Earn your sneakers!

I’m having one of those weeks. It’s the kind of week where the sole purpose of my apartment is to allow me a place to sleep for 5 or 6 hours. It’s the kind of week where I can’t put my clothes away fast enough before I have to grab the next outfit for the day to follow. It’s the kind of week where I can’t make my own lunch because a) I’m too tired in the morning and b) my dishes are piled so high in the sink that I’ve run out of Tupperware. It’s the kind of week where I look forward to next week’s empty calendar.

On Tuesday I had a client party to attend at Sky Studios (www.skystudios.com). The space was amazing and I’m convinced it was used for a scene from the movie Hitch. Although the rain dampened my ability to fully enjoy the penthouse deck, I still explored the indoor area wanting nothing more than to curl up by the cozy fire and nap. Client parties aren’t my thing. I’ve been with this division of my company for more than a year and I have yet to feel like I fit in. I’m not a sales person, I’m a people person. But don’t you need to be a people person to be a sales person? Yes, this is true, but you also need something to sell, which I don’t. I’m just there to…fill space. Very gratifying.

It amazes me that although I work for a very influential company, all the connections I’ve made have been completely created on my own. There is nothing about my paying job that helps me meet the people I’ve met outside of it. Outside of ____ Ent, I’m just Elle J and people seem to like that, embrace it. That is, people who aren’t at these client functions. At these things, no one makes eye contact with me, and because I am not there to sell I have no material with which to start a conversation. How do I, the chatter box, encounter moments where I have nothing to say? Amazing.

I lasted at the party for an hour before calling my car service and dipping out right as Carmen Elecktra walked in. Into the pouring rain I traveled, dying to just get home and not have to deal with anyone but my cozy pillow and the sleep fairies. But, it was only the beginning of a crammed week, early sleep was only going to come for this one night.

On Wednesday, I hightailed my ass out of my office by 6pm to meet Waffle outside of my building. He had been asked by a student organization to speak at my alma mater. Waffle at Rutgers? You know I’m there. I offered to give him a ride knowing that he lives on Metro Cards and cabs. The engagement was to begin at 9:15pm, we had 3 hours.

We hugged and he asked me, “We got some time, right?”

I thought of the transformation I HAD to undergo before heading out to my old stomping ground. I currently looked like shit. I hesitated, “Why are you hungry?”

“Nah, it’s your birthday next week right?”

I was curious. “Yeah.”

“Well I wanted to thank you for giving me a ride and wish you a happy birthday by taking you to Nike town.”

I froze, I’m not good with gifts. “You don’t have to do that, really.”

“Come on, woman. I just signed a deal with Nike so part of it is that I get gear and I want to extend my perks to you.”

Oh goodness, my first perk like…ever. “Ok, I guess.”

Off we went to Niketown which I had never visited before. At least five floors of sneakers and apparel stood before me and I had not a clue where to start. I’m not a huge sneaker buff, but I knew well enough to go with something fresh and stylish as opposed to something like *gasp* a running shoe (me, run? HA!). I’m a sucker for Air Force 1s (or Uptowns as us NYers call them) so I asked an attendant where I could find them and then headed to the 5th floor. There were so many cool sneakers. Waffle got lost on the sidelines while I decided between a cool pair of Dunks and AF1s. Knowing we didn’t have that much time I went with the soft metallic pearl AF1s, adorned with a rhinestone and pretty prink detail. I’m such a girl some times.

“What you think of these?” I asked Waffle.

“Hot, they match your outfit.”

I was wearing slacks and a turtleneck. Waffle doesn’t wear anything but sneakers, so he wears them with everything. I’m not Waffle. “Riiiiight. Well, I’m changing as soon as we get to my house, so these will sit pretty until I get an outfit to match.”

After getting my kicks packed up and paid for we headed to the express bus that would take us to Staten Island. I always laugh at how MTA express buses amaze people who don’t take them regularly, Waffle was one of these people.

“But, they are so comfortable. Why can’t the regular buses be like this?”

“Then they wouldn’t be regular would they?”

“Always thinking, L. Always thinking.”

We chatted our way through the ride to my house, and once there I hurriedly changed. I found out Imani was at mom’s and couldn’t help but expose my little princess. Before heading to RU we stopped around the corner at mom’s and I introduced Imani to Waffle.

“Hi Waffoolll!” She then proceeded to tell me how she loves tostones and apple picking. I swear the kid is such a parrot. Mom hurried me to try on some shoes and then I pleaded with her to let us leave.

