Can You Hear Me Now?...Why Tennis Players Should Grunt Louder

The first thing I learned in karate class was how to yell (right now you have a scary image of me in karate garb in your head, but rest assured, after reaching the purple belt, I quit). My instructor taught us that the “hee-yah” we took so much pleasure in screaming from the very depths of ourselves was just as much apart of our form as the “sparring stance” and other postures we had to master. Throughout my journey fitness classes, dance aerobics to kickboxing, the yell remained an essential part of the activity. The instructors encouraged an audible display of strength. It was an expression of all the energy bubbling over inside as our kicks got higher, our punches got stronger, and our sweat gushed out more profusely. Like a teapot that’s bursting with steam, our exuberant shouts were a release of all that we couldn’t hold onto as we put our entire selves into the workout.

My 30-50 minute courses can’t touch a 3-round tennis match with a ten foot pole in terms of intensity. When I watch a tennis match, the energy plunges right through the television screen and arrests me on my couch. Apparently for some tennis spectators (who are probably all white and mostly male) that display of energy and force has become a nuisance.

They want to do away with “the grunts.” Now I don’t watch male tennis matches often, so I’m not sure how much audio is included in these matches, but women are the dominant face of the “grunt-issue” in the current news coverage. In one case, player Victoria Azarenka’s audio was measured for decibel strength and time length. Really? People want to control the sounds that other people make when they’re engaged in an extreme level of physical performance? And yet watching an NBA game is almost the equivalent of being in a strip-club when you match the sounds.



I don’t think this is about sounds being annoying, its about powerful women annoying the hell out of the folks who cling to a patriarchal ideal of the world, and seek to position people according to that hierarchy. Men on top, women…barely there. The naughty sense of pleasure I got from screaming at the top of my lungs as a pre-teen is similar to what I felt as a junior and senior in college. Little girls, like most children, are still expected to be seen, not heard. And women, are expected to take up even less space in the world. From our physical body mass to our use of the air when exercising our very own vocal chords, women are supposed to occupy a male gaze. Anything that disrupts that gaze, any use of extra space that might distort someone else’s vision of us, is deemed unacceptable.

Some tournaments already come down harshly on what (black, female) players where. What’s next, spectators trying to control how much players can sweat because they think it looks gross?

Clearly those in places of privilege have a hard time identifying who and what they can and can’t control, the sounds that people make being one of them. But sense we’re all dishing out pet-peeves, here’s three “sounds” I could certainly live without:
1) The greedy grunt Rick Ross makes every 5 seconds

2) The whistle’s, “oo-wee’s,” and curses I typically hear from men when walking
down a street (regardless of what I’m hearing)

3) The gunshots from cops who, in the course of “just doing their jobs,” murder
black men, women, and little boys and girls.

If You Saw It on Vh1...Don't Try It at Home

What in the world is going on at Vh1? Perhaps their decision to commodify the 21st century black bitch/video vixen/glamorized Jerry Springer guest acting archetype should come as no surprise since they are the network who poisoned us with Flavor of Love, I Love New York, Charm School and other shows I’m embarrassed to say that I’ve watched. (But actually, no guilt will ever overcome the laughable insanity of watching a grown woman uhhh relieve her alleged diarrhea in an evening gown, in the middle of a crowded room, on national television. Flavor of Love 2 was friggin history!)

Since we last spoke this Black Femme has become a working girl…that’s right, I decided to do the 9-5 thing for the summer (actually 8:30-5) and so far, I’m loving it. It could be the fact that I have an office twice the size as the one I share with three other doctoral students when school is in session. Anywho, despite my meager expectations, this job has grown on me.

Adjusting to the summer gig has kept me from the tweetable moments sprinkled throughout Vh1’s current line-up. Basketball Wives (nothing valuable to say here, if you watch the show and don’t realize the blatant issues in this one, you’re probably not supposed to be reading this blog) is well, pretty much the same as it was last season, but Queen Latifah’s “Single Ladies” is making black femmes everywhere take a second look. I finally saw the season premier last night (all two hours, yikes). After getting over the mediocre acting (Was Stacey Dash always so over-the-top dramatic in Clueless? No wonder her most memorable role was on a show for tweens and teens.), the name dropping, and the cliché lifestyles of the black, rich, and famous trimmings that have come to characterize most contemporary Black TV appearances (hello people most folks, not just black folks, are not upper middle or upper class, and most of them don’t drive jags)—I was actually able to get into the story line. I saw, through the seriously exaggerated lives of the three-and-a-half (if you count Lauren London) main characters, so many black femme situations that ring true to life. When Dash’s character sleeps with her ex to prove that she’s over him or has a one-night stand in efforts to “try something new” (really? Has sex become that casual), when LisaRaye’s character plays an upgraded version of cat-and-mouse with a guy (that I not-so-quietly think is going to turn out being on the down low) who outsmarts most of her moves despite her attempts to remain emotionally detached, and when the token spoiled (white) girl whose too stupid to realize that cheating on her black husband will certainly result in extreme (I’m out of a house, a credit card, and probably a husband) consequences, even if its “just a fling”—I thought wow, we’re a hot mess.

