New Digs.

I've (finally, finally!!) relocated to a WordPress blog at my very own domain name. You should be automatically directed from here, but in case you're viewing my feed through an RSS reader, please be sure to subscribe to my new feed: http://www.shanio.com/?feed\x3drss2 See you at my new spot. (And don't forget to update your links.)

Why WaMu Being Seized by the Government is Awesome...

... for me personally, that is. I went to the WaMu website, and they have a helpful guide for what will change and what will stay the same, now that JP Morgan Chase owns the bank. My favorite part:

"Soon: You'll be able to use over 9,300 Chase ATMs fee-free - jointly, that's 14,000 ATMs for your banking convenience!"

No more driving 10 miles to the nearest WaMu to bank; I'll be able to walk to the Chase down the street from my office. Hopefully, "soon" means within, like, a year. Just gotta find that silver lining, Americans!

Easy Like Sunday Morning.

Does your desk ever get so messy that you cringe when your boss or a client stops by? Mine's been like that for a minute now. Since the end of July I've been drowning in paperwork and some pretty serious/important projects. So now I'm spending a lovely Sunday cleaning my desk, doing general office-keeping and organizing my life a bit. Luckily, I can catch up on Gossip Girl while I fill up the recycling bins. Also, Blair and Chuck! OMG. They're electric.

Breaking Down.

I got my cable turned back on. I've been without it since February, simply because I found I just didn't watch much TV. I hate television, frankly. It's a time waster, and it makes you dumb. When I did have super-basic cable, the only channels that didn't enrage me were The CW, Disney Channel, and C-Span. And in the time since I've stopped watching it, I've found that the few occasions I'm with people who have it on, I get angry. I generally have to restrain myself from shouting "WHY ARE YOU WATCHING THIS GARBAGE?!" And pulsating rage, as I'm sure you can tell, is not a good look for me. I've even been known to throw things at the television (soft things, of course). This generally only happens when there's a pundit on TV, though. Unfortunately, even the morning news shows I used to love watching have begun to get on my nerves. I mean, everyone loves Al Roker, but how many times can he say "and SLOWLY I turned" before it stops being funny? So I'm sure you're wondering why I got my cable turned on. Well, since you asked, here are my three Very Important Reasons. 1) Barack Obama. I know, I know. But I really wanted to watch his speech tonight, and I really want to watch the debates when they start up. I need to see him and Joey Biden (with Mama Biden looking on lovingly) crush McCain and his veep. And once he's elected, I'll have to watch the inauguration, so that means I might as well bite the bullet until January. 2) Serena and Blair. Gossip Girl is the Greatest Show of Our Time. And I missed it so hard when I gave up TV, but then I discovered they started streaming full episodes online. And then they stopped. But now they're gonna start doing it again, but dangit, I can't watch GG while I'm at work (or can I?) so cable it is. I miss Serena's ability to screw everything up without lifting a finger. I miss Blair's sheer awesomeness. And I need to see what freakishly long-legged Jenny Humphrey is wearing this season. 3) Simpsons reruns. There's nothing like coming home from work and watching The Simpsons for an hour. I miss Marge's disapproving grumble. Of course, all of my current goodwill toward cable television will be shattered if I have to see any of the following: Wolf Blitzer; One Tree Hill; Matt Lauer; and anything with "Cashmere," "Love," "Hell," or "Desperate," in the title. Cross your fingers for me!

Blawgin' Updates

Hey y'all. I'm gonna be blogging over at PostBourgie from time to time, so check it out. Today I wrote about the lameness that was TyChelle BanksBama in Harper's Bazaar. I also updated my hair blog with a lengthy, boring post about my current regimen. Enjoy!

Baaastin in Review.