“Bye, nina! Bye, Wafffoolll!”

“She’s too cute,” he told me.

“If you only knew.”

The trip to RU, with my speed racer tactics, only took about twenty-five minutes. I pulled into the Livingston Campus and felt overwhelmingly nostalgic. I believe this happens when you reach 25; suddenly everything from your past seemed to happen a very long time ago. I told Waffle about the classes I used to take on that campus and how their dining hall was better than the one on my campus. We reached Lucy Stone Hall and found the room on the invite. There was no one there yet so we hung around outside and waited for the president of the organization to show up.

The president, a super senior named Steve, showed up and Waffle introduced me. Ten minutes later Steve introduced us to a girl from their executive board and said, “So and so, this is Waffle and Angela.” He then walked away.

“Did he just call me Angela?” I asked.

“Nah, I think that girl’s name was Angela.”

“Oh.” I brushed it off and followed Waffle into the lecture hall.

The lecture hall turned out to be the same one I took Precalc in back nearly 5 years earlier. It made me smile to think how different and simple life was back then, even if it didn’t seem like it was at the time. I hoped that maybe I could look back at today some time in the future and think “if only I had known it was going to get a lot better”.

Kids started to pile into the hall and I was amazed at how much younger than me they all looked. Could I have looked that young when I was 18 or 19? I wonder what I looked like to them. Granted I don’t think I’ve aged much in the last 7 years, so I may blend right in. Or maybe they were thinking “How old is that chic? And what is she doing typing up a storm on that blackberry?”

Steve and the girl who I’m guessing was named Angela, fumbled with the projector and DVD player.

“I can’t figure out how to get it to start.” I heard Steve say.

I walked over to them, pressed DVD on the receiver and play on the DVD player. VOILA! Waffle’s bio came up on the screen.

“And that, students, is what a Rutgers degree will do for you!” I called out.

The crowd laughed. I’m a natural… in my own little world.
The bio played and the kids were fully interested, watching intently and laughing along. It ended and Waffle sat on a table and told his life story. Although I’d watched the bio and had already heard various anecdotes, he told a few that I hadn’t and there were some points that I focused so intently on moments passed and I wasn’t even aware. He said something along the lines of “Sometimes you need to take risks, huge ones, but they should in some shape or form be calculated. You should have a decent idea of what you’re trying to do and how you’re going to get there. But don’t be afraid to take those risks.” Great timing to mention such things around me when I may take one of the biggest risks of my life by moving thousands of miles away.

As Waffle told stories he would bring me into the presentation for side comments. Someone asked him how he got his DJ name and he began to say, “I’m somewhat of a…L, what did you call me?”
“A cornball.”
Everyone laughed.
“Yea, that’s it.”
We sounded like a comedian and his trusty sidekick. The session lasted an hour with some random questions, autographed biographies and group pictures. We said by to the kids and as we were leaving, Steve shouted, “Bye, Waffle. Bye, Angela!”
“I told you he thought my name was Angela! Shit, that is SO far off from my name!”
“It’s L,” Waffle called back.
Steve turned bright red, I waved and we left.

We made a pit stop at a local deli/grill/pizzeria combo place I used to frequent in college, downed some grilled cheese and hams and then bounced onto the turnpike. I assured Waffle it was fine that he napped while I drive, considering he had a 7am flight to catch. Of course there was traffic on the Holland tunnel, and after dropping Waffle off in downtown NYC, I didn’t get home until 1am.

Exhausted, I collapsed into bed and was asleep before I could change into pajamas.

My dreams were filled with sneakers and grilled cheese sandwiches…

Man your apples!

(First off, gotta say I’m super TIGHT right now because I started a LONG blog on my experiences this past weekend, saved it as a draft and somehow it’s disappeared… I’m just not confident I can conjure the funniness again *sigh*)

In early October of 1982, my parents packed my chubby, non-walking ass into a car seat, pumped some salsa, slapped on some smiles and jumped on the interstate in hopes of finding apple picking bliss… At least that’s how I like to imagine it. In reality my parents were probably bickering at each other, or shouting at my two cousins sitting on either side of me, or yelling out the window at my aunt who followed in a car behind us. Who knows, but some pictures from back in the day show a happy group beneath red and orange leaves with apples all about. And so the tradition began and with each year that followed in my current batch of 25, I’ve missed no more than five trips.

