Love Homophobia

You have one. Everybody has one.

You know exactly who he is.

He was the cousin at Christmas who was a little TOO excited about dancing to Michael Jackson.

He always had a smart ass comeback.

He was a pain in the ass but also a hell of a lot of fun.

He carefully sat very close to his female cousins and either watched with longing as they stroked their "My Little Pony"s luxurious pink mane... or, in a self hate rage, grabbed the plastic horse and launched it across the room.

He showed you what "having an attitude" was before you even understood the term.
(And thanks to him, you got smacked for giving it.)

You know which cousin this is because, without a doubt, he was named something sorta...well...gay. It wasn't a gay name until he actually revealed that he was gay though.

 But somehow, when you all realized he wasn't a fan of self-lubricating orifices, his name sort of became feminine. 

Like Andre.

Or Terrance.

Or Londell.

He's that kid that couldn't enjoy a fucking holiday in peace because was constantly being yelled at to correct his behavior. A steady stream of being told what little boys "don't" do. Like singing the entire "Dreamgirls" soundtrack. Or turning a perfect double dutch rope rotation. Which made him a valuable asset since you had an permanent turner (SCORE!), since jumping could possibly get him hit by an adult.

Yes...hit.

He probably got hit more than any of the other kids.

Your uncle had no problem with punching in his chest (really fucking hard) and then mean mugged him.... daring him to cry.

He got called a bitch.

He was constantly told to sit down next to the guys and watch basketball when he didn't want to. He was that kid you wanted to play with more... but, because you're a girl, the adults wouldn't let you.

Then, one day, little Andre/Terrance/Londell grew up, went to college, became full on gay and comfortable with himself.

Got some awesome friends.

Got an awesome job.

Worked out relentlessly.

And despite the "faggot" label from those who weren't comfortable in their own sexuality...became pretty damn awesome himself.

And his awesomeness transcended all ill wishes. (Especially the dudes who tried to physically test him because he sucked dick. Hell hath no fury like a grown man with emotional scars of a hardened seven year old being punched in the chest with an unwavering resolve to never. let. that. happen. again. )

A man I once dated  had Ghetto Turrets.

 "Nigger, what the fuck are you talking about? Ayo, you's a faggot Yo."

Real talk, he almost didn't get a third date because of it, but he did. And I ignored it, because, aside from being a typical dude (to be read "homophobic") he was a pretty decent guy. I guess.

 I mean, who am I to change the black man's homophobia?  That's just...culture standard, right?  Besides, I'm far beyond changing anyone and if he didn't learn this lesson by now, it's not my job to show him.

...or is it?

Yeah, it is my job. Here's why.

This caused extra problems for me since my best friend is gay. And so are most my really close friends.

 And these people have been there for me when I was on my fucking knees.

When I had the flu, when I was heartbroken and down to my last thin dime.

I'd poured my heart out to them and they nursed me back to sanity.

They forced me to dance and sing when the last thing on Earth I wanted to do was celebrate life.

They fed me. Got me drunk when I needed to numb the bullshit of life and brought me joy when I needed to be reminded how good life really was in truth.

These men were my brothers.

 And I'd be damn if anybody talked shit about my family.

You know, I always wondered what my white friends did when in the company of friends or family who spewed racist bullshit. I mean, sure, when someone of  color is around, I know they've got my back. They'll burn KKK hoods on the steps of a Tea Party Fundraiser if need be, I'm sure of it.   But when there's nothing but white around as far as the eye can see, do they do the same? If  a racist spews hate and nobody of color is around to hear it, does it still make a noise?  And do I care whether they cower  under social pressure to keep the peace?

 You damn right I do.

So, how did I deal in the face of ghettoized homophobia spewed from the man I loved and his equally mind-blowing homophobic peers? Easy. I did what any woman who watches too many movie would do.

I pushed him in the pool, so to speak.

In any great "fish out of water" flick, our main character with (insert issue here) is reluctant to change  until he's thrown into a situation where  he/she is forced to deal with the very thing he/she hated. You know that movie right? Right?

Enter Nyree's Homophobia deprogramming boot camp.

I brought him to every rainbow flagged event I could.

Brunches,  birthday celebrations,  even a  funeral.

Sorry. But this is what you get when you date me Dude.
Deal, or don't date me.

*strikes a B-Boy stance*

OK. I'm trying to act all big and bad about this...but it really didn't go down like that.


There was a conversation. One where, I tried to be as understanding as possible.

"I just don't get it. How can a dude...be turned on by another dude?!" he asked. Then shuddered.

I think he may have also said "Yuk".

"Well, I understand it, because I get turned on by men. But I can also understand you not understanding. For instance, I don't understand why men like watching women spit on a dick." I replied.

Yeah.

And furthermore, I highly doubt gay men understand what turns you, a heterosexual man on.

Sure, titties are universal, but even some women don't get the fascination with us. We smell awful if we go unchecked, we're emo as shit and just plain annoying. We need attention, maintenance, compliments and care taking CONSTANTLY and if that's not bad enough, we bleed. However, the way a dick feels when enveloped in hot vagina makes men forget all of that. Thankfully.

Now I don't understand how a dick feels in a hot vagina, but to forget all of that, I'm willing to bet it feels pretty fucking good. Almost as good as it  feels in an anus. How do I know dick wrapped in tight, lubricated anus feels amazing? Because I've never slept with one straight guy who hasn't requested it.

