Journalism: Sade covers Ebony magazine

1 03 2010

There she goes. Sade breaks her silence with Ebony magazine. Yours truly wrote the piece.


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City Stories: Welcome back to high school…

28 02 2010

The high school was no bigger than my grammar school. In fact, it looked like the little school I attended from kindergarten to sixth grade. But instead of holding tiny kids, it hosted big ones. It had a metal detector at the front door and inside held hundreds of kids and some very casually dressed teachers.

Welcome to the new Chicago public high school.

The school itself shall be unnamed to protect the innocent. And let me also say that I was honored to be the 2010 Black History Month speaker. However, as I walked the hallways with my host teacher, I was shocked at the amount of cursing and general filth that came from the mouths of students at this school.

I know that teens practice at aggravating authority. But this seemed to be extra. These teens were in school, being watched by teachers, and they still let loose with their lips. The teachers didn’t stop them. My host didn’t even turn her head at all the “effin this” and “suck my that” that went on in the hallways.

My sister, who works with teens, says this is to be expected. However, it still shocked me because when I was in high school (which wasn’t that long ago) I would have been sent to detention for cursing.

Anyhow… When the color guard posted the flags, the students in the auditorium were doing everything but watching the guard. And God bless that Asian kid on stage who shouted out “Color guard! Attention!” He was so Marine Corps-serious and he didn’t let the general rudeness of his fellow students interrupt the very important job of getting those flags where they were supposed to be.

I hadn’t said the pledge to the flag in a very long time, but I still know the words. After having said them everyday for 12 years, they are etched in my memory. But again, these students seemed to lack knowledge of the words to the pledge. It made me wonder if they make kids say it everyday in school now? Or is saying the pledge now only an option, like AP English?

When Lift Every Voice and Sing was played, some students didn’t stand. I had to gesture to the muffin top-hanging-over-her-too-tight-jeans girl sitting near me to stand up. To her credit she didn’t give me any attitude. She looked surprised that I’d noticed her. Despite her ill-fitting clothes, she was a pretty brown-skinned girl.

Then the steel drum band played some fun songs. I liked that. Can’t say I’ve ever been to a high school that had a steel drum band with a uniform of tropical shirts.

After that, I kicked off my speech talking about the Medill F and the importance of getting things right. It went well. I made them laugh. Most of them paid attention. I’d prepared a 30-minute talk, but at 23 minutes I decided to wrap. No sense boring them or making them fidget. The teachers told me that 23 minutes was pretty good with teens. One teacher told me that she can’t keep the attention of 38 students for a class period and here I was talking to a couple hundred of them. Interesting. Afterward, many of the students approached me to ask about working at the magazine, being an editor and being a journalist. I stayed in the auditorium for a bit longer to answer questions and offer encouragement to students who complained about difficult English classes and why their teacher was making them read the “just too much, just too long” classics like Grapes of Wrath.

One Pakistani student in particular was very interested in my job. He was a tall guy; an aspiring model. Well spoken. He wants to travel for a living, but he wants a job that’s not too boring. I suggested that he consider journalism. He could be a photographer. Or perhaps he could be a writer. He told me that he sucks at writing. I told him that good writing is only a matter of practice. After all, Ben Carson wasn’t born a great brain surgeon. He had to practice at it to get those gifted hands.

This kid engaged me in conversation for a good 20 minutes. He claims he’s not a writer, but I think he could be a journalist. Because boy oh boy could he ask questions.

I may not have reached them all, but I reached at least one.


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City Stories: Not a big fan of small hotels/motels….

23 02 2010

Perhaps I’ve been watching too much Cold Case or CSI, but I the only female who isn’t too keen on staying in a hotel or motel by myself?

I recently took a trip to Iowa, and I had to stay in a Sheraton in a small town. I drove myself down there and it was about a five hour ride in the snow. The hotel was nice and they did get me on the second floor. I locked my door and all that. But midway through the night, I woke up because I SWEAR that someone was trying to open my door. My sleep was shot then.

Another time I was staying at a Motel 6 in a small town outside of Oklahoma City. I was there with a photographer because we were covering a Harley Davidson rally at an open field about five miles down some dirt road. I’m not usually a Motel 6 patron, but this really was the only spot to stay.