Well, I don’t know anyone who actually banged a married political official or “mistakenly” stolen their boyfriend’s jewelry on rap video set, but the root of these behaviors are common to many of us “single” and not-so-single ladies. How many times have you convinced yourself that because your professional life was together, that moral failures didn’t matter so much? How easy is it to buy into our own lies hidden behind a pretty face, over-priced shoes, and a serious-statement bag?

The point is, despite my obvious issues with Vh1, we’ve all heard about, witnessed, or done many of these ridiculous acts ourselves. So since, if you’re like me, you’ll probably be tuning into the show from time to time this summer (or at least you’ll be talking about it), engage the stunning reflection of your worst self. Resist the urge to distance yourself from the polarized representations—and at least make a mental note of what not to do the next time you’re tempted to act without thinking. Ladies, if you saw it on Vh1—don’t try it at home.

Popeye's New Aunt Jemima

Dear BFDiary,

Most of my days are filled with reading, but I can't lie. I'm not yet willing to give up shows like Law & Order SVU and Real Housewives of New Jersey, Atlanta, DC... So I guess that makes me a a doctoral student silly enough to make time for TV (at least for now). Since I'm switching back and forth between critical theory and cat fights, Patricia Hill Collins and Andy Cohen (by the way, the Housewives of New Jersey Reunion was bananas!), feminist ideology and Food Network challenges, the lines in my head tend to blur a little. Since, I'm actually studying the media, this works well for me (not so much for someone studying say clinical psychology).

Just the other day I was reading a book by a woman who is a journalist and decided to write a particular piece with a somewhat "scholarly" feel. She discussed the traditional role of the black woman as Mammy as personified through, you guessed it, America's favorite woman to have at the breakfast table, Aunt Jemima. If you know anything about the history of black images in media then you probably realize that Aunt Jemima had a big makeover not too many years ago. She dropped that stubborn 100 pounds that was weighing her down, invested in some Ambi skin "lightening" cream, and ditched the head rag to show off her new perfectly coiffed curls. I guess this is supposed to make even black people feel comfortable eating her breakfast. The writer I'm referring to, however, said that Aunt Jemima's presence had nothing to do with the rag. Ummm, whose she fooling? The rag, complete the ensemble, kept us from seeing the part of her that we call her crown, her glory. Just like the weight kept us from seeing her beauty and sensuality and the wide smile kept us from seeing her pain, her discontent, and her quiet resistance of her position as the go-to woman in someone else's house.

Fast forward to 2010 and I'm watching Popeyes reclaim their place as the only "bonafide" fast food fried chicken joint of America through a woman named Anne. Sure, she has a more modern hairdo (sometimes), but she's also in an apron. She's calling it her fried chicken, which couldn't be further from the truth. Popeyes came to fruition from a white guy named Al Copeland in 1972, mind you he was probably using a recipe some black woman that had worked for his family at some point may have influenced, but the point is, she'll never see a check.

The point of this post isn't to hate or get you to stop supporting these brands (your personal consumption is on you), rather, I want to draw your attention to the black femme body as a marketing tool for comfort foods. Are the women who put on "mammy" acts at Aunt Jemima cooking demonstrations around the nation, and, is Anne chosen because their great actors? I don't think so. It's all about the look. It's all about America's comfort with the image of black women. Within our national memory, the black woman has been (re)presented as a jezebel, as sapphire, and of course, as mammy. Relishing in our resistance to buck tradition and taint the status quo we reproduce these images, even after we've been clued in to how destructive they can be. So that in 2010, Aunt Jemima resurfaces on my chicken box.

I just can't be down with that. What recent representations have you seen that you want to publicly denounce? I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Less is More, life without the fake fix

Dear BFDiary,

I’m a young woman whose starved herself through struggles between slim and sexy. You pick up enough Seventeen and Cosmo Girl magazines as a preteen and you find yourself ingesting all kinds of crap. When I got to college and realized that some people thought I was small and it wasn’t a good thing, as in it wasn’t the sexy thing to be for a black girl, my self-image brow-beating started all over again. In a college town 10 minutes away from the middle of nowhere with no dependable black stylists in sight, a chick had to depend on her curves to do what her budget wouldn’t allow in the way of fabulous clothes, routine mani/pedis, and awesome tresses fried, dyed, and blow-dried into perfection.