Oh...wait. I did.

This particular ex thought anal was gross. Ahh...and now it all makes sense.

But I digress. (No pun intended.)

The point is, after quite some time in my sexual tolerance boot camp... his speech changed.

Less "faggot" and "nigger" and more "gay" and "my dude". (And he wielded "gay" like we used to say "shoot" instead of "shit" back in the day. Reluctantly, yet understanding of the consequence.  Hey...I'll take it. Stonewall wasn't built in a day.)

And then, one triumphant day he actually said, "I'm proud to say I have a few gay friends... " and I almost fell out my damn chair. Progress is a beautiful thing folks.

So that got me to thinking. If a 40 year old Bronx-Native can change,  I wondered if it's just... outdated for black folk to be homophobic. Have we deemed homophobia simply...not cool?

(And as you know, once black folk decide something isn't cool anymore...it's fucking not. Period.)

That's when I came across this video where my friend Al of  "State Of The ReUnion" fame. I don't have to say anything else about this video except that I'm hoping this shit rubs off. Because frankly, I'm tired of the ignorance.

Every year, an outdoor house music dance event called "The Soul Summit" turns Fort Greene Park in Brooklyn into the best summer party ever, and every year, I have to sit and hear heterosexuals bitch about how many homosexuals were there, and in the very next breath say, "The vibe there is just so chill and free..."

Ya think?

This Sunday, I'm heading to another outdoor dance event called "Sundae Sermon" and I'm sure the same thing ignorant shit will go down.

My brothers, all muscled  up (you mad?), smiling, happy and minding their own business will be dancing up a storm and enjoying the party, while on a lawn chair somewhere, some homophobic prick will comment how many faggots are outside. Next to that prick, some homophobic douche of a woman will talk about how she's "strictly dickly". (Cute. We're still saying that over the age of 12 eh?)

And I sincerely hope the prick and douche pack up their smuggled in Coconut infused (fill in the blank type-alcohol), while feeling so uncomfortable with themselves, they decide to go elsewhere.

Good riddance. You're a relic. You're outdated. To quote Jay-Z...we off that.

However, if they should decide to stay, have a great time and enjoy the vibe instead of spewing homophobic bullshit, may they learn a thing or two. 

Like the following:

1. Bigots SUCK. By hating people of other orientations, you are a bigot. The struggle you had growing up in a country that treats you like a ward of the state, dives to Inception like levels when you add on being gay. So if you still maintain your shit, imagine what they have to go through knowing that they can't even take solace in their racial community.

2. Outdoor events are for everyone. EVERYONE. Even you. Asshole.

3. Nobody is trying to fuck you in your precious little anus. This isn't jail, it's a party. Besides, in jail, men typically rape. Rape isn't about sex, it's about power.

4. Someone else's sexual orientation has fuck all to do with your life. It does not destroy your livelihood, your heterosexual relationships or your religion. (Jesus never said a word. Put Leviticus away unless you're going to pay attention to all of it.) But how you reject those LBGT black folks have damaging consequences. Teens turned out of their homes and onto the street are then forced to break laws to survive. Depression. Alcoholism. Self denial and a myriad of issues I'm certainly not qualified to  free style on without a Google fact check. But you get the point. Someone else's life is truly none of your business, however, when you make it your business...then socially, we all have a problem.

They have colleges. And friends. And family. And are loved.  Just like you.

They are grown adult persons who pay bills, live life, love, lose and deserve respect, not only for who they are, but ESPECIALLY for who they are.

Unlike you, that kid who could jump double dutch in the hood, the one who danced better than anyone on the block, the one who had to take that punch to the chest without crying,  the one who had to fight (literally) to be who they were grew up and, if they were your family member, probably loved you anyway.

 And no matter what you say from your high and mighty lawn chair,  they fucking deserve to freely dance  in the sunshine.

 They've earned it.

So suck it up or go home. Better yet... please try as hard as you can, to get over it.

Because you're annoying the shit out of the rest of us.  We don't understand you and how you're just ...I dunno... "like that".

You should probably go somewhere where you can be "like that" with other people, you know? So we don't have to see it. I mean, I don't have a problem with bigots. Jesus says to love everybody, but you and your bigot attitudes? Ugh. That's just nasty. Eww...

-N



BTW... The Sundae Sermon is a FREE outdoor event and is all sorts of awesome.

If you're around Harlem...bring your blanket and get ready to dance.

Love is the message at this event.

Jack Ideas From Other Black People...

So, a friend of mine came across this on Craigslist.

"We are looking for subjects to interview for our documentary web series Entitled: "Black Folk Don't" ...."

Yeah. I know what you're thinking. But don't. It can't possibly be the same thing...right? Right? I mean...this is "Black PEOPLE Don't". They're "Black FOLK" Don't".

"No...no. We're McDOWELL'S...not McDONALD'S..."

"The project is a web series for an organization called Black Public Media, which is a division of PBS. Funding is being provided by The National Black Programming Consortium. The project derived from the director's personal inquiry in her own life about the consistencies and inconsistencies of racial stereotypes that she came across in her life...."

Umm... well... I'm sure it's...a ...uh...


