Five things…

Ms. Becky Banton tagged me earlier this month and here I am to answer all the questions you wanted to know about me ;D

Remove the blog in the top spot from the following list and bump everyone up one place. Then add your blog to the bottom slot, like so.

1) ScienceWoman
2) Professor Me
3) Mon
4) BeckyBanton
5) Urban Sista

What were you doing 10 years ago?
Getting into the swing of university and figuring out what I wanted to do with my l ife.

What were you doing 1 year ago?
Writing and working.

Five snacks you enjoy:
1. Chocolate chip cookies
2. Chocolate mint ice cream
3. Chocolate cake
4. Coco bread
5. Doubles

Five songs to which you know all the lyrics:
1. I Like the Way (The Kissing Game) – Hi-Five
2. The Most Beautifullest Thing – Keith Murray
3. ’93 Til Infinity – Souls of Mischief
4. Silver and Gold – Kirk Franklin & The Family
5. Be Happy/Real Love – Mary J. Blige

Five things you would do if you were a millionaire (can it be mulit-millionaire? A million doesn’t go as far as it used to):
1. Pay off my mortgage
2. Pay off my parents’ mortgage.
3. Set up a college fund for the cousins
4. Buy a serious condo in Miami, a townhouse in Toronto and a bungalow in Barbados
5. Stop working and write books

Five bad habits:
1. Cracking my knuckles
2. Buying too many purses. Sigh. I love them all.
3. Worrying about things I have no control over
4. Trying not to ever hurt anyone’s feelings
5. Questioning my ability to write

Five things you like doing:
1. Reading good books
2. Writing
3. Cracking jokes
4. Watching reality TV
5. Shopping when I’m not on financial manners

Five things you would never wear again:
1. Fluorescent clothing
2. Hammer pants
3. Cowboy boots
4. Platform shoes (when you try to look too cute you fall down the subway stairs and shame yourself.)
5. Banana clips

Four favorite toys (couldn't think of the fifth one):
1. MP3 player
2. My computer (although it’s bruk down and needs to be replaced)
3. Pen and paper
4. DVD player

Where's the outrage?

Chantel Dunn was an upstanding girl -- she wasn't involved in any trouble and she didn't keep poor company. She had just received a promotion at work and, according to the Toronto Star, Chantel dreamed of attending law school.

She had dreams.

Unfortunately, she won't be able to achieve them because earlier this week, the 19-year-old was shot to death after a basketball game in the north end of Toronto.

My question is: where are all those loud talking politicians who had gun violence as part of the election campaigns? They were up in arms about how violent thugs were toting illegal guns and killing innocents in the heart of the city.

When 15-year-old Jane Creba was killed on Boxing Day while shopping with her family on Yonge St. it seemed that all of Toronto was angry and on the warpath to end gun violence.

Things are eerily quiet right about now.

Stephen Harper's too busy to say anything because he's organizing his new government. Paul Martin's quietly licking his wounds. Where's Jack Layton, champion of the urban dweller? Well, he's congratulating himself and his cabinet for winning those extra seats in the election. Where's police chief Bill Blair vowing to take down the criminals? Where's Mayor David Miller? Oh, he's at the TTC press conference telling me that I'm going to have to pay more to travel by stinking bus.

Where are the throngs of concerned citizens creating makeshift memorials at the site of the murder? Where are all the protests and marches?

Where's the outrage?

Man, Chantel's death wasn't even one of the top stories on last night's news. I think that's when I really started to get angry about it. Jane Creba's death was a hot topic for a good three weeks -- Chantel's been dead, what? Three days? And already it's archived as murder #3 or 4 for 2006?

Last night on CityTV, I heard about the Grammys, the young woman and child who drowned to death in Bradford this past weekend and the TTC fare hike before mention of Chantel's death.

It's kinda eye-opening.

I know I shouldn't be shocked or surprised that Chantel's death is now a footnote and didn't create the public fervor that Jane's death did -- although it is the same situation: innocent teen gunned down in public because she was at the wrong place.

It feels like people don't give a damn when a Black youth is killed. Maybe it does take a young white girl to die to make people care about what's happening. Maybe it's alright when it's only our children and young people being killed. Maybe Jane's death stayed top news for so long 'cause it was election time.

I hope not.

I hope no more Jane Crebas or Chantel Dunns have to die for people to remember.

I remember you, Chantel. And I remember you, Livvette. And I remember all of the people who are being killed over ignorance in this city -- that includes you, Jane.

Rest in peace.

Our children aren't puppies, madam.

I don't know if this woman's decision to feed starving African children dog food was based in racism -- maybe I'm being naive. There must be some kind of innate racism to make her say that because would she have offered dog food to starving children in Denmark?

Let me not trouble the Danes too much as the militant Muslims are wildin' out on their backsides right now over so-called blasphemous cartoons. That, my friends, is another blog.