Now if you know me or if you’ve read more than a couple blog posts, you know that I’m not totally absorbed in my looks (I have a brain, I use it, I’m proud of it). You also know that I’m real, and a girly-girl. I’m also a sista, and looking good no matter what the cost (yikes, it hurts but its so true) is pretty much inscribed in our DNA. So, take these words for the greater meaning at hand, which I’m getting to soon.

I’ve done yo-yo dieting, one major “lifestyle change” at 16 that I still don’t think my parents realize did more harm than good (no 125 lb. girl should have to calorie-count between third and fourth period), and spiritual fasts like lent that truly brought me closer to God (on my 5^th consecutive day without chocolate and magazines I had no choice but to pray if I wanted to make it to day 6 with my sanity). All these experiences were active moments of self-denial, miserable means to achieve a greater, longer-lasting end. If I wanted to drop 10 pounds, I needed to drop the snickers. If I wanted to hear from God more clearly, I needed to stop listening to the Weezy and R. Kelly that somehow got on my iPod.

My fasting and even my crazy diets taught me an important lesson about the power in resistance. Every second of our lives someone or some ad is telling us one more thing we need to be happy, to be whole, to be better. No ad talks about being better, by having less. Being better, by not consuming. Being better, by resisting.

A recent incident that my bestie brought to my attention got me thinking about how us strong black femmes can be tricked into thinking that we’re weak. How women who are astronauts and mothers and CEOs and executive directors and teachers and department chairs and presidents and scholars and students all while managing to look as good as we do and be so many things to so many people can be tricked into thinking that in spite of all that, we just won’t be right without that fix. A fix could be the new bag and booties we can’t afford (guilty), the momentary pleasure of letting someone get too close too soon (guilty), or the 5th, 6^th, and 7^th chips ahoy cookie (guilty, guilty, and guilty).

Can you imagine conning and tempting Oprah with $100? It’d never work. Can you imagine tempting a strong woman of God with a man not worth the ground he walks on? Works all the time.

If I can survive cramps through an 8-hr work day and manage not to give everybody attitude, if I can put up dry wall and insulation in heels, if I can burp the baby with one hand and prepare dinner with the other, if I can be on the Dean’s List and be the head of two student orgs, if I can party in Paris and chill at the church picnic, if I can dazzle my boss and my colleagues, if I can do all this and still wake up the next morning to do it all again, I am phenomenal.

When we put it like that, ladies, we realize no short-term guilty pleasure can begin to really satisfy us. Our contentment comes from within

Chocolate City Housewives...not so chocolate-friendly

Dear BFDiary,

How real can the Real Housewives of D.C. actually be when only one of the housewives hailing from "chocolate city" is actually, well, chocolate. I'm officially unimpressed. Knowing what we know about our nation's capitol, not even the new wave of black and brown faces in the White House could land us fair representation in this supposed reflection of life in one of the most powerful cities in the world. And of course, since most of the housewives are white, most of their friends, are also white. At this point I'm wondering if Stacie (the token black woman) would've been better left outside this tea party.

For one thing, her most of her cast members have no idea how to interact with her, and probably wouldn't make it through a dinner with any black folks. At housewife Mary's birthday dinner the hostess "diplomatically" seats Stacie next to the other black guy at the dinner (who happens to be a celebrity hair stylist). All Mary can talk about is how much she thought they'd get along (because black people can't make it through nice dinners without moral support from our race brethren). Then, the chick, a grown woman, gets tipsy and starts talking about how we need to integrate hair salons. Ummmm what you talkin' bout Mary?

Oops, almost forgot, there was another black man at the party. Given his flawless blue-black complexion and his height and the fact that all anyone can ever talk about is how big he is, you can imagine why I almost left him out. Lynda, the cast member who totes the much younger "darkie" round on her arm (he's supposed to be her boyfriend) even describes this man based on how big he is. It's that classic king kong caricature come to life.

But back to our girl Stacie. As if this white girls party couldn't get anymore uncomfortable she invites the housewives over for a cooking demonstration with Janet Jackson's chef. And all Catherine (the new girl in town from England) can talk about is how much she thinks Bush is a better man than Obama (her husband is currently employed by his administration) and proceeds to do a finger-snapping neck rolling impression of Tyra Banks, who she also hates. I've never seen Tyra do either one of those things on her show. As a matter of fact, I've seen her bring new light to subjects that young people aren't really discussing otherwise.