""Black folk don't tip!" "Black folk don't swim!" "Black folk don't go to the doctor!" Whether it's a statistical fact, a racial epitaph or a stereotype born of truth taken out of historical context, “Black Folk Don’t” is more than just a colloquial phrase; its an opportunity for this web series to look closer at the activities that Black folk typically don’t partake in and ask its community. “Why?” ...."

Look. Before you guys get all up in a tizzy... I realize that it's possible for two folks to have the same idea... but seriously, THE SAME EXACT IDEA? With the same EXACT reason behind it? Bananas.

I'm going to contact the producers of this project and see what happens.
Ya'll know me. I'm all "Can't we just all get along." And maybe, we can take this from just me and you to a larger awareness...which is what this whole thing was supposed to be about from jump, wasn't it?

Stay tuned!

-N

**BTW, I was smart enough to Copywrite this. Thankfully!**

KWANZAA 2010: DAY 2 : I'll KUJI-CHAAAAAA-GULIA ...Later. I'll Get Back To You.

"Kujichagulia or "self determination" reinforces the need for African Americans to determine their own futures, by taking control of their present circumstances. During Kujichagulia celebrations, participants teach, learn and practice values such as continuous education, physical and mental health and financial literacy."
***************************************

The corn isn't doing so well.
I mean, I took a look at it this morning and it's starting to dimple. ( I probably should have gotten that hard, brown speckled corn instead of getting the one in the pack from Foodtown, but I was in a hurry.
As for the harvest? We are now down a banana and another orange. (Hey...it was either that or bake some more cookies. I think the ancestors would rather I dig in.)
Sigh... so. Yeah. I guess you want to read how I "Kujichagulia"'d...right?
Yeah...well...um...
Here's the truth. I sorta didn't do it till about ten minutes till midnight. With about two Nyreezmos in me. (A "Nyreezmo" is made up of whatever booze I have in the house with whatever mixer I have in the house. Flavor results may vary. Intoxication results are pretty damn consistent.)
You know what? This shit is starting to get stressful. And I'm not blaming anyone but myself, but damn!
Now, when I look at that stupid Kwanzaa set up in my living room, (how quickly we go from BEAUTIFUL to STUPID), instead of feeling all enlightened and empowered... I resent the hell out of it. I didn't really like yesterday's revelation after I thought about it...no matter how true it was, so I didn't think I was going to like this one either. So I came up with the perfect solution.
Why not just...put it off! You know... play some Zumba! Deep condition my hair! Make some turkey wings! Jump on "Stumbleupon"!
And that's exactly what I did. Wasn't trying to go outside because that snow was still there and renamed me "Kizzy". (Stay put.)
So, my friends.... I bullshitted.
Magnificently.
Let me give you a background of the human you all know and love as Nyree Emory.


I am a four star Procrastinator. And I know what you're thinking... hell, who isn't?

But no...I don't think you understand. I mean, I PROCRASTINATE. And I LOVE it. I take PRIDE in procrastination and how well I do it. How everything always seems to magically work out in the end and how ALL that stress was worth it.
I will wait till the last possible second to do EVERYTHING and then complain how HARD it was because I didn't have enough time....but I got it done anyway..AREN'T YOU PROUD OF ME?!
In school, if I had a project due...the final line would be written sometime around 6:20AM on the very morning it was due.
And, I'd usually get an "A" or something really close to it. Leading me to believe that I do all my best work under the gun...and a procrastination monster was born.
At work, I fucking LOVE deadlines! Are you KIDDING? The more, the better! If I have four projects to get out by Friday and it's Tuesday...BRING. IT. ON.
However, the not so-fun side of my procrastination includes: coming home to a dishwasher full of dishes I forgot to put away, bags of laundry begging to be washed, phone calls it's too late to return, shoes all over the apartment, fuck...I forgot to buy toilet paper...and toothpaste..AND soap?! Shit. Now I have to wipe my ass with napkins, brush my teeth with baking soda and peroxide and wash with shampoo?! And I might as well watch some...what the hell happened to the cable?! Damn it...was that bill due?!
I used to glorify this bullshit with dreamy, sing-songy self righteous sayings like... "I live in the now. I live in a place where everything is amazing and the future will be amazing too, but I don't really have time to deal with planning for that ...I've got things I have to do NOW. RIGHT NOW. And isn't that where we ALL should live?"
The problem with living in the NOW without considering that what you are doing (or not doing) in the now will completely fuck up the future when that future becomes NOW. You tend to think everything will be OK on it's own, magically...and it won't.
The past two years, I learned that the hard way. It's cost me time and money, and possibly relationships.
From not canceling automated subscriptions, paying a stupid amount of late fees, not checking my mail regularly, not going to the gym, forgetting appointments & events, not cooking at home, not bringing my lunch to work...
Once or twice, sure. But do it enough and you begin to see that...it's a problem. You begin to see your life tilt on a slope and everything that was once evenly spread out, slides down to the bottom...all crushed together. You now have a big ass pile of mess you need to sort through....which you will gladly deal with.
...later. (heavy sigh...)
So, back to me bullshitting on the Kujichagulia...
So like I said, I'm on "Stumbleupon" (BTW, a shout out to my friend Dele for my new habit. I love and hate you for it...) and what should I come across but an article on, you guessed it... "Procrastination" on one of my new favorite blogs, "You Are Not So Smart"
http://youarenotsosmart.com/2010/10/27/procrastination/
Now, as I started to read this article on procrastination, my eyes glazed over, my ADD kicked in and I decided I'd read it later. You know. When I was more focused.
Yeah. Let that sink in. I'll wait.
...Did it sink in? Good.
So, you know that "C'mon Son!" look you just gave me? Yeah, that's the same look I gave myself.
So...I thought...how in the hell can I make this fun?
I KNOW! I'll pretend I'm on "60 Minutes" and read it from a teleprompter!
And so...I did.
I cut and pasted the entire article and read it aloud...from a teleprompter.
http://www.cueprompter.com/
(You probably think I'm joking...but deep down, you know damn well I'm not)
And by the end...I got, yet another "oh shit" moment. And that moment revealed the following:
If I just outsmart myself out of bullshitting, then I'll improve my quality of life. If I set up foolproof deadlines to get shit done...I'll have no choice. If hold myself accountable...with a penalty or something... SHIT. MUST. GET. DONE.
If I procrastinate because I waste time on (insert major waste of time here), I must eliminate that (insert major waste of time here), until I get it done. However, knowing me...I have to make it FUN! I have to turn it into a challenge (see "teleprompter") or I just won't do it.
And with that...I just took the reigns! I just... KUJI-CHAAAAAA-GULIA'd!!
And to prove it... I just got http://macfreedom.com/
This blocks me from the internet for a few hours so I can get my shit done. Budget balance. Clean out the closets. Return those damn phonecalls. Let's see if I can get it done BEFORE I'm allowed back on the internet.
Can I do it? We'll see!

