Vice Grip

I've been lazy about laundry.  I have two pairs of pants I wear to work.  Actually I have one pair of black slacks and a pair of jeans.  I'm currently working in a biological lab, so my legs have to be covered due to hazardous chemicals and the potential to be infected by blood borne pathogens.  Please don't even ask about the safety training-I'm surprised I don't have to come to work in a Hazmat suit (and I thought wearing pants during the summer in North Carolina was torture!).  I realize this makes my job sound adventurous, but just do me a favor and shake that Indiana Jones theme song right out of your head for now (but feel free to resume if something exciting really does happen).

Back to my dirty pants, by the end of the week my pants can usually go a couple of rounds with Manny Pacquiao by themselves.  It just so happens that this weekend I was too busy being lazy by the pool and hanging out with my cool nephews to do laundry so those pants just sat there and, well, festered.  So yesterday I wore the slacks and hoped bystanders couldn't smell me coming.  Today I just couldn't, in all consciousness, subject the public to my rank jeans.  A note on my jeans, the back pockets are bedazzled.  Don't laugh.  I know I'm 35, but some well placed rhinestones/sequins never really go out of style.  If you're dialing the Fashion Police as you read this, put the phone down and hear me out here.  I wore holes in my other jeans and my bedazzled pair were only $20 at Ross Dress for Less.  I'd bet you'd commit fashion treason for a much less worthy and practical cause.

This morning I woke up in a quandary, since the jeans AND the slacks were a no-go, do I wear my jeans with holes in them or a skirt?  Now, I should impress upon your minds the delicacy of the situation.  This could very well may be my last internship at Duke University, and believe it or not, I work very hard to make a good impression.  You're thinking "bedazzled jeans do not equal good impression."  Rest assured, I only wear them with a collared button-down, of which I have a few.  Do I have to take that phone away from you?!  But truly, the reasons I strive to make a good impression are as follows:

1. I just graduated with a BS in chemistry from a HBCU (Historically Black College or University), and I want to make sure my school's image is one of excellence and that my alma mater is not seen as providing an inferior education or producing below par graduates, especially by the likes of THE Duke University (aka whities r us).  Think of it as pride from below.
2. I'm working in the Department of Obstetrics & Gynecology of the medical school and as I am interested in medicine as a career, I hope to get a stellar letter of rec out of this that will catapult me onto the front lines of potential candidates for medical school.
3. Lastly, I got this position because my physical chemistry teacher recommended me and I would not like to sully her reputation or her name.  

So I decided to go with an older pair of black slacks I brought with me to North Carolina nearly four years ago.  Did I forget to mention that I weighed ~50lbs less back then?  I want you to play around with the logistics of that for a moment.  Somehow I squeezed myself into these slacks, but given the situation I'd like to refer to them as a tourniquet for the lower half of my body.  By 3 o'clock I knew I would never make it to 6.   I felt like I was in a medieval torture device.  I texted my sister telling her I couldn't breathe.  She has three boys and is breastfeeding a newborn.  She wasn't sympathetic.  These pants were so tight they were changing my genetic code.  I had to survive.  If I did, I would probably create a whole new species of people that can endure extreme discomfort for unimaginable periods of time-oh wait they already exist, they're called ultra-marathoners.

You will be glad to know I made it to 6pm with nary a button unloosed, and through the ride home, and through the walk from the car to my apartment door.  Then WHEW!  When I undid those buttons and that zipper I felt like everything was right in the world.  My mid-section has never suffered more and I almost swore to wear workout pants everyday for the rest of my life.  There is that letter of rec, though.

Tracy

The best live concert I've been to hands down.  Can you believe she sounds better live?  Anyway, I ran across this song on a record of hers I didn't even know about and fell in love with it.  I hope you do too.

Finish Line

     I graduate with a second bachelor's degree in Chemistry on May 12th and I am crawling to the finish line.  What I really need is to be tied to Conan the Barbarian as he forges ahead and drags my limp body behind him.  My journey to that diploma feels like I am walking through waist-deep snow, every step a major effort.  I'm floundering under papers, lab reports, homework assignments and presentations wondering if someone has alerted the lifeguard that I'm drowning.  Given, I don't have a newborn, breast cancer or marital problems so I have no reason to even try to claim that my life is hard right now, but let me just say that for some reason I feel like I'm at max capacity. Can I trade DNA with the Energizer bunny?  That would solve all my problems.
     During the daily treadmill run that is currently my life, there are some lifesavers, music being one of them.  I was listening to my IZ Kamakawa'ole Pandora radio station when I stumbled upon a song that made me stop in the middle of the paper I was writing because it is was so achingly beautiful.  So if you need a sliver of peace in a day that's feeling like Hurricane Katrina, close your eyes and listen to this song.  It will take you to a perfect place.