Stacie, after this first episode I'm not sure how you made it through an entire season. I admire you for being the beautiful unapologetically black and successful woman that you are.

Bravo, do better!

Do You Have Enough Green to Go Green?

Dear BFDiary,

A couple years ago I took a very general Global Issues course where I learned all of the bad things going on in the world that scholars were actually talking about (of course this left out a lot that black and brown people deal with on the day-to-day). The hot topic by the end of the course wasn’t how Wal-Mart was putting whole goods manufacturers out of business and creating a new major retail model strangled the middle man and kept their truck drivers from doing natural things like going to the bathroom when they (I know, that’s what’d you’d want to talk about too right?!). Rather we spent a couple days on the gorgeous green grass outside the ivory towers (I HATED when professors chose to hold class outside on the ground, I mean what is it with some people and nature?) discussing how everyday people in the U.S. could minimize their carbon footprint.

When we started to talk about solutions to problems like severe consumerism and deadly chemicals that have so conveniently been worked in to the maintenance of our everyday lives. Then all these ideas about rules, like requiring everyone to shop organic, get rid of their vehicles and drive Prius’. The first thing I thought was how wasteful it would be for people to go green in the way that some of my peers were suggesting. I mean, they’d be tossing functional goods, to buy more goods, that would have to be produced using methods that we’re trying to get away from. Then I started thinking dollars and cents.

I thought about my grandmother whose paralyzed on one side of her body and buys things for practical functionality, how much would it cost her to buy all organic goods, and how much time would it take her to find a store in Saginaw (a town where I’m pretty much related to everyone) that actually sold said goods. Then I thought about the people who drove minivans because they needed the space and wouldn’t be able to afford a Prius. And what about the people who already have to pass 20 McDonald’s with 20 items under two bucks to find a decent grocery store with fresh over-priced produce. How were they supposed to care about this mysterious ozone layer when they’re block is a target for environmental racism. I’m just saying…we all don’t have enough green to go green. And for some of “us” a few things fall a bit higher on the list than global warming.

Broken Promises

Dear BFDiary,

One of my best friends in the entire world is someone I met when I was about three or four. For the first half of our lives we did everything together, we watched the same movies (anything with the Olsen twins), shopped at the same store (Limited Too), and went to camp together (she’ll kill me for saying it, but I rode the horses, while she pretended to be sick). We even developed crushes on guys that were friends.

Living on different sides of town and attending different schools, though, made sustaining the friendship difficult. After elementary school, I begged my parents to switch me to her private school, but they shrugged it off and mentioned that we could try for high school. Ironically, once ninth grade rolled around, I sprung for a private school in Farmington Hills and along with nearly everyone I’d known and befriended in middle school, she went to the best public high school Detroit has to offer. We decided that college was the only time we’d get to decide our own fate, and promised to room together at Spelman. Well, that promise was broken, but, considering our friendship has lasted more than a lot of marriages, I’d say our promise to be true blues for life was one we really meant.

All relationships are ready-made with some type of promise. We promise to obey our parents (for the most part) and they promise to invest in our livelihood (food, shelter, clothing, a last name). Hell, even my relationship with my manicurist involves a pact. I promise to tip her well and she promises to give me a student discount and premier service every time. Every now and again, like my old hair stylist who always swore to get me in and out in 3 hours, you make a promise you can’t keep. But the worst promises you break, are the ones you make to yourself.

I’m not talking a new years resolution where you vow to lose 15 pounds but never keep your promise to jog and stop eating French fries. I’m talking about the promises to love yourself—to keep yourself spiritually, mentally, physically, financially, and emotionally well. The promise you make when you decide to get up in the morning and face the day with fierceness and dust yourself off from yesterday’s disappointments. And the promise to never learn any lesson more than once.

The promise I made to myself when I got over my last heartbreak was that I’d be wiser, more cautious, and less trusting. Love, as it tends to do, pulled a fast one on me. And now I find myself wondering which promise I broke and when. How did I end up right here with(out) you….

The worst part of it all is that I can’t remember the last promise I broke that I made to someone else, anyone else. So my beautiful and faithful BFD readers, I’ll make a promise to you. I promise to put myself in position to be a better writer, one that doesn’t just write about problems you can relate to, but can offer real solutions that have worked in my life.

Because I promise you, not keeping this promise, won’t bring anything good.

