Tuesday, January 25, 2005

Buffoonery on American Idol

I'm embarrassed.

Leroy Wells, Li'l Jon's broke, tired brother, made a horrific appearance on American Idol tonight. Leroy believed he was the new king of crunk and decided to showcase his... umm... errr... talents, and embarrass every Black person in every country that gets American Idol.

Honestly, the only thing I understood was, "can you dig it!" [INSERT SKIN TEETH]. While Simon, the only voice of reason on that show sometimes thought Leroy was a fool (a correct assumption), both Randy and Paula thought Leroy was the greatest thing.

"Your energy is great!" gushed Paula -- we all know she's pretty much useless.

Sigh. The man is a buffoon -- a buffoon that needs subtitles.

If that wasn't a modern minstrel show, I don't know what the heck is.

Friday, January 21, 2005

The Myth of Sexy

[Ed. note: I'm a lot peeved 'cause Blogger crashed as I went to publish this. Can you say pissed? Anyway, hopefully it'll work this time.]

The guys at work were discussing CBC's Marketplace last week. The topic was
buying into sexy -- how media and marketing are encouraging little girls to want to be sexy. Both of my co-workers have young daughters and they are concerned that their little girls are going to be influenced by all the images that are broadcasted and printed.

Look at any magazine rack at Indigo or Shoppers' Drug Mart. Ashlee Simpson -- a 'singer' (I had to put it in quotations, have you heard her live? Nails on a chalkboard, boy) marketed to young girls -- on the cover of Cosmo. Cosmopolitan. Sigh.

The magazine that's goal is to give me 25 ways to drive my man wild in bed. Good grief. If it floats your boat, go ‘head, I ain’t mad at you.

But really, when Ashlee Simpson is on the cover, who the heck do you think is buying it?


Not me.

I think that girl’s at minute 14 and a half of her 15 minutes of fame. But, then, she’s not marketed to me.

Girls who adore her are probably buying that issue up in droves. Girls who have absolutely no life experience and consider The Simple Life real life.

These children, 10- and 11-year-olds, are buying a magazine that focuses entirely on sex and sexuality.

Yes. Yes. I know, we can't blame the ills of society and the degradation of youth on media alone. I’m not trying to do that. Parents do play a huge part in influencing their children, but let's keep it real. Did you have any long conversations with your parents about sex and sexuality over hot chocolate like in some old school ABC Afterschool Special? Neither did I.

Parents can and should talk to their children about sex and sexuality and make sure the lines of communication are open. But many children learn about sex and sexuality from their friends and the media.


BET, MuchMusic, TV shows like The O.C. and Degrassi influence young teens about what is and isn't sexy and cool. And it seems like right now, hoochie is cool. So, what kind of message is Cosmopolitan and all these other images sending to little girls? Being sexy rules! And being sexy means wearing as little as you can and having a lot of boys like you.

Ashlee is also the spokesmodel for Candie's shoes. In the CBC documentary, they asked the boys what they thought of Ashlee Simpson's Candie's ad. Do you know what they said?


“Damn she’s hot!” says one. “Look how hot that girl is!” “She has nice legs," one boy whispers to his friend. "She’s horny!” another says with a giggle. The message is everywhere – in their favourite music, sports, and video games. Boys are consuming a bimbo image of women.

The girls thought that Ashlee looked confident and pretty. The little boys thought she looked horny -- two very different messages coming from the same ad. So, when these girls dress up in Ashlee Simpson’s outfit – the bra showing, the knee high fishnet stockings and the high heels, they believe they look confident. The boys that they interact with are going to think they are horny.

Back in the day when I was a teenage in Montreal, I was wearing a cut-off t-shirt and my belly button was exposed. Some guy in the metro started talking to me and getting really fresh.

“Excuse me? I’m not interested in that.”

“So, why all your navel exposed?”

I thought I looked cute, like Janet Jackson in the That’s The Way Love Goes video and wanted to show off my flat stomach. He thought I must be a girl of ill-repute because my stomach was out.

So, to hear the discrepancy between what little boys and little girls think of sexy images doesn’t shock me, seeing that I consume a helluva lot of bimbo imagery of women.

And it still affects me – yeah, I’ve tried to perfect Beyoncé’s booty shake in the privacy of my home. But I'm a grown up -- I have my own definition of what sexy is and it isn’t coming to work in a tube top and hipster jeans. I know if I walk the streets of Toronto with my ass at the door, I will get unwanted comments, not from LL Cool J, but from some random, gross, toothless man.


I think women -- not little impressionable girls, but hard back women, in their 20s and 30s -- are totally buying into the myth of 'sexy'. Some of us are totally objectifying ourselves because we want that attention from men. That's what it comes down to, does it not?

Some women say, "I’m wearing these thigh high boots because I think it's sexy, not because someone else does!"

I say, "That's a load of crap."

We have to wear clothes, yes. And many of us wear nice clothes because we like nice clothes and we think we'll look good in that dress, pants, skirt, whatever. But when I see a woman wearing a micro mini skirt, stiletto heels, a tube top and a small faux fur jacket to a club in Toronto's frigid -20 winter weather, don't fool yourself.

You ain't doing that for yourself.

You're fully doing that to get some attention.

People, men and women, do things because we expect to get a reaction from other people. Why do you think Lil’ Kim showed up at some awards show in just pasties? Why do you think Britney Spears is forever half dressed in her videos? What about Janet Jackson (really, Chris Rock had it right when she cussed her for exposing herself at the Super Bowl), Christina Aguilera (who can sing for real, but resorts to being dirty), Christina Milian (dripping in mud in the Dip it Low video. Come on now. If that’s not a cry for some attention, ‘men look at me! Don’t worry that I’m absolutely drop dead gorgeous and talented, let me be your sexual fantasy!’ I don’t know what is.)

My biggest question: why do I see people’s hard pubic bone in Brazilian cut jeans? (I swear, some of those same people must have to shave areas to wear those pants.)


The objectification of women is so blatant today, and it's not just the teenagers. Grown women, slaves to hoochie fashion, are trying to make themselves into every little boy's dream and are accepting stereotypes of sexy. Men have obviously bought into the myth of the bimbo.

Big booty video model (I don't like the term video ho, it's just so... tasteless), Vida Guerra was featured in FHM a couple of months ago and the same guys who were watching CBC Marketplace nearly fainted from heart palpitations looking at her. They were pretty much acting like the little boys the CBC interviewed.

