June 2005 Archives

ok, honestly - I think my writing sucks. A big fat one.

Everytime I read something I wrote, even if I think it was hot at the time, like when I re-read....

I found the divine in the words of a poet
And I'm afraid that my tongue, my imagination
cannot do/give that poet justice

...I found the divine in the words of a poet
and I fear that my tongue, my imagination
cannot do/give that poet justice.
© 2005 - sagacious media

my head wants to just spit: "pah...that just SUCKS. That's gotta be the most contrived piece of crap I've ever read. yugh."

red devil on my left shoulder, shaking it's head: "you really should stop trying to write, and move on to something you're better at. like folding sweaters at Rich's. Or birthing babies..."
angel on my left shoulder, hitting devil with her tamborine: "oh shaddup - you are forever throwing salt in her game. That was hot sweetie, really. As good, if not better than most of the poems I've ever heard"
red devil: "gawd, you're such a suckup. quit babying her."
angel: "negative a$$. you're forever beating her up, and for some odd-a$$ reason, she listens to your non-creative self. that's why she's got writer's block now"
me: "dayum, it's no wonder I can't dayum write, for all this noise in my head..sheesh. And since when are angels violent?!!!"

and then I'm my own dayum nay-sayer. Part of me is like - false humility. Maybe you're just seeking validation. The other part is really like, you're your own worst critic. Maybe you just need some objectivity.

I dunno. Alls I know is...I'se stuck.

What do y'all do when you're stuck?

ps. I know that whole interaction was very Three Faces of Eve-ish. I don't think I ever claimed sanity. I told y'all before I talk to myself...that sometimes that's the only intelligent person I can find to have a conversation with...you prolly didn't believe me...

and then it's over

© 2004 ~ Sagacious Media

Bakers Dozen c/o KB via ej.

1. That it isn't so much that I've lost my voice, that it is me losing the desire to blog.


2. That I need to quit putting off social activities to feed my HIF (hand in fro) disease. And while I love NP, I need to stay off of there too.


3. That it's not so much my giving up on dating, as it is my giving up on settling...so with that....


4. ...I've given up on looking for romance. It'll find me.


5. That I'm tired of adjusting myself to conform to a job that doesn't appreciate me. Enough.


6. That dayum, when I woke up this morning, I believe I was free...


7. ...ok then, Bantu Knots it is.


8. That if anyone comments negatively, it won't be the overtly racist coworkers. It'll be my brain-washed contemporaries.


9. That the summer is 1/3 over, and what do I really have to show for it...?


10. ....that my accounting books are calling me.


11. ...that this site needs rework. An MT upgrade. Some arby's. A method of generating $$$. And a hug.


12. ...that I need to write, not blog. I need a schedule, some additional free time, a dash of discipline, some new music, etc...etc.


13. That I'm far too complacent with mediocrity, with settling, with accepting less than I deserve...

Yeah, I did some stuff this weekend. Nothing special, so it wasn't worth writing about. What's going on in my head was slightly more interesting. only Slightly. And Ok, it's 13. It IS a Baker's dozen, right? :)

via Karsh:

yeah, that's probably really accurate. 'cept I gotta learn that everyone doesn't play by those rules...

Bakers Dozen c/o KB via ej.

1. resolved things with theChaos - family is more important than water, or even pride.


2. theDirt update: I have a box for the foundation, but no foundation as of yet.


3. hammy & I spend more than a few afternoons baking & fighting over his bike, which I want him to ride, and he wants me to push...


4. I apply for, and am semi-denied a job opportunity that would've included a PHAT raise...


5. ...only to get offered a similar opportunity, and have that semi-denied as well...


6. ...and then find out I'm being reassigned, with no promotion nor a pay increase. F&*%in' GREAT!


7. None of my coworkers share my surprise about my reassignment. Sounds like I need a career change.


8. I contemplate posting the FULL version of that scenario, which would definitely cost me my job. But would also lose me theDirt.