This year I was in high doubt anyone would be going anywhere near Salt Point, NY due to dad’s stroke. It wasn’t until I received a call from my mom in which she told me she had spoke to dad and a trip had been planned making October 14th was the big day. Whether dad had anything planned originally is what will remain a mystery, mom has a way of forcing her own plans on other people. Regardless, I did talk to my father, who had extended the invite to his warehouse neighbors and we would in fact be making the trip up north.

I called Mr. Man. “You’re in for a surprise.”
“What’s that?”
“We’re going apple picking. You’re coming and you can’t escape. I need you for emotional support.”
He laughed, thinking I was joking. “Come on, L. I’m sure it will be fun.”
“Oh, it will…After I take some valium it’ll be hilarious.”

Saturday morning the alarm went off at 8am.

“Do we have to get up now?” Mr. Man asked me.
“Not at all. Feel free to be the reason we show up late and have everyone complaining and cursing you for the rest of the day.”
He looked at me once and then threw his feet over the edge of the bed, leaving for the bathroom. Poor thing had no idea what he was in for. Sure our parents are friends so he has a idea (limited idea) as to what mine are like, but the whole crew? God help us!

By 9:30am we were sitting in front of my mom’s house waiting for her to return from the deli.
“Why does she wait until I say I’m coming to leave?”
“Because bagels taste better when you procrastinate.”
“Apparently.”
I then saw the Bayron truck pull up with Candice and her immediate family of four tucked in tight. She had the look. The why aren’t we ready to leave look. “Where’s your mom?”
“Getting bagels…They taste better when you leave them for the last minute.”
She wasn’t amused.

Five minutes later mom finally did show up and off we went to meet up with dad and his friends. After several street detours, we arrived at his warehouse but he was nowhere to be found. I’ll save you the boredom of explaining how we went from a leave time of 10am to a leave time of 11am. Let’s just say no one woke up thinking “Wow, I should try to be on time today.” (Regardless of the fact that there are more than 15 people going on this excursion!)

Two hours later (after being stuck in pointless traffic), we arrived at Terhune Farms four cars deep. Like clowns we toppled out of the cars and into the brisk, fresh air. From that moment on it was time for me to turn into the child of the Exorcist; my name was called from so many directions that my head nearly turned all the way around and fell off my shoulders.

“L, come help me set up this blanket so we can eat.”
“L, how do I get this camera to work?”
“L, where is your father?”
“L, can you grab Imani?”
“L, where are the best apples?”
“L, come take a pic!”
“L, where are we going after this?”
“L, come help me get this apple.”

At one point I threw myself on the ground in protest. Mr. Man glanced around, picked me up from the ground, hugged me and said, “You’re amazing. I don’t know how you’ve stayed sane after 25 years of that.”

“You and me, both.”

While tiring, I have to say the trip was fun. Imani had a ball throwing apples and jumping on haystacks. I laughed at my family being clowns and having a good time. I smiled at Mr. Man for joining me for the ride.

By the time we returned home the mere thought of joining some of my friends at a reunion in NYC made me want to pass out. Instead, it was an evening of TV watching and reminiscing about two strangers who talked for hours on a beach one night six months ago…

Life is funny.

Imani holds on for dear life as Mr. Man tries to help her reach for an apple.

My little pumpkin princess

Five Elles... Or are there?

More than a year ago, my multi-talented friend Pablo sent me a script to look over. It involved five very different characters played by the same person.

"I think you can pull it off," he told me.

At the time I was very much considering the possibility of acting as a career move. I was about to enroll at a local acting academy when my life got in the way. Acting had been left on the back burner and a guaranteed money making career ensued. That was so long ago that I had almost forgot my once very prevalent ambitions. That is until Pablo caught the bug to film again.

"I wish I could find that script I sent you way back when."

I searched through my email and was able to retrieve it and send it to him.

"I say we do it. What about Sunday?"

Sunday would be the day after the long day at the VH1 Honors. I'd be tired...
So when has that ever stopped me? "Sure, I'm in."

Sunday afternoon, Pablo arrived with his assistant (*cough* girlfriend), Amanda, and filming gear. I had laid out my wardrobe for the several changes I would have to undergo, and when they were approved, dressed into my first character.

I don't want to reveal too much of the short film. I'd rather wait until it's edited and post it online for all of you to see. So what I will say is there were a lot of laughs, a LOT of takes, a lot of angles, a lot of dumb questions (not just from you, Amanda lol), a lot of "Oh, we're filming?", a lot of overcooked lemons (that will make sense later), a lot of spilled "vodka", and always a good time.