"CH-ALLENGE!!"

And I do this...because the NOW me is way smarter than FUTURE me.
The FUTURE me? I don't trust her. She's gotten the NOW me into too much trouble. I'm in control now.

"I'll be ripping off my OWN costumes now. Thank you very much."

OK KWANZAA! NEXT UP...
(Ayo...I believe that's me...)
Ujima (Collective Work and Responsibility):
To build and maintain our community together and make our brother's and sister's problems our problems and to solve them together.
(Fuck.)

***Due to unforeseen Holiday issues I, sadly, did not complete this task. HOWEVER, I did successfully do it the year before...(and it's posted) so feel free to take a gander at that. We have since then patched everything up and are loving each other like Bobby and Whitney. Pre-crack. Happy endings all around. Well...except for Bobby and Whitney. ***

KWANZAA 2010: DAY 1: UMOJA...Not Available In Stores

Umoja (Unity): To strive for and to maintain unity in the family, community, nation, and race.

"The snow already started. If I leave now, do you think I'll beat the blizzard?" Josh texted.

Shit.

I had two options here. Option one... text my little brother back with, "Yes, now get your teenage ass on that train and meet me at the Museum so I can get some culture in you, damn it!" or I could just let him off the hook.

The day before, I'd asked him (bribed him) to come with me to the Museum Of Natural History for their annual Kwanzaa Celebration, thinking that I'd have "Umoja" in the freakin' BAG by the very act of bringing him to some uber-black cultural Kwanzaa Fest.

I mean, we have different mothers, he's two decades younger than me ( hey...Pops is a rollin' stone...) and if THAT shit don't say "Unity", I don't know what does! Hell people... I'm bridging gaps! Age gaps, cultural gaps...you name it! AND, I'd fully planned on bringing him to Shake Shake so he could see how a single cheeseburger can actually be a spirtual experience. I mean... for real...Habari Gani!!

(Which is Swahili for " What's the News?". Though I'm taking it to mean..."What's REALLY Good?" and saying it with that much "hood" in my attitude...kna mean? Try it. Say "Habari Gani" as if you were saying "What's REALLY Good?" Fun, huh?)

So anyway...I let him off the hook. We'd hang another time. And this decision was prompted by two things:

1. Guilt about dragging my brother to an event he didn't want to go to for the sake of my own self-exploration.

2. Fear of getting a phone call from my father about my brother being trapped on the 6 train for three hours because of the storm. Believe me, that's not a phone call you want. Ever.

I called the boyfriend to tell him it was off and he was already taking his kids back home due to weather conditions, so, even if I wanted to move forward...it's a wrap. Gee...thanks storm.

And that's when it hit me. Doing this series again this year might be a baaaaad fucking idea because umm...

NOW WHAT? How the hell am I supposed to celebrate Kwanzaa, find the spirit and Umoja when I have NOTHING to write about. Way to go Nye. Who the hell can "Umoja"... alone at home... during a storm?

RECORD SCRATCH! Storm?

Wait a second. A storm is coming...I need to get FOOD.

(Did your mother do this? Whenever they heard a storm was on the way, they'd run to the Supermarket an stock up for Armageddon, like they wouldn't be able to hit another grocery store for a month?)

So yeah, I need food and ... wait a second. Didn't I say I was going to celebrate Kwanzaa the right way this year? I didn't get "the props"! Wholly shit! I gotta run to TARGET!

Now...don't ask me why I thought Target would have a "Kwanzaa" section, but they had to. They HAD to.

Because if they don't, this entire series is RUINED and I've FAILED. So they HAVE to have one... they just HAVE to!

(20 minutes later...)

They don't.

I know... it's a shocker.

"Well..let me know if ya find it! We don't even know what that is!"