What I Learned From Kwame

It’s no secret that I love my city just as much as I love space, we’ve got a lot of it, and after spending summers in NYC and Paris, I appreciate it more than ever. To love my city is to represent it and all of its beautiful characters. A big black man in construction site orange wouldn’t normally make headlines, but since his last name is Kilpatrick, his image has circulated print, broadcast, and online newswires around the world. Besides our proud Motown Royalty like Aretha Franklin (who people seem to forget is from D-Town) he seems to be the most popular character in our 313-story for the moment.

So tax violations, fraud, obstruction of justice, all very un-cool things for anyone who knows and enforces the law to be accused of, but for a politician, eh, it’s all pretty much part of a term’s work. Kilpatrick is not the big bad wolf who helped bring the worst city in the world further down into the dumps. As a matter of fact, Detroit isn’t the most dangerous, or the fattest, or even the poorest city in America. Detroit is the site of a beautiful boardwalk that’s a couple’s romantic playground or a family’s biking path. It’s home to the kind of athletic teams that don’t do much showboating, but wins championships as an actual team. And sure, we’ve got plenty of issues, from crooked cops to failing school systems (what urban locale doesn’t have those issues) but we aren’t ready to roll over and croak just yet. There’s plenty of life left here, and hopefully, in Kilpatrick’s career.

If you’re a cynic you’ve probably stopped reading already, but if you’re a realist, stay with me. As a Detroiter who remembers meeting the humble 30-year-old who was handsome enough to catch my eye and smart enough to allow my father to speak to his congregation, I’m compelled to look beyond the story people like Mildred Gaddis (don't bother calling into her radio show if you don't agree with her) would have you buy into and re-present him as a fallen young man whose mistakes teach us two very big lessons.

Lesson number one: No, the sex is never that good. All the greatest public servants we’ve loved have had mistresses, Kilpatrick’s someone he’d grown up with, but as we all know, Beatty was more than your typical I-sleep-with-powerful-men-to-eat mistress. She’s smart, successful, can stand on her on two feet, and has a family. They’re affair cost two public images and one broken family.

Lesson number two: When you give your haters ammunition, they will use it. Kilpatrick is mostly guilty of being young, powerful, and a target for hater-ation. He started feeling himself, he got flashy, and he got careless with his spending and his loving. Think about it, King David made the same mistakes and God still trusted him to write portions of the Bible. Kilpatrick’s reputation is under siege because people who never wanted to see him succeed, are now taking pleasure in perpetuating his failures—and by making stupid mistakes he’s given them the fuel they need to keep the fire going.

Never Talk to Strangers

Dear BFDiary,

Last summer I got paid to find sexy black guys on the street (sometimes single, sometimes not) and suck their real ideas on sex and relationships straight from the gut in less than 10 minutes (and no that's not all I did during my internship, I also got to work on some awesome but scary breast cancer profiles among other things). You can imagine that I didn't get paid a lot, but the responses I got, or didn't get for that matter, were priceless. Many of my afternoon adventures around Bryant Park and 125th street in Harlem have been fabulous conversation starters in some awful how-did-I-end-up-here-talking-to-you situations, not to mention, I learned that there is no shortage of attractive and "eligible" black bachelors.

In order to be successful at my job, starting from day one, I had to get over that whole don't talk to strangers thing with a quickness. In fact, journalism, I think, is about doing the opposite. Not only do you have to be comfortable with chatting with people you don't know, you have to engage them to the point where they feel more comfortable with you than the people they talk to everyday.

Now that my inner nerd has sucked me into the world of academia (I'm talking research and theory with the big dogs) I've found that I've lost a bit of my flare for talking to random black men. Thursday evening I was on my crowded bus ride home and the man dressed in tan from head to toe decided to sit next to me. Looking at the heavy black 80's frames on his face and the bare ring finger, my initial reaction was to tune him out after he pointed out a funny article on the front of his New York Times. Once I saw that his questions and quest for conversation weren't going to stop, I found myself annoyingly wondering, ok, so what does this guy want from me, he's old enough to be my grandad. Getting over myself enough to actually listen to the stranger next to me, I realized he wasn't that much of a stranger at all--he was a professor in the Classics department who'd taught at UCLA before he was recruited to Michigan. He was a fellow scholar who wanted to share a moment on the bus with me, since when was that a crime? Was I judging the man for just wanting to talk to me? Did all the rude street-encounters gone wrong make me weary of any decent man I might come across?

Have you ever had one of those "aha" moments when you realized you were on the defense for no reason?