During the last scene my mother popped in with Imani. It didn't help that a) my mom doesn't necessarily "get" what I do, and that b) I was dressed like a trashy whore.

"WHAT kind of movie are you filming?" she asked.

"This is just one of the characters, ma. I was dressed like Susie Homemaker earlier, you should have dropped in during that scene."

"Well let me see what you can do. Go ahead and continue."

But, I couldn't. It's the same thing with photo shoots. In front of professionals I'm fine, totally uninhibited and in touch with what I'm doing. In front of family or friends I shy away, lose my purpose. After ten minutes of having Imani almost rip my mini shirt off, mom collected her and left so we could wrap up.

When it was all said and done we had more than an hour of footage that had been created in six hours of time, that would equal maybe three minutes of finalized film. Amazing how that all works.

I'll post when it's completed.

Hot sounds and burning hamstrings...

No more craziness... no more late nights... I want to be a hermit!

Or so I thought...

"Hey Elle J, I've got your name on a list for the VH1 Hip Hop Honors this Saturday, let me know who you're coming with and I'll get you in the VIP floor or mez area." ...Was an email I received last Sunday. For the next ten minutes I bit my nails, circled my living room and grunted. Only Sunday and I already had most of the week packed without this event. Jeopardy taping with mom Thursday, dinner with a friend Friday, filming on Sunday... What happened to hours of luxurious sleep on the weekends? And when in the hell was I going to get to that pile of laundry that I swear whispers to me in my sleep, "L, WHEN are you going to wash us, you stank ass?!"

Mr. Man continued to flip through the Sunday newspaper while I grunted and whined.

"Why can't you just be here to go with me to things like this?"

"Why can't I just be here period."

*Sigh*


I had at least 3 ticket spots to fill. I went back to my computer and made a few calls. First to Chris who I swore would want to attend an all out hip hop function, but who turned me down. And, then to JL, my entertainment industry partner in crime; he accepted. With one last entrepenuer in mind, I dialed Clarissa's number, only to find out she had already been invited to the show. So, it was settled. I was booked for Saturday.

Mr. Man turned to me, "You know, you could just not go."

I gave him half of a frown and realized that could didn't translate into not for me. Once invited I have a hard time passing things like that up. "How about we get some Chinese food?" Changing the subject has always been my favorite defense mechanism.

The following week ran by so quickly, I could hardly grab hold of its memory. Mom enjoyed Jeopardy although I found myself yawning through a daytime diva's smiles and a late night musical directors jokes. Dinner with my friend on Friday was enlightening, as it usually is. Then Saturday hit me like a hard slap by reality when I awoke and realized I had nothing hip hopish to wear. After running around the maze that is the Staten Island Mall, I settled on purchasing a cropped military jacket and huge fake gold hoop earrings. Ran home to do something with the hair and here was the final product:

I had on green and orange Pumas to match. *wink*

Being the worried freak I am, I was the first to arrive at the Hammerstein Ballroom. I was promptly asked which list I was on, and after stating my name, was told I was on the VIP line, near the wall. I joined that line and waited...and waited. While waiting I had the pleasure of standing next to a rather large woman who apparently failed to look in the mirror before stepping out of her house. For those of you who know me, you're well aware I'm no skinny toothpick. You would rarely find me in any kind of pants or shirts that don't keep my cheechos (sp?) in check. This girl however, wow... Way too tight top that fought to keep her boobs from spilling ou, I think it barely reached over her nipples. Pants so low and tight that, when she bent over the railing in front of me I saw at least three inches of her ass crack. After nearly gagging, I turned away and prayed Clarissa or JL would show up to distract me soon.

Clarissa showed up first. I swear this chic is too cute for her own good. Standing at no more than 5'2" (if she's taller I'm sorry!) in heels, lovely fitted jeans, a team jacket, large hoop earrings and freshly done hair, lil miss C made herself known as she hugged me tight and squealed my name, asking where I'd been for the past few months. Shit if I know! Haven't even been able to answer that to myself. We took a few minutes to catch up, then her cell phone rang and she steered away from me momentarily.

In that time lapse I saw JL approaching and ushered him to join us. He, standing at 6'3", towered over both of us. Dressed in a backwards baseball cap loosely hanging on his head, with sneakers to match and a tan military jacket with jeans, he greeted Clarissa who he knows separately from me, and then hugged me hello. We had a lot to catch up on but it wasn't the kind of talk that was well placed on a noisy line decorated with half dressed people. "We're going to have to get together soon, I've got a lot to tell you."

