Movie Buddies

My movie buddy skipped town.  Okay, so my movie buddy was my mom and she had to go back to working her full-time job after a 3 month vacation during which we saw Oblivion, Iron Man 3 and Olympus Has Fallen among others.  So I kinda blame my mother for sending me into a tailspin of the dreaded "Single Blues".  Don't get me wrong, I'm really comfortable being single these days and am okay with the idea that I might always be.  To be honest, it usually bothers other people much more than it bothers me that I'm 36 and single.  I feel like I have finally come into my own and I like not having to answer to anyone.  I enjoy my freedom and independence.  When I think about what a man can do for me, I'm pretty sure whatever that is, I can do it for myself and ten times better.  Nevertheless, this does not solve the movie buddy problem.

The second runner up as a movie buddy, my sister, is really busy taking over the world with her 10 25 32 kids.  Alright, alright, it just seems like 32.  Third runner ups are the girlfriends, the one getting her doctorate at Duke University (always studying), the newly pregnant (too sick) and the recent graduate (crazy as a junebug).  Seriously, the newly pregnant and I have been trying to set up a get-together for a month now.  Maybe I smell.

So to solve my movie buddy woes I signed up on the website www.blackpeoplemeet.com.  You know,  to meet new people, socialize, yada yada.  I thought it would be a great venue to get myself out there and I could simultaneously screen individuals that had the potential to be, or the qualities of a great movie buddy.  Now, I know that profile pictures are a land mine of sorts, and I hope you don't think I'm too selective by generally sticking to these rules:  first, if you have a doorag on, or a wifebeater on, or both--I'm sorry, it's just not going to work out between us.  Second, if you have reflective sunglasses on a la TOP GUN, I am not thinking how cool you are, I am thinking "What are you hiding?" or "Who are you hiding from?"  I guess you could turn out to be The Phantom of the Opera like the incomparable Gerard Butler, but I'm betting it's more like Quasimodo under there.  Third, if you state in your profile "To know me is to love me-believe dat," then maybe you need an ESL course because the last time I checked, DAT is the dental school entrance exam.  Lastly, if your thumbnail/username is BIGWILLY plus some number (meaning, unfortunately, that there is more than one BIGWILLY) or MACKTHEMAN, I think our priorities are different and we should go our separate ways.  Basically what I'm trying to say is fifteen dollars later, I'm back at square one.  I could have seen 2 matinees for that price-sheesh!

Well, lucky for me, I'm great company and I will just have to take myself to see the new Star Trek.

Losing Myself

   I just watched Christiane Amanpour interview the head of UNICEF Anthony Lake about the refugees from the Syrian civil war.  The piece was entitled "Syria's children search for hope and a place to live".  Listen, I know I sit in air conditioned rooms both at home and at work and even drive a car that's air conditioned so I don't have to be hot or cold while I'm en route to those places.  I know I eat too much and can have dessert anytime I want to.  I can buy clothes and shoes and I live in a country where I feel my opinion matters.  I know I have been blessed with a overabundance of resources although you may hear me complain about the lack of them when I start to feel entitled, but lemme tell you something, nothing breaks my heart more than to hear of children anywhere without food, without a home, or without someone to love them.  I have such a low tolerance for the suffering of children.  I look at my adorable niece and nephews and of course I want to strangle them sometimes when they ak like they got no sense but I love them dearly and I know they are cared for by others who also love them very deeply.  I can't stand to think of a flood of children escaping the horrors of war with no one there to meet their needs.  Halloween is just around the corner and we scare ourselves just for entertainment here but to these children, life itself is frightening and uncertain.

   And here I sit.

   I have a beautiful cousin who's my age and she's an activist in every sense of the word.  She has been known to ask others "What are you doing to fight injustice?"  If you're like me, when you hear this question you stare dumbfounded into the air and think "Uh, I dunno.  Nothing, I guess."  I mean, I have a hard time making it through the week sometimes.  A hard time?  Really?  The truth is I don't know the first thing about a hard time.  The other truth is that I want to make a difference but sometimes become overwhelmed trying to figure out how to do that, exactly.  I don't want to throw my few pennies at a worthy cause to show I'm willing to help (outside of the Obama campaign, that is).  So what do I do?  I have a friend from high school that became a fundraiser for an organization called Mothers without Borders maybe I should start there, but I have a day job.  How much can I possibly do?

   Let's talk about my day job.  I'm on day 3 of working for The Man.  Sure I get paid a decent wage and sure I get to use my chemistry degree, which I like because I get to think, but I looked into this worldwide company that had the good sense to hire me and I found out that it's an old German company that started out making dyes through a special chemical process.  I also found out that the company eventually provided the lethal gas used by Nazi Germany to kill Jews in concentration camps.  I was shocked.  I'm still shocked.  I knew I was working for THE MAN, but how morally outraged can I be if I stay?  Have I officially sold out?  Am I losing myself, you know, the part of me that knows what's right and good and humane.  I am left wondering about my own humanity and wondering if I really am this person and if so, when did she become me?

   I'm not sure it's enough to tell myself one day I'll become a doctor (applying to Ben Gurion next year . . . AGAIN) and I'll work in those refugee camps and I'll love all the little kids that come my way.  I'll tell you why it's not enough, because in the meantime I'm not so sure who I'm becoming.  Have I really become a person who works for those who contributed to genocide?  Have I really become a person who knows there are children in danger and in need, but lays her head on her pillow every night in her queen-sized bed in a temperature controlled room doing nothing?  I'm not sure I want to be that person.  I'm pretty sure I need to hop on the road to finding myself.  I'm 36 and it's really about time I started making a difference where it matters most to me as a person.  This post is an appeal to my own humanity and I guess, in the event that I find something spectacular-which is what I hope I'll find, I'll keep you posted.

   "He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it."
                                                   -Matthew 10:39

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!