9. I then contemplate taking this site down. Posting, particularly while mentally censoring myself, is becoming a bit of a chore.


10. A lil crying, a lil drinking, a lil carousing to readjust my view...


11. Roswell Wing Depot:: @ 2AM on a Saturday nite is off 'da hook!!!


12. What is it about me that captures the attention of guys UNDER 30? Seriously - please let me know, so I can change it. I should be flattered, but since theChaos is 21, 18-28 is just creepy.

I'm a woman of my word, so I'm posting as scheduled. However, an apology to all the regular visitors here: until I can see that glass properly, my posts will still be sparse...or very...very....very impersonal. This may/may not be a bad thing, just depends on how you look at it...

I need a hiatus. Things at work have been hectic, I have family issues I need to resolve, and some projects I've let sit on the back burner for a sec. I'm wilting. I need a break.

Meanwhile, I'll try to leave y'all with a little musical interlude w/in the next few days. Something to reflect on.

Peace.

I interrupt this family drama related rant-saga to provide you with the following:

Work-related Rant!!!

Aight, so I've been rambling on, incessently about globalization (the global spread of market-capitalism), classism, and my funktacular gig. Well, remember when I said I'd pack light...?

This position opened up in another department, closely related to some work I'd done for my department when I initially began working for the Company. Well, this position was an entry-level Project Management position, so even though this position would take me slightly off my career track, there would have been a phat raise to make up for that. Shweet!

Well, not so fast. See, at my company, you can't just apply for these positions when they become available. You have to go through your boss, and he passes the application on to the appropriate manager, once he "determines" some things:
- whether or not you're qualified for the position
- whether or not the new pay level is appropriate for the applicant considering their current pay level
- whether or not there's a "business need" for you to leave/stay

In other words, your boss can throw an emergency brake on your career plans, despite what you do. And if you circumvent this established process, they'll file your "potential for promotion" into File 13. Permanently. Can't buck the system, 'specially when you work for the Company.

And so yeah, this is exactly what happened: I apply, spend 3 days (attempting to fit into my boss's "busy" schedule) convincing my current supervisor that I'm overqualified for this position, and not only possess the skills/knowledge to excel in this position, but also that my initial exemplary performance evaluations (which he previously informed me that he was familiar with) attest to this. Meanwhile, my colleague applies, the same day that that I do, her boss blesses her application immediately, and she gets the position before I even have a shot at applying.

Am I mad? Not really. I expected it. Here's why:
- My boss & I have a serious disconnect about my skills & the merits of my past work experience. If it's not related to what I'm doing right now, he thinks what I've done in the past has no merit. In other words, my boss thinks that my career started when I started working for him, even though I've been working for 20+ years.
- The phat raise: my colleague is taking a lateral. Even though she's got less experience than I as it relates to the skills for this particular job, they're already paying her the same amount of money as this new gig, so no promotion. Good business decision, for the Company doesn't have to spend a $.10 to fill the new position. They're absorbing her old position (making 2 people already here split her work, on top of their current workload).
- My past exemplary performance evaluations are based on tasks/assignments completely unrelated to my title. My last performance evaluation, while above average, definitely wasn't exemplary, because while I've been previously working on tasks determined by a "business need", those tasks aren't related to my title, and my performance is partially based on the skills I'm using. Those skills are determined by my title. In other words, if I'm a French Teacher, but I'm teaching English, even if I'm a bada$$ at teaching English, I can only get a 4 out of 6 on my evaluation, because I'm not teaching French. Only 6's are allegedly entertained when promotions are decided. Allegedly.

It's market-capitalism & classism at its finest: my colleague was a better value-proposition for the Company, and the Market responded accordingly. And the perceptions of me, my past work experience, and performance suggest that I wasn't in the correct "class" of employees for this position. Cute, right?

So, my friends & colleagues are agreed: "Shawty, you got screwed". But I ain't mad. Pack light. I know this, I knew this, and I need to live this.

So, um....are any of y'all Companies hiring?