     Another thing that has saved me is humor.  Those moments when I am not winded from running from academic fire to academic fire, or wondering if this is all worth it, I sometimes get a good laugh.  You would be embarrassed to know how rare those moments seem these days, but I want to give a shout out to both my sister in SLC and to my good friend Dale for showing me the Saturday Night Live skit "The Real Housewives of Disney" which almost made me pee my pants, not to mention the SNL Weekend Update featuring "Paula Deen." If you haven't seen it and laughed-out-loud, you have no soul.  Plus, I'm really blessed to have a hilarious sister, living a block or two away, that has the wonderful talent of making entertainment out of everyday life.  I swear she did a five minute bit on foaming hand soap that still has me laughing when I think about it.
     Lastly, a few lines I've heard my Mom say a million times keep running through my head, "The race is not always to the swift, but to those who finish."  I'm counting on her being right about that, even if I have to roll to the finish line.  My life IS that joke about eating an elephant one bite at a time.  I'm in the binge and purge stage a la Hunger Games, but speaking of finishing and at the risk of being a little media heavy in this post, allow me to link you to one last video that makes me want to keep going because I know I'm not alone.

http://www.godvine.com/What-This-Racer-Does-is-the-Most-Inspirational-Thing-You-ll-Ever-See-1169.html

     In short, I AM going to make it to the finish line, even if I have to hunt down a modern day Conan (who I might hit on, by the way).  These are just a few of the things that are helping me get there:  music, laughing, Mom and God.  If you are struggling through one or two or forty things in your life right now, feel free to use one or all of the above in tandem to get you through.

DUKE

   The Duke campus is beautiful.  It's lush, green, and very well manicured.  When I first arrived I was surprised by how stately everything looked, even the trash cans are posh.  Duke is a little like a Stepford wife, but a university.  I spend most of my time in the French Family Science Center which houses the offices and labs for the biological and physical sciences.  To provide you with a bit of history surrounding the new and modern French Family Science Center, Melinda Gates (as in Bill Gates' wife) is a Duke alumni and donated the cost of the building.  Her maiden name is French, hence the French Family Science Center.  Don't get too excited, the roof has a leak.  My only real beef with the French Family Science Center is that there are A LOT of stairs, a few of which are pictured here:

 

 which makes me feel like this . . .

    It is currently 102 degrees here in Durham, but I wouldn't know anything about that thanks to Melinda's good choice of air conditioning.  My office is across the hall from my actual lab and it just so happens that in the lab to which my office is attached, they are literally blowing stuff up.   Imagine hearing something akin to a gunshot every few minutes.  I doubt you can get PTSD from chemistry research, but if I was not brought up in a family of seven children where I was used to battlefield noises, I would think it quite possible.  After the first few explosions, I left my office to find out what was going on.  I was greeted by a grad student in huge headphones and protective gear who claimed his research was on exploding nanotubes.  I'm totally in the wrong field.  I wanna get paid to blow stuff up too!!  No fair!  Waaaaaa!

   In conclusion, while Duke has been interesting and educational, I'm still a Tar Heel at heart.

Cry Like a Rainstorm

Sometimes the perfect soundtrack will hit the spot.  I'm sitting here listening to a soundtrack I haven't heard in years but I was craving both the music and the message.  I think this Linda Ronstadt album is one of the first CDs my family ever owned and listened to on a regular basis.  I know every word of every song on Cry like a Rainstorm Howl like the Wind.  I usually buy CDs for a song or two and nowadays (for those of you that are proud owners or MP3 players) you can just download a song here or a song there, but on the rare occasion an album comes out that you can listen to all the way through over and over again.  Cry like a Rainstorm is one of those for me.  Given, Linda Ronstadt has a beautiful voice.  The girl can sang (when you say it ghetto like that, they really CAN sing), but right at this very moment I know what she's singing about and how she feels and I'm listening to her because I'm comforted that someone somewhere has felt the way I do. 

I've heard people say we read to feel like we're not alone.  Well, I would have to say the same applies to music if not more so.  Music is evocative by nature, tells stories (think Les Miserables) and conveys emotion that is often times challenging to articulate.  Bless the artists that help me, in difficult times as well as in joyous times, to feel less alone.   I love it that music also gives me something to celebrate.  Any Pit Bull song can get my booty shakin' and I don't care what kind of deep dark space I'm in, if I hear Flo Rida's Club Can't Handle Me, I'm automatically transported to a dance floor even if that's just the car I'm driving in. 

