rehab.

I messed up.

I just realized that since the opening of my Blogspot, I've spent a lot of time in front of Idiot Box².

B.K.A my PC.

Consistently I've come to this little ass screen, typing my fingers to exhuastion for...

...that's the problem.

I have no idea what for.

And now I feel bad because I just glanced at my journal. It hasn't been touched since (an amount I'd rather keep anonymous).

Break time already?

:)

Maybe not.

Just a moment, though.

(deuces.)

ill doctrine is for the children!

Jay Smooth.

He's pretty dope.
Carries a Bobbito type vibe; to me, that is. LOL, maybe? Not so much.
And his site is pretty dope as well.
hiphopmusic.com

btw: McCain's defeatist attitude is just downright sexy. LMAO. It's in the bag, folks. Let's just not do anything too image damaging for another 6 days, and we've got this.

(deuces.)

Walk Hard.

So, I wrote yesterday about a blackout at my job and a power outage at my house. I also mentioned that no power meant no heat, so imagine my frustration when I got home--at 5:30-- only to discover that the power was still out. There was virtually nothing to do, so I grabbed a candle and perched on my bed to get ready for some intense reading/writing/alone time. Fast forward to right now (currently 1:19pm), and I'm sick as a dog. The power finally came back on last night a little after 8pm, so I'm assuming that those annoying germs decided to make their move on my immune system between the time of my getting home, and waking up from my nap around 8:15.
Now I'm sitting in the house, quarintining myself; trying to find something On Demand. I feel like laughing, because nasal congestion is already depressing enough, so I find some comedies to narrow down my search. Bam. Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story. I never went to see it when it came out in theaters; I was a little skeptical of how funny it would really be; and when it started coming on cable I only caught bits and pieces of it. But now, I've finally grabbed the chance to watch it from beginning to end.
I laughed so hard the congestion disappeared.
The movie isn't split-your-side-funny...unless you're a fan of dry humor, sarcasm and subliminal jokes. The messages in this movie are worth paying attention to, and the delivery of each one is pretty creative. I dug it.

One of my favorite scenes. I'm not supporting/condoning/admitting to anything, but this is genius.

Back to my homemade herbal tea, chicken broth and movie watching.

(deuces.)

wind wins by tko!

So...I'm typing this at work. We're getting some Chi Town styled wind in B-More, and the electricity at my house is out.
*sigh*
This means...no XBOX, which means no Halo, no Rock Band, CoD4; no internet, no blogspot, no TV...and NO HEAT!!!
Noooooo bueno. Seriously.
I'm lucky to be typing this at work, we had a blackout here for a few minutes. Everyone started screaming like we're in some bad horror flick. Chillax. This is the library. All the kids are devastated because they have to...dun dun dun!!! Re-type their Myspace comments!
>= give me a break.
Ugh!
Moms just texted me. I asked her if the electricity was still out...it was before I left for work, hours ago.
"Yup...and if it's still off at 7:30, I'm going to the movies to see Pride and Glory!"
Hip hip, hooray.
Looks like I'll be reading Exodus and writing a few poems for the rest of the day. No biggie. Need some poem postage to bring some life to this blog anyway! Ha! I always prevail!
Too much? Maybe?
Probably. But here goes nothing...10 minutes left in my work day, so I'm outtie.

(deuces.)

BTW: My coworker just asked me, "What's your blog title about?" Tsk tsk...

"....gangstas walk, pimps gon' talk; ohhh, hecky nawl; that boy is raw..."

hip hop heads know this. ;)

And Bush-Bostic?

You're welcome.

candy.

O_o
So...I'm uber hyper right now.

The cause?

These little bastards here.

Please note: I don't even like Gummi Bears. Never had a taste for them. But I had some a few hours ago when the taste for something sweet surfaced...and they were there.

What the hell have I been missing?! I've been on this earth for 23 years and I can count (on one hand!) my gummie encounters.

And these things are probably horrible for me; they're basically bear-shaped crack.

Have I stifled myself? Sheesh.

I feel like an addict.

Because I've got a new bag right in front of me.

(deuces.)

-btw: (decues.) as my ending for my blogs? maybe? i don't have one yet, so i'll try this out.

wrap it up, b!

So...it's been a few days. My bad. BUT...it's all for good reason.

Friday was my BIRTHDAY!

