Not Just Gang Members, Human Beings

This weekend I watched the documentary Crips and Bloods: Made in America, and let me tell you...I cried. I'll explain.

See, I'm of the school of "Don't give the cops a reason and you'll be FINE" and have never really put any credence in the ghetto mentality of The Man keeping "us" down. I grew up in the ghetto in the heart of the crack era and it didn't keep me down. I always joke about The Man, but I've never considered him a real threat.

Enter this fakakta documentary.



I was sitting there listening to these former and current gang member discuss their experiences and world views and you know what? I get it. If I had been told, at any point in my life, that I couldn't do something just because of the color of my skin or because of where I live, I would be bitter, too. If I had been stopped by the police everyday just for not being in my own neighborhood, I'd be angry, too. If my neighbors and kids were being gunned down in the street everyday while the cops did nothing to really prevent it, I'd feel hopeless, too. And if my environment offered no opportunities to better my situation, I'd give no fucks about life, too.

And if there was no one around to tell me about my options, offering me a way out, and only found comfort and protection from a local gang, I'd see no problems with making violence my way of life, too. I'd barely feel human!

These are young men and women being born into and growing up in a culture of constant harassment and poverty and depression, contained by invisible walls. And just outside that wall is freedom and happiness, but god forbid you cross the wrong street.

One former gang member said it best, when discussing the Watts and LA riots, stating that the police and National Guard didn't scare them because they were used to a cycle of guns and violence every damn day. The riots were just an extension of that. I couldn't even imagine that kind of life. I could hold back my tears no more.

The documentary did highlight the grassroots efforts afoot to help get these kids off the streets and out of the cross-hairs of the LAPD, and it did offer some hope, but without the backing of city, state and federal officials and funding, it's barely a drop in the bucket.

Toward the end, one former Crip, in an effort to reach the young gang members, looks into the camera with tears in his eyes (so of course by now I'm inconsolable) and says:

"Your reward for gang-banging is to be crippled, lamed, for life. Your greatest reward is life, plus forty years. Your ultimate reward for gang-banging is death. And you don't come back from that."

But after watching the documentary, though, I have to ask...what if death is better than what you have to come back to? Wouldn't gang-banging be a walk in the clouds?

*smooches...finally getting it*
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also, fuck the PO-lice!

This Brand Means______

Recently I sat in on a little presentation by AIGA/NY on in-house branding and marketing teams (of which I'm a part of at work). Not something you'd think I'd be into, huh? Well, when offered the opportunity to attend, two thoughts crossed my mind:

1- I really like my job, and anything I can do or learn to be a real contribution and asset to the organization is more than welcome on my TO DO list.

and

2- This blog, and everything I do under the Jaded Empire umbrella, is my brand, so it would serve me well to run it as best I can.

While the panelists- Jeffrey Keyton of MTV, Sandra Monteparo of Victoria's Secret Beauty, and Steve Rura from Google Creative Labs- discussed how their in-house teams work their magic, I sat there and applied what I could to me, my job and my blog. Things that came up included staying fresh in the consumers' eyes, avoiding burnout and what it takes to run a successful team. It was especially timely as I prepared to embark on yet another professional endeavor (that I'll share with you all soon).

All the while I also had in mind a few tweets I'd received lately, tweets that associated my Jaded brand with machetes, speaking Spanish and being angry all the time. Is that what my name makes people think of? For realzz?? I'm not sure that's all I want to be known for. I mean, sure, I'd like you to know that I would not hesitate to take your life if you come at me, but I don't want it to be the only thing you know me for. Maybe it's time to reevaluate the message I'm putting out into the web-o-sphere.

So you guys tell me- when you think of The Jaded NYer, besides envying my total existence and/or lusting after me something awful, what images and concepts are conjured up in your mind's eye? Leave it in the comments!

*smooches...actually seeking feedback*
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'cause y'all know usually I give nan a rat's ass what y'all have to say...lol!

An Open, Horizontal, Leaderless Process? Ummm...

I watched this clip and just laughed and laughed and laughed...



...and then I got a little sad because this screams of "Animal Farm" and "Lord of the Flies" and yeah, I'll say it, a little bit like communism. This is the movement that is supposed to represent me? I don't know, son, I just don't know...

*smooches...sitting back and taking in the organized chaos*
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and the hypocrisy of some of these protesters! HMPH
shout out to The F$%k-it List for passing it on.

Life's Poo-Pooers

There is much unavoidable unpleasantness in life- taxes, vomit, rats on the subway platform- but none is more annoying than a person raining on your parade. You know these people well. Sometimes they're related to you. Other times they're your best friend or coworker or spouse. Occasionally it's even a rude stranger at the mall. Trust me they're everywhere and their main directive in life seems to be: SHIT ON EVERY PLAN YOU MAKE.