It was an adventure. It always is, though, when I get together with the BFF. We drove up Saturday morning, and got there around 1. BFF swears by her GPS, so we plugged it into my car and it was surprisingly useful. I harbor a suspicion for many electronic devices, because they aren't totally reliable — and TomTom did crap out a couple of times — and I think it's so important to maintain basic knowledge. Like knowing how to read a map. (I remember driving around NY two summers ago, and asking my sister to look at the map. Her response: "I don't read maps." My response: "Whuh?") But we managed pretty well with the GPS device. We got to the Hilton in Woburn, MA, which was only 20 minutes from the Boston. The hotel had a slightly retro vibe, with mustard-brown colored carpet and taupe walls, but it was clean, nicely appointed, and we had a room overlooking the atrium. The room has this sliding door, and you can step out onto your carpeted balcony above the hotel bar, pool, and restaurant, but you're protected from the elements by a huge slanted glass wall, so it's like being outside without the weather. The view from the balcony: Nice, huh? One other bonus was that staying in a room above the atrium means you can catch the free wifi signal coming from the lobby. We relaxed in the room for a bit (a 5 hour drive is tiring), made reservations at Legal Seafood, per Wife's suggestion, and then headed to Boston. No particular destination in mind, we ended up on Boylston Street, parked, and started walking. Always in the mood for Thai, we stopped in at Bangkok Blue, where BFF had mediocre pad thai, and I had amazing chicken panang. We wanted to sit outside, but the hostess looked ominously at the overcast sky, asking, "Are you sure? It's going to rain soon." It looked cloudy, but not rainy, and I almost objected, but decided to defer to her. And, wow, am I glad I did. It was sprinkling by the time we finished eating, but when we were ready to head outside, it was pouring. I didn't have an umbrella — since I've gone natural, I've proudly eschewed all forms of rain gear — and BFF had a tiny one, which I insisted she use for herself ("I'd rather have you dry, then both of us partially wet"). I stepped outside gamely, and was soaked to the skin within 30 seconds. I was wearing a skirt and a white tank top, and a white kid riding by on his bike took note of this, asking where my umbrella was, then shaking his head at my lack of common sense. And of course, as he rode away, shouted, "wet t-shirt contest!!" (And yet, he was oddly polite the entire time. I had trouble gauging Bostonians, because they all seemed really mellow and nice, which is antithetical to the New Yorker.) By the time I got back to the car, I looked like a drowned rat. BFF was mostly intact, however, due to her ingenuity and force of will. We drove back to the hotel, put on PJs, hung up our wet clothes, and chilled for a while, watching Fox News*. We eventually dragged ourselves back to the car, drove to State Street, and walked around the Long Wharf, Faneuil Hall, and Quincy Market. The wharf was really cool, and we summarily decided to purchase a boat together. Dinner was at 9, and because it was really busy, our poor waiter started off by simultaneously greeting us and the young couple next to us. I felt bad, because he had clearly been double-sat (sat with two parties at the same time), which is one of those things hosts try to avoid at all costs. I expressed outrage at the injustice, and he was great to us the entire night. Of course, the fact that we splurged on lobster and wine may have helped, but he seemed genuine. We chatted when he came to our table, and it turned out he was born in North Africa, which explained the accent and the middle eastern look. He was henceforth known as our Sexy North African Server. He even tied our lobster bibs on for us, sexily, of course, and he gave me his e-mail address to send him the pictures we took with him. 20% for you, sir! Post-dinner, BFF drove us back to the hotel, and we passed out like negroes after a church picnic. The next morning was absolutely gorgeous. Puffy white clouds in a bright blue sky, and warm but breezy. We got brunch in Cambridge, at a place called the B-Side Lounge. We ordered a bunch of food, but BFF's pancakes were like cardboard, and she ate less than half of them, so we asked the server to take them off the bill. She acted like it was a huge inconvenience, and said she'd have to 'ask the chef.' Considering the fact that our bill was over $50, I didn't think it would be much of a stretch to take a $5 item off of it, and the chef concurred. But I thought it was strange she seemed so put-upon. When I thanked her, and told her everything else was delicious, she gave me a very ... sarcastic look. 15% for you, ma'am! We drove to Harvard, and caught the free Unofficial Harvard Tour. The tour guides, Harvard students, were funny, and it seemed like we got a lot of tidbits that probably weren't on the official tour. The guides walked backward the entire time, and enunciated very well (how old am I? "Enunciated very well"?? Sheesh!). Peep the "Hahvahd" shirts. Yes, that is how people talk in Boston. 'Charges' = 'Chaaahges.' We walked around Cambridge, and down to the Charles River, which is etched in my mind as the site of super-trippy Harvard Man, one of my fave guilty pleasures. After that, it was time to head home. The weather was mostly beautiful and sunny, with a lovely cool breeze. Somewhere in Connecticut, I was leaning out of the passenger side window enjoying the sun and the breeze when the Mack truck next to us honked. I looked up, and this Cletus-the-Slack-Jawed-Yokel-looking-dude had pressed a piece of yellow construction paper to his window. "U R HOT" it read, in black magic marker. I started laughing, he was grinning, and a good time was had by all. I guess you have to make your own fun when you're on the road for days at a time. By the time we arrived in New Jersey, around Newark, it had started pouring again, but we got a nice welcome-back present... *A note on Fox News: I finally understand why people call it Faux News. It's amazing that there is a channel which calls itself news and is yet and still, consistently, undeniably, wrong and a proud propagator of false facts.