23 like Jordan. >:D

I really didn't expect to do/get much for my birthday; I'm at those "in between" years when you should basically thank God for living another year, and do whatever you feel is necessary to celebrate. No parties. However, I was proven wrong all weekend as I partied until I was floored! I believe the partying started Thursday night, and it was nowhere but up from there. Went and caught Saw V on Friday night, just a small group of folks; myself, Scuba Steve, my brother and his girl, a homeboy of mine and some old college friends of mine. I was invited to a surprise party on Saturday night, and Sunday, after Nu World's show; I threw a little gathering for the cast at my cousin's house.

Just basic stuff, but being surrounded by the folks I love made everything much more fun. Also took my mind off some depressing thoughts, as I will always remember my 21st birthday and the days surrounding it more vividly than any other birthday, ever. The events that occured before/after my 21st are not something I would wish to relive again, and ever since I've been finding myself, around 10/08, getting sadder and sadder. Definitely wasn't the case this year, so I'm beginning to feel like the curse has been broken!

My gifts were quite possibly the most kickass gifts I've gotten, not due to material value (BLAH), but simply because of who they came from. I'm a sneaker freak...and my brother bought me the first pair of Js I've ever owned. (LMAO@ that sentence. It is cool for black people to have never owned Jordans, right? People looked at me like I was crazy when I said I've never had a pair...not because I couldn't afford them, just not really into them. Gimme a pair of Chucks and we're good.) Moms got me a couple items from Zumiez and H&M, and pops slid some money my way, so more shopping was definitely in order come Saturday. I didn't ask for much...well, I didn't ask for anything, really; nothing specific that I wanted/needed, so whatever I got was a surprise to me. But...Gift of the Year Award has to go to Scuba Steve.

-two cards with mushy "i love you/you're my world/insert corny stuff here" content inside. one written by maya angelou, courtesy of hallmark

-tye die skirt with Rasta colors

-necklace with a sun pendant (he calls me "sunshine" *cheesy grin*)

-bottle of Patron XO Cafe (probably should be considered an alcoholic for loving this gift, but screw it; i like Patron. And XO Cafe is something I experienced once, and enjoyed...and I guess talked about too much? Maybe.)

And this took the cake.

Yes! A framed Angela Davis photo!

I don't call people "idols", but I will say that Ms. Davis is my inspiration. I've been writing to her, trying to find out if she's going to be speaking on the east coast, reading about her; for years. When I pulled this out of my bag, I almost cried. And the gifts may not seem like a lot to some, but I'm pretty simple when it comes to gift. Some people probably lie when they say this, but the thought really does count! And Angela's the best gift ever.

10/24 is now in the books.

crazy ass cat not included.

*side note* I'm sending my thoughts and prayers out to Jennifer Hudson. This has absolutely NOTHING to do with this blog, but I'm looking at cnn.com, and they just reported that the SUV's been found; possibly with the body of a little black boy inside. Sick, sick world we're living in.

sweet life...must be somewhere for me!

"No sun will shine in my day today; (no sun will
shine)

The high yellow moon won't come out to play(that
high yellow moon won't come out to play)

I said (darkness) darkness has covered my
light,

(and the stage) And the stage my day into night,
yeah.

Where is the love to be found?
(oo-ooh-ooh)

Won't someone tell me?'Cause my (sweet life) life
must be somewhere to be found -(must be somewhere for me)Instead of concrete
jungle (la la-la!),Where the living is harder (la-la!)."

-Bob Marley and the Wailers, "Concrete Jungle"

This guy?

Saved my life on many occasions.
Bob's pretty friggin awesome. I've always been a listener/lover; my parents raised me up on the Wailers, and I remember cleaning up the house on Saturday mornings (in a big ass Garfield nightgown) chanting about "burning and ah looting". But with age comes wisdom (hopefully) and now instead of polishing furniture, I'm listening to Bob tell the very stories my heart has known since before I arrived on this earth.
The past couple of weeks have been pretty rough for me, for various reasons, but I'm just noticing that I picked up on my frequent listening to this wonderful prophet/musician/man. He's actually helped me make it through some days where I really didn't feel like doing anything but laying in the bed and throwing a non-stop pity party. Marley's like...the world's most famous griot. Seriously.

Bottom Line: Robert Nesta Marley is dope. And if you don't know...you need to. And...if you're not spitting some semblance of the knowledge of this man, you're damn sure wasting your time talking to me.