They complain about the caterer you chose for your wedding. "Oh, so you're NOT having a shrimp appetizer? But everyone loves the shrimp appetizer!" BITCH- are you paying for it? NO? Then have a tall glass of Shut The Fuck Up to wash down your crudités.

They side eye you when you substitute unhealthy food items for something more wholesome during brunch. "Oh look at Miss Fancy Pants getting the side salad! You're too good for potatoes all of a sudden?" [INSERT COLD STARE HERE]

And they always have a sideways comment for you, masked as a joke, said in a sarcastic tone in a public forum, that puts you down in some way, shape or form. "Oh is that the dress you wore at last year's Christmas party and to Susan's baby shower and to Karl's retirement dinner? Wow, you're really getting your money's worth on that one!" [prays to White Baby Jesus for some patience]

You get to the point where you don't ever bother sharing news with these people because you already know they're not going to be happy for you and they're not going to cheer you on. You got accepted to a doctoral program at Brown? They'll point out that you don't know anyone in Rhode Island and how your mom is old and has no one to take care of her but "Oh you must be so happy!" You're pregnant? "Well there goes your body and your freedom!" No one wants to be around that all the time. It's frustrating and it kills all the good vibes in the room.

But mostly it points out how truly miserable that person must be in their own life that, instead of being happy for others' good hair days or job promotions, they automatically find something negative to say.

I'm starting to notice these poo-pooers with every positive change I make in my life and you know what I've concluded? I must be doing everything right!

*smooches...living my life like it's golden*
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because it is...

I'm Conceited. I Got A Reason.

Towards the end of the summer, one of my Twitter buds, Dash Harris, asked if I'd participate in a documentary she was putting together about Afro-Latinos and their identity issues. Yesterday she sent out a sneak peak of "Negro: A Docu-Series About Latino Identity" and there I was in all my curly-haired, dark-beigey, Brooklyn-accented glory.


In this episode I show up at the 20:00min mark,
but you should really watch the whole thing.

Yeah, I'm gassed. Especially because my "credit" says writer. HATE ON ME, HATERS!

Oh and if you're feeling generous and want to help fund Dash's project, click here.

*smooches...slowly conquering my fear of public speaking*
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never in a million years did I think I'd agree to have my image immortalized in a film project where I'd have to speak words and shit. I blame Yoga! lol

According To Jaded: The Birds & The Bees

I recently gave the homie Joshen a bit of a pre-date pep talk. Here's hoping everything worked out for him and his young lady...

ME: Do we need to have "The Talk" or are you covered?

Joshen: Hmmmmm nah I don't want to take any chances, lets have the talk.

ME: Well, when a man and a woman love each other very much they share a special hug. And that special hug plants a seed in the woman's belly. And 9mos later a product of their love is born.

Joshen: God that's how it works? I've been hugging everyone. What if we hug but I'm wearing my winter coat will the seed still go inside her? I hugged my dad yesterday. Jesus why do people let me hug them?!

ME: OMG I left out the most important part- it has to be a naked hug. Don't worry- your dad is safe!

*smooches...educating the masses, one hugger at a time*
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I really must remember to lead with the naked hugging part; I freak out a lot of little kids with this "talk"

"Recuerda Se Ven Las Caras Y Jamás El Corazón"

Remember in the film Mean Girls, how badly Cady, Janis and Damian kinda really wanted to infiltrate the Plastics? And who could blame them? Those girls had power, were attractive and could always be found at the center of COOL. From the outside looking in, the Plastics were the bees' knees (c) School of Rock.

But upon closer inspection, they were riddled with low self-esteem, eating disorders, misdirection and inner UGLY. When I first saw this movie I thought how lucky I felt that Brooklyn Tech didn't really have this sort of division amongst the student population- it's kinda hard to act tough and cool at a school for nerds. (Negro, we ALL KNOW you took a test and passed it to get in here. We KNOW you be studying. Ain't no future in frontin'!!)

Little did I know I'd encounter these stereotypes as an adult. Isn't that sad? But yeah, I found myself caught up in their plastic world, just like Cady. I was blinded by the glitz, caught up in the glamour, enamored with their image and lifestyle, until I finally snapped out of it.

My awakening began last year and continued into this summer. I just woke up one day and realized a lot of these people are full of shit. They don't really care about anyone but themselves and LIVE to judge and put down, dangling their imagined and supposed popularity and notoriety as a weapon instead of recognizing it as an opportunity to do some good. Basically, they were fake-ass fakers and I HARDLY have the time or energy to deal with them as a whole.

Sure, I met many a genuine person through this ordeal, some whom I consider friends. But the rest of these mofos can kick rocks. Don't invite me anywhere if it means I have to schmooze with you. Feel free to say hi and air kiss me when we see each other but know that I will not ask you how you are because I don't care how you are, just like I know you don't care how I am and probably relish at all my misfortunes and sit at home wishing poxes upon my houses (but that could just be the vanity speaking LOL).