True Swag Tuesday: Fabulous by Faith

Meet NYRIEMcKENZIE

AGE: 23

HOMETOWN: Albany, NY

BACKGROUND: Syracuse University '09: Public Policy and Political Science

HOW SHE PAYS THE BILLS: Public Relations Associate for a prestigious entertainment company in Manhattan

HER GRIND: It paid off big time when she landed a job better than her dream job a week ago

When does the grind begin to produce those glowing pots of gold we keep telling ourselves at the end of the rainbow? At 23, Nyrie McKenzie is running into those golden years now. Confident in her own fabulosity the sassy sista spent a year shaping her public relations skills and networking until some folks in high places became just as confident in her as she was, and decided to give her a mid-level position with an office to match. The new gig came just one week after she'd left her stable but dissatisfying job in her hometown and moved to the big apple with little more than an empire state of mind. Here's her story of the glamour that came out of a long grind.

Why she grew tired of reading between the rules of law

I initially planned on attending law school to become an entertainment lawyer, but after interning at the New York State Assembly during the Governor Spitzer sex bust I realized law wasn't my passion. I decided to change the world in a different way.

How she landed a colorful media job with a strictly black and white major

I was a junior when I decided to change my course of action, but I couldn't afford to change my major and pay tuition for staying an extra year. I decided to up the ante on my internships and student orgs so that I'd still gain knowledge in my area of interest. Serving as events coordinator for the Black Artist League and producing $30,000 - $60,000 fashion shows with artists like Trey Songz as president of Fashion's Conscience peaked my interest in the PR field. My major actually helped me in the long run because it developed my writing and research skills, which are very useful in public relations.

Her formula for mastering the art of networking like a ninja

Networking is scary to some people but I looked at it as an opportunity to maximize my results in the job grind. The more I did it, the easier it became. I made it my business to talk to people who not only knew what they were doing, but people who wanted me to succeed. I considered myself a sponge. And I didn't look at every person I reached out to as someone who would give me a job, that's the wrong point of view.

Her driving force

The life we have now is the only one we get so I believe just one day of misery, is a day I could've been happy. I quit my dead job as an administrative assistant because I wasn't fulfilled, I couldn't use any of my skills. I trusted my talent so after praying I took the risk and made the move to NYC. I just couldn't drown in a life I new I wasn't destined to live.

Landing the dream job without the cookie-cutter background

My first public relations job is higher than the entry-level position I'd actually applied for, and I'd never even written a press release in college. I spent a year doing a lot of freelance work like putting in 12-hour days event planning for free. I always worked in a small team so I could work directly with the person in charge. It was sink or swim because I was the person in charge of managing event staff, organizing guest lists, etc... without any formal training. I appreciated it because an entry level position at a huge PR firm wouldn't have given me that kind of access and opportunity.

Why a winner in romance and the workforce says the formula for landing a great job doesn't work for love

Love has a tendency of finding you when you aren't looking for it, or in my case, wanting nothing to do with it at all. There's no set recipe. I would never suggest that anyone young and on the grind go looking for a relationship, but if a solid one comes along, why not?

The item this black femme can't live without

Besides shoes, I can't be without my Giovanni's Hair Conditioner for more than a 24-hour period. I was at the airport once and they were going to throw it away because it was over the allotted amount of liquid, so I made my boyfriend meet me at the airport to pick it up.

What's next for this diva on the move

I'm excited about my new position because I'll be able to focus all of my skills into one place. I'm going in with a very ambitious mindset. I want to do things in the industry that have never been done before.

Check out Nyrie's blog: colourmefashion.blogspot.com to learn more about her brilliant mind.

Down Low Activism

Dear BFDiary,

Gosh I love what the folks over at AOL Black Voices dish up for us black folks to discuss everyday (if you haven't checked them out, you should). This post had to be written partially because of my passion and research on black women (what can I so, we're so dang interesting I just can't help but to want to write about us) and partially because of my work as a sexual health advocate. Seven years ago I joined Gospel Against AIDS, Inc. and helped establish the first ever Christian faith-based sexual health initiative for youth in Detroit. At my alma mater I spent three years planning lectures, forums, film viewings, free/anonymous testing events and conferences to empower young people in the Central New York area to live healthier sex lives (rather that meant abstinence, condoms, or getting counseling for sexual abuse/assault).

After years of working in the area of sexual health on the ground (not some lavish office in an ivory tower) you can imagine my intrigue when Sherri Shepherd (co-host of ABC's The View) and guest host D.L. Hughley were accused of misinforming the audience about, well, the dl. The two were discussing rising HIV-rates among African American women, and sited men who have unprotected sex with men and do not disclose this information to their female partners, with whom they also engage in unprotected sex, as fueling infection rates in the black community. Feathers were rustled in gay and black coalitions, and now they want The View to make a formal statement retracting what they say is inaccurate info.