:) Thanks.

-BTW. If I had been born...maybe in the early/late 50s...I would have married this man. I swear it.

we've got this.

So...last Monday? HORRIBLE.
Won't get into specifics...not necessary...and dwelling on the negative is soooo...negative.
Had a close call with Scuba Steve.
But, we're cool.
Lots of tears shed, from mine and his eyes.
(sorry if I made you seem soft, babe; but I wanna tell this story)
What I do love most about Monday is the simple fact that we were adults about the whole situation. No raised voices, no words said that were better left unsaid. Just raw emotion. And hurt feelings.
I told him I was disappointed. But...if we are both willing to communicate, no matter the circumstance, then things would work between us. It won't be easy, but if we both love eachother like we say we do, there's no problem we can't conquer together. Granted, the situation presented should have left one of us pissed off, and one hurting (you figure out who), but here are some things I learned during this relationship:

-My trust issues still linger, no matter how much I may convince myself otherwise.

-My love for him is really the strongest I've ever encountered.

-I really am a patient person.

-Communication, or lack thereof, will either make or break your relationship.

-No matter how much I may have cursed him in my mind (the few times I did, ha), or say "I swear, if he...then I'm gonna do..."...my logic (and my heart) kicks in before I have a chance to carry any of this out.

-Arguing takes more effort than solving the problem...when in love. I say this because when you argue, you find yourself not wanting to say/do certain things that may be further damaging to your situation; so matter how hurt you are, understand that more damage than what's already been done is really pointless.

Learned a lot more, but this is just the basis. I'm just glad we're slowly but surely working our way back to %100.

The random "I'm sorry" text messages makes the glue to put us back together.

And...there's no point in staying mad if, at the end of the day, he says "Babe, I love you" and I say "I love you, too."

That's pretty much the only thing that matters.

so...what had happened was...

My bad.

I've been slacking with the blog postage.

But let me just say, for the record...

...last week was probably the roughest week I've had. All year.

For starters:

Monday: Fight and potential breakup with Scuba Steve.

(problem solved, maybe a blog on that later. I'm looking at it now, actually...waiting to be edited. Yeesh.)

Tuesday: Small fight with the best friend about the fight with the boyfriend.

(problem solved. dodged a bullet. again.)

Wednesday: Fight with moms. Need I say more?

(problem solved; i just chalk up moms trippy episodes to "the change". cruel? maybe.)

Thursday: Car trouble, almost missed work.

(problem...not solved. transmission may be going up. and that's a grip to fix. ugh!)

The rest of the week was just me nearly killing my brain with overanalyzing the arguments; "what ifs" and "whys" taking over every part of my brain. Not cool.

I'd like to blog about most of this, but it's still all too much for me to process at one time. To top it off, yesterday was officially the 2nd year since my godmother's passing. A godmother may not seem like much to some, hell, I know people who don't have godparents; but this particular woman played a major part in shaping the mold that is my life. Working on something about that, too. See? Too much!

I also need to (finally!) post another video on my YouTube channel. *sigh*

Promise I'm gonna start catching up on this stuff.

♥

pssst. one thing I will say about last monday: I learned another reason why love is a double edged sword. And I also learned why estrogen has its cons sometimes.

;)

it really does, though.

10/24....the dopeness arrived.

a haha halloween.

The story behind the picture:

http://www.stargazette.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20081014/NEWS01/810140328&referrer=FRONTPAGECAROUSEL

Symbolism is a wonderful thing, eh?

I swear, if I was younger...me and a friend would definitely rock these costumes. Together. And go trick-or-treating.

Shock value, folks.

;)

fall.

I've always been a fan of every season for their own different reasons. I love the possibilty of traveling in the summer, the beach and the amusement parks; the cool breeze and new life of spring; the cuddle time, and snow patterns of winter. But there's just something about fall that pulls me in. Nevermind the fact that I AM a fall baby (Scorpios, let's go! (;), but to me, fall just embodies everything I love about nature, life, etc. and puts it into 3 blissful months for me to enjoy. Yayy, God.