After washing a roach down the sink, I sat on the bed and tried to sleep. But between remembering the truckers asking me if I was alone, the bikers asking me if I wanted a ride and the shadows that kept walking by my window, sleep eluded me. I couldn’t do it. The photographer, on the other hand, said he slept like a baby. His room was nowhere close to mine.

Last example… Two years ago I was on Obama’s campaign trail as part of Ebony’s election coverage. I had followed him to Iowa, North Carolina, South Carolina… But in South Carolina, I once again was at a motel because my company couldn’t get me into the hotel with the other reporters. So my motel was spread out along some train tracks and at the edge of a forest. I was in room 1, building 14, which was facing the train tracks and at the extreme northern end of this complex. When I drove all the way to the back, I was the only car in a parking lot whose lights didn’t work. They also put me on the first floor, ground level. (there were only two floors to this motel.)

Then, my kitchenette door didn’t lock from the inside and the room wasn’t clean. Before I could even call the front desk, a security guard knocks at the door, asking to be let in. And I’m like, “Oh Shit.” I called the front desk and got immediately transferred. The security guard finally went away when I didn’t open the door. The new room, now on the second floor, was just as dark and out of the way as the old one. They refused to give me a room facing the highway!

I wound up taking myself to the Embassy Suites across the highway and paying for my own hotel room in an actual hotel. I was on the fourth floor – NOT the ground floor. The accounting folks got a little miffed at me for making the switch. And the men in my party (who all had motel suites facing the highway) didn’t understand why I didn’t want to stay in a ground-level motel room facing the forest, but I guess they don’t know much about being a woman traveling by herself.

My husband was the one who strongly suggested that I need to relocate myself into a proper hotel and pay for it myself if the company won’t do it. So that’s what I did. And, I slept quite well that night. No roaches, no bounty hunters in the bathroom (true story! I’ll tell that one next…) and no one jiggling at my hotel door in the middle of the night.

Of course, put me on the 25th floor of the Hyatt in New York City or on the 3rd floor of the Standard in Los Angeles and I sleep like a baby. ;)


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City Stories: Walking the Chicago Auto Show barefoot

20 02 2010

Fisker. BMW. Audi. Toyota.

Thanks to a good friend, I was able to attend the charity night event of the Auto Show and see all of these beautiful cars up close and personal. We got dolled up in our finest heels and dresses, put on suitable makeup and walked the floor. It’s always fun to hitch a ride in a car worth a half a million dollars while you’re sipping on a glass of white wine and nibbling on chocolate dessert provided by a swanky Chicago restaurant.

Of course, walking the Auto Show in heels is a bit difficult. By the end of the night, many a woman in her couture dress was also barefoot, with Jimmy Choos dangling in one hand and a glass of wine in the other.

I most enjoyed the Fisker. I want to buy one of these when I grow up. I can’t remember the exact price tag, but it was something to the tune of $250,000. But hey, that’s cheaper than the Maybach!

Here are a few pix.


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City Stories: Happy Valentine’s Day! I’m selling my wedding dress!

14 02 2010

In honor of Valentine’s Day, I thought it would be appropriate to sell my wedding dress. Of course, this is NOT the dress I wore to my own wedding. Instead, it’s the dress that I snatched from Al Roker’s able hands when I was a contestant on The Today Show Wedding in 2008.

[This is the story within a story. I was recently engaged to the Gibbsman. He was in Boston. I in Chicago. I decided at the last minute to go wait in line at CHicago's NBC Towers - at midnight!!- to see if I might be selected to "run with brides" to snatch a new wedding gown and thereby save some money by not purchasing a wedding dress. My mom drove me downtown at 11:30 p.m. or so. I got in line. I brought a stadium chair. I was surrounded by hundreds of other newly engaged. Who knew! Then it started to rain. It was a pouring, cataclysmic, world-ending deluge. I was soaked. My hair wasn't cute. It got cold. But dammit, I was in line! And Al Roker selected me - after a brief interview - to be a Today Show bride.