Baaastin.

I'm going to Boston. My best just got back from six weeks in Italia, and we planned to hang out this weekend... ...you know what, I'm not even gonna lie. I don't need an excuse to take a road trip. One of my favorite things to do, when gas was about 2/3 the price it is now, was take a drive. I've driven all over New Jersey. I've gotten majorly lost. I've ended up in Nowhere, Pennsylvania. I used to drive down to D.C. on a whim. I love to drive, and I've come to a certain sense of acceptance when it comes to gas prices. They're high, and that's just the way it's gonna be. Of course, it helps that my '06 Scion xB is costs just about $40 to fill up (I do miss the days when it was $28, but back then, I felt like I was getting away with something bad) and I can get more than 300 miles out of one tank. So anyway, BFF and I were going to go somewhere boring like Philly, when it occurred to me that we could and should totally drive to Boston. We got a hotel for Saturday night, and we're driving up early in the morning. I haven't been to Boston since I was a senior in high school, for a journalism conference. It's one of my favorite memories. I have no idea what we're going to do while we're there, but knowing me and BFF, we'll make our own fun no matter where we end up. See ya on Monday!

It's Friday...

...and things seem pretty quiet, news-wise (I'm also super-busy, so this is my post for the day). I think people are getting ready for the weekend. After giving a large portion of my paycheck to Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority, Inc. I'll probably be doing something low-key and free. How about you?

Busy Bee

I'm back at work after being away for three weeks and I have a major project on my plate. It's good because my awesome boss is giving me more and more important work to do, but bad because it's a wee bit stressful. Ah well. I probably won't be updating more than once a day for a little while, so I wanted to let you guys know why. Also, Boule was awesome.

Shani-O's Safari Planet

Do you remember the "Brian Fellow's Safari Planet" skits on SNL? Probably my favorite Tracy Morgan character, Brian Fellow always made me feel a little bad for laughing. But how do you not laugh when he exclaims, apropos of nothing, "I'm BRIAN FELLOW!" There's also something hilarious about a safari show host who knows absolutely nothing about wild animals, and is sort of afraid of them screwing up his credit. Anyway, I was feeling like that on Tuesday when I was at the pet store, looking for goldfish. I came upon an African Knife Fish, which I had never seen before, despite being a Petsmart junkie. It looks like this: And it moves like this (very short video): As Petsmart is usually stocked with your run-of-the-mill danios, mollys, platys, guppies, goldfish, and other tetras, I was a bit taken aback. "That fish is CRAZY," I said to myself, hearing Tracy Morgan's voice in my head. I looked at it for a while, then picked up three fantail goldfish. But ultimately, this post is just an excuse to put up a Brian Fellow video. (I need some time to catch up on the news and sort out my feelings on Obama's latest poor decisions, before I post on anything topical.) Without any further ado... Brian Fellows Safari Planet Part 1 - Celebrity bloopers here

Militant Monday: Perhaps I AM My Hair + 'Malcolm X'