As a child, I spent a lot of my playtime outside, and as I dig further into those recesses of my mind, I realize that the majority of my memories are conjured during the fall. I remember discovering that tomboy energy I had when I met my first playmate Keith. We built flaky, colorful forts made of the falling leaves from the tall trees surrounding our small cul-de-sac. As I got older, the games got a little more sophisticated, and the number of boys in the area increased; so we played tackle football and "army" at the little field in the middle of our block. Mounds of damp leaves always provided as good cushion for me when the boys wanted to be a little too rough on the only girl playing outside. Walking to school always held the promise of watching leaves of different colors mingle onto cars and side streets. And I discovered my love for writing and poetry sitting on a mountain of red, brown and orange leaves mom had just raked up earlier that day. My first journal entry consisted of a lot of misspellings, incorrect grammar and immature subjects, but it was mine nonetheless.

Fall has also been host to some not-so-great times in my life, i.e. my near death experience, paternal issues that my family made it through miraculously, and more recently the death of a woman whose impact on my life and others' lives will never be surpassed.

All seasons represent change, but fall represents what's in between that change. The temperature transitions to a mild warmth, free of humidity. Leaves fall to the ground in preparation for the new cluster to sprout from the trees, while some plants either die or cease growth to prepare for the harsh winter. Fall is full of metaphors, similies, analogies, rhythm and stories.

Fall is the ultimate poem I am desperate to write.

missed calling?

No matter how hard I try, I can't escape the kids.

The few jobs that I've had, with the exception of one, centers around children/teenagers. Did I miss the memo?

Brief background: I've been performing since the age of 6, with a company called Children of Liberation. After that, we started getting grants through John Hopkins and the city, and later our name became Nu World Art Ensemble. I've been doing mentorship programs through Nu World since the age of 13. As of today, I've worked at an elementary/middle school, a high school, and have done more than 100 mentoring programs through Nu World. The only job I've had (ever) that didn't involve children was working at Comcast...which I hated with a passion.

So now, I'm working at a library, which is something I've always wanted to do. Call it the geek in me. I'm approached by this man, one of our regular customers, and he'd like me to work with him writing a grant for--you guessed it--a youth program. I'm blessed that dude felt like he could approach me about it, lets me know that I'll always have a connection with those younger than me, no matter how old I get.

Check it though; my passion is music.

Don't get me wrong, I love working with children; love the fact that people younger than me (and some older) see me as a role model. But it seems as if the harder I work and grind toward my career goal, the closer I get pushed into something involving kids! I recently got offered another position at the library, a job I just started; as Head of the Teen Advisory Board. Bam. There it is again.

Did I miss my calling? Or am I simply avoiding it? Just something I've been wondering about lately.

But I can't leave the music alone! At all! Just can't do it; it's in my blood. So, maybe I'm going to be that person to use my music and still connect with the youth.

Or...maybe I'm that person that's supposed to mold the minds of this already lost generation. Young people's minds are so impressionable today, well they've always been, really; and according to most people I get rave reviews in helping children find themselves with no limitations.

Is the rebel with a cause supposed to bring up other rebels? And if I am, can I at least do it "subliminally" through my music?

who writes for the writer?

And I'm not talking about a ghostwriter.

Call me cocky...

but who's going to write about me?

Let me rephrase: who's going to write something for me?

Took a look at some of my past and present (more likely future) works.

I've dedicated a good bulk of my stories/poetry/journals to the lives of other people.

Sadly; more specifically, men.

But, I started to think...where's my poem?

I mean...I get the occasional "Za's dope" from my male buddies...

...is it wrong for me to want something on paper?

I wanna be swept off my feet by some mean ass metaphors.

I wanna snap my fingers to some long ass line too deep for me to truly comprehend, but I grasp it anyway.

I want someone to hear something someone wrote and say, "Oh yeah, that's definitely about Za!"

Hell, I'll even take some "roses are red, violets are blue" rudimentary, elementary, nonsensical writing.

Some "My First Stanza" shit.

So...where is it?

Or do I have to write this one myself as well?

*sigh*

swoonage.

It's almost as if breathing on my own has become just another thing I've picked up to past the time without you.

Pet names
Future plans

Long hugs (and cuddling!)

Cute jokes

"Ayo..." "AYO!"

Long intimate convos

Even the random outbursts...

Thank you.

You've unkowingly given me the world.