Again, no recaps...this is part III of a post too long to recount in one drop, hence the 3-part saga. Starts with Part I, and continues with Part II. Go catch up first...

So, you're wondering if I really kicked my child, the fruit of my loins out of my car, right?

Yes, I did...

...and I drove home, which was only about 5 minutes away, fuming. Thinking, the nerve of this child, the one I gave life to...

aside: for those of you who aren't parents, when your child gets grown enough to mouth off & talk back...this thought WILL run through your mind at some point - "how dare she get funky with me? don't she know I gave her LIFE?!!!"

...to raise her voice at me? Who is she to question my intentions? If I could get a nickel for every sacrifice I made for these kids, boy, I'd be rich...

And then I busted out crying. A short intense shower, like a mid-afternoon summer rain, you know - the kind that just makes the day hotter? Uhn-hunh, this had that same effect. When I stopped, 1.5 minutes later, I was mad. Not ranting & raving angry, but coolly mad. Civil, polite, but seething inside. I called her to make sure she knew how to get home. Calm & collected, she told me she was familiar with the area I put her out in, and she'd be fine. We hung up.

I sulked the rest of that day, and the next few days. I confided in Mia what happened, and that I felt horrible about putting her out. Mia being Mia, my straight-up girlfriend, the kind who calls me on my shyt, said plainly "you need to call her". And yes, I knew that I did. But my bull-headed pride wouldn't let me be wrong, even this once. I needed to sulk a little longer.

And then I got call #3 from long-lost family member, NYDyme (for lack of a better pseudonym - I'm gonna have to work on this one).

Now, let me 'splain homegirl - cause that's truly what she is. The family tie is that NYDyme is my 2nd cousin, on my dad's side of the family, and about the same age. My dad tracked down quite a few family members, in a quest to reconnect some missing branches on his family tree, and my NY cousins were close to us, geographically. We went to NY to meet them, and our families hit it off, but that's not the real scoop.

The real scoop is that NYDyme and I met around the time puberty began to kick in, and we (shaking my head, laughing)...lol. We were like twins separated at birth. Running partners. We rollerskated together, bought bubblegum flavored lip gloss together, and ran them boys to death. Our visit to NY was my first taste of being close to womanhood, and I loved it.

Not long after, NYDyme came to stay with my family in Buffalo, and we became almost like sisters. She being the cosmopolitan, sophisticated twin, being from NY and all...she had long beautiful hair, and wore makeup, and knew about boys, and bras, and french kissing...lol. Me, being the country twin, from Buffalo, ridiculously smart, yet introverted, but a more than willing accomplice (and sometime instigator) in all kinds of mischief. We shared shoes, clothes, fashion tips, again ran the boys to death...and she taught me to french kiss...

...on a pillow. Dayum...get your little incestuous funky minds outta the gutter.

In any event, when she went back home, I was forever changed, and we vowed to be fast friends forever. Funny how distance, time, deaths, drama and destiny tend to change those forever-vows. I haven't talked to her in over 25 years.

So, when I heard her voice, not only did I immediately know who it was, but it was as if we just talked yesterday. We caught up, her kids, my kids, my mistakes, her mistakes, her regrouping, and my regrouping, my weight gain, her weight gain, her funky hairstyle, my funky hairstyles, etc, etc. We've lived almost parallel lives, hitting similar bumps in the road, and moving on to overcome the obstacles that weaker women would've given in to.

We both sounded strong. Stronger for the struggles, and the joys, and the pain. She sounded so together, and grounded. I missed her & she missed me. We both know we need to reconnect in person, so I have a spare room, as does she. Somehow, we will connect. At the end of the call, we exchanged I love you's - something that again, we haven't done in decades. Those I love you's were sincere.

NYDyme. If I told her what had happened between my dear daughter and I, despite her Christian upbringing, she would've have reemed me a new one.