Still, I think it's the hallmark of a great work of art to be able to listen to an album all the way through and enjoy every song-you know, road trip CDs that you don't have to change very often.  Tracy Chapman is famous for this in my family.  We don't leave home without her.  Pick an album of hers, any album, and it has that quality.  She's also one of the very few artists who sound better live than on the record.  Oddly enough, The Essential Dolly Parton is another road trip album that I love.  C'mon, 9 to 5, Islands in the Stream, and I Will Always Love You on the same album?  One word:  THE BOMB!!

So fess up, what's an album that you love and practically know every word to?  Hey, if I can come clean with Dolly Parton, you can indulge in a honest confession here.  Do it!

Dear Racist,

   At first I wanna say that I know you don't think you're racist, but I'm writing this letter to let you know that you couldn't be more wrong.  To help, I'm gonna give you a few tools of analysis.  The first is, if you've ever said "I'm not racist because . . ."

1. I have a Black friend
2. I listen to rap
3. I used to live in ______ (insert a very Black place like Kenya or Baltimore)
4. I speak Ebonics
5. I insist they check my receipt at the Walmart exit because I know they usually let white people pass (I heard this yesterday and the individual was completely serious).
6. I date Black people
7. or ANYthing else . . . you're racist.

   I'm sorry to report that if this phrase has slipped out of your mouth, regardless of the conclusion, you are indeed a racist.  The second litmus test also has to do with the words that come out of your mouth.  Hint:  If you say racist shit, you're racist.  Let me clarify, if you say things that are offensive and racially charged to people of color (or anyone for that matter) even if you don't think they're offensive, you're racist.  The reason why you don't think they're offensive is because you're part of the privileged majority institutionally trained NOT to see the color bias of the institution itself.  As far as racial sensitivity goes, consider yourself Helen Keller.  I, in no way, want to insult the wonderful Helen Keller with this statement.  I just intend to point out that you are both blind and deaf to the spectrum of prejudice that regularly confronts Black people in America.  You don't see it.  You don't hear it, and it's not because it is not there.

   I know you pride yourself on being open-minded and you've tried to create racial awareness, which is commendable.  However, if you refuse to respect and validate the perspective or feelings of those under constant attack within the minority community, you are racist.  You are part of the hostile environment created by the institution.  You are part of the machine.  You are just another spindle or pulley making people feel small by invalidating their experience.

   Lastly, and this is not a requirement, if people of color have a difficult time getting along with you, don't like you, would rather not spend time with you, want to disguise themselves under black hoods and do mean things to you, want to burn crosses on your lawn, or just want to shoot you, ask yourself why.  Because you're probably a racist. 

   Let me just say that if, during the course of this letter, you have realized you're racist, please know that change is plausible and possible.  As the alcoholics say, the first step is recognizing you have a problem.

Ever the optimist,
Me

profile pictures

Choosing a profile picture is tricky business.  First, I want to say that I'm not cross-eyed in real life, just in my profile pictures.  The second thing I want to say is I feel pressured to post pictures of me actually doing fun and adventurous stuff to give the impression that I'm, you know, fun and adventurous.  Truth be known, I do fun and adventurous stuff on occasion however I rarely stop to take pictures.  For example, last month I went kayaking for the first time in my life. I made a complete fool of myself.  I had problems steering my little kayak so I crashed into trees, muddy banks and large rocks.  By some odd miracle I did not end up in the water.  I also happened to acquired a temporary paddling induced palsy in my arms.  Now, do I have pictures of any of that?  Of course not, but I do have this picture of me sitting on my sister's lawn looking like I'm posing for the cover of a cookbook.

The other obvious trap with profile pictures is using the ol' "Glamour Shot."  A great example of this can be seen if you look up and to the right.  My picture for this blog is in total alignment with the typical Glamour Shot.  Glamour Shots are overdone and look both staged and like you're trying too hard to look good, but hey, it's better that ending up looking like I'm cross-eyed right?

The question here is should I be comfortable with ghetto, au naturale photos of myself?  So it may indeed look like I have a beard, or maybe my eyebrows are grown out and I have a unibrow.  I might look like I just woke up (no doubt it's really 3 o'clock in the afternoon), or am ready for bed.  Should I start posting these photos as profile pictures instead because they are authenic?  What say ye?  Because I'm really just trying to protect the public here.  Let's be honest, sometimes the less the public knows the better.  I'm just saying that posting a profile picture is like walking in a mine field.  It is filled with the pressures of advertising your genetic superiority and saying something wonderful about the life you lead.  Profile pics aren't for your average wimp!  I will leave you with the wise words of master yoda . . . "Choose wisely."  Oh wait, was that Indiana Jones?