Why in the hell did I think there would be one section where I could pick up a kinara (candle holder), candles (red, black, green to represent our colors), harvest (produce to represent abundance), a communal cup (for pouring libations), and a mat (um..to make shit look presentable)?

Well...they didn't. So as I stood there looking stupid and wondering how the hell I was going to celebrate Kwanzaa if I couldn't buy the proper...uh...props, I remembered "Richard from Texas".

Not sure if you read/saw "Eat, Pray, Love", but while the author was in the ashram in India...she started to stress out about how she was going to decorate her meditation room instead of concentrating on getting her mind still. Her friend, "Richard from Texas" (who nicknamed her "Groceries", because she was more concerned with food than the purpose at hand...) asked her straight out..."Are you shitting me? Who gives a crap what the room looks like?! Decorate what's on the INSIDE Groceries!"

Right. And that's when I realized, I'd been going at this thing all wrong.

See, I kinda got caught up in the glitz of doing this thing for you all. Those who loved the last series so much, they couldn't wait to see what I got into again. My ego took over like ..."Relax Nye...I got this. This will be amazing and you'll be loved for it! And you LOVED the love...right? Yes...you did! So lets go get some more! Write girl...write and make them love you!" Totally forgetting that I did this thing, not for you...not even for me. But...for a higher reason! And that reason is... umm... well....

What I'm trying to say is that this isn't supposed to be about how much I spend. This is about... um... about...

Whatever. I'll figure that out later.

Right now...let's think about what I already HAVE and make up the difference. And that's a lesson in itself, isn't it? Appreciate what you already have, and build on it. Not sure if this will lead me to UMOJA but... hey.

It's worth a shot.

And so I thought about it. What do I ALREADY have that I'm not appreciating?

Wait a second! That candle holder I have at home has seven slots! BOOM! Instant Kinara!

Way to go Groceries! Now, I just need to find candles.

(10 minutes later...) POW! I found three red and three green votive candles whose scent didn't make me wanna puke. As for the black candle? Umm... not so much. Eff it. I'll grab dark brown. Close enough.

Now...I'm sure I can use that table runner from Thanksgiving as a mat, I know I've got plenty of funky cups (thanks to one too many trips to Pier One) and now, all I need is the produce! Off to the supermarket I go and since I've got to get food to get me through Snowpocolypse 2010 anyway...this is perfect!

A few honey crisp apples, navel oranges, green bananas & corn ears later... I had my produce!

HABARI GANI BITCHES!!!

It's later...and the storm is showing it's ass, but I don't care. I am now running home with new vigor and a bag full of Kwanzaa! Museum?! Ha! We don't need no stinkin' Museum!! I have a real live Kwanzaa display...in MY home! TA-DOW!

So, I hook up the display, (BEAUTIFUL! I even added that statue of a slave I got in Brazil to give the display a little more "don't forget you came from a slave" guilt), take pictures, light that first candle, say the word "UMJOA" out loud...then "UNITY"... and wait as the spirit of Kwanzaa washed over me!

"Umm...how long can that corn stay out? Just a question"

Yup. It's coming.

Any second now, UMJOA is going RAIN DOWN in this piece! I'll have an epiphany and the lesson I learned about Unity will just spill forth like POW!

...yup. Any second now. It's coming. I could feel it.

Fifteen minutes later...

I peeled an orange from the harvest and ate it.

I got up, and feeling all sorts of defeated... walked to the kitchen to make myself a sandwich, dreading writing this note.

I'd failed. The first freakin' day, and I'd completely failed.

I jumped on FB...hoping to find some inspiration and ...fuck! Teena Marie died?!! Are you KIDDING ME?! Great. Now I feel like shit for posting that "Rick James"/Dave Chappelle "Unity" clip.

HEY! Maybe I could write about how Teena Marie united blacks and whites musically! I mean, she died on the first day of Kwanzaa! How black is THAT? And Teena Marie was an icon in the black community! How's THAT for "Umoja"?! I mean...

"This isn't about Teena Marie Nyree. Are your heart, mind and actions united?"

Wait... huh?

"Your heart, mind and actions...are they united? Or are they all making different decisions? You can't grow that way. Any unresolved issues you may have, get your heart, mind and actions on the same page in order to move forward."

Umm... OK. Well...they sorta are because...

"Do you want to stay here? Are you growing?"

Umm... no, now that you asked. And um...(heavy sigh) put that on everything.

"Then unite them. And stop bullshitting. You bullshitted all day. Take action. Real action.

Unite them. That's Umoja. Not some candles and fruit."

Now, call it God, Allah, Jehovah, Spirit, Common Sense or whatever, but THIS is the thought that came to mind. Oprah calls this a "Ah-ha" moment. I call it a "Oh-shit" moment. Whatever you call it... wherever this thought came from... it was right. My heart and mind weren't on the same page. And all the produce and candle lighting wouldn't help that. And I was bullshitting. It was absolutely right.

And so, I sat down and made a list.

Not a resolution list...but a list of all the things important to me.

Family. Friends. Relationship. Finances. Time management. Home care. Spiritual care. Health. Networking & Career.

Then I broke everything down and asked the right questions.

Is my heart in the right place with all? Is my mind? Do my actions back this up?

If not...what changes do I need to make? Do need to DO something? Get rid of somethings? People?