"I know I've got to fix this. I've known I would have to fix this ever since the words came out of my mouth. She's my daughter, I love her dearly...hell, I would've cut my right arm off if she'd asked me to. I've lost too many members of my family in my life to let this thing fester."

aside: the very day my father drowned, we got into a huge argument because I wanted to be grown and do something he didn't want me to do. My last words to my father were "I hate you". This thought still brings tears to my eyes.

I've got to call her.

"Hello theChaos. It's your mom, and I just want to apologize for the things I said to you the other day, and for kicking you out of my car. I'm sorry. We need to talk..."

If you haven't read it yet, you're going to want to start with Part I. No recaps here...

Now, I really debated sharing this part. It's completely unflattering, to me & to my child (well, mostly to me). But in the spirit that I started this blog, the Credo and all that...I have to tell the story, the way it was meant to be told, and just tell the (ugly) truth, and dayum the liar. Even if the liar is me (to make myself look better).

My daughter went with me to lunch, and we shared these connected feelings. My daughter's grandfather was long gone before she was even a cell within my womb. So, we laughed & talked and hung out for a while, revelling in this familial spirit.

<sigh>

My son was with us, and bless his heart, wasn't remotely interested in any of this. He was disruptive at lunch, and demanding my attention the entire day. He interrupted my eating to go to the bathroom, and I could hardly carry on a conversation without him calling me. So, when we went window shopping after lunch, his incessant cries of "Mommy, Mommy" weren't completely ignored by me, but weren't exactly a priority either. He can be a real pill when I'm around, and will do this regardless of what he's doing - coloring, watching a movie, reading a book, playing with his action figures (no jokes from the peanut gallery), etc. So, I wasn't exactly ignoring him, but I needed the time out, amongst adults.

Now, here's where I f&*%$ed up. My daughter started getting frustrated with him, and I sensed her frustration. I was slightly frustrated as well. So she suggested that we leave, and I told her - I was fine. She insisted again that we should leave, and I told her again - I've GOT this. The third time was the charm. When she mentioned it again, I could plainly see embarassment in her face. I've seen this look on her face before, at the movies when I've had to remove my son to discipline him, or at a restaurant when he's acted up. And I've never called her on it. I wasn't going to this time either. "Ok, fine" I shot at her, and stomped back to the car, Hammy in tow. theChaos followed suit.

Y'all know about that Taurus temper, right? It's legendary, and while I'm pretty good at controlling it, once I fire off that warning shot, it's best to leave me pretty much alone. My daughter, while very aware of this, has a temper of her own...

..and this time - she needed to talk this out. I really needed to NOT talk this out. The twain should never have met. Her nickname is theChaos y'all, and she didn't just give herself that name for the hell of it...

theChaos: I just wanted to leave, because I know Hammy is tired, and maybe you should take him to the park
saga (angry): Let's not talk about this.
theChaos: Well, I'm just saying...we haven't done anything today for him. He's probably tired and wants to play.
saga: I told you I had him. He was fine.
theChaos: I heard you, but I'm just saying...
saga: He's always like that. Hammy was calling me every 5 minutes during lunch, and no one noticed that I wasn't eating.
theChaos: But...
saga (loud): Let me finish - I wasn't done talking. We went to the bathroom 5 times during the meal, and he didn't do anything, except wash his hands, and irritate me. My food was cold by the time I got back to the table.
theChaos: But Ma...you know he was bored....
saga (livid as much by the interruptions as by the conversation): he was playing with _____ (my 7 yr old cousin, who has Down's syndrome). He was still doing what he wanted, coloring on the table - but calling me every 5 minutes. He does this ALL THE TIME. If I take him to the movies this second, he'll still do it. If I take him to the park, he'll be calling me from the slide, doing the same thing. I'm so tired of people acting like my life ended when I had Hammy. But you know what, that's not a problem. My problem is you.
theChaos: hunh?
saga (if it was possible for me to get any more livid, I did it here...): I can take his behavior - I'm used to that. I can deal with the disruptions. I can even deal with the stares from strangers that look at him with embarassment. What I can't take is that same look coming from you...
theChaos (becoming angry now): Oh no - so you're just assuming I was embarassed...I was there everyday with him just like you were..I lived with it just like you did.
saga: I don't have to assume anything. Act like I raised you - I can see it all over your face....this isn't the first time I've seen this...it's just the first time I actually called you on it...
theChaos (livid, voiced raised): See, you're just being selfish. You're frustrated because of the situation you're in with Hammy, and you're taking it out on me because you can't do anything about it...
saga: that's it - GET THE F&*% OUTTA MY CAR. NOW.