But while some people are screaming racism, let's take another look at the situation: millions are dying. They need food. This woman, who owns a dog food company, offered something -- which is a lot more than some other people have offered. The way she sees her dog food -- nutritious, vitamin-rich, filling -- is, obviously, the not the way others may see it.

Now, should she have offered dog food? Eventhough she says she eats it herself? Hell no. That's just insulting. Maybe offering feed to the cattle in Kenya to help fatten them up so the Kenyans could have a meal would make more sense... it would take more time and more people would die, but it would make sense.

Offering money to buy food would have been better, but I don't know how this woman's pocket is. She may not have the extra liquid cash to donate.

What I do know is if you are starving, your pride won't stop you from eating because your survival instincts will kick in. I've read about people drinking urine to quench their thirst because they just wanted to live.

So, this is a blog about life or death. If no one else is offering, do you eat dog food and live or do you turn up your nose and die?

Grrr...I'm frustrated

You better believe I'm frustrated! How do you get a book published in this so-and-so country? I think I'm a good writer, but so does everyone else, so I knew it was going to be difficult. But I've read a lot of the crap out there that's either chick lit or African-American fiction and I'm not impressed.

But, damn! When you don't even hear back from people saying, 'dog, it sucked,' it really makes you question your ability to express yourself using pen and paper. I'm saying, send me a so-and-so format email saying my work should be used in kitty litter, that's all I'm asking for.

Dang it, I just need to put something out there before I go crazy or something. This is part of one of the chapters... Am I crazy or does it read like something decent?

After 15 minutes of fighting, we came to a compromise, we were going to spend two hours at the flea market, then we were going to Jamaica Ave., then we, said troublemaking children, wanted to go to a mall.

We arrived at the flea market and it was just that, a flea market. We got some good deals, but I had come to New York to spend time at Victoria’s Secret, Express, Limited and Forever 21. Those were my stores.

I loved them.

I wanted to spend some quality time perusing the wares.

But, no. As we took our purchases back to the bus at noon – we were all supposed to return to the bus for 12, I had a sinking feeling that we weren’t going to be leaving anytime soon.

Why, you ask?

Well, maybe because there were only six people one the bus. The rest didn't waltz back until 1:30 pm. I was blazing mad ('cause the bright bus drivers opened the sun roof and the noon-day sun was baking me like chicken wing).

Finally, everyone was on the bus with all of their parcels and we went down to Jamaica Ave. But the bus drivers didn't know which part of Jamaica Ave. to drop us off at. Oh, the smarts those two had -- instead of flirting with us at the hotel, maybe they could have looked on a map or asked the hotel concierge a question.

So, we spent a good half an hour driving aimlessly up and down the road. Finally, at 2 pm, we parked and they let us out. At first, I was pleased. There was an Old Navy and a Gap -- we thought, "mall!" But, alas, I was disappointed again. I spent three hours walking up and down Jamaica Ave. I got a pair of $5 shoes and some hair products for my sister.

It's now five pm on a hot, summer afternoon in NYC.

I should be cursing myself for spending all of my American money, but that wasn't the case. The bunch of unruly, disgusted, own-way brats we were rolling with wanted to go to Pitkin Ave.

What happened to the mall?

It's after five pm; the stores on the street are going to be closed. But a mall will be open until at least 9 pm. No, no one listened to my voice of reason -- that would make must too much sense. Off to Pitkin Ave. we went and, as we predicted, every darned thing was closed. So, now I'm tired, unwashed, vex and sour because I couldn't get to a Victoria’s Secret -- the one store I was dreaming of doing some damage in.

“Everyone!” Jane stood up at the front of the bus. “We’re going to stop for dinner.”

My face lit up because all I had consumed for the day was a hotdog, a Special K bar and some lemonade and I knew Debbie and Monica hadn’t eaten much more. The bus pulled up to a gas station and a Popeye's and we're told: "go get some chicken and come back to the bus."

I almost died.

Rudy and Co. had already called us 'posh' and I really don't think I am posh, but Popeye's at a gas station? That's just not right.

After the trip down, we couldn't go to proper place and have a bite? I had to get greasy chicken after I spent the entire day hungry and tired? You don't do people like that – especially people who paid good money.
The best part, the Popeye's was in the projects -- at least as project-like as I've ever seen – some rough looking guys were standing outside the restaurant watching the bus.

Oh no.

Not my little posh tail. I wasn’t leaving that bus. Sorry, if I sound scared for my skin, I am, but I ain’t trying to mess with no mean looking men outside of the Popeyes’ in the projects, OK. I don’t care who calls me posh, stush, too nice, whatever.

“This is crap,” said Debbie. She pulled out her cellphone.

“Who are you calling?” I asked. I was starting to feel faint from a hunger headache.

“My cousin. I need a proper meal. This is foolishness – I know this wasn’t a good idea.”

I can’t say that I disagree.