Dear Diary . . . day by day

Thursday, April 19th, 2001 - White Girls got Soul, Too

Holly and I were riding the BART into San Francisco last night. She's been singing Erykah Bardu's "Afro (freestyle skit)" off and on for days; it starts, "Pic your afro, daddy, because it's flat on one side." Sure enough she starts singing it softly on the BART.
"Holly, please don't sing that in public."
"Why not?" She looked around the train, checking for flat afros, I guess.
"I dunno, I just -- I mean, race relations are better out here than they are back East, but I still don't think a black dude is going to want some white chick telling him what to do with his 'fro."
She stopped with the words, but hummed it off and on for awhile.
Later, we met Justin in the city and went to see his co-op (New Hack City, I believe he called it) which is supposed to be the chi-chi place where hackers hang out and work on code but really is just a chill space with a good mixing board, soft couches and a big screen movie set-up (and lots of computers in the other room). When we left, we had to wait for a bus, and Holly was humming her afro song again when a guy with a HUGE lop-sided 'fro walks in front of us and gets on a different bus. Holly's eyes got huge and I had to bite my lip and look at the pavement until the bus doors were safely shut. Then we burst out laughing.
It took a few minutes to calm down enough to fill Justin in on the joke. He didn't think it was funny. You probably don't either; my sister and I are sometimes known for our odd, familial sense of humor; I think we got it from Dad.
We took the bus down to the Haight where Justin bought us a really nice Thai meal with a bottle of Chardonnay and appetizers and everything. I've been an adult and on my own for years now, but I still can't afford dinners like that often, or even occasionally, and I'm like a little kid when someone treats me like that. It's different than going out with friends and splitting the check, which is cool, too, but often requires a consciousness of what everyone can afford. Justin was a gracious host, suggesting appetizers and the wine, making us feel very comfortable about accepting his generosity (it helps that we know he's making bank in the computer industry right now). Anyway, they took a cab back to Treasure Island (where Justin lives; it's an island halfway along the Bay Bridge between Oakland and SF) and dropped me at BART on the way. It was a lovely night.
Yes, yes, I'm telling the stories backwards. I just wanted to tell that one while I was thinking of it. I'll tell more later.
I got an email from a reader the other day that made me laugh. It read:
Subject: Bridget Jones' Diary
Went to see that last night. Your diary doesn't measure up to it. It's interesting reading someone's thoughts, anonymously, though.
I understand that this journal isn't all that titlilating (or even updated frequently, at least not recently), but that's not what this journal is for. If you want something more exciting, go read one of my how-to's at Clean Sheets instead. (Not you, Mom; oh, please don't follow that link!) Those contain some of the exciting stuff that my personal, paper journals are full of. I haven't read or seen Bridget Jones' Diary, but I really wonder if my life these past few years wouldn't measure up; personally, I'll bet it blows Ms. Jones out of the water, but I should probably go read it before I go making assumptions such as that.
The letter didn't offend me, by the way. But it did get my feathers a bit ruffled :-)

Exercise log:
Lots of stuff, but most recently hiking in Muir woods followed by a yoga class with my seestor, Holly.
Writing log:
Finished the Beltane article and am currently spewing more poetry than I have for years and years.
I'm currently reading:
Zod Wallop by William Browning Spencer
My new PO Box is:
Heather Shaw
P.O. Box 13222
Berkeley, CA 94712-4222

Previous | Next
List of Entries for this Month | Journal Index | Current Entry
Home