The picture I chose was probably one of the tamest on the girl's site. But Vida and her co-video... umm... errr... ho... mies (Melyssa Ford who has done turned respectable as a show host on BET), help to fill out your random hip hop guys video wet dream. Not to disrespect Ms. Guerra, she's a beautiful woman with a banging body, but, heck, is that the only image of sexy out there?

There is absolutely nothing wrong with being sexy. Embrace your sexiness – it’s a part of you. But, if I see another girl walking down Yonge St. wearing pants with cutouts in the backside, exposing her butt cheek, I ain’t lying, I saw it on Caribana Friday night, I will slap her.

The sad thing is, when a women buys into this myth of sexy, men think she must be horny, slutty and nasty. If a man embraces society’s definition of sexy for himself, he’s a hero whose had a lot of women. The double standard still exists and we’re totally buying into it.

No matter how much Sex and the City you watch and how great you think Samantha is.

No matter how sexually liberated you think you are.

Meh. I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.


Monday, January 17, 2005

CNN.com: UK's Brown: Write off Africa debts

As I sit here burning CDs for a product launch -- late and disorganized as usual -- I journeyed to CNN.com to read what's going on in the world. I actually prefer CNN.com to CNN on TV -- print journalism is always less sensational anyway. I saw this story: UK's Brown: Write off Africa debts.

It seems like someone is using some common sense when it comes to African debts to the industrialized world. The same industrialized nations that raped Africa for years have slapped the continent with a heavy debt load.

Heck, borrow money to buy grain or let your people starve -- what would you choose?

"British Treasury chief Gordon Brown on Monday called on wealthy nations and international financial institutions to write off Africa's debt, saying debts incurred by past generations are keeping the continent poor," wrote CNN.com.

It's not the complete solution, but it's definitely a start. Africa's been beaten down since the 1600s, it's time for a change for the entire continent, not just some countries.

I woke up to a windchill warning this morning -- I had to leave my house at 6:40 am because of this dyam product launch. Lord give me strength, we still aren't ready and the press release is on the wire... But I digress.

We thought we had it bad with our -10 degree weather? Think again. Read this interesting story from CNN.com, Embarrass, Minnesota, hits 54 below. Not celsius, they are experiencing minus 54 below Fahrenheit -- that's about -65 Celsius.

And I don't think that includes windchill.

That is sheer madness.

Embarrass, Minnesota is no place for people to live. That is the Arctic and no one should be forced to live in the Arctic. I bet the residents of Embarrass would cry, but their tears would freeze and that isn't worth it.

I don't like winter -- but I prefer Toronto's semi-mild winters to a cold ass winter in Embarrass, Minnesota. Believe that.

Anyway, back to this blasted launch.

Hurry, hurry done fast, never done right.

Saturday, January 15, 2005

BlackPlanet sucks

I have a page on BlackPlanet.

I've had that page for years -- probably since 2000. And every so often I'm shocked by the jackasses that call that place home. Honestly, I'm tired of telling off these strange men who think they are allowed to be rude, nasty and uncouth because they are online. Don't get me wrong, I've met some decent folks, but for the most part, they've been idiots.

I've been asked to join a threesome. I've been asked to pose in the raw. I've been propositioned a number of times. I won't even tell you about the bisexual sisters who want to make a connection. When I tell these people off, they get all offended and vex because I wasn't happy that they messaged me with dirt.

The latest idiot, who goes by Teflon (yes, Teflon. Sigh.), wanted my MSN address to harass me more frequently. I don't give my e-mail address out to strangers because it's hard as heck to get some of these fools to stop talking to you.

If Teflon had read my page, he would know that I'm involved with someone. But, unfortunately, that doesn't stop the legions of fool-fool guys (you know, the ones who'll message, 'holla shawtie' and then get rude when you don't respond) from trying to drop some pathetic lyrics.

I told him that if he wanted to talk to me, he could feel free to leave me a note at BlackPlanet. Sorry, I'm not encouraging any little wutless boy to instant message me during the day when I'm at work to talk nonsense with me. I think it would go like this:

Random BP jackass: Yo shawtie, what's gwanin'?
Urban Sista: I'm at work. What's up with you?
RBJ: We should hook up and spend some time.
US: I think my boyfriend would probably take offense if I said yes.
RBJ: What he got to do with it? I ain't trying to get with him.
US: I'm busy. I'm going to bounce.
RBJ: C'mon girl. You know you want to get with me. You've seen my pictures on BP.
US: Whatever, guy. I have a boyfriend and I'm not interested in anything romantic.
RBJ: You one of them kinda women that thinks she's too nice for a nigga.
US: Excuse me?
RBJ: Beeyotch.
US: Who do you think you're cussin', you little vagabond...

Then I would just get ignorant and forget I'm a child of the King. Besides, I'm a girl who doesn't like drama -- especially drama from strange men who think I should be grateful their little 50 Cent wannabe backside wants to talk to me.

When I told Teflon to give me two good reasons why I should give him my personal information, my man got huffy and told me I was a waste of his time.

Hee hee. Reminds me of guys who hiss at you on the street and when you ignore them, they want to cuss you out and tell you that you aren't that cute in the first place.

Whatever, negro.

And if it were only Black guys. If the number of white guys who hit on me virtually were to talk to me in real life, I'd be shocked. The white men are crawling out of the woodwork trying to get with sisters online.

Guess it's cool in the privacy of your home, but not so much at the workplace, church or restaurant.

It's amazing that white guys are totally into you on BlackPlanet, but can't twist their mouths to speak in public. Of course, they can stare and leer, but that's acceptable behaviour.

So, I'm thinking of getting rid of my BP page. I mean, it's interesting to see how men and women interact and I do enjoy reading some of the comments in the forum. But from the number of sorry, disgusting people on BlackPlanet, my first online home is getting seedier and seedier.

Friday, January 14, 2005

Brainy women face handicap in marriage stakes: British survey

Morning, y'all,

One of the Bajan Girls sent me this news story that says the same thing smart women have been saying for years: it's darn hard to find a man, much less marry a good one.

I didn't need a news agency to tell me that. When I was in university (raise the roof for Concordia U. in Montreal!), I was chatting to some dude in my usual hangout, Eaton Centre.

"So, what do you do?"

"I'm in school," I answered, probably waiting for Marianne's tail to stop giggling under some guy.