I had to sing silly songs, talk about my husband etc. My mom had long since left, but she came back at 7 a.m. And my mother-in-law to be saw me on The Today Show singing songs to my, at the time hubby to be. So all the folks back east were tickled that I was acting crazy on TV for Eric. This then, is how I snagged a dress from Al Roker. OK end of story within a story.]

It’s a lovely, St. Pucchi dress, valued at $2,990.00. It’s champagne colored, which is awesome for ladies with brown or tan skin. It’s 1940s flavored, with a drop waist, French lace cutouts at the bodice and a three foot train of organza laid upon with hand-sewn lace. In a word it’s lovely.

I would have worn this dress to my own wedding, but alas, I’m not a size 10 in wedding wear. (For those of you who have not wedding shopped before, wedding dresses run very, very, very small. I’m not a size 10 in real life, but in wedding wear, I was a size 14!) Anyhow, this lovely gown is for sale. And frankly, I should have gotten rid of it before my wedding. But I kept hoping against hope that somehow I would lose 20 pounds and somehow fit into the St. Pucchi gown.

Ah well. I bought another designer dress and wore that to my 2008 wedding. So now this St. Pucchi is hanging in my closet in all it’s gorgeous, pearlized glamour. It is ripe and ready for a bride. Here are the pictures too. Unfortunately I don’t have a figurine to fill out the breast area at the top of the dress, so you will have to imagine what it looks like if a real person was wearing it rather than me just hanging it on my bathroom door.

I’m going to try to consign it. I’ve flirted with idea of using eBay and Craigslist, but eBay was just too complicated and Craigslist has too much potential for crazies to contact me. Therefore, I’m trying to snag the attention of a few designer consignment stores in Chicago. They all seem to be located on the Gold Coast or the North Side – so that means I’ll have to drive and pay to park… But selling this bad boy will be ALL profit, so we’ll see what happens.

Got any ideas for me on how to sell it out of my own closet? Let me know. And, if you want this dress, let me know that as well. You KNOW that I’m legit. All yall know where I work. ;)

Here goes!

And here is the top:

And here is the middle:

If you are at all interested in this dress, let a sista know! It’s in supreme condition and I’d sell it to you for waaaay less than $2,990. It’s a recession after all!

Happy Heart Day


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City Stories: “No sir officer, I am not gay. And even if I was, I don’t need you to pray out the devil from me.”

27 01 2010

It was 10 p.m. on a Saturday night.

A female friend and I were heading home from the Robin Thicke concert at The Vic in Chicago. She had stomach cramps, so she needed to stop at Walgreens. So we stopped.

I decided to get some Zyrtec, strawberry ice cream and a black and mild. My friend, who I’ll call Sarah, got the usual supplies for her condition.

Whilst we were grabbing said supplies, we saw a teeny little girl running around. She asked us if we’d seen her brother. Then a cop approached. He was a big guy with a big stomach and he kinda resembled Charlie Rangel. The cop told the little girl that her little brother was in the candy aisle. Then he turns to me and says: ” I took home ten kids like this just an hour ago. They momma sent them to this here store, to get stuff. And that’s terrible. These kids need to be watched, they need to be at home!”

Sarah and I agree. It’s never good to have mom ask the kid to go to the store and bring her back a fifth of vodka. Sarah turns to pick up some toilet paper. I wait.

Cop speaks again: “You know them parents act like the devil sometimes, what with what they do to these kids. Poking them in the ass, opening up they coochies and sticking things in there.”

Sarah and I exchange wary glances. At first he was funny, but this? This is not the type of thing you expect a cop to say to you in Walgreens.

Cop leans in, touches Sarah on the shoulder like they’re close friends.

Cop speaks again: “You know the Lord don’t like that gay stuff. You aren’t born that way, you decide to be a pansy. You gone burn in hell.”

Sarah and I decide to keep walking. So now we’re in the pharmacy area. She’s perusing tampons. I’m perusing bottles of Zyrtec. Hmm. $15? $18 or $25? That is the question for me at that moment.

I grab a bottle. Sarah grabs her female stuff. We walk back toward the cashier.

Cop yells out: “You sick? Are you sick? What’s ailing you? You need to come down to my church and let my pastor lay hands on you to shame out that devil.”

Sarah and I rush to the counter.

Cop yells more: “You know them gay people, they just put Vaseline on they fingers and stick it to each other. They just do all kinds of unnatural things. Those gay people.”