Ok, I promise this won't become a blog where I document the progress of my hair semi-monthly. But after more than 15 years with relaxed hair (son, I don't even remember my first perm), I'm going natural. But first things, first. It's Militant Monday! Last night, I watched Spike Lee's Malcolm X for the first time in close to ten years. Actually, I watched 2 hours of it. I still have an hour and some change to go. While I watched, between putting up the black power fist and snapping soulfully, I was chatting with Lauren on BlackBerry Messenger. I relayed, to her shock and glee, my plans to possibly cut off all of my hair, rather than do the slower transition. 'No more of the white man's chemical fire cream on my natural born black scalp!' I typed, forcefully. And so on. While I've been feeling an urge for natural hair for a while, the restriction the conk has put on my workout routine is the main catalyst. I want to go swimming and not spend two hours fixing my hair every single time. I want to wash and go. I want to stop planning vacations and events around when I do my hair. The list goes on. And it really isn't about getting 'back to my roots' (whatever that means). I went to Howard, where going natural was a aesthetic choice, and there was no guarantee that the fine brotha with the locks had read even a line of Marcus Garvey's, or that the sista with the fly 'fro was as interested in revolution as she was in how fierce she looked on the Yard. In fact, if being au naturel isn't as great as I think it is, I reserve my right to go back to the fire cream. With that said, there's a pretty dope exchange between Malcolm while he's in prison and the brother that leads him to the Nation. He's putting more conk on his head, because on the outside "everybody does it," to which the brother -- who's a bit of a buzzkill, truth be told -- responds, "Why don't you want to look like what you are? What makes you ashamed of being black?" During that scene, I wrote to Lauren.

Shani-o: I'm gonna show up to work bald. Shani-o: and they're gonna be like, "What happened?!" Shani-o: and I'll be like, "I watched Malcolm X, white devil!" Lauren: LMFAO!! Shani-o: This movie is bad. Shani-o: Black people shouldn't be allowed to watch it. Lauren: LOL. No they shouldn't. Lauren: Or 'A Time To Kill.' Shani-o: Or 'Rosewood.'

And so on. One of the benefits of not getting to the last hour of 'Malcolm X' is that you miss the denouement, in which Malcolm makes the Hajj and unpacks his extremist, all-white-people-are-devils mentality and takes a more moderate approach. Well, that, and the assassination. I'm one of those people who hopes that the ending changes whenever I watch a sad movie (like, in 'Love Story,' I'm always surprised and heartbroken at the end). But anyway, skipping the end means you get to stay outraged. I'm sure I'll calm down once I watch the end. But for now, happy Militant Monday everybody!!

Back and in Effect!

How was your Memorial Day weekend? Mine was relaxing (no more work at the Grill!) and productive (I cleaned out my car, organized my financial papers.) I also read my personally signed copy (thanks, Demby!) of Ta-Nehisi Coates' The Beautiful Struggle. It was excellent, and I highly recommend you get a copy. Coates (whose blog I frequent) writes poetically about growing up black in Baltimore. The book certainly deserves more analysis than I can give at this very moment, but it holds within it the rhythm of hip-hop, the fear of youth, the cruelty of poverty, and ... multitudes. It's definitely a must-read.

