I do my MYSPACE HATIN' at night...

Stop sucking me in!!

You know what they say about eating after 10pm? All bad. That goes for Myspacing too. Somehow, when all the blog posts on my favorite sites have ceded and all I have left are me and my (un)Favorites list, I sometimes fall victim to the mindless marauding of a tongue-clucker. Another hoey picture of her ass? Look at this groupie ass broad, don't no one wanna see her drunken escapades night after night! What's the matter with this guy, does he think he's gonna wife that import model?

I start to get sick to my stomach after a while - disgusted at my consumption of such meaningless voyeurism, annoyed that these people are fed not only by their fans, but by people like me who inevitably click on their damn pages anyway, and my sick desire to purge myself of all the haterism in this world.

My Tita Alice lent me this book, The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success by Deepak Chopra, and it definitely has helped me let go of all my judgemental behaviors I was putting on the world. Although I do believe that certain things should be abolished (ism's, per se), as aforementioned in previous posts, I definitely have to choose my battles. Here's an excerpt:

There are three components of the Law of Least Effort...the third component is defenselessness, which means that your awareness is established in defenselessness, and you have to relinquish the need to convince or persuade others of your point of view. If you observe people around you, you'll see that they spend ninety-nine percent of their time defending their point of view. If you just relinquish the need to defend your point of view, you will in that relinquishment, gain access to enormous amounts of energy that has been previously wasted.

In laymens terms, It is what it is. So instead of wasting all that time and energy projecting your moral restrictions on others, spend some if it making yourself better. In my case, I'll crack open a book every time I get the urge to pointlessly surf the web. But I do admit, it's an every day struggle...

Still Over the Moon

(When I say EyeASage, Y'all say "Whoo!!!!"

As soon as I knew that I would be planning my mixtape release at MILK for the MISS Crew birthday party, a curious thing would start to happen. I would lie awake for an hour or so every night, unable to sleep, and think of all the things I would do once I'd hit that stage: "Do the ladies run this muthafucka? Hell Yeah!" And during a lull in consciousness at the Heart of the City Tour, I'd think to myself, "Should I intertwine my mic cord around my fingers? Should I stop fidgeting onstage and focus on emphasizing the words?" You can understand how much planning and anxiety came with such a momentous occasion for myself.




In 2006, when I was coming home from that fateful summer in NYC, I promised that I would stop dick-riding the utter wackness of present-day Hip-Hop(in the form of flattering editorials) and start making my own music - one that filled the void of useless chatter and female degradation. So a couple months later when I found myself expecting and 300 miles away from home, I was almost afraid that I wouldn't fulfill that promise to myself. But after persistent nudging from my partner, and persistent kicking from my son in-utero, I finished the entire mixtape, one hand on the mic and one hand on my growing belly.

The last songs that I recorded, "Mactivist" and "Kahlil's Song", I was literally 9 months pregnant, and due in two weeks. Bam was at work and I was tired of using all these excuses about not finishing my mixtape - "I'm not used to being sober when i write" (which I had to be because of my pregnancy), and "I don't know how to work the recording equipment"- which I learned out of frustration that Bam couldn't always be there when I felt inspired to record.

When the mixtape was finished, I had an idea to pitch it to MISS Crew - a blog that I always respected because it highlighted - not hated on - the idea of a feminine agency and accomplishment. I was so scared that my songs would be too controversial, my songs too outspoken and my delivery a little too brazen. But when Gabriella and Lexx bumped it for a week straight and welcomed my music with open arms, I was humbled, ecstatic, and happy that it found a home with such ambitious and critical women. (Much love goes out to you both)

(All my friends and fam in the front, supportin'!)



So when the night finally came, after many rehearsals and cd repeats on end, it was literally my best show ever. Thanks to my family and friends in the front row screaming for me, and a much-needed shot of Hennessey from sis, Jaydizzle, I rocked the mothafuckin' house!!!! Stay tuned to MISS Crew and GB for the video and audio footage, thanks to Erica Eng and DJ Zita.
(You gotta love it!)

I'm BAAAAACCCKKKK...




A beautful week in the Bay, an awesome performance at MILK, but it's good to be home. Full report mañana!

Latest Article: Gnarls Barkley!!!

I'm headed for the Bay this weekend for my SHOW at MILK!!! So pick the new issue up and I'll have a couple quotes from these dudes that didn't make the piece when I get back. And if you are in the Bay, hit my show up!!!!

10-minute Recap of the "Heart of the City" Show

(View from my seat. Just kidding. Kind of.)


