I confess: I love POP music

and i absolutely am impassioned by this song and music video. kudos Rihanna and your entire team of musicians, engineers, stylists and managers. you are a stunner, gyal.
Anthony Mandler, I’m coming for ya…

Again..Beyonce KILLS it. And Lady Gaga was there, too…

Beyonce feat. Lady Gag. Video Phone.

Ode to the home in which I closed out my twenties

In this space where I learned the “Single Ladies” dance.
It was here where I stayed awake past 5am on countless nights finding a place for a gush of inspiration.
This is the place where I sat for hours watching an entire season of wonderful television programming on DVD.
And, watched Michel Gondry for hours on end projected on one of these walls. Which one? Can you tell?
In here I dreamed – and in here, they came true.
I’ve stood, sat, laid, danced…in disbelief, bliss, disappointment, anguish, fear, anticipation. This is the space where I became raw. I will always remember you fondly.
The breakfasts in “the cafe”.
Diapers changed on my bed.
Beautiful children of friends.
Beautiful children of friends.
Beautiful children of friends.

Is it called youth anymore?

OMG. Shews.

SO, yesterday, right, after werk I decided to take a little me time at DSW shopping for some shews. I totally had like, a total “New York woman who works” moment. Like, all the other women in the store were either coming off of work, or they were working there at DSW and trying to get all the other women to sign up to become members for life, or something. Anyway, so back to my moment. Like, I have been going through the changes that a lot of women my age go through. I don’t mean the OBG kind, I’m talking about growing up. Dressing more sophisticated and stuff.
Like, my entire youth has been spent being very very very very colorful. I mean when I was sixteen I had a hot pink rubber A-line mini skirt. Yah. I rocked the hell outta that joint. Even goth girls were jealous of me. Ha. College, I was like a freaking hippie, but like, I didn’t smell like fleas. I was super rad with my threads. Experimental. I got a little conservo, cuz of the whole “Washington” thing. Like, I worked at an art museum, so I had to like buy “pants” and stuff – but I still kept it pretty funky. Like, I needed dark slacks, so I bought a pair in eggplant.
And now, right, living in New York, like, EVERY woman wears black. Like everywhere you look. Black. Black boots. Black sweaters. Black hats. Black gloves. Black EVERYthing. And like, I’m so not one of those “I’m so very different, and like, I can’t wear what everyone else is wearing” kind of ladies. But, I kinda can’t wear certain things that everyone else is wearing.
Let me try to break it down like Tevin Campbell. okay. I always felt like getting dressed is a way to express your emotions. Your talents. Your desires. And I always felt like I was a very colorful personality. And so I’d wear things like, not neon (that was so 1990), but like plaids with bright blue detail, and lots of yellow and I’d pour bleach on things to brighten them up (not my skin okay – no Ambi. Totally Black and proud). But like, as I get older, I start to feel like, the weight of the city wearing on me and there’s like pressure that’s hard to explain. It makes me wanna like, wear darker colors. Especailly in the fall. I mean, whatever, dark colors are colors, too, right? It doesn’t mean that like, you know, I’m in a dark mood or anything. Does it?
Anyways, I’ve started wearing grays. Grays can be really chic if done well. Charcoals. Tweeds. Smoke. All very nice and fashion forward. Not too compromising for my personality. Then I moved into browns. Like deep browns. Then navy. But I feel like the final frontier in “Allison becoming the sophisticated New Yorker”, is black. But I’m like so hesitant. I literally go shopping with the intention of buying something black, and walk out with olive green stuff, navy stuff, brown stuff – but never black. I’m beginning to think it’s like, the universe conspiring to keep me colorful.
Which brings me to the point of this blog post. So like yesterday, right, as I was saying, I went to DSW. And I had every intention of buying a hot pair of black heeled booties. I tried on a first pair – but they just weren’t that hot. Then I found a second pair that I absolutely LOVED <3 <3 <3. Then, I noticed they were on additional sale, making them even less expensive than the first pair. But, they were a size 40. And I'm a size 41. They fit a little tight, but I SO loved them.
I decided to walk around the store in them and let my feet make the decision for me. Yah. When I lost blood circulation in my left foot, I decided it was time to let go. I tried on a beautiful pair of black riding boots from Ralph Lauren. Way too expensive, but HOT. Then I tried another black bootie. Again. Hot! Hottie hot hot-damn! And less expensive than the second pair. In black they had a size 11 (too big) and a size 9 1/2 (too small). But, of course, they had a perfect 10 in gray. But I'm not falling for that one again. I already have two pairs of gray pumps I barely wear. I don't need a third.

So you see, dear blog. It's not just me being afraid of black. I really think it must not be time yet. Maybe when I'm like, 30 (which is totally in less than 6 months), that will be my gift to myself – a smokin' hot stack of black.

Until then…

Who was Benny A. Lyde?

Benny A. Lyde was a 21 year old college senior at Long Island University, living in Brooklyn, NY. He lived on Lincoln Place in Crown Heights. Not too far from my home. In 2005 he suffered a murderous death by gunfire – all because of some beef that had nothing to do with him. His death went mostly unnoticed in the public eye – as if no unordinary tragedy had transpired. As if we hadn’t just lost a bright, young model American citizen. He was on the honor roll. He had a job and helped his mother pay bills – at the age of 21. He helped run a literacy program in East New York, Brooklyn and mentored younger children in his community. Children looked up to him. And he was looking forward to a shining future as he was finishing up his degrees in Business Management and Computer Science. The world was his. His mother has said he would reevaluate his life’s goals every five years. In 2005 (what would become his last year here), he aspired to be the first Black president of the United States.

A couple of weeks ago, I was taking a Saturday stroll from my house to the Brooklyn Museum. I walked into a crowd of people on that beautiful, warm, sunny Saturday. The air was perfectly crisp and the sun was gentle, not too demanding. The event in Crown Heights that afternoon was a street naming ceremony at Lincoln Place and New York Ave for “Benny A. Lyde Street”

I think I now know the taste of bittersweetness. His murderer has been captured. His mother was able to speak of him without a gush of tears. And in spite of the clear blue late summer’s sky, there was no justice.

The Obamas’ Art Collection

Interesting selection for the white house walls.