Put Down Lines

Lauren's post on pickup lines has me reminiscing. When I was younger, and still learning how to use my powers of bodaciousness for good, I could be pretty awful to a guy trying to holla. I would either ignore him, or say something smartass-y, or look at him dead in the eye and respond with a time-perfected mix of incredulity and sarcasm: "uh, no." These days, I'm much nicer. I realize guys have a hard time of it out there, so even if I'm not remotely interested, I'll usually smile and thank them for the compliment and keep it moving. That is, unless they're completely out of pocket, in which case they'll receive one of my former tactics. So anyway, here are some of my fonder memories receiving a 'cold open.' Memory #1: I was walking on U St. in D.C., on my way to the 7-Eleven with my BFF. Dude in a black truck (don't ask me what it was, I'm not into cars) slows down on the opposite side of the street, and honks. He's looking at me and smiling, saying, "hey, come over here, can I talk to you?" Setting aside the obvious fact that I'm not crossing traffic to talk to someone I've never met (if you know a girl who will, give me her address, so I can beat her with one of my very heavy Frye boots), I just kinda shook my head and kept walking. Him, as his tires squeal: "FOUR EYES!!!" My friend and I fell out laughing on the sidewalk. Variations on the theme: I have been asked to "come over and talk" to countless men sitting comfortably in their vehicles while I am clearly on my way somewhere. It's not like I'm leaning against a building, swinging my purse and chewing some gum. I'm walking at a brisk pace, and YOU want ME to come talk to you? For what? Get outta here! Memory #2: Junior year Howard homecoming. Yardfest. I'm crossing the Yard with a couple of friends, and there's a little traffic jam. While we're paused, I hear a guy behind me say, "I wonder if the front matches the back..." and next thing you know, I'm being tapped on the shoulder. I turn around reflexively, not connecting the statement with the gesture. Dude looks at me, smiles, and is like, "Yep. You're gorgeous." My arm gets yanked by a friend and I'm being pulled through the crowd before I can even process the objectification. Variations on the theme: Ruminations on the backside are not acceptable conversation-starters. I don't envy the ladies out there who haven't much to work with in the backside, but the flip side of the coin is that men believe it's ok to comment on physical attributes with heavy sexual overtones. And the verbiage! It's just... well, this is a PG blog, so I'll just say this: please don't make mention of the bum until we've hung out at least twice. (And again, I know there are women who get all giggly when a dude notices that she's wearing jeans that are two sizes too small, so if you see one, get her address.) Memory #3: The corniness. A old guy said to me, "girl, you look like your breath smells minty!" Points were awarded for originality, but immediately deducted for weirdness. There are lots of other corny, ridiculous, intelligence-insulting lines, but I'm sure you've heard them all. Bonus Lesson: Guys always want to know what works, and I promise you, any woman worth having will respond positively to the following: Hi, my name is X. How are you today? She'll love it because you're presenting yourself to her, not starting off with a "shawty, what yo' name is?" She'll also love it because you're giving her an opportunity to talk about herself. If you follow it up with a "that blouse really complements your complexion," you're in. Go forth and holla!

Time to Regroup

Today was rough.

I'm only posting today in the interest of blogging semi-regularly.

It's the busy season at work, and on top of that, the person who usually does traffic control on our jobs left NJ for sunnier climes. This means that on top of having 3 times as much work to do, I have to do more work on each job -- talking to vendors and printers, visiting clients in person, and scheduling everything (so that I have enough time to get stuff done, and clients get what they want in time for their oh-so-pressing deadlines).

I'm whining today, but bear with me. I've decided that Monday is my day of rest from the gym, and in a few I'm going to meet some former co-workers from The Grill for dinner. Time to unwind!

(Did I mention I quit my hostess gig? Liberation!!!!!)

New Favorite Thing!

I've been in the gym the last three days. I joined a really fancy gym after discovering that they waive the $300 registration fee for people who work where I work. And by "fancy," I mean, they have marble tile in the bathrooms, a spa, a cafe, and a dry cleaning service. All of this leads me to believe the reason I didn't join at NYSC was because it just didn't appeal to my siddidy sensibilities. My gym is light and airy and open, and there are three levels, and a pool, and I could go on and on ... but the really incredible thing is what I've discovered in the last three days. I am a gym person. I thought I wasn't. The idea of deskjockeys spinning and running in place just seems so inorganic. I used to think there was no soul to exercising indoors. But when it's just you and the treadmill, or the bicep curl machine (I'm really into lifting heavy stuff), there's a certain zen. I think people mistreat their bodies because they don't pay attention to them. We take our bodies for granted, because they're the one thing in the world that won't desert us, but we neglect them. I'm done neglecting mine. I feel good about myself physically for the first time in ages. Everything I do is something that will keep my soul bolted to my body a just little bit longer. I went to spinning class this morning at 6. Ridiculously early, but I was super-excited about my first time. It didn't disappoint. Although my main goal for the session was to not fall off the bike and to pedal the entire 45 minutes, I did keep up (somewhat) with the rest of the class during the interval training. That rocked. When I was done, I felt a huge sense of accomplishment. There's a possibility that all of this is the honeymoon period, but I think between exploring all my gym has to offer, and watching the changes to my physique, I'll keep it up. Who else (besides Jameil and Lauren) goes to the gym? Who wants to? Horror stories?? _____ Listening to: Cake: "Satan Is My Motor" The Roots: "Water" Jamie Cullum: "You And The Night And The Music" Lil Boosie: "Wipe Me Down" The Streets: "Same Old Thing"