Wait. I'm pre-empting this B12, in favor of some b-ground info on Saga & Her Family. And some minor-league drama.

The basics: 3 brothers, one half & two whole. All from previous marriages. My parents married each other after disastrous first marriages for both of them. Mom had me at 43, and swore I was the early onset of menopause. It became a blessing in disguise for her. My brother, the youngest of the 3, was killed while on his motorcycle, December 24th, 1965. I was born May of the following year. It was a rough year.

The not-so-obvious stuff: My brothers were all GROWN when I was born, and out of the house. From what I've gathered over the years, the oldest one joined the military at 16, and traveled the world for a bit. He never actually came home, but settled on the West Coast. My middle brother, the half-brother, was bitter about his parents divorce. My father never had a relationship with him afterward, so I never knew he existed until MUCH later.

The dirt: My father drowned when I was just turning 12, in a freak fishing accident, leaving me devastated, and my mother distraught. He was also a bit of a womanizer. So, my half-brother showed up at the funeral, and my mom appeared further traumatized by his apperance. I was clueless. My mom was further humiliated by my cousin-in-law (female cousin by marriage) calling my mother during the after-wake dinner at our house, to inform my mom that she was having an affair with my father. Then, my grandmother (dad's mom) decided she'd had enough of my father's second marriage after the funeral, and proceeded to remove some pictures of herself, and my father, from our house.

The result: I lost that entire side of my family: Uncles, Aunts, cousins, etc. for the most part, over the course of about 3 weeks, immediately after my father died. And yes, it was largely because of the after-funeral drama. My mom, in her mourning, had little support from them, largely because of her tiff with my grandma. So, in the process, I was cut off by both sides, from my dad's side of the family.

Now I thought about shedding some additional light on the whole family thing, like my mom's family drama, but I think this is enuff to illustrate the tenuous definition of family that I currently have. I have more horror stories. Heck, we probably all do. Suffice it to say that I don't associate traditional feelings of comfort, loyalty, support and family bonds with my family in general. I'm a black sheep (for many reasons, most of which are in my 100 things about me), and not exactly ashamed of it.

So, when my cousin tracked me down on Zabasearch.com, I was frankly, shocked and nervous. I'd pretty much put this side of my family out of my mind, and since I've been in Atlanta for some years, I assumed that I'd never find them. So I was pleased yes - but wary. I'm the black sheep, so unless their expectations of me are really low, I've always assumed that distance was a good thing.

We all went out for a pre-family reunion get together this weekend, my Zaba-searching cousin, some other cousins, my children and I; and it turns out I'm not as black a sheep as I think I am. They all had stories about Granddaddy, who was a hellcat and raised his family with an iron fist. And Grandma, who got sick of the fist, fled 900+ miles from him, and remarried with a questionable at best divorce. This split breaking the family in half, and preventing me from knowing cousins that literally have lived within 10 miles of me, here and back home. Cousin X killed a man in XX, then fled to XX, changing his name and starting a whole new family, leaving his old family behind with no means of support. The stories were as colorful as the book my Zaba-searching cousin shared with me, documenting my family tree. A thousand pages thick, with pictures of family members I've never met, going back to the 1820's. My slave ancestor...and the brood her selling papers documented. It was overwhelming.

So I left feeling this connection to a family that I've never really known.

If only I could've kept that warm, fuzzy familial connection a bit longer. And if only I hadn't had that blow out with the fruit of my loins...

...to be continued....