"What school do you go to? Dawson? Vanier?" Dawson and Vanier were two very popular CEGEPs in the city. You attend CEGEP first, then you go on to university. Unfortunately, a lot of the young Black people in Montreal would do one year of CEGEP and deem it too hard. They'd go off and work for the hospital making $19 or $20 an hour. A lot of money when you're 18, not so much when you're 28.

"I graduated from Dawson in May. I'm at Concordia."

"University?"

"Yes."

"Really. So, you think you're smart," he said smugly, like he knew something I didn't.

"Think I'm smart?" Why would he ask me that? "I know I''m smart."

That was the end of that. He wanted nothing more to do with me -- maybe it was my snarky response... Maybe he was a jackass... I don't know.

As one of the Bajan Girls said, "ahhh....so that's my problem..... If I had known, I would have saved some money on the BA : )"

No girl. It was worth it -- heck, you could be single and working at Walmart. And then you'd feel REALLY dry.

More than smart women finding men less interesting, I think some men find smart women intimidating. And that is where the problem lies. When a man believes that he should be the smartest person in the relationship and can't appreciate an intelligent woman, of course the woman isn't going to find him interesting. She's going to find him to be an idiot.

Women have found ways around this for years: "Smart women (especially smart, BLACK women) have known this from time. But i have learned a trick from my mother--just let the man THINK he's smarter than you, and it's all good. his fragile, silly little ego is kept in check, and you have the relationship you've always wanted. certainly not talking about dumbing anything down, but really, men don't like women smarter than them," said Marlo Girl.

Sigh. That's just too much work for me.

Anyway, read the article. All comments are welcome!

Brainy women face handicap in marriage stakes: British survey

LONDON (AFP) - A high IQ is a hindrance for women wanting to get married while it is an asset for men, according to a study by four British universities published in The Sunday Times newspaper.


The study found the likelihood of marriage increased by 35 percent for boys for each 16-point increase in IQ.

But for girls, there is a 40-percent drop for each 16-point rise, according to the survey by the universities of Aberdeen, Bristol, Edinburgh and Glasgow.

The study is based on the IQs of 900 men and women between their 10th and 40th birthdays.


"Women in their late 30s who have gone for careers after the first flush of university and who are among the brightest of their generation are finding that men are just not interesting enough," said psychologist and professor at Nottingham University Paul Brown in The Sunday Times.

Claire Rayner, writer and broadcaster, said in the article that intelligent men often prefered a less brainy partner.

"A chap with a high IQ is going to get a demanding job that is going to take up a lot of his energy and time. In many ways he wants a woman who is an old-fashioned wife and looks after the home, a copy of his mum in a way."


Thursday, January 13, 2005

ANTM vs. SI Swimsuit Model Search

I don't like to be critical, but aren't the women on Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Model Search busted compared to the last bunch on America's Next Top Model? The judges are eliminating the best looking women and keeping the so-so ones (and that doesn't say much 'cause even the good-looking ones we're questionable.)

Last night, when they jacked up Betti's (now the only Black girl on the show) hair, I couldn't help but laugh. Her hair looked so dry and yammed out. It wasn't a cute, stylish 'fro, it looked like when you need to go to the hairdresser, but you can't afford it, so you try a likkle ting, but that doesn't quite work out, so you try to add some hair grease, but your hair just looks greasy and dry at the same time.

Remember those days?

Tee hee. Eva, Yaya or Kelle wouldn't have let anyone mash their hair like that.


I miss ANTM so -- I can't wait for it to come back.

Wednesday, January 12, 2005

Federal tsunami aid hits $425-million ... as cash woes hurt African AIDS fight

Every morning, I get an e-mail from the Globe and Mail with the stories of the day and this one really caught my attention: http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/LAC.20050111.TSAFRICA11/TPStory

Suffering is nothing new in the world. Every other day there is a story about some natural disaster destroying someone or an illness wiping out thousands. Unfortunately, when it happens in Africa we either turn a blind eye or expect others to do something about it.

People are going above and beyond the call to help our brothers and sisters in Southeast Asia as they try to rebuild after the tsunami, but there are also other places in the world that need help -- places especially hard hit by HIV/AIDS.

I read the article from the Globe and Mail and this paragraph caught my attention: "Mr. Lewis expressed frustration at the issue of debt relief. The Paris Club of donors met and decided only days after the tsunamis to freeze all debt repayments from the affected countries (many of them prosperous middle-income countries such as Indonesia), and is considering cancelling many debts outright. Yet there has been no large-scale debt cancellation for countries such as Zambia, where more than a quarter of the population has HIV-AIDS and life expectancy has dropped to 33 years of age."

Thirty-three years of age.

I'd have three and a half more years to go. My sister wouldn't be here. Neither would a lot of my friends. That is the prime of your life and if Zambians are dying at 33, who is working in this economy to pay these world debts?

The children? The majority of them have lost their parents and are just struggling to get by. So, they definitely aren't paying off the debts. And who's taking trips to Zambia? I haven't seen it in any of my travel brochures. It's not like they have a tourism industry to look to. What about all of the Zambians in North America? Well, it's probably easier to stay in Zambia than it is to get refugee claimant status in Canada. In my travels, I've met two -- only two -- Zambians. So, it's not like there are thousands of Zambians to pull some cash together here and send it back home.

Folks, this is a hot mess.

The suffering in Africa is just as great -- maybe moreso, because HIV/AIDS is one slow way to die. Your life is sucked out of you minute by minute. A natural disaster wipes you out and then goes away, leaving survivors to clean up, but it's not drawn out. But we see the suffering in Indonesia and Sri Lanka every night on TV. Those of you who have travelled to Southeast Asia want to help and rightfully so. We all banded together to help -- but help is needed just as desperately elsewhere and CityTV isn't sending Gord Martineau to the Sudan to report on the warfare. Heck, we've barely heard about the 200 dead in Somalia because of the tsunami.

"The outpouring of tsunami funds has Canadian aid agencies astonished. After an intensive fundraising campaign in Canada last year to raise money for the crisis-torn Darfur region of Sudan, where 50,000 people have been killed and 1.5 million people have been driven from their homes, Médecins sans frontières (Doctors Without Borders) collected just $350,000 (Canadian) -- much less than expected."