Thanks to Steph and homies for grabbing the tickets for us!

- Just getting in the damn place was bonkers. Think of L.A. traffic. Then replace honking cars with a living mass of stinky, agitated bodies. Literally shoulder-to-shoulder with 5,000 people just waiting to get checked. I was looking for an escape route just in case something popped off, but then again, this ain't Summer Jam '05 in Mountain View.
- We were in the nosebleeds, but we had a great time nonetheless, thanks to the three video projectors and a couple seat switcheroos with some nice people.
- Dream's set was weird, and he had dancers simulating sexual acts (no surprise), but was endearing and funny when talking to the crowd (surprise). He ended it so abruptly that no one clapped when he walked off the stage.
- Now for the main event!!!! Or should I say, "mane" event because Mary's wigpiece was the shit!!! They came out together and performed "Can't Knock the Hustle"
- Mary's set was amazing live and she can sing her ass off. The cool part about it is that she doesn't change up anything, so you can sing along and not get moded. Bam and Phat let me and Steph sit together so we could belt out the tunes as loud as our independent-woman hearts desired and they would be spared by the wrath of our so-called "man-hating". Whatever.
- There were these weird ass graphics on the projector during some of her songs with silhouettes of flamenco dancers and her ad libs (like "Yoo Hoo!") floating in some weird psychedelic soup. It was interspersed with vignettes of flying scenes that reminded me of the Disneyland ride that smells like pine trees when you're fake-flying over the forest.
- Jay-Z came on and the men felt like men again.
- He went from a tux to a medium-sized shirt. He really did have an extensive catalog and people kept thinking that there would be special cameos when he'd introduce a song from, say, Beans or Bey. Nope. Nothing special. Just Memph Bleek.
- There were fireworks to end the show. Like 4th-of-July-worthy fireworks that reminded you that only these two could afford fireworks to end their set.
- getting out was just as bad as getting in. And I kept thinking, "This is perfect sideshow conditions." But then I remembered that I was in L.A. and was a little sad and relieved at the same time.



Next on the concert tip...Erykah and The Roots at the Greek Theatre!

Guess where I'll be tonight?



At the "Heart of the City" show at the Hollywood Bowl! Yee! I've had the opportunity to see Hova once, during the "Reasonable Doubt" ten year anniversary show at Radio City Music Hall in 2006 and that was an unforgettable moment, especially since we were in New York and everybody was going ape shit. During that event, they announced that there would be a "special guest" and I just knew that it would be Mary J. Blige for "Can't Knock the Hustle". So when the beat dropped and she sashayed in with her unbeweaveably blonde tresses, I lost my effin' mind. Then I realized that something just...wasn't...right. Nevertheless, the "special" guest was Mrs. Carter herself, Beyoncé, singing Mary's part of the song and I thought, "How 'special' is she? She's Jay-Z's residential Plus One!" That just pissed me off. Okay, I gotta give it up to Bey for doing the damn thing, but she is not the soundtrack to my pimply hormone-filled adolescence!


So here is the moment that I've been waiting for. And I just might cry if she sings anything from What's the 411? or My Life. Phatty and Bam, go ahead and shed a tear when Hovito hits the stage...this Bud's for Mary!

Am I here to fucking amuse you?


"Worst Rap Battle Ever"

    To the better judgement of Ninoy Brown and Bambu, they decided not to post this on their site.  Me?  I thought it was funny as hell!  But then I went through the stages of processing what I just saw: I felt guilty for laughing at a handicapped person's attempt to compete with a non-handicapped person, I wanted to tell them boys on the show "You wrong!", I kept laughing to myself a little about it, but then I thought that maybe it could be a metaphor for pop culture.  People will exploit the humiliation of others (William Hung from American Idol, Flavor of Love) to get a good laugh - while simultaneously patting their heads and saying "Good job!"

So who's wrong for it?  Us laughing? Or them making it the public's business?

    The jacked up public school kid in me finds it a guilty pleasure.  I mean, we used to laugh at the "special kids" who did the butterfly in the yard, and dare each other to dance with them. The progressive earth-mama finds it messed up.  And she also is shaking her head and thinking that this really is the state of Hip-Hop. 

For my 10th birthday, I wanted 10 books.


They consisted of The Baby Sitters Club and Fear Street books from R.L. Stine (anyone remember?) Now, I'll settle for 10 magazines. Is my attention span shot? I don't think I've completed a book since the last Harry Potter, and boy was that worth it! Otherwise, I've skimmed, photocopied, crammed, and stolen textbooks throughout my college career just to pass my classes. Hey, that shit is expensive and now, they're just clogging up my flimsy Ikea bookshelf.