Hopefully the day will never come when you will need something from me. Surely my sense of right and wrong and retribution will be tested: do I behave like a vindictive little brat and turn you down, relishing in the fact that now I have something over YOU? Or do I just avoid any negative karma and help you? UGH! That will be tough.



And yes, I do understand that like the Plastics, many of these folks are also scared of not being liked, and their behavior is a way to cover that up. I get that. I feel for them. I wish they'd been hugged more as children. Told they were pretty or handsome. Praised for the things they do well and corrected when they went astray. However I can't be everyone's mother or shrink. If you're an adult, grow up. I empathize with your inner child's hurt and anguish, but I don't have to put up with it.

Not at all.

So I won't.

*smooches...gettin all ballsy now that I submitted my 1st story*
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I wonder what will happen if I actually get published?! sheeeiiittttt, I might just go around calling people out their name...lol

Why I Wear Pants: An Anthropological Study of Myself

As a little girl my mother dolled me up in the most adorable dresses from the best department stores in NYC and the Dominican Republic. I can't say that I ever minded- I look back on those days and don't remember ever pitching a fit about my clothes (except for my school uniform but that was different. NO ONE likes catholic school uniforms except maybe dirty old men!).

Maybe it was because we were taught to just blindly obey our elders OR because my mom had pretty good taste in clothes; can't be sure. Whatever the case, if you look through our family photo albums nine times out of ten you will find me in a dress.

Somewhere along the way that changed.

Once the glorious day came when I was allowed to FINALLY attend public school, what did I want more than anything in the world as we went school-clothes shopping? Jeans!! The more basic the better. And T-shirts. And sweaters. All different colors and patterns. As long as it wasn't a dress.

I carried this mentality with me into my hippie-grunge-treehugger college years, when I was known for my over-sized flannel shirts, overalls, Vans and hemp shoes. My wardrobe was all about comfort and relaxation and PANTS. When I started looking for work after college my mom gave me a couple of skirt suits and I hated them, and made a conscious choice to only seek non-corporate positions that would let me wear pants. And that I did! I bought slacks and khakis in all manner of fabrics and colors and was in pants heaven.

After reading Bangs and a Bun's blog post on American vs European fashion sense, I really started to wonder what is my aversion to wearing dresses and skirts on a regular day? And you guys know when I start to obsess about an idea I OBSESS! I started looking through my closet for signs that I was more open-minded with my wardrobe. I looked at old photos. I even looked at the clothes I buy my daughters and it all zeroed in on one point: I'm biased against dresses and skirts, and I may have made my children biased, too.

Here's my expert scientific finding on my fashion behavior. With pants or jeans, I'm not required to adhere to any traditional female behaviors. I can sit any way I want without fear that my undies will be exposed, I don't fear a gust of wind and I can NEVER buy another pair of nylons EVER again. I can also steer clear of high-heeled shoes, which are the usual accompaniment to a dress or a skirt (flats just look WRONG). And if I don't have to wear high heels I can walk faster, run faster, take the stairs two at a time and, let's be real here, save my knees and my back and my feet loads of injuries.

In a pair of pants I honestly do feel equal with a man. Think about it- a man and woman are walking side by side. He's wearing his comfortable pants and Oxfords or whatever, but she's in a pencil skirt and 3" heels. He's able to take bigger strides, admire the beauty in the streets around him and still look sharp while being at ease. Meanwhile, the poor woman can only take half strides because the pencil skirt only allows for baby steps, and she has to be Uber-aware of a possible rip in her nylons and subway and/or sewer grates that will kill her shoes, not to mention the discomfort she has had to train herself to ignore that comes with the unnatural way she has to walk in 3" heels.

You tell me- what's attractive about that? Why don't MORE women just join me in the Blue Jeans Party?

I will admit that a dress looks nice on me. And if I need an ego boost I just have to walk through the city in one and a pair of heels. But that's just it- I've always had a problem with being judged on looks, partly because I'm self-conscious about mine and partly because I know they will fade, so I'd rather be judged (if at all) on non-physical attributes. That sort of vanity, while fine for others, is just not my cup of tea. Don't look at me. Don't holla at me in the street. Don't tell me I have nice legs. GO AWAY!

Unfortunately for me the Universe thought it would be a HOOT to bestow upon me certain endowments that will not allow for blending in the crowd but goddammit if I don't give it the good old-fashioned college try! And part of that effort includes making my wardrobe as gender-neutral as I can. Which means: I wear pants.

The End.

*smooches...with tomorrow's pants already pressed and laid out*
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the only time I actually voluntarily wear a dress is when it's really hot outside, and that's just for practical reasons, not because of any fashion sense on my part.