My coworker is losing her hair. It's been a slow process, but some combination of thinning, breakage, the fine-ness of her hair, and her hair routine has resulted in hair loss. Substantial enough to be noticeable for anyone who is really looking, albeit not enough to be apparent to those who are not. Some hairline alopecia + some mid-range baldness = visibly thinning hair.

I've watched & listened to her struggle with this over the last few months. I've seen her go from roller sets, to body waves, to sewn-in weaves. She's tried various products, from hair volumizing shampoos to scalp stimulating hair grease. She's changed salons at least 6 times, and is now consulting a "Hair Doctor" to assist in stemming the loss.

aside: unless the stylist as a PhD in Hairology, why do people actually buy into these bullshyt a$$ titles? But, I digress.

I want to be as supportive as possible from a sista-girl standpoint, but I'm also a realist. I had to tell her. You need to let go of the lye. But no matter how many examples I give her, now matter how much I try to convince her, no matter how many sisters I show her, that we both know, that have stopped "perming" their hair and whose hair has recovered, she can't let go of the idea of perming.

I've heard this argument from friends, family members, colleagues and coworkers. That I have "good" hair, and their hair is "nappy" (meaning not good). That natural hair won't look "right" on them. That natural hair is too much work, that it's unprofessional, that it's messy, that it's unmanageable. I've tried to subtly, gently and civilly encourage them, without sounding preachy, sanctimonius or self-righteous.

I'm not trying to save the entire world from Alberto-Culver, one head at a time. I just want African American women to use some common sense when it comes to using products on our hair. And the only way to do that, IMHO, is to strip the perm from their minds.

We all know we're bombarded with negative images that damage our self-perception. What we don't all necessarily know is how pervasive these images are. Turn on any show on the "black" stations (UPN, Fox on certain nights, BET, TVOne, etc.), or a show on any station that features a primarily black cast and you'll be bombarded with commercials for black hair products. These commercials are stocked with women with A) long, B) relaxed, C) unnatural (meaning they're probably wearing a weave, fall, wig or some other additions) hair. Even the commercials targeting women with "natural" hair may feature women with fake locs, wigs or hair extensions, women that are overly "coiffed", no hairs astray, whose stylist is waiting on standby during the taping, ready to fix curl # 1,287 if it falls slightly, or looks dull. These same hair models are featured in black publications, as well as billboards and signage in urban areas, and the same products are in radio drops across the country. We're hard pressed to escape it.

So, it's completely unsurprising that we, as African American people, women in particular, would hate the natural state of our hair so much. We're conditioned to think it's wrong, that it needs to be fixed, and that it can only be presentable when altered. It's almost like a degenerative disease, that takes us over as small children, and just stays with us until we die, or don a wig, forever. Take a peek at the mother board of your local church, or talk to your grandmother's peer group. Do any of them have any of their own hair left?

How do you fight this? I don't know that I have an easy answer for that. For me, it was a process. But I can list some of the steps that helped me.

• Yeah, Heather Locklear as a waitress & Jennifer Lopez as a maid. Minimal makeup & sans stylists, of course. I'll buy that, sure. Are we running out of movie ideas, people?
• Brown is the new Black. Sorry Todd.
• Foughetto replaces Boughetto as my word of the moment. Foughetto: First generation bougie, but brought up in the ghetto. Thine a$$ ain't had $ long enough to turn thy nose up at anyone...
• A coworker to moi: "Is _____ gay?". My short & sweet thought: "Dunno". My long & sweet answer: "Since I'm not sleeping with ______, why would I give a f&*%?". This coworker stopped talking to me.
• R. Kelly: media hungry beast capitalizing on over-rated drama? Or true artist reflecting on the drama real life has become? Honestly, I just want to know when his dayum trial will ever start.
• I need a reality-show intervention. Beauty & The Geek? Dancing with the Stars? Hit Me Baby One More Time? Hell's Kitchen? (thinking: "dayum, did that chef just say f&*% and they barely bleeped it out, but you could read his lips, on NETWORK TV?") And coming soon - So You Think You Can Dance? and I Want to Be A Hilton? Stop the madness!!!
• Why am I paying $3/day for an apple, a scoop of walnuts, and a 1/2 tablespoon of non-fat yogurt? It's them dayum animated sistas with the natural hair, using their mind control tricks on me...