I was going to donate some more money to the tsunami relief, but I changed my mind and went to Médécins Sans Frontiers to donate money to HIV/AIDS relief in Africa. The world has responded en masse to this tsunami, it's time that the same is done to help everyone suffering and dying in war-torn, AIDS affected regions in Africa.

So, as to not forget about my people in Africa, I went to www.msf.ca and tried to do my part.


Tuesday, January 11, 2005

How I almost didn't get home for Christmas: A comedy of errors brought to you by Jetsgo - Part II

The situation was getting worse and worse. It was getting out of control. People were starting to curse, fret and carrying on and I can't say I blamed them. It definitely wasn't the fault of the frontline Jetsgo workers, but people's nerves were frayed. Jetsgo wasn't doing us a favour, we paid good money for a seat on a plane to Ottawa or Montreal or St. John's. If that's the case I EXPECT to be on a plane, not in an airport on Christmas Eve 'cause the airline has no darned planes.

Foolishness.

One lady lost it and began to lambaste two Jetsgo reps: "You have destroyed *BLEEP*ing Christmas for all of us, you *BLEEP*er!" she screamed, causing the terminal to go silent. The police arrived promptly.

Wow.

I may have thought differently after 24 hours of being at the airport, but Christmas, for me anyway, wasn't ruined. We were stuck somewhere we didn't want to be and we weren't with our friends and family and we were frustrated as all heck, but we were alive. I'm saying, two days later a tsunami devastated Southeast Asia and kills hundreds of thousands of people. We were unhappy, but there were still options.

Of course, everyone likes to commiserate, so we asked the very angry people what the story was. Two ladies explained to us that they had been scheduled on a flight the night before. They were at the correct gate, their luggage was on board and suddenly the flight was cancelled. Why, you ask? Jetsgo decided to send the plane (and you know they were in short supply) to Cancun (remember the Cancun people in Part I? The ones who got the riot police?) because Jetsgo makes more money on packaged vacations. So they cancelled the St. John's, Nfld. trip and got the plane ready for Cancun.

That's just disgusting. The airline had a plane for these people to go to Newfoundland and they removed the people's luggage. That's pure wickedness. Some people were in transit from other provinces -- if my flight was cancelled, I could take a taxi or call my boyfriend to take me home. If I'm coming into Toronto from Edmonton and have a connecting flight, I'm screwed.

After the Jetsgo people gave us some funky excuses, my sister and I tried to cut our losses. I called Westjet and, praise God!, they had flights available to Montreal. Our friend Susan and us booked seats on a 7:30 pm Westjet flight. The next issue was getting out luggage. They Jetsgo rep told us: "That's no problem. Just go downstairs -- I've radioed the baggage handlers and your bags will be ready in a few minutes."

Susan hustled over to Terminal 2 and told us she'd tell the Westjet folks that we'd be over there in a minute. My sister and I hustled downstairs to baggage claim, but security wouldn't let us in the back. Supposedly, a Jetsgo rep had to come downstairs with us -- we were told that after about 20 minutes of running around.

That's when Urban Sista lost it. Tears welled up in my eyes because I was convinced that this was a conspiracy to make this the worst Christmas Eve EVER. If a rep is supposed to escort us to the luggage claim area, how am I, as a traveller and not an employee of Jetsgo or Lester B. Pearson airport know that? Someone had to tell me this before I rushed my backside downstairs, stressing and fretting, to get my luggage.

Someone was gonna get it. I was tired. It was quarter to seven -- I should have been at home... no, actually, I should have been at church singing Silent Night or Joy to the World. But no, I was stranded at the airport with a bunch of angry strangers who wanted the same thing I did: an airplane that would take me to my destination. I went upstairs to cuss the Jetsgo representative. I finally understood the frustration that people were feeling. No one was communicating with us and when they did talk, we were given wrong information. My sister was chasing behind me, but my temper had the best of me. Angrily, seething with venom, I waited. I was going to drop some hot lashes in him. Believe me.

I guess seeing the fire coming out of my ears, airport security approached my sister, who was trying to catch up to me, to ask what was wrong.

"How can I help you?" he asked. He had been dealing with angry passengers all day. He had to handle us with kid gloves -- a wrong word could turn the mob on you.

"Maybe you can help," my sister said. "I just booked a Westjet flight and I need my luggage right now so I can check in. I was sent downstairs, but I can't get to the back to get my stuff..."

"Yep, you need a Jetsgo rep."

"No one told us that. If we don't get our luggage, we're going to miss our flight." And at that moment, I began to cry. I cried like a six-year-old who just wanted her mommy and daddy, some juice and a blankie. I didn't want to spend Christmas Eve at the airport. Lord, it was like Die Hard 2 -- without the terrorists. Actually, if things didn't get better soon, someone was going to bust a cap in a Jetsgo person's tail. We heard that the day before two reps had gotten pushed around by disgruntled passengers.

A Black woman put her arm around me, "don't cry, honey, we'll get home." Aww heck, they think I'm 16 or something.

As I'm having a nervous breakdown, a spare Jetsgo rep (really, there were only six of them at best, so, I don't think she was really a spare) came out of the back room.

"Excuse me, miss?" said the security officer. "Could you escort these young ladies downstairs to get their luggage?"

"Sure. Follow me." Wiping the tears off my cheeks and trying to regain the semblance of being a 29-year-old woman, we followed her downstairs and through a back door. Some luggage was sitting off to the side. I looked through it, but none of it belonged to us.

This is just ridiculous now. It's been at least 40 minutes. For luggage that was supposed to take 15 to arrive, I don't know why it was taking so long. The luggage was somewhere in the airport -- obviously it wasn't on a plane, seeing they didn't have one. So, what's the hold up?

Fast-forward, we were down in the luggage pick up area for a good hour and not piece of luggage was found. It's about 7:30 -- I called Westjet and they told me that the flight had been delayed to 8:30, so we had more than enough time. But if we realized we couldn't get there in time, to call them back and cancel, so we didn't lose any of our money. I was seething again. If you have no plane, where the heck is my luggage and why should it take over an hour to find it?

My sister made friends with the rep who had brought us downstairs and she got the real deal information from her. Jetsgo has planes scheduled to leave every hour, but supposedly, not one plane had left going to Montreal Christmas Eve. Two planes weren't able to get to Toronto for whatever reasons and had to go back to Vancouver and that screwed up the entire schedule.

"They don't tell frontline staff anything -- and we're not allowed to update the board to inform the passengers of what's going on," she said. "I've only worked here two weeks, but I don't think I can take it anymore." The airline has 20 planes and had scheduled 50 flights that day.