Bang...bang?

the world has gone mad

finally fallen off its swollen axis

i even feel it in my dreams

eternally falling through a black hole

is it a symbol of my life, my heart; my soul?

my dream ain't a dream, i'm awake and it's no fun

the black hole that i'm staring at is the barrell of a gun

lil homie asking for money...of which i have none

feeling confused 'cause we lookin' like we both wanna run

now, this is a daily thing

common as the shining sun

African warriors have become ghetto soldiers

policing their own neighborhoods

blatantly and nonchalantly taking lives over a beef, a color, a corner; none of which they own

something that was once for the community is now out of control

and you can't blame "the man" anymore

you can only blame the government but so much

they're doing their job, we're just putting Death to a rush

cold hands made hot to the touch

when that tone go off, hand to heart you gonna clutch

beautiful black babies become breathless bodies bucked bloody by bullets

but boys become brave

blazing by blasts

outlasting the pain; outdodging the inevitable

girls sexing every tom, mookie and harry

sometimes ray-ray, pookie and larry

"you gotta bite the bullet if you wanna get in"

she got nowhere to go, so pookie gettin' it in

then harry, larry; ray-ray and tom

stripping you of your pride and womanhood just so you can belong...

...what's wrong?

Kings, Queens, Rulers; that's the blood in your veins

yet you shed blood over silly things like your sets' names

celebs gang associated quickly rise to fame

while the average joe with no name trying to maintain

snoop dogg on tv, teach you how to walk it out

but huey p educated you; what's that all about?

black panthers are now bloods and crips

positive to negative

but we can turn things around, regain power; that's how real it is

the essence to fight the power is lost in the cosmos

crabs in a barrell; that's the way our nature goes

powers that be chillin' on vacation, basking in their wealth

"why work? they're doing a great job of killing themselves!"

young men, boys and ladies

even down to the babies

festering from the inside, leaking out

shit is crazy

the fact that a nine year old can load a nine with ease

sheds light on the infestation

mentality of auto immune disease

you see the fear stricken in hearts

can't even sit on your own front porch

elders giving up on us; they stopped passing the historical torch

thinking it's nothing to stand for, so you fall for anything

you've forgotten who you are

but it's never too late to erase the mistake

we've made it this far

drive-bys

to make an example, settle a score

take a second look; your brother's blood on your hand is exactly like yours

you say you're not afraid, you're on your own

defend what's yours; i hear you

...but you've gotta be afraid of something

the answer's clear

look in the mirror.

so i gave lil homie all i had

forced into a cold world prematurely

underneath, he's not really this bad

looked into his eyes, we shared the same expression

hoping i make it out alive

hoping he learns a lesson

i told him "you don't have to do this.."

it's okay

i forgive him

he put his head down

a tear fell...

...and then he pulled the trigger.

Ne-Yo Killed the "Goon"; Burning the Gucci Bandana.

Whenever I get my chance, I will personally thank this guy. His awesomeness level has just shot through the roof!

To set the record straight: I'm a music lover. No bias against any genre; I'll listen to just about anything. BUT...I have a problem with garbage. No offense to listeners of today's music--everyone's entitled to an opinion, true--but I need something that has SUBSTANCE. My brain will pretty much turn to shit if I listen to someone who's "dunn dunn it all" all day. And, I also understand that one can't stay stuck in the past...but if that's the only place I can hold a conversation about a Black Star track, without confused looks, then so be it. I really try to open my ears to whatever's on the radio, stay "hip to the times"; but donks and talks of getting silly keep making my ears bleed. And imagine my confusion when I tried to give "the baddest bitch" a chance, turned on a slow track, and started hearing about her expressing her love of bumping uglies? Everyone wants to be a goon, and we as listeners accept it as long as my fingers keep snapping; there's no longer a head nodding effect, we're all dancers now. Who cares about the song, is the hook right? If I can't wave my louie rag/gucci bandana to it, or ride around in my ridiculously unafforable whip; without getting anything but jealous stares, I don't wanna listen to it!

Plain and simple, I miss music in its raw, unique and edgy form. And I'm talking about every genre I listen to. Ne-Yo gets a shout out for taking one word and making it (in my opinion) the official ladies' anthem of the...?? When was the last official ladies' anthem? Who knows. Point is, Ne-Yo called us "I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T", but didn't contradict himself by calling us bitches right after, or complimenting our head game. Kudos to you, Ne-Yo. He's not just helping to ressurect the gentleman, he's bringing back the man. Let's hope others begin to follow suit...so some of these lost females can feel good about themselves, outside of having the phattest ass on the block. I prefer having the biggest brain, not the biggest chain.

Just to sum it up, no one can better explain how I'm feeling than my favorite slept on emcee--Joe Budden.