For example... on Christmas, my favorite nephew told me he felt like I was neglecting him. I could hear the "I miss you" in his voice and it killed me. I tried to excuse this away, but he was right. I'd been a shitty aunt, not putting in the time or connection....sacrificing for a future goal. You know...once I get THAT, THIS will get better. Forgetting that right now is the only thing that matters. Like the man that works to build an empire and all his kids want is somebody to play catch with.

I heard this from my cousin, my aunt, my mother... and damn if I didn't try to excuse it all away.

But they were all right.

So when it comes to family, my heart... check. It's definitely there. No question.

My mind...check. My actions, quite frankly...suck. That's gotta change.

And I kept going down this list till I understood where, in each category...I could use some improvement. Some... my heart. Some my mind. But overwhelmingly...my actions. All three need to unite.

And fast.

So, the first day of Kwanzaa folks...mission, as far as I'm concerned... accomplished.

Once again, Kwanzaa shocked the shit out of me by giving me a lesson I wasn't even expecting.

(And this Teena Marie shit? Man listen. That's another note...but... wow ya'll. WOW.)

Anyway...moving on.

OK KWANZAA...BRING IT! WHAT'S NEXT?

Kujichagulia (Self-Determination): To define ourselves, name ourselves, create for ourselves, and speak for ourselves.

Yeah. Say that five times fast...

-Nyree

...KNOW THEIR NIA (purpose) ANYMORE. "RETURN OF KWANZAA 2010: LOST IN NEW YORK"

Did you see this shit right here? If you didn't...you NEED to.

See...let me explain what this is. This is what happens when white folk get confused about black culture and start feeling bad for us... thinking that we don't get enough exposure. They start wanting to "include" us, so they don't feel bad. White guilt is an awful thing (almost as bad as black low-self esteem) and the last thing they want is more of it.

So...somebody makes a call to The Food Network... a VP of "Diversity" or some shit panics because he doesn't want Al Sharpton's ass coming down on them, meetings happen...meetings happen...meetings happen... Sandra's producers get a call, a few phallic candles on a big brown ball with some nuts (I just said a lot there...)and VOILA! The fucking Kwanzaa Cake.***

**BTW, this was explained to me by a white dude, who sometimes, hates everything about white privilege until it's hailing in December...sometime around midnight... and it's him and Jamal Jackson on the same corner trying to hail a cab. And you know what...I ain't mad at him.***

And don't give me that look. I tried. You KNOW I tried.

(See the KWANZAA 2009 posts that precedes this one...re-posted for your reading pleasure.)

I mean, this year, even after all I went through, still not thinking Kwanzaa was worth the produce, I made the effort.

Whenever a co-worker asked, "So...what are you doing for the holiday break?" My typical response was... "Ahh...nothing huge. Just family. Staying home...everyone lives here, so no traveling..."

And that's when I'd force myself to say...

"And I'm doing Kwanzaa this year....again."

And that's when they'd all give me this "I don't want to offend her, but I have no idea what the hell that means" sing-songy "Ohhhh...." /half ass smile/nod.

Sometimes, I'd offer that I hate it. Other times...(those times being, if I suspected that person of having an arsenal of nigger jokes they whip out at Christmas over the Nog...) I get really asshole-ish.

"Yeah, you know, Kujichagalia is at my place...and it all begins the day after Christmas, so it's like...no break at all, you know? Lots of produce to buy...and all those APPLES!"
And still...they nod politely. (Ha! God bless em, everyone.)

And look, I'm not making fun of them. I think it's awesome that they don't want to offend me, but I know they think it's bullshit. And yes, even after all I've been through....so do I.

However...I have to do it again. HAVE to. Why?

The fucking Kwanzaa Cake. It's whole existence is... is...


(Heavy sigh)..my friends, it's Miss Millie throwing you a bone. She's telling you it's alright...you can have the whole day wit your chillens. THE WHOLE DAY."Just have your black ass at work on the 3rd. And go easy on the Egyptian Musk, or whatever you people use..."

THIS is all your fault. See...I did my part.

I wanted nothing to do with this holiday, yet, decided to embrace it.
I started off by giving suggestions on how to make it better.

I chronicled.

I made friends.

I made enemies.

I learned some things about myself and still...STILL...I find myself celebrating alone with a hearty "Good luck Nye! Can't wait to read it!"

But that's not how it was supposed to work.

I thought the point of this thing was to get you guys excited about the Ngumo...um...Ngumby... (google... google...google...) the NGUZO SABA (I knew that). So I sorta feel like I failed.

I mean, I'M not even excited. How in the hell are YOU going to be? So that's when I decided to try it again this year, motivated by absurdity of The Kwanzaa Cake (I voted for your hubby Sandra Lee...but seriously? SERIOUSLY?) and this year's major missteps in our culture (IE: Eddie Long, The Real Housewives of Atlanta, The Basketball Wives, Brandy and Ray J (hell...the whole VH1 line up), For Colored Girls, Antoine Dodson making dough off his sisters' near rape while simultaneously making blackface OK for thousands.

I mean, how did we go from the first, incredibly hot black president to THIS?

Oh my people...dare I say it.

We may just need Kwanzaa... now, more than ever.

And I am more than willing to bring it to you.

As soon as I can figure out what the hell it is...again.


When I Google Kwanzaa I get the big Kwanzaa fest in NYC .... and sure, I did that the last time, but I'll be honest. I totally half assed it. I got there at the back end...all snide and snarky. Not really diving into the performances or talking to the participants.