Jetsgo, from what she told us, isn't affiliated with any other airline. So, when something happens -- like a plane is grounded in another city, they don't have any agreements with any other airline to get passengers to their destinations. Things are cool when they're on schedule, but Lord help them when they aren't. Unlike Air Canada, they don't have any extra planes at hangers at the airport. All their vehicles are in service, so if something happens to a plane, there isn't one to replace it.

I'm a writer, do you think I only have one pen? So, if that pen runs out of ink, I can write anymore? Common sense, folks. Wouldn't it make sense, if you have 20 planes, to have 18 flights leaving two planes available? While you won't make as much money because you don't have as many flights, you will build customer loyalty 'cause passengers would ACTUALLY GET where they wanted to go ON TIME. Not eight, 12 or 36 hours late -- if at all. The VP of Operations for Jetsgo needs a good hard slap and to be fired because obviously he/she has NO idea how to run a business properly.

As sis was investigating, I was trying to get my luggage and time was running out, 'cause Westjet wasn't waiting on my backside.

"Excuse me?" I corner a Jetsgo rep. "I've been down here waiting for my luggage for more than an hour and it's no where to be found. I have another flight leaving in less than an hour -- I need my luggage now."

"Oh, I'll radio them and get it to you as soon as possible."

Hmmph. At ten to eight, there was still no luggage, just an angry Urban Sista with a sore back. I sat on the luggage carousel and just felt annoyed, irritated, sore and disgusted. By ten after eight, I still hadn't received my luggage, so I called Westjet and cancelled my flight -- I wasn't going to be able to get to Terminal 2 in time to check in, clear security and find my gate.

At 8:15 pm, two baggage handlers came with my sister and my luggage. Sigh. Because it was so late, we wouldn't have enough time to catch the Westjet flight. So, I called and cancelled and slunk out of the baggage claim.

"Don't stress," said my sister, who was the unusual voice of reason. Usually she'd be the angry one ready to tell someone exactly what she thought. "There may be a reason why we didn't get on that Westjet flight. God doesn't make mistakes."

True. But I wanted to get home. We went back upstairs to the Jetsgo counter to recheck our luggage. Ain't that some foolishness?

Of course, there was a line. There were only about six people in line -- all of them looking for a refund. I thought we'd get through and I'd go in the back and try to figure out what to do next. Well, that didn't happen. After twenty minutes of waiting in line, we finally got the luggage rechecked and we cleared security. Went back to Gate B19 and waited.

The Jetsgo rep had told us a plane had left Winnipeg, flying to Toronto and that plane would take us to Montreal.

Right.

Until the plane gets to Toronto, then instead of having a lack of planes, they'd have a lack of personnel.

"We'll just get up early tomorrow morning and drive to Montreal," said my sister. She had given the Jetsgo folks until 10 pm to figure out what they were doing. I sat down and pulled out my copy of The Da Vinci Code and started reading. As I started getting into it, my cell phone rang.

"Hello?" It was the boyfriend.

"Hey. Is everything ok? Why didn't you call me?"

"I'm still in Toronto."

"What do you mean that you're still in Toronto?"

"Sniff. The plane's been delayed. We're scheduled to leave at 9:15, but I don't think that's going to happen."

"Urban Sista, why didn't you call me? I'll come get you."

"No, don't worry about it. We're going to hang around here and see what happens."

"Well, let me know. If the plane doesn't leave, I'll come back for you."

"You're such a sweet boyfriend. I'll call you back when I hear something."

"Ok. Bye."

"Bye."

My sister had updated our parents, who were on they're way to church. They felt better just knowing that we were ok. The area was quiet -- the irate Cancun passenger weren't gone, but they were out of the terminal, sitting on the plane, waiting. From the time we left Gate B19 at after 5 or 6 o'clock to minutes to 9 pm, those people were sitting on the plane. Just waiting. The hot Mexican sun beckoning them, but it was not to be so -- at least not until the early morning hours of Christmas Day. They had been announcing the final boarding call for the past two hours.

So, my sister and I sat and cussed.

And the nice Black lady who had helped me through my teenaged moment, came with her young daughter and niece and sat with us.

And we all cussed Jetsgo and their lack of organization together.

I think I lost track of time then. It was late and the more I looked at my watch the angrier I became.

About an hour later, we were informed that the flight from Winnipeg had landed at Gate B17 and to make our way over there. The crew was going to clean and refresh the plane and we should be on our way by 10 pm. Eight hours. I had been at the airport for eight hours -- thankfully, it didn't stretch into 36. So, we all moved over to the correct gate and waited.

After another hour -- probably around 10 pm -- the French Canadians started to get riotous. We were all on edge and tired. The airport restaurants had long since closed down 'cause it was Christmas Eve and everyone just wanted to go home and spend time with their loved one or just take it easy. Guy, I couldn't even get a mouthful of water to soothe my dry palate. I was thirsty and get hungrier by the moment.

The Jetsgo rep who was manning the counter said that the plane just had to be cleaned and refuelled... but why is this taking so long? The flight crew wasn't even on the plane yet, they were standing around with us.

"Good grief," I mumbled. "Mark my words, by this time next year, Jetsgo will be out of business."

I called my parents to let them know that the flight had been, obviously, delayed again. We were supposed to leave at 9:15, then 10 pm. It was now probably 10:30 or later and we were all still sitting at Gate B17. (Me sitting at gate is a running theme in this saga, huh?)

The boyfriend's sister called to see if we were ok and if we had managed to get a glass of water. No, unfortunately, we hadn't. My mouth was dry as if I had crawled through the Sahara Desert and there was nothing wet to quench my thirst. Darn it. Darn it all.

"Excuse me! Excuse me!" said the Jetsgo rep through the PA system. "There has been a slight problem."

Grumbling and cursing was heard. The French Canadians cussed in loud Quebecois French.

"We accidently refuelled the wrong plane. Please be patient with us while we rectify the situation."

Good Lord. Lord give me strength. How, in the name of all that makes sense, do you refuel the wrong plane? It's not like there were a bunch of Jetsgo planes just knocking about. Why is this so difficult? You would think that Elmo and company from Sesame Street were running this operation. Every other airline had their mess in order and passengers were leaving and arriving at proper times. Only Jetsgo was embroiled in this abject confusion and foolery.