"You and me both, kiddo," I told him.

The line started to move and we found our way through metal detectors and into the venue. I wondered if it had been the Country Honors would I have been searched the way I was. I highly doubt it, but hey, I'm not trying to get stabbed or shot either (i.e. Source Awards). To my complete amazement there were trays of sandwiches and a juice bar set up. I found Travis, my connect, and walked over to say hi. He was busy munching on mozzerella and pesto on foccacia bread.

"Do you ever do anything but eat?"

He laughed and kissed me hello. "Sometimes I even manage naps."

"Great, when you retire please give me a call so I can take over."

"Can you believe there is food here?" he asked, astounded.

"Hello no." Any MTV or Viacom production I'd ever been to never catered to the audience. "Guess that means we should eat while it's still here," I said to JL. We grabbed a bite and some sodas, and without realizing it, lost Clarissa in the process. We watched a Wu-Tang member flash his All Access pass at the juice bar bartender trying to score some liqour.

"It's a juice bar," the bartender said softly.

"Even if I got this?" the rapper flashed his pass arrogantly.

"You can get liqour downstairs."

"Well, that is where I'm going," he said very matter of factly.

As he wobbled away in his four times too big jeans, I sighed and said to JL, "If you ever get that way, I'm going to slap you upside the head." It is no doubt to me that JL will soon become famous for his musical talents.

"I give you full authority to do so." He doesn't doubt it either.

We people watched for some time, marveling at the clothes people wore and the ridiculously high shoes and boots some girls apparently considered comfortable. "If you ever catch me in an outfit like that-" I began.

"Slap you upside the head."

I nodded.

The music was loud and compelling. My body swayed to Grandmaster Flash's best without me even being aware. JL started in with his dance moves that I envy.

"Teach me something," I pleaded. "But, don't get crazy."

He proceeded to do a four count that included a throw of jacket flaps. I had no jacket flaps to throw behind me. He insisted I do so without the actual flaps and we fell into a fit of laughs as I went ahead with his bullshit flap toss and looked like a complete moron.

"Ok, ok just do this." He made some movement with his feet that I wasn't quick enough to follow, but somehow managed to move at least two feet away from me.

"What in the hell? Do that again!"

It was no use. Five tries later I was still stuck in the same spot and catching a cramp in my Achille's Heel. "I suck."

"You'll learn."

"Audience members, please find your way to the front of the stage," boomed the voice of the DJ, Marley Marle. We finished off our sandwiches and headed into the pit. A group of breakdancers were battling so hard that I wondered if it was part of the show. We joined the ouskirts of the circle that formed around them and watched intently. A short b-boy from across the circle smiled at me.

"Do you know that guy?" JL asked.

"Don't think so."

"Should I be bothered then. I mean how does he know whether or not you're with me?"

"Relax, macho."

Minutes later the b-boy was beside me. He looked at me, smiled and said something like, "You're down with the EOW crew, right?"

I had no clue what he was talking about, so I just smiled and shook my head. "No, sorry."

"Oh, you look like someone I've seen before." A dancer apparently. I figure this because I was again mistaken later in the evening. I guess I just have that "I want to dance" kind of face.

The show, scheduled to start at 8pm, didn't really get on the road until almost 9. Ice-T hosted, adlibing and reading from teleprompters. The honorees were Afrika Bambaatta, Russel Simmons, Rakim, MC Lyte, Beastie Boys, Wu-Tang Clan, Eazy-E and Ice Cube... did I forget anyone? Let me check my ubercool poster series parting gift. Nope, got them all. There were performances by Diddy, Fabolous, Q-Tip, Lil Kim (she got "healthy" while in the pen), Remy Ma, Fat Joe, Erika Badhu, Common and The Roots. Lil Jon screamed his Oh Yeah's and when Wu Tang performed, Method Man jumped into the audience right next to where I was standing. My life flashed before my eyes when suddenly a stranger pulled me out of the mosh-pit-dangerous way. I thanked him, then enjoyed the rest of the show on my own. Clarissa was long lost in the crowd and JL had to part a half hour before the show ended to return to family.

All in all, a very cool experience. But, my legs which supported my weight for nearly six hours, screamed bloddy murder at me throughout the train and ferry ride home.

No way am I ever going to go through a day like that again...

Right?