THAT, my friends, is going to change.

So will all of the other Nug..... NS's. THIS time, I'm going to be as serious as I can be. Full Kwanzaa status. I'm getting the candles. I'm getting the fruit. I'm getting the mat. I'm gonna reflect. This is gonna be awesome...

Or a miserable failure and a waste of vacation. EITHER WAY...somebody's gotta do it.

Why?

Because the bullshit that's going on this year is what happens when we lose touch and somebody's got to help bring us back.

Not going to lie... I'm also doing it for myself. A bit of an "Eat, Pray, Love" for myself and my peoples...because this year... I dunno about ya'll. I really don't. However, if you want to make the world a different place, take a look at yourself and then make the change. (Sorry. Way too much Michael Jackson - The Experience.)

So, just as I did last year, I'll be chronicling each day. Feel free to follow along in person...or vicariously. (I'll let you know where I'll be)

Either way...this Kwanzaa shit is getting handled.

Or my name isn't Miss Sophia.

(Wait...what?)

KWANZAA: What's The Nia? (Purpose) - The Original Kwanzaa Saga

I'm celebrating Kwanzaa this year. Not because I want to , but because my Mom told me not to knock anything till I've tried it. I'm trying to grow as a person. Don't judge me. She also told me that if I don't have anything nice to say... don't say anything at all. (Uh.. yeah. )

However...

I really...really..REALLY don't like Kwanzaa. Really.

And let me tell you why. (I don't listen to my mother...btw.)

Now, don't get me wrong... I appreciate what Dr. Karenga tried to do when he created Kwanzaa and all. You know..love yourself, love your brother, light some candles and whatnot...but COME ON! Kwanzaa has some SERIOUS flaws.

For starters... it's not a user-friendly reflective holiday at. effin. all.

Now, I consider myself a pretty intelligent woman, but seriously, that shit is WAY too complicated. Here's what I mean.

You see...Christmas is simple.

Shop. Open gifts on Dec. 25th. Front like a jolly old fat dude bought 'em. Pray. (Maybe...) Done.

Ramadan? Pray and starve. Done.

Hanukkah? Eight nights of not-Christmas-gifts, light candles, spin a dreydl.

But OH NO. Not us. We gotta be different. And in our efforts to be different, we bit off of everyone else and "CREATED" the most complicated fuckin' holiday EVER. And it came out of the freakin' clear blue sky!

One year, you were just celebrating Christmas and the next year, somebody spread the "Kwanzaa" rumor like a clip of Beyonce falling on the internet. The next thing I know, people are scrambling for corn stalks and dashikis.

OK. I need to say that I love being black. I'm extremely proud of my heritage and the incredible accomplishments of my people. We have overcome. So just so you don't think I'm just being a self-hating jerk, let's take a good look into what it takes to celebrate this holiday properly, shall we?

First..you gotta get the props.

This includes: Candle Holder (kinara), Candles (three red, three green and one black ), some corn and other assorted produce, a mat, a cup, a flag, some books, and poster that actually LISTS the seven principles of Kwanzaa.

(Yes. There are seven. I bet you can only name two. One..cuz she was in "Love Jones", the other cuz you got a baby cousin somewhere with the same name. Come on. Admit it.)

Now, once you get your props and your instruction poster...you gotta get your entire family to come home every night for 7 days, dress up in traditional African garb, and run down the principles...not to mention a special greeting to recite every night.

...But that's not gonna be easy either. Because everything is in SWAHILI!!! Most of us have yet to master proper English...much less Swahili. (Cousin that still says "scrimps" ring a bell?)

Then, to top it all off... you get suckered into buying gifts...for seven days!

... Which sounds like it could be expensive...but it's not going to be. Because these gifts have to be enlightening gifts. Something to feed your mind, body and soul.

So what do we do? That's right. We go to the Kwanzaa Expo in the Jacob Javitz Center and buy up copies of Zane's "Juicy Bootie" for everyone we love because it'll make them READ. (Umm...I ask you...exactly how is this uplifting the race?)

Speaking of race...the only people that can celebrate this are African Americans? Huh? What kind of bullshit is that? Now with all the other holidays, if you want to join in, knock yourself out! But Kwanzaa is an exclusive celebration for black folk and that leaves all my other friends left out (and the jokes are crazy), which is, to me, the very problem.

I don't NEED to hear about black history, the Trans-Atlantic slave trade and reversing the negative stereotypes about black folk. Hell... I live it every day! You are preaching to the choir. How about focusing on my Irish/German friend (don't worry, I won't shout you out) who had no idea who Alvin Ailey was. She might just need a little help. Or the one that thinks we still drink Ripple. (I'm working on him.) Or the ones that still think we are superior in the sexual organ department. (OK. We are. But still.) Can we include them? You know...make it our mission to maybe to bring them to over to our Grandma's house for some soul food. Introduce them to a real life "Jamal" or "Shaniqua" (I know four of them) and eliminate some of this media induced fear? I know, it's idealistic, but damn...we gotta start somewhere.

And finally...the most important reason why this holiday sucks is...WHERE'S THE MUSIC?!

