INSPIRATION.

One of