Here's the deal, Shepherd and D.L. may have exaggerated the picture, but they weren't all in all wrong. J.L. King, who emerged as the face of black men on the down-low devoted more than one chapter in his memoir to the very scary fact that the phenomenon discussed on The View is a reality. After talking with King one-on-one and meeting women who had been married and infected, and watching men admit to infecting their partners through a down-low lifestyle on Nightline's Special Report: AIDS in Black America I can confidently say that these coalitions are fishing. Fishing, I think, for an acceptance in the black community that they are not owed. The facts are the facts. While men who live open heterosexual lives and secret homosexual lives aren't the sole cause of infection, they are a cause. Certain movers and shakers in the black gay community are tired of feeling unloved and rejected, and are often on the defense. We as a black community owe each member the same amount of love, but it doesn't mean we have to agree with or accept their lifestyles. Respect does not require acceptance. And love surely doesn't require that we cover up wrong-doing; in fact, it means that we expose it for the sake of improvement.

Give me the 4-1-1 on what you think.

As Seen on M-TV

Dear BFDiary,

I'm not sure if anyone even watches MTV's "Real World" anymore but I must admit that after all these years, I still make time for at least the first few episodes every season. This time around the cast is shaking things up in New Orleans (there are no scenes of the wreckage that's still there which I'm unsure is a good or bad thing). Of course there are a couple black kids on the cast, and even an Arab-American woman from Dearborn (right next door to Detroit, but they also leave this tidbit out).

So the first black guy we meet, Eric, is gorgeous and pretty "normal" for all intensive purposes. His eyes are so captivating they make you wanna slap your mama.

There's white girls from Mississippi who only date black guys, hockey players from Wisconsin, and, wait for it...wait for it....your token black gay guy. Now, Preston doesn't exactly cause drama, but he does don blond wigs from time to time.

What's wrong with this picture? Aside from getting into any type of biblical debacle I'm thinking about what element Preston adds to the winning Real World formula? Of course, the point of the show is to bring the drama, with people who fit normative stereotypes not necessarily adding to the mix, I get that. But why is there always a black character on the show with some major factor that pushes him farther into the margins beyond the effect of his black skin? And let's be real, the formula almost always includes a guy that we can label as "other" and rarely a black woman. We are, for the most part, invisible.

Is there an agenda here? I'm definitely sniffing something fishy, but what do you think?

Goldilocs for Less

Dear BFDiary,

I get more compliments on my natural hair than I ever did with my bone-straight look. Before when someone would praise my do, it was more of a tribute to my stylist and a plea for her number so they could lay down $45, and 3-8 hours, and come out achieving the exact same look, how un-original. Once I got tired of looking like most of the chicks around me (and the money and time that went down the drain to produce my style) I restored my relationship with my crown and I've enjoyed learning all the cool stuff it can do without extreme heat or chemicals. If I want to cut my hair, I cut it (that actually happened in my kitchen a few months ago). If I want to go the beach, I go ALL in, no swim cap here. And now when someone gives me a compliment I can appreciate it more, because its the result of my own creative labor with help from the ultimate Creator. I can understand if you aren't ready to commit to a natural style, but I can also understand the need to be smarter about the money and time you put into maintaining your style and the need for a healthier look. Follow these tips from some of my favorite hair experts to reclaim your glam this summer.

1. Cool Off. Over the past two decades, stylist and salon co-owner of Episodes Salon in Detroit, Jill Bundy, says the most common mistake she’s seen women make in styling their hair between trips to the salon, is applying too much heat. “Women flat iron or curl their hair everyday to maintain a style, and then they wonder why it’s coming out in clumps,” Bundy says. Playing kitchen beautician every morning may give you short-term results, but the constant heat robs your hair of vital moisture and elasticity. Weaker hair is less likely to hold styles over time. Wrap or roll your hair at night instead of applying heat.

2. Ditch the sponge Rolling your hair at night adds volume to your hair weeks after your salon visit, but only if you use the right kind of rollers. “Sponge rollers do the same thing to hair that sponges do to water—soak up the moisture,” Bundy says. Without moisture the hair grows limp, reversing the effects of why you roll in the first place. Use plastic rollers like CONAIR Styling Essentials Self-Grip rollers ($10.49, Walgreens) to revitalize your beautiful bounce.