Sarah and I are still in line. It’s a loooong line.

I say to her: “Does he think we’re gay? Is that why he keeps talking about anal sex? Do gay women even have anal sex with each other? Why is he talking about laying hands on me? I don’t want him touching me.”

She says: “I think he does think that.”

I say: “Have you ever heard someone describe using Vaseline in that way? Not even my gay friends talk about that kind of stuff with me. I would imagine that intimate sexual details are just that – intimate.”

Cop yells: “Lemme lay hands on you! It’s unnatural!!”

We’re freaked out.

We’re both Christians, but we also believe that when some folks touch you, they might try to pass along some bad juju – especially if they’re carrying a gun and talking so graphically in a sexual manner.

Finally we pay for our food and escape the Walgreens.

Shouldn’t that cop be out catching criminals or something?

Wait. No. He’s inside Walgreens hunting down lesbians.


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City Stories: Sister, can you spare a $20? Because a dollar aint enough…

25 01 2010

I am trying to support the businesses in my neighborhood. I go to my farmer’s market in the spring, summer and fall. I get gas around the corner. I try mightily to visit the local Jewel-Osco rather than the swankier Whole Foods that is downtown. I also try to get certain products from Sav-A-Lot. It’s cheap, has very few name brands and it sells stuff like “Orange Pop” and “Red Pop” and “Purple Pop.”

Unfortunately, Sav-A-Lot also allows beggars to beg inside the store. Perhaps this isn’t an official policy, but at my local SAL, it seems to be the norm.

Imagine my surprise when I loaded peanut butter, paper plates and purple pop onto the conveyor belt to be purchased and at the other end of the belt was some guy asking for cash. Now, I hate when people invade my personal space and ask me for money. Times are hard, but times are also scary, so back up off me. It seems that everyone is strapped, so I prefer to keep a one foot barrier between me and any potential jostlings of gun handles.

So this guy sees me pull out my debit card and swipe it. He’s still standing there, looking at me. The cashier tells him to move along. I shield the keypad with my palm and punch in my number. Then the beggar asks me for $20.

$20!

Given my suspicious nature, I’m hard-pressed to give away anything on the street – or in a store. I prefer to donate through church or other means that won’t involve the potentiality of losing my one-foot barrier, getting car jacked, purse-snatched or flat out taken by gunpoint to the ATM to empty my bank account. (Bear with me on this. I’m a recovering police reporter, and I fully understand what people are capable of doing if they have the inclination to do it. A guy down the street was taken by gunpoint to an ATM by teens! They had no idea how to hold the gun and one of the perps wound up shooting herself in the foot and bleeding to death. smh. The kids only got $24. But I digress.)

Back to this dude asking me for $20 out of my debit account.

I said No. Flat out. No.

He wants to argue with me about the money.

I look at the cashier. Cashier looks at me. Cashier looks a bit scared.

Security comes over and tries to get the begging man to leave the store. He goes, hollering the whole way.

I wrap up my purple pop and my paper plates and head to my car.

But begging man is still hounding me. He’s right by the door. The minute I come out he tries to get close. So I speed up my pace. It’s a busy corner, busy parking lot, so I’m not really worried but, he’s clearly crazy and focused on me. Now he’s following me to my car, shouting and yelling about needing $20. He uses every derogatory word in the book in his effort to persuade me to give him money. I slam my car door in his face. He hits the door with his hand.

I contemplate hitting him as I pull out my parking spot. But that wouldn’t be fair, car against man. But I was tempted….

In any event, is this what charity has now come to? People shouting and yelling and nearly physically accosting you to arm wrestle $20? Hell, I might have bought him lunch if he’d asked. But he didn’t want food, he wanted money.

In another instance, a coworker of mine and I were walking down MIchigan Avenue, headed to lunch. A well-dressed white lady, pulling a suitcase, stops and asks us for $2.38.

Again. $2.38. What’s THAT about?

“I need to get on the El,” she says. “And I left my purse in my car and my car got towed. So I need money to get to the tow yard on the El.”

Co worker and I share a look. Here we go. Usually when the crazies ask you for $2.38 cents, it’s a set up similar to asking you for the time. The answer is always, always, always, “I don’t have it” or “I don’t know.”