"...saw a video called "Lookin' Ass Nigga", grabbed the remote; tired of lookin' at niggas."

I can't recognize the love of my life anymore. Something's definitely wrong.

Oooh, hecky nawl; that guhl is raw.

So...after much thought, procrastination, hesitation, preperation, minus this Jesse Jackson moment; I finally gave in and decided to open up my own blogspot. I've been a user of Myspace for the past couple years, and I'm pretty lazy when it comes to socializing; so, in that; I really could careless about sites with different names, but with the same aim. In my hermit mentality, it begins to present a problem: encountering the same people. I've posted 42 blogs on Myspace, and garnered the same response from some things I posted that, forgive my vanity; I thought was thee shit. And now, here I am, chilling with my feelers out; looking for those with my intellect.

I figured my "about me" was really kind of short, so I jacked some info from my Myspace life to share with you. But of course, being a multi dimnensional human such as my self (forgive the vanity again), this little peek into the window of the universe that is my mind will never be enough. Enjoy. And expect a new blog from me when...well, when I get that urge.

Hmmm. What can I really say about myself? There's really nothing out of the ordinary about me; the simple things make me...well, me. I'm a twenty two year old drummer, poet, actress, writer, yada yada yah...I'm an artist. My passion is music, and it's been so since my birth. If you consider yourself a friend to me, you'll know that my inspiration is Angela Davis, and no; it's not for her afro. I was pretty much raised to be the militant person I am today. How would you be if you were toted around to Louis Farrakhan speeches, attached to your mother's back in a homemade, African style baby carrier; or growing up in a household where the "Saturday House Cleaning" music included the likes of Fela Kuti, Third World, The Last Poets, Gil Scott Heron...see? I have my parents to thank gratefully for that. Music pretty much defines me, and I'm never biased toward it. You could see me bumping A Tribe Called Quest one minute, and The Mamas and the Papas in the next. I just might be the biggest Halo junkie in Baltimore City, and my best friend Duane and I will gladly scrape you in Team Doubles. Like to see me? I also love to play Rock Band (drums, of course) until my shins feel like they'll explode.

My nerdiness makes me. I can't play spades to save my life, but I can read an entire Harry Potter book in one sitting. Pick one; I have them all. I speak fluent Ubbi Dubbi and have a grand time confusing the hell out of people with it. My "outside the house" life includes skateboarding and collecting my movie ticket stubs for the entire year. Any ticket stubs, really. My mind is a catalog, containing some of the most useful, useless, wonderful information you'll ever need/want to know. I have song/movie quotes for days, and some apply to daily life. Not a big fan of Zane, or any of those "blaxploitation" books, really; but ask me how "Kindred" by Octavia Butler was. I never went pro, but basketball will always be my love. I have a very best friend named KC who lives in Atlanta; put us together in public and I'm pretty sure you'll escorted out of wherever you are. She's very random, much like me, so we're a matchmade in...whereever random people are made. And for the first time in my life, I can say, with much conviction, that I am in love. His name is Scuba Steve...well, that's what I call him. Point is, he makes me feel like I could sprout wings and fly to another galaxy if I wanted to. But I'd have to bring him with me. I'm pretty sure my heart will combust if it gets any bigger. That would be him a few lines up. :) Awesome, right? *sigh*.

All in all, I'm a big nerd who wanted to be a meteorologist in her younger days; with a sometimes mean streak (I've been told), who loves all music and all people. I don't waste my time biting my tongue; sugarcoating is for candy. I work at the library, and I teach kids. I hate arrogance and ignorance, but dry humor and sarcasm will always be favorites of mine. I spend most of my time dissecting the works of George Jackson, Amiri Baraka, Zora Neale Hurston, Toni Morrison, so many more; and vibing to Dead Prez when I'm feeling like "fighting the man". I'm the one that'll attend a skinhead rally with my "Imported from Africa...and I Didn't ask to Come" shirt on...and sit right in the front. I'm just that damn bold. And I really do own that shirt, lol. My circle of friends is tighter than airport security on July 4th. Raised Christian, practicing Human Being; so my tolerance for learning is always very high. I'm Rock/Pop/Hip Hop/Reggae/Soul/R&B/Gospel/Jazz/Country/Emo/Metal/Punk/Techno...etc. I'm Za. Think I'm cool? Ha, I do too.