So I had to ask myself a question: was the cheap $1 or $20 fare worth all the misery and confusion of spending Christmas Eve at the airport without the certainty of knowing I would be flying out. Because, when we went back to the Jetsgo counter, the rep there couldn't tell us for sure if a plane would be able to take us out of Toronto that night. What's the point of planning if an airline can decided to give away your plane or cancel your flight. You're better off seeing what you can do the day you want to leave -- go by plane, maybe train or possibly drive.

The crew was throwing us nasty looks and saying, "don't ask us anything, we don't know." I learned afterward, those flight attendants had been called in off their vacations to shuttle us to Montreal. While I felt bad that they had to come to work on their own time, I know I've spent many times working when I should have been at home to get the job done. It sucks, yes, but that's what you signed up for.

At around 11:30 pm, we were told the plane had been refuelled and we would be boarding in a few moments. A cheer went up -- about 65 people were still at the gate.

Check this, if this is the only plane leaving Toronto for Montreal on Christmas Eve and a plane leaves every hour, how does that equal a mere 65 people? If one plane holds about 120 people and there was supposed to be about 15 flights, that's... ummm... 1800 expecting to fly on Jetsgo. If, on average, everyone paid about $150 for a ticket, that would be approximately, $216,000. Now, if 65 of us actually got on the plane, we represent a mere $7800 dollars. That's a loss of more than two hundred thousand dollars.

That, my friends, is NOT a profitable business model.

At midnight, we were finally on the plane and buckled into our seats. I was exhausted, but finally, I was on my way home. The plane took off, after de-icing, at close to 12:15 am. Once we were in the air, the flight attendants gave us complimentary soda or coffee (thank God, 'cause I was about to dehydrate), but were charging $1 for cookies and chips.

What de ass? Keep wunna dry up food goods. I should have been at home eating a proper West Indian Christmas Eve meal.

We touched down at Trudeau International Airport at 12:45 am. I had my bags and a conversation with lawyer who had gone through, pretty much, the same heartache as my sister and I. She was contemplating a class action suit against Jetsgo. I haven't heard anything yet.

By minutes after one o'clock in the morning, I was smelling the rich Christmas smells in my parents' kitchen. Hallejuah. I made it home -- missed all the Christmas Eve festivities, but I made it home.

"You know Ann and Lisa drove and they were home by this afternoon," said my mother making stuffing.

"I'm sure they got home a long time ago."

Next year, I will not fly home for Christmas -- well, hopefully, next year, I'll be in Barbados for Christmas. I wouldn't encourage anyone to fly home at holidays. It's too much confusion and tears and sorrow -- weather delays, overbooking, lack of aircraft. Christmastime is supposed to be a time you spend with your friends and family, not at the airport wondering and waiting for something to happen so you can get your tail on a plane.

In the morning, merry Christmas, we heard that Jetsgo had added a new flight to St. John's, Nfld. Great, but not a lot of help for those poor folks who had cancelled their flights and tried to find their way back home to salvage their holiday.

The way back to Toronto on the 28th was uneventful. The plane was have empty and left on time. They gave us the dratted Jetsgo buttons with the happy face.

The stupid thing is still in my luggage.

I think I'll burn it later today.



Monday, January 10, 2005

When I Close My Eyes...

Dang. Y'all gon' think I just blog about guys... it's not true. I swear it's not ;)

[Ed. Note - The picture has changed because Marlo Girl couldn't bear to read my blog with Will's face all up in her grill as she doesn't think he's attractive. So, this picture is more to her liking. See, I'm a good blogging friend ;)]


Friday morning, my girl sent me one of those ‘get to know you better’ e-mails. One of the questions was: Do you have any regrets?

Honestly, I don’t really regret any of the decisions I’ve made. Some of them haven’t been too smart, but for the most part, I’ve done what I’ve thought best and I’m happy with the majority of my decisions.

But, Friday afternoon, as I sit at my desk and listen to Jon B.’s Cool Relax CD, I’m taken back to the winter of 1998 when I moved to Toronto and I can think of one decision I regretted.

All those years ago I moved to Toronto – an eager, new graduate – full of excitement and determination, but shy as heck. So, I was happy to land a job with Tandemar Research, a market research company at Bloor and Sherbourne that treated its employees like crap.

It was my first job in the big city and I was just happy to be making some money to contribute to my sister – seeing she was pretty much supporting me at the time.

Anyway, one morning, after being threatened with unemployment, my new friend Carol and I went downstairs to Select Sandwich for a bagel and to cuss our boss, Hala.

As we walked over to the restaurant, my eyes caught the eyes of this very cute – ok, I’m not going to beat around the bush, he was HOT. Like gorgeous, HOT, yummy and I nearly fainted when he smiled.

I half-smiled, ‘cause really I thought he had to be smiling at someone behind me and rushed into the sandwich. I got my grub and walked out to find him waiting outside the door. He caught my hand.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a second?”

Like I was going to say ‘no’?

“Sure,” I said shyly.

“My name’s Will. What’s yours?”

"Urban Sista."

"Well, Urban Sista, can I have your phone number? Maybe we can catch a movie or something."

Lawd, give me strength. I wrote down my number, trying to control my shaking hand, and gave it back to him. He took my hand and held it.

"I'ma call you."

"OK."

"Bye." He headed off to the back entrance and Carol, who had since gotten her bagel came over to investigate what had happened.

"Do you know him?" she asked. Carol was a nice Lebanese girl who didn't know the intricacies of Black culture. A perfectly strange man could approach a woman and talk and end up with her phone number -- if he was cute/polite/funny enough. If he was rude or busted, he may get told off. Don't blame me, that's the truth and you know it.

A cute man chats you up and asks you for your number, you call that flirtation.

A NSA (not-so-attractive) dude chats you up and asks you for your number, you call that harassment.

That night, at home I couldn't wait for the phone to ring.

Unfortunately, it didn't. By 10 o'clock that night, I had written Will off as a 'typical' guy. Ask for your number and then act the ass. Whatever.

Friday, Carol and I went back to Select Sandwich for our morning bagels and guess who was chilling in the same spot. I looked over and said a very cool, "hello."

"Hey, sorry I didn't call last night," he said.

"Right," I said.

"No, really. I was working."

"Oh, what do you do?"

"I'm a model." Right. He's hot, yes, but a model? A model? "I was in the latest Sears catalogue."