Distractions

Today is rainy and gray and cold. Of course, there's only one remedy for a spring day like this. Rainboots! Last night, I did a brief survey of the rainboots out there, and came upon the following lovelies. There are these at Target... they're green, functional, cheap, but ... boring. Then we have these at Nordstrom... they're fly and sophisticated looking, no? And then we have these at Zappos. And I kind of seriously ::heart:: them. So pretty and fun and whimisical! Then I went to J. Crew to check out their Critter Wellies — there was a pair that was pink with olive dots. Unfortunately, when I tried them on my (admittedly larger than average) calves, it felt like they were trying to to give my legs a hickey. So, no go. I did find a cute dress (don't we always end up getting what we're not looking for?) and picked up two of their awesome tank tops - white and yellow. The dress (mine is more red-orange): Final score: 1 pretty summer dress, 2 tank tops, 0 rainboots. Let me know which pair you like best in the comments!

The AIM Archives, vol. ???

Lauren & me on NC, Indy, Hillary, and the $6.4 million.

Wednesday Randomness

1. Hillary is playing the waiting game, and so must we. That's it. Barack survived the media-manufactured sturm und drang of the Rev. Wright debacle, to take NC and come pretty close in Indy. Isn't that enough proof that this man is our nominee? I can wait for her to catch up. (Did you see how she loaned herself $6.4 million? And the Obamas are elitist? I tell you, it's Uppity Negro Syndrome!) 2. The Black Snob is killing me right now. Between her Wall of Sexy on flickr, featuring people who I agree are dreadfully sexy, and her hard work at reviving the Black Girl brand ... I'm officially through with her. 3. Hip hop is back. Well, it never really left, but since I've turned off the radio and started checking out sites that have real music (from Okayplayer to the homie Yellow Rebel), I'm going to say it's back. I mean, you've got The Roots killing the game right now, to sorta newbies Kidz in the Hall—who remind me of a more mature, less-rock-oriented Gym Class Heroes. "Drivin' Down The Block" is my new favorite song, and The In Crowd is quite good altogether. Check out the shout-out to HU at 1:45! 4. Busyness. Work-work, sorority work, hanging with friends and the potential (Lauren suggested "TB" as his blogonym, for various reasons, lol), and very little time to breathe. But I'd rather be busy than not busy. As they say, if you're bored, you're probably boring. 5. This is the hundredth post on my (new) blog!

Too Tired To Yawn

I've been at work for 11 hours and 55 minutes. I did get a lot of work done today, but I am completely wiped. Or, as my mother would say, jaded. How are you?

May 10 & 11

I have the misfortune of being the child of a woman who was born on May 10. That means that my mother's birthday often falls just before or after, if not on, Mother's Day. This wasn't so much of an issue when she lived in Jamaica, but since we're in America, and she's been spoiled by our land of freedom, it's expected that I get her both a birthday and a Mother's Day gift. That was kind of bratty. But you try dealing with a woman who calls to ask whether you're coming home for Mother's Day ("uh, no... you live 3,000 miles away, and I'm a struggling young person"), and then wants to know what you're getting her for the dual-holiday. I messaged my sister on GTalk to ask her what she was getting our lovely matriarch. "I'm taking her to brunch." Blast! It was so much easier when my sister lived in Jamaica, because she never got my mom anything, which made me look pretty rosy with two $5 cards. But now that she has returned to California, I clearly have to step my game up. Here's what I'm thinking. Flowers for her birthday and a gift card to Macy's for Mother's Day. I know, it's really bad and impersonal, but the woman is impossible to shop for. Stop judging me. Fine. What do you suggest, huh?