How is this gonna be a African-American holiday...WITH NO SONGS? Nothing! No Neo. No John Legend. No Kanye West track...NOTHIN. (OK. To be fair...we have some attempts...but um...let me put it this way. They suck. )

Kwanzaa songs are the single worst African-American created musical genre of ALL TIME. (And that's saying a lot, cuz Crunk is pretty freakin' bad.) I mean, even Stevie Wonder's Kwanzaa song sucked! You hear me? STEVIE WONDER. He took "Isn't She Lovely", put some eff'd up robotic voice over it and sang "Haaapy Kwanzaa." Teddy Pendergrass tried too..and it's actually pretty snazzy. (But Teddy just makes you sad, doesn't he?)

So...since I don't bitch without solution, I propose we fix Kwanzaa by borrowing from of the more practiced holidays.

1) Keep the name (it's catchy and fun to say. Kwanzaa. Kwanzaa. Kwanzaa...), but change the seven "Nguzo Saba"'s to ENGLISH. We might be interested in practicing Kujichagulia if we knew what the hell it meant.

2) Keep the candles...but pick ONE color, and lose the rest of the props. It's gaudy. Seriously. Besides...if you have "pets" (intentional or poverty imposed), the "produce out for several days" thing is NOT gonna fly.

3) Gifts on ONE day. Preferably, New Years Eve. Keep the feast that day too...it'll help to suck up all that booze ur about to consume.

4) Get Common, Erykah Badu, Jill Scott, Kindred, Floetry, India Arie (and every other "happy to be nappy" artist without a dance routine) to do a "We Are The World" type collabo that'll make people WANNA sing that joint every year.

and finally...

5) Get either BET or TV One to do an annual "Kwanzaa Show" starring every hot act of the year...on New Years. Somebody's got to take over Dick Clark's spot. Ratings. Ratings. Ratings.


So there. I said it. (That wasn't too bad, right Mom?)

But remember, at the end of this week, after practicing my very first Kwanzaa, I might just take it all back. And if I do, I will write a personal apology to Dr. Karenga and all of you that just de-friended me after this. Pinkie swear.

KWANZAA DAY 1: Nyree Emory And The First Nguzo Saba

Day 1: Umoja (Unity)
To strive for an maintain unity in the family, community, nation and race.

Sigh...I can't believe I'm doing this. This is bullshit.

So, reluctantly, I decide to light a candle and say a little prayer yesterday.
I dedicate the day to the first principle "Umoja". Unity.

But I can't stop giggling, because all I can think of is that Dave Chappelle "Rick James" sketch. Remember when Rick punched Charlie Murphy in the forehead with his "Unity" ring? POW! UNITY!!!

So yeah. Unity. Let's see... What can I do to maintain unity in my family, community, nation? Shit! This is daunting as hell! The NATION? I gotta unite THE NATION? Isn't that why I elected Obama? Shouldn't that take care of things? Don't I get a free pass for this one?

Sigh...

Well first things first I suppose. Identify the lack of unity in my own life. OK. Uh... easy.

I had a falling out with one of the closest people to me. Like...a huge one.

Yikes. Do I want to own that though? I mean...that sorta hurts...and it's embarrassing and can't we just forget about it and move on to the next thing? I've done so much good since then... can't I just send a card or something?

("...What did the five fingers say to the face? SLAP!")

Heavy sigh. Yeah. I gotta own it. Because I was wrong and I guess in healing my nation...I gotta start with me. (Thus says all my S.C. teaching...)

So I see the yellow bricks... this is the clearly the road I'm supposed to ease on down. Staring at it won't get the journey started ...starts with one step I guess. And now I'm M.J. as the Scarecrow...trying to steady my shaky, rubbery legs taking my first steps on the path. (Why are those damn cabs always off duty? Heavy sigh...)

(Ease on...)

Me: "Hey..."

"Hey."

(Ease on...)

Me: "Busy today?"

"No."

(..Don't you carry nothin'...)

Me: "Uh...Wanna ... go out? Grab a movie or something and talk?"

"Sure. What do you want to see?"

(...That might be a load...)


Me: "Really?! Oh. Uh...Umm...your choice."

(...Come on ease on down...ease on down the road...)


And you know what? It really wasn't that bad. I mean, awkward at first. Very awkward.
The veil of a ruined but familiar friendship cloaked everything for a while, but after a good movie, sushi, sake and some real talk...things don't seem as bad as they did.

And we're sure not as close as we were, and may never be, but at least I'm on the road.

So what does this have to do with Kwanzaa aside from the fact that we're both black? Not a fucking thing. I think this is just about being a human adult. Owning up to your bullshit and making amends.

So I thank the first principle for pushing me into it, but why black people should own this alone is beyond me.

Or maybe I'm doing it wrong. Which is highly likely.

Oh. I almost forgot! The props!

Well...I got ate a tangerine, lit a candle, thought about burning some incense and wearing some oil but didn't because I didn't want to attract other Kwanzaaians who might smell it and want to have a deep discussion about it. Then I'd just be exposed as a fraud (and the Pan-African set really doesn't feel my light eyed, curly haired ass as is. Hell. I don't even know the proper Pan-African greeting. Hotep? or something...right? )

Oh. I kept my hair in a fro today. I think that's enough ritual for me.

Next up...Kujichagulia (Self-Determination)
:To define ourselves, name ourselves, create for ourselves and speak for ourselves.

Great. This just isn't going to get easier...is it?

Ease on...