So, it's midyear, which means it's another opportunity to perform a work-related self evaluation. Which basically means you write the business case underlying your performance evaluation score, including your accomplishments, strengths & perceived weaknesses, and then your lazy a$$ boss cuts & pastes it into the actual review, and modifies it slightly depending on how much he likes you. If he loves you, he tweaks it so you sound better than you are, and gives you a phat raise. If he's fine with you, he uses it as is, and gives you the "company standard" percentage. If he hates you, he rips it apart, and tells you to look for your raise in the recycle bin, right underneath the self eval that you just wrote. Sounds like fun, yes?

As an aside, do other companies torture folks like this bi-annually? This is the most BS way to do a performance eval I've ever seen...and I used to be "in management" so I used to give performance evals...but I digress.

So, as I write this, it reminds me again that as I've said before...Globalization happens, and it happens to us all, whether we like it or not.

It's means that as an employee-entrepeneur, I have to do a cost-benefit analysis on my dayum self. And it means that I have to determine the value-proposition that I offer to my current, and potential future employers. It means that I have to consistently offer a greater return to my employer, and knowing that, ensure that I increase the value to my employer, at a rate which exceeds the rate at which the costs associated with me increase. And I have to ensure that the rate of return on me is continuously better than that of my counterparts, both stateside, and overseas. Or else I may be repositioned, and my position may be outsourced. Goodbye job stability, hello portable retirement plans.

Sounds like gibberish, right? Ok, how's about this: it means my massa has to make a profit on me to keep me on my plantation. Or else he'll sell me, or give me away. Hm, seems like things ain't changed all that much, have they?

I can remember watching "Escape from New York" as an adolescent. Losing myself in the coolness that was the merger between futuristic fiction and action. Snake Pliskin was the shiznit, and even as a jaded, worldly 15 year old I thought that the premise, of New York being a jail for incorrigible criminals and the underbelly of society, as being ridiculously farfetched. "Locking up all those folks in a city? It would never happen...not because they couldn't keep them in the city...but just because...it's just wrong."

I live in a city obsessed with class, and even if you're not in Atlanta, gosh dayum we keep managing to make the national news, don't we? "Bride With Cold Feet Flees Upscale Atlanta Suburb." "Crane Hijack: Accused Rapist Holds Upscale Atlanta Neighborhood Hostage." "Accused Murderer Flees County Court to Upscale Atlanta Neighborhood." I wake up in the morning to a murder in an apartment on Piedmont, as the newscaster is busy interviewing "...fellow residents of the upscale apartment building". To be frank, I'm at the point where the word upscale on the morning news sets off my radar, and I'm mentally prepped to suck my teeth at the rest of the story.

But it's not just Atlanta. All across the country, in the national news, on TV, on the radio, these crime stories have subtly yet increasingly focused as much on where and to whom the crimes have happened, as they have focused on the crime. And to whom increasingly means to the "Haves". Disappearing children. School shootings. Incest victims. Serial killings. Domestic Violence. Murder. To the "upscale". And the word, "upscale" is always delivered with that element of surprise, that it happened, here. In a quiet, sleepy, suburban, urban "upscale" neighborhood, where crime is supposed to be the exception, not the rule.

It drives me insane every time I hear it. Is crime & vice the exemplification of the "Have-Not"? No? Then, why in the hell does the media keep making it seem that only the underclass has a "lock" on outrageous crimes? It's as if, Jennifer Wilbanks, Carl Rowland, Brian Nichols aside (not that they're all "upscale", but what occurred in these instances all involved an area where these things aren't "supposed" to happen), money and/or social status is supposed to be a crime deterrent? Since when did Duluth become an "upscale" or "toney" Atlanta suburb? But I digress...