"Oh. Cool."

"I'm just waiting on my boy -- why don't I give you my number and we get together and go to a movie?"

I thought about it. I would be in control. I could call or not call at my discretion... but then the onus was on me to call. Oh Lawd! Too much stress...

"OK, I'll call you." He wrote his number down on a slip of paper and passed it to me.

"Call me," he said. Then he swaggered off with his equally hot friend. Wow.

"So, what did he say?" asked Carol.

"He's a model," I said.

"A model?"

"Yep."

"Wow."

Now, that weekend, my girlfriend Marianne was visiting from Montreal. My sister and I picked her up from the bus station and I was telling both of them about Will.

"I'm going to call him tomorrow!" I said, after rattling off the entire story.

"You're going to call him?" My sister said in her usual 'my-sister-has-no-sense' tone. "Why didn't he call you?"

"He was working."

"What does he do?" asked Marianne.

"He's a model."

"A model?"

"A model." The more I said it, the more it sounded like a load of hooey. Why would a model just be chilling in Greenwin Square at Bloor and Sherbourne? Really.

"He probably has a woman in every port," said my sister. That girl has a way with words, doesn't she?

"I don't think you should call him," said Marianne. "You don't know anything about him." Once Marianne had said that, I should have just ignored her backside. This was the same chick that would travel back and forth to Toronto to visit a man she barely knew. But, I started to doubt myself and whether or not I should call Will.

a) why couldn't he call me?
b) maybe he does have women at every port -- especially if he is a model. (I want to say 'male model' but that's so Zoolander-esque.)
c) if he is a model, why would he be interested in me? He's got to be lying. (Can you say no self-esteem?)


So, I never did call Will. And I never saw him again, either -- until about a year and a half later.

I was no longer working at Tandemar Research. I had lost contact with Carol (which was a shame). I was working at Young People's Press and had taken a mental health day. I was sitting at home watch videos on BET and Shanice Wilson's new video, When I Close My Eyes came one.

And I nearly fell off the couch. A solitary tear fell out of my eye and rolled down my cheek.

Will -- in all of his hotness -- was on the screen.

And a wave of regret washed over me.

I should have called.

He didn't lie. He was a model.

I didn't regret it because he was a model or because I think I missed out on anything (OK, maybe there is a tiny bit of regret associated with him being a model), but what I regret is that I let someone else influence my decision to the point that and I didn't call him. I didn't do what I wanted to do because I was worried about what other people thought and I didn't have enough confidence in myself to think my decision was worthwhile.

Yeah, he could have been a disgusting bugger and I may not have liked him. He may have been wonderful. But I have no idea what kind of person he is or was. If I didn't call Will, it should have been because I didn't want to call him, not because anyone else thought it was a bad decision.

So, I sat there and felt miserable about a lost chance.

That is my regret. I haven't seen him since and I'm sure things wouldn't be the same -- I'm a completely different person and I'm sure he is too -- if I did run into him on Bloor and Sherbourne. Although, I think I'm doing pretty well if not calling Will Lemay is my greatest regret.

Will, if you're reading this, sniff, you're still hot ;)

Thursday, January 06, 2005

How I almost didn't get home for Christmas: A comedy of errors brought to you by Jetsgo - Part I

I wrote this blog as I sat in my parents' home after the trial and tribulation of getting to Montreal. This is part one of a two part blog. Enjoy...

It's just about five o'clock Christmas afternoon and I'm sitting comfortably at my parents' dining table. After a harried Christmas Eve at Pearson International Airport thanks to the kiss-muh-ass airline, Jetsgo -- or Jets Don't Go if you are an irate passenger whose been sitting at the airport for 36 hours.

So, this long blog is dedicated to all the miserable holiday travellers who were at the airport or had to deal with delayed flights and especially those who couldn't make it home to friends and family.

Thursday, December 23
Lawd! It's snowing. And raining. And just miserable outside. A winter storm -- nothing out of the ordinary, really -- hit Southern Ontario. Being a born and bred Montrealer, a winter storm is just some snow -- put on your coat and boot and go along your merry way.

Well, in Toronto, it doesn't work like that.

The buses and street cars were barely running. The roads were bad and my sister wasn't going to work. As we watched Breakfast Television, we saw the confusion at the airport. Flights were delayed and cancelled and guess who was all up in the fray? Jetsgo.

Now, we had decided to fly to Montreal. Not because of any other reason than my sister didn't have any more vacation days. If we took the train, we wouldn't get into Montreal until the night of Christmas Eve. So, we found some cheap flight to Montreal on Jetsgo at 4 pm. We were scheduled to arrive at Trudeau International Airport at 5:15 pm.

Hmmph.

Anyway, the 'storm' (which was really just snow and ice. It was nothing like the Ice Storm of '98 -- now, that was a storm) ended Thursday afternoon. Being the naive traveller that I was, I believed that all the problems at the airport would be rectified by the time I was ready to fly out Friday afternoon. If I had only know, I would have scotched on a VIA train.

Friday, December 24 - before check in
I'm going home for Christmas! Yay! I'm going to get in at 5:15, go to my parents' house, freshen up, eat some black cake, get dressed, go to church and start my Christmas right!

I went to work and was back home by 12:21 pm. The boyfriend was coming to pick us up and take us to the airport. By 1 pm, we were on our way. We drove up Markham Rd. to the 401. As soon as we got on the 401, we were snarled in traffic.

C'mon. It's flippin' 1:15 in the afternoon on Christmas Eve, why is there traffic? The skies were bright blue, the roads were clear and dry and there were no accidents.

Foreshadowing, maybe.

Maybe the Lord was trying to send me a message -- don't go, child! There is still time to cut your losses and get a train. Or drive -- you'll be better off that way!

Alas, we did not heed the heavenly warning and we fought our way to the airport. Now, my sister is someone who like to get to the airport early, so I"m sure she was getting antsy as we eased our way along the 401. Finally at minutes to two o'clock, we rolled up to PIA. I breathed a sigh of relief. I said 'bye!' to the boyfriend (who I now believe is psychic 'cause he said, "If your plane doesn't leave, hee hee, call me") and headed inside.
Gasp.

Oh. My. Goodness. The line for Jetsgo snaked around the front of Terminal 3's entrance. My sister gave me a nasty look that said: "We should have gotten to the airport earlier!" Toots, I don't control the crazy, unforseen traffic jams in T.O. Relax -- we have a WHOLE two hours to check in. We got in line and actually, it was moving pretty quickly. We made fast friends with a lady named Susan who was standing behind us.