It was the same for this day.

We quickly sidestep the woman – and others – on the busy sidewalk. I don’t know who her accomplice is, but that “what time is it” or “do you have an odd amount of money” spiel only works on okeydokes. We tell her to go into the hotel, use her debit card there to get money.

Then she spins this yarn about her purse being in her car, which got towed, but somehow she managed to yank her suitcase out the car before the tow truck drove away. And for some reason, she just doesn’t know that you can always go to the tow yard and get your purse out your car – even if you can’t pay the parking ticket and tow fee.

The answer is still no. Who asks for $2.38? The last thing I’m going to do is dig into my purse for change on a busy city street. That’s how Coaches get snatched.

She jerks past us, holding onto that suitcase for dear life. She also walks right on past the hotel and past a police officer. She doesn’t ask anyone else for $2.38.

She knows, and we know, that the El don’t cost $2.38.

I’m still wondering why you have a suitcase, you don’t have a car, you don’t have any ID at all AND you don’t want to talk to the police about it… Suspect…


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Journalism: Don’t check your voicemail? Is that really a good idea?

21 01 2010

I checked my voicemail this morning. There were 40 new messages.

I checked my email. There were 123 unread messages.

It took me about an hour and a half to go through everything, respond to everyone and file away what needed filing.

I’ve read the work of some career coaches who suggest that those of us experiencing communication overload might want to finish our daily work before checking our voicemail or responding to email. This could be quite effective if you didn’t need to respond to certain, urgent emails.

So here’s a challenge. What happens to your productivity if you don’t check your email or voicemail until after lunch? A few friends are doing this experiment with me.

I’m always looking for other tips that help you make the most of your time. Got any? I’ll share. I promise.


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Life: America’s best minds (?) miss the mark on Haiti

18 01 2010

I’m on the Medill School of Journalism (Northwestern University) alumni listserve. There, hundreds if not thousands of NU alumni usually discuss job opportunities, tenets of journalism, journalism best practices and the top news of the day. The past week the listserve has been inundated with news of Haiti. Some people are all for donating and helping, but a disturbing number of vocal listserve members are “tired” of giving help to Haiti.

I like listserves because under the cloak of psuedo-anonymity, people say what’s really on their minds. It’s good to be reminded that there are still racist, self-serving, anti-Black/African, so-called intellectuals out there. There are members of the ’serve who truly believe that it makes no sense to help anyone else other than Americans who are homeless and dying of hunger.

Here’s a sampling. All names have been withheld to protect the innocent.

“K, people. I’m sorry to be inflammatory (well, not really — I’m sorry if I offend anyone, though), but this is a journalism listserv.

Furthermore, and much more importantly, I would like to remind everyone that there are thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of destitute people right here in the United States. Yes, the earthquake in Haiti was a tragedy, just as the tsunami was several years ago, but we still have people here at home who are recovering from Katrina. We have Vietnam veterans who are homeless. We have vets from Iraq and Afghanistan who are psychologically scarred, physically impaired and unable to work. We have thousands of homeless living in the freakin’ tunnels of the New York subway system. We have children who grow up in the virtual war zones of the ghettos in our own cities. What about them?

Why is it that the United States is always expected to give the most aid to disaster-afflicted countries, and yet we get no thanks for it? Why do we spend so many of our tax dollars on countries like Haiti and Iraq when so many of our own live in such squalid conditions? So no, I won’t fast for Haiti. But I would fast so that some AMERICAN without food, shelter, water or medical care could have it.

Again, I’m sorry if I offend anyone, but I think we come off as jackasses by helping everyone but ourselves.”

It seems that the above comment is a popular sentiment. At this in this person’s case, they didn’t insert some of the racist vitriol I’ve seen in other listserves.

Here’s another comment, a response to the above post.

“have you ever been to Haiti? Just wondering. Your comments lead me to believe that you probably have not.

I was there in 2008 following the slew of hurricanes that devastated some of the rural communities. The majority of people in the country live on less than $1 per day. At night it would take forever to get from the embassy to where we were staying since the roads through town are mostly unpaved. If it it was raining, the roads would wash out. After sunset, Port au Prince was almost completely dark as there is so little electricity. The poverty and lack of infrastructure in that country were overwhelming. And keep in mind, that this was pre-earthquake.

