not a soundtrack for mindless drunken gyrating. Mindless gyrating is meaningless. Superfluous words that don't mean anything are meaningless. Idleness is meaningless. Meaninglessness is meaningless.

And depressing.

You know what I hear when "Crank Dat" and everything else like it comes on?

Little boys. (And don't tell me I'm thinking too hard about this-- that's how this crap got popular to begin with. No one thinks about it.) Immature, selfish, egocentric, unfullfilled and unaffirmed little boys, telling each other (and any female who will listen) how pimp and tight and BAMF they are, because no one who loved them ever bothered to tell them that they could be more than that. That they could be heroes, role models, defenders, revolutionaries, with power and influence who gain true respect from everyone-- not just they boys in the street.

It's pathetic. Trendy hip-hop is pathetic. And I hate the stereotype that it sets, encourages and promotes for the Black community nationwide.

I also hate that the Black community (like every other community, mind you) allows a place (BET?) for meaningless garbage like this to flourish, instead of demanding a higher quality of popular music (and film, for that matter. God bless Tyler Perry!). I'm mad that most don't think about it past the surface-- and those that do get blasted for "forgettin where they came from" and "listenin to dat white music". In the meantime, those people doing the accusing settle into the stereotype-- and then get mad with they get profiled.

(sigh)

I know pop & hip-pop will always be around, and much of it will always be mindless and meaningless and overplayed. It has it's place among all the rest of the garbage in the entertainment world, but it just sucks watching the general public turn into media zombies. It sucks to watch people stop caring and start settling for whatever. I'm terrified of numbness, and that's what I get from music like that.

Music associated with the Black community used to mean SO much. Jazz and soul and gospel and RNB & reggae and rap all had purpose, substance. They said something. The music was thick and emotional and controversial-- that's what made it stand out.

Now it feels cheap and mass-manufactured. Probably because it is.

I never want to write anything just to be popular. (Which is probably why I'll never make it in the music business. Which is fine.) I want to write things that have meaning. Things that that share wisdom and experience, things that people can relate to, connect to, be comforted by.

I believe my purpose in life is to spread hope to the hopeless through my own experiences and the experiences of others. To connect people by their similar struggles and remind them that others before them have made it-- and that they will too.

Words that mean nothing, do nothing.

And to quote the man who participated in televisions very first primetime interracial kiss,

"I can't get behind that."

When You Wish Upon A Star...

Yesterday, I went to the Happiest Place On Earth.

We met Ariel. We took pictures at Cinderella's Castle. We laid on beaches and in hammocks at expensive Disney resorts that we weren't supposed to be at. We went on the Pirates of the Carribean ride—and I bought Jolly Roger earrings. I saw Jack Sparrow!!! Twice!!! :) We rode the teacups! We broke the rules in the Swiss Family Robinson's treehouse. We got rained on/soaked while driving the most busted go-karts you've ever seen on the Indy 500 speedway. We went to a Disney Dance Party and danced with Snow White, all 7 Dwarves and Chip & Dale. We got stood up by the Disney Villains. Twice. But they're villains, go figure. We ate dinner at the Starlight Café, while watching Stitch do the Macarena on stage. We saw a beautiful fireworks show and two parades. We rode the Monorail. We rode the Ferry Boat. And I saw Aladdin. But I didn't get to talk to him. :( He was too busy dancing with Jasmine. Pssh.

But it doesn't even matter. Because yesterday—I went to the Magic Kingdom.

And it was magnificently Magical.

(more pics to come!)

Concert Commentary: Vol. 1

Transcribed (because I couldn't help myself) halfway in the dark at a creaky table on the front wall of spectator seats at the site of Jordan Miller's first gig, The Listening Room.

ACT ONE
There's this old man. He might be like 50. Maybe.
His feet are sort of small.
And he's singing a song about drinking too many tequilas to forget about his lost love.
It's terrible.
It's sad.
And it's really sort of hilarious.
Is he wearing Crocs? To his show?
No... they're more like Birkenstock Mules.
If he wrote this song last week, I'm just gonna be really sad.
I can't see his left hand-- but he can't be married.
He's wearing old school, skinny fit man jeans.
He has a pointy mustache, and hair that's cut short to conceal a receding hairline.
His eyes are tired. Worn.
And now he's singing about fishing... oh man.
And there's his hand. No wedding ring.
Man. Poor guy.
I wonder what happened to him.
He doesn't look like he's spent his life being someone's sidekick-- he can stand on his own.
He could have even been big stuff back in the day.
But now he's so sad... and this song is pathetic.
I hope it's not a cover... if it was... ooo.

This guy should be a studio musician for like-- Nickel Creek. Or maybe for a country artist.
But he shouldn't be here... in his socks and Stocks at 9:30 on a Tuesday night... he should be at home with his wife... looking at pictures of his grandkids... poor guy.
At least he's not really out drinkin one too many tequilas... I guess.

ACT TWO
These kids are a little better.
She's wearing cute jeans. And an engagement ring. I think.
Maybe her guitarist is her fiance?
Yeah, they're cute.
He looks like... every other boy in a baseball cap with a guitar. Quiet.
She's dark-haired, thin, looks like she was on drill team in high school.
This song, Lucky One, would sound better as a country song.
If she had a little bit raspier/breathier voice.
Hah! I was right! She just said they're newlyweds.
Sonny & Cher. Her words... not mine.
She's also got this Gaitlinburg accent goin' on in her talking voice.
She should lay it on a little thicker for her act!
This song would work better with some twang in it.
Her songs are actually pretty catchy, pretty well-written...
But her voice... mmm... it's just alright.
This song-- Hidden Heroes-- works though.
Anything patriotic has a place.
Patriotic music is a genre in itself.
This song is sweet though.
Yeah, these kids could do alright--
As country song writers.

ACT THREE
Ms. Jordan Miller.
Her voice is SO pure and it's got great color to it.
Like old school Rachael Lampa.
She just makes it look easy.
Easy.
I love people like that.
Her songs all start from cute little anecdotes.
She deserves a better crowd than this.
A youth group. Girls. They'd love her. :)
Her face is so sweet when she's singing. Like she's totally in her element.
I could tell she was nervous when she started, but she's loosened up now.
She don't need that mic though. ;)
And the bass on that keyboard is up way too loud.
But I'll cut the sound dude a break. It's late-- and things can't be perfect at your first show.
There's such a market for her.
She's way more of a natural superstar than the other girl.
This is a good song.
I'd never heard it. But now I have.
And I bet that before long, the world will too.