So this past weekend, we decided to visit Imix Bookstore in Eagle Rock and I added a new novel to my once-lengthy reading list: the recent Pulitzer-prize winning The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz. It was one of the first times that I picked something Oprah didn't recommend for her book club, and I figured that it's just as good as buying - not burning - a cd from an independent artist. As of yet, I still haven't cracked it open, but I'm waiting for my trip to the Bay this weekend to start reading. My moms don't have no cable and I can only watch The Notebook and Just Like Heaven so many times until I want to slit my wrists. I'll let you know how it goes!

There's so much great stuff here, I want to empty out my wallet!


At least I know it's not going to some corporate scumbag who exploits kids.



Many thanks, Fidel and Sol for keeping it community!

It's Friiiidaaaay!

(And yes, I stole these off The Hundreds blog. Thanks for the lack of credit, Bobby!)

Here's my newest pieces, sliced, diced and ready for mass consumption.

Big shot out to the homie, Ted Chung of Cashmere Agency and Doggystyle Records. We got to hang out in New York and Frisco, but we still ain't kicked it in L.A. yet. You would think I would get the issue for free since I write in The Source on a regular basis. I don't. And...that's the way the journalism cookie crumbles!

I want to be Tina Fey when I grow up!

Fuck. This. I'm hatin'.



You know, I try to be as objective as I can when I approach issues regarding people's situations. I try to balance perspectives and put myself in other people's shoes (or clear hooker platforms?)

But this angers me, because not only does it feed off the insecurities of Pinays in America (the light-skin, exoticization, fetishism) but it does NOTHING for the progression of our people.

Guerilla Bus Token : Is this you? If you respond saying I'm "jealous", it's "for self-confidence", or "use what you got...", then you should learn a little more about your history. Really. I understand it makes you happy, but at what cost?

(What would your Lola think?!)

The Olympic Torch comes to my hometown tomorrow...









At the U.N. Plaza Buddhist monk Thupten Donyo lets out one of 50 doves at the start of the Tibet freedom torch ceremony on Tuesday in San Francisco. Each dove represents a year China has occupied Tibet. (SF Chronicle)

Can White Women have Asian Fetish too?




Gwen Stefani's new fragrance, Harajuku Lovers

Women Journalists and the Media: Is LOVE their DOWNFALL? (3 of 3)

The professional woman of the period was usually educated, single, and middle or upper class. One historian writes of the successful female journalist of the 1890s: “In the world of modern wild-cat journalism the woman reporter lasts about four years. She brings her education, her personal attractions, her youth, her illusions, her energy, her ambition, and her enthusiasm to the encounter, and the first year she rises rapidly. The second and third years she enjoys the zenith of her popularity; with the fourth year she begins the descent, lingers about the horizon for a time, and then she disappears from view. There is no vocation into which women have entered where disillusions materialize so rapidly as they do in journalism.” Most women quit their jobs when they married, and found fulfillment as a woman by being a wife and mother.

Whoa. If this were the 1890s, my career would be over. It was eerie reading that passage from the Sob Sisters Essay and thinking, "Is this me?" I still do consider myself "career-oriented", but , lucky for me, I have a partner that is just as career-minded and ambitious as myself, who is fully willing to take care of the little rascal when I have a big interview to do.

During my bachelorette days, and especially in the summer of 2006 when I was living in my Manhattan apartment and taking the F Train uptown to Wenner Media every day, journalism fulfilled a part of me that relationships could not. My writing never stood me up, never asked me where I was all night, and definitely never make me cry.

And when I finally did meet guys that were interested they always asked, "So your job is to hang out with rappers all day?" Yeah. That just about sums it up. Idiot.

It came to a point where the cutthroat, male-dominated environment was wearing away at my armor, and turning me into a frigid bitch, unable to make any personal connection outside of my career. I figured that turning into a workaholic wasn't fulfilling me like it used to and came back to the West Coast, ready to open myself up to the possibilities of romance.

Two years, one engagement, and one gorgeous baby later, I've reevaluated the duality it takes to be a working mom and journalist who is more successful than I've ever been. Is it a storybook ending after the credits roll? Shit no. But if you play your cards right, you can have it all and still have time to go home and be SuperMom.

I don't know what's worse...



...sausage festin' in LA or cat-fightin' in NY. Thank god I'm engaged.