3. Upgrade your goodie bag As a hair-care assistant at Women’s Hair Care Center, Inc. in Brooklyn, New York, Modestina Bell, knows how much cash it takes to maintain a trendy do. She sells safe top-shelf products, which require a cosmetologist license, to clientele she knows can’t afford bi-weekly salon visits. “If you invest in quality products, your hair will go a long way even when you’re styling it at home,” Bell says. She recommends asking your stylist for Mizani Shampoo and Conditioner to get started.

4. Lighten up When choosing a styling agent for your hair, use a light oil such as olive oil or shea butter. “Heavy greases and sprays that promise to lock your style into place weigh down your hair and make it dirtier, faster,” says Jill Bundy. “Dirty hair never looks good.”

5. Be consistent Stick to the hair-care regimen that your stylist recommends to secure style longevity, Bundy says. “Some people think they only need to start home maintenance once their hair starts to look bad,” she says. “By then it’s too late.” Working your hair care routine from the time you leave the shop until the time you return, means you won’t have to visit as often.

True Swag Tuesdays

Dear BFDiary,

Meet DOMINICDINKINS

AGE 25

HOMETOWN Detroit, MI

BACKGROUND Hampton University '08: Graphic Design

HOW HE PAYS THE BILLS Middle school English teacher in Seoul, South Korea

GRIND Blogger, creator and producer of detroit-travel-gruide.com, photographer

When the job market doesn't seem to be working out, you have the option of changing your job or switching to a new market. Graphics trained Hampton University graduate-turned-English-teacher, Dominic Dinkins, did both. After landing a short-term job in his dream industry that didn't quite match his career vision, the 25-year-old traded the lacking industry in Motown for Seoul-town in South Korea. Live octopus may be the best food his new home has to offer, but with his new job Dinkins gets a fully loaded free pad, and a moderate salary that he can pretty much take to the bank. Here's how he grinds.

How dipping in the design field caused a change of heart

Five months passed before I found a job at Fathead, a company that designs sports graphics. It was a contracted job, for three months, but I found it to be boring. The thing about design is that you’re always at the whim of the client; there’s not a lot of creativity. I was sitting at a computer designing what somebody else wanted, and I didn’t like that.

Why he called it quits with the U.S.

Even though I didn’t like it, I was looking for graphic design jobs because that’s the degree I had and I wanted to save money. After being unemployed for two months, I talked to a friend who was in Korea and she introduced me to the teaching placement program. After looking at all the benefits, and the pay, I said why not. I though it would be a nice break. I went over in April 2009 and stayed for one year. I'm heading back in August.

First taste of Seoul

My first thought when I got to Korea was “what was I thinking?” I immediately wanted to go back home. Arriving in a country with no English anywhere, no black people, is a little frightening because you’re completely out of your environment. All I knew was the alphabet.

I taught English to middle school students. My lesson plans the first month were horrible. but I picked up on skills in different seminars. By the middle of the year I was pretty comfortable.

What keeps him motivated

I don’t want to do the 9-to-5 thing. I don’t want to work in a job I hate for 30 years just because it pays my bills, and I’ll do everything I can to avoid that fate.

Why he'll take Seoul-town over Motown any day

Some of my friends say I’m a Korean citizen because I talk about Korea so much. It’s a beautiful country. The people are kind to foreigners, especially black people, I think it’s because they never see black people. I was at the ATM one day and I had withdrawn the equivalent of $100, but left the money. Just as I was about to board the bus, a woman flagged me down and ran my money over to me. That would never happen here.

Paying the bills

I get paid in Korean currency (wan), so my salary basically depends on the exchange rate. It works out to about $2000/month. All I have to pay for is food, my cell phone bill ($20), and utilities. Other expenses are student loans and my credit card. This gives me the opportunity to save most of my money and cover expenses like my new camera.

The next stop on his adventure

Now I’m moving toward photography. After another couple years of saving money teaching I’ll be able to go full force. I’m learning the ropes right now, so I take my camera everywhere. I want to do things like weddings and personal portraits.

I also plan on boosting my web site so I can increase the profit to $2,000/month. Right now it pulls in about $300/month without me even touching it. I offer basic information for people who want to learn more about Detroit, great pictures of city scenes, and a guide for the best places to watch the fireworks. Site-Build-It was the company I worked with to get started and learn things like how to make sure my site comes up in google searches. Once you get it running, it makes money on it’s own. If you don’t know anything about design, they help you. It costs $30/month.

*If you have a bachelor's degree, no criminal record, and don't mind moving out of the states, you're eligible to teach English in a foreign country. The package includes a salary of ~ $2,000/month, free apartment, and free airfare. Salaries are higher for applicants with a master's degree in English or Education. Visit teacheslkorea.com to get started.