I am not denying there are issues in the U.S., but our infrastructure and social services are vastly superior to those in Haiti. There are no homeless shelters or department of veterans affairs as there are here.

I have friends working over there right now. The city is flattened. There is no functioning government. The hospitals are gone. I am looking at pictures and I do not recognize Port au Prince. To state “yes, the earthquake in Haiti was a tragedy,” comes off as a bit flippant, to be honest. The poverty and issues in the States are nowhere near the poverty and issues in Haiti.”

The folks on the listserve have been arguing about this for the last week or so. It started with someone criticizing CNN’s Sanjay Gupta’s role as a doctor-journalist. And then, someone else asked Medill grads to donate the cost of one meal out on the town to a Haiti organization. That stirred quite a few people up.

Here’s what I posted:

All right yall..

How many of you are using Martin Luther King day as a national day of service? How many of YOU are out, right now at DuSable Museum or at the so-called “dreaded” (and Black!) Altgeld Gardens right now passing out food or gym shoes or offering tutoring? Hmm. Not many. How many of you are fighting to make sure your employer gives you MLK day off so that you can go volunteer somewhere for the greater good? How many of you tithe and donate to the poor regularly? How many of you give one day a month to helping kids who don’t look like you or who don’t worship like you? What are you personally doing to end America’s homelessness? Are you out there, under Wacker Drive, feeding people or giving them blankets on 30 degree days? Do you stop and donate money to every homeless person who begs from you as you pump gas on 12th and Wabash?

Did you do anything to help Katrina victims? Did you lobby your politicians and complain about the racist practices that led to the devastation of Katrina? Did you cover Katrina in a way that brought light to the situation? Are you STILL covering it in that way?

The problems in our nation go unattended because we, the people, are not attending to them. Let’s not get that twisted. If everyone in this nation really wanted little black and brown children to be well-educated, they would be. If everyone in this nation really wanted healthcare for everyone, we would have it. And if everyone in this nation really wanted zero homelessness, everyone would be housed and fed – not in ghettos, but in nice places with trees, grass and access to stores that sell healthy food.

Freedom of speech is paramount. Say what you want. But, I certainly hope that all the folks complaining about US citizens helping Haitians are not throwing stones from their own glass houses… “

Thoughts?

- Adrienne


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Life: Pissed about a Break In

16 01 2010

Someone broke into my car earlier this week. They unscrewed my whole dashboard and tried to pull out the heater controls and the stereo. Tried is the key word here. They only got away with my CDs and my face plate. But in so doing, they destroyed my dash, killed my radio and murdered my chair and door.

I’m not sure how they got in, but whatever they did to the door it now is extremely difficult to push or pull.

I called the police about this. No one would be available to come to my house to check it out, I was told. But I could make a report over the phone. I admit I was a bit shocked that when you call the police to report a break in, they say they won’t come… that it’s standard operating procedure not to come. WTF?!?

Two hours later I try again. This time I find my local CAPS officer. I ask her to come on out. She sends a truck over. They decide that, due to the cold and the fact that there isn’t a homicide involved, they won’t be dusting for fingerprints. The following is a direct quote from the officer: “I know you don’t consider this to be a little crime, but it kinda is. You know, not meaning to be disrespectful. But really unless someone is shot, we won’t really investigate when someone breaks into a car or vandalizes it.”

I suppose I should be happy for this honesty?

Instead it just makes me mad. They didn’t steal anything but an old tape recorder (yes, real tape. I forgot I had it in there) from under my seat and my Stevie Wonder and Gotta Have Gospel CDs (in a handy, dandy, Delta Sigma Theta carry case) but they vandalized my car. They rifled through my stuff, and then they closed the door AND put the alarm back on.

What were they looking for? Did they work for a chop shop and just so happen to need the driver side chair of an 11 year old Nissan Altima? Did they want the heating controls? Did they want the old-ass stereo that doesn’t even play MP3s? Then they TAKE my Jay Z CD and leave Timbaland and Terence Blanchard. I just don’t get it.

Do you?


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