We all had the same fear -- sitting at the airport all night. Susan's niece was an angel in her very first Christmas pageant at 6:30 pm. My sister and I were looking forward to a candlelight Christmas service at 7:30. All of us should have gotten home in time for our Christmas Eve events.

And I should have taken Sociology as a minor in university. And I should have made the moves on hotboy Will Lemay when I had the chance (that's another blog, friends).

Shoulds don't add up to a whole heckuva lot.

A half an hour passed and we were half way through the line, which was moving quickly -- until, suddenly, three of the six ticket agents left. Just upped and left, with about 200 people in line waiting to check in. We tried to figure that out... tried to rationalize it: "they are behind the gate getting things ready for a flight that's ready to take off..."

Right.

So, the line inched along like traffic on the dratted 401. Forty-five minutes later -- maybe an hour? -- we were at the front of the line. It was about 3:15 pm and I was hungry, my feet were sore and I just wanted to check in and sit down. I wasn't too peeved, we had plenty of time to get to our gate and get home. I'm saying, the flight was leaving at four o'clock.

Ummm... no. When I turned around to survey the state of the evergrowing line, I saw that the electronic schedule board had changed. Our flight was now leaving at 5:30 pm.

Sigh. Five-thirty? Ok, I won't get pissy. I can deal with an hour and a half delay. I'll have a meal and by the time we're done eating, the plane would be ready to go.

As a ticket/check-in agent became available, my sister and I were about to step up, an announcement was made: "Any passengers on the 3:50 flight to Ottawa, please come to the front of the line for check-in." Suddenly, 60 people were lined up in front of my sister, Susan and I. We were NOT please. I understood that people needed to get on their flight, what I couldn't understand was why there were only three Jetsgo reps checking in hundreds of passengers. And, as time went on, more people were arriving at the airport, lining up to check in for their Jetsgo flight.

At about 4:30 pm -- after waiting two and a half hours in line, we were checked in. Cool. My sister and I went through security (guy, everything from my belt buckle to the zipper on my boots were setting the wand off.) But, why complain? I would be a few hours late, but soon I would be at home, eating black cake, drinking a hot cup of tea and having a few slice of ham. Until then, a Tim Horton's ham and cheese sandwich, a honey dipped doughnut and a medium coffee, triple-triple, would have to suffice.

Off to Gate B19 to eat my late lunch/early dinner. We saw Susan chilling out -- perturbed that she may miss her niece's Christmas pageant. But we'd all be home at a decent hour, early enough for me to watch CNN and get the NORAD report saying where Santa was along his journey. (Yes, I'm a big woman, but I like it. It's funny.)

At five o'clock, Susan rushed over to us. The flight's been changed! The flight's been changed! We are now scheduled to fly out of Toronto at 9:15 pm. What? Wait a minute -- there is NO snow, NO inclement weather in Toronto, Montreal or anywhere in between. What is the reason for a five hour delay? My blood began to boil -- I wanted to speak to someone because this now went from a minor annoyance to downright foolishness. So, an increasingly annoyed Urban Sista went to gate counter.

"Excuse me," I said.

"Uhn huh?" The rep didn't even look up. Guy, I understand you're busy, but this is certainly NOT good customer service.

"I'm on the four o'clock Jetsgo flight to Montreal, which has just been delayed until 9:15 tonight. Could you tell me what's the reason for the five hour delay?"

"Lack of aircraft."

WHAT? That doesn't sound right... that can't be right. I'm saying, you're running a big airline operation -- flying all over Canada and the U.S. -- and you don't have ENOUGH planes? It's not like Jetsgo started running yesterday. This airline has been around for at least two years. If you know December 24 is one of busiest travel days of the year, wouldn't you ensure that there are ENOUGH planes to take your passengers where they PAID to go?

But, then again, what do you expect for $1 fares? Obviously, Jetsgo ain't making ENOUGH money to ensure that there are ENOUGH planes to go around.

I headed back to my seat in front of gate B19 to give the scoop to my sister and Susan. As I told them what was going on, I saw a Jetsgo representative being escorted BY POLICE to gate B18. An irate group of passengers had surrounded the Jetsgo folks. Being curious and wanting to know what the heck was going on ('cause no one was telling us anything unless we pro-actively demanded information), the Urban Sista made her way over there.

"I want to know what's going on!" yelled a female passenger. She pointed to the police officer. "You tell me! I don't trust THESE people! They've been telling us lies ALL DAY!"

Dang. Somebody's mad at you.

"We're getting ready to commence boarding," said the female Jetsgo rep looking more than scared of the mini mob of 25 people.

"This is ridiculous," a woman muttered.

"How long have you been here?" I asked.

"We were supposed to leave for Cancun yesterday morning at six-thirty. They cancelled the flight and asked us to come back this morning. I got back here at eight-thirty this morning and we still haven't left. I've been here 36 hours."

Shoot. And I'm complaining about a five hour delay? Boy, I would be ready to cut someone if I was waiting on a plane for a full day and a half.

I saw a Black woman who was a Jetsgo rep. I thought, 'maybe, sister-to-sister, she could fill me in...' She did.

The scoop was: "The probability of a supervisor coming down here to talk to you is nil. What I can tell you to do is go back into the departure lounge and see if there are any other flights available with another airline."

Damn. When your own reps are directing your clients elsewhere things can't be good.

It didn't sound too promising at best. I thanked the woman for her honesty. After being behind the gate for two hours, this woman was the only one who would give us real information so I could make a decision.

My sister and I decided to try our luck in the departure lounge. Good grief, if you had seen the confusion out there. At that point, I should have just gotten my luggage and tried my luck elsewhere, but being a naive traveler, I wanted to investigate. So, I stood in the fray with about 75 people who were trying (trying being the operative word) to get to St. John's, Newfoundland. Their flight had been cancelled Thursday and delayed all day Friday. It seemed like the majority of these people had come to Toronto on connecting flights from out West (I'm sure many of the Toronto passenger went back to their respective yards) and didn't have anywhere to go. They had been waiting for almost two days at the airport. They had surrounded the Jetsgo employees and they weren't letting them go without answers.

It was like the Jetsgo Witch Hunt.

And someone was gonna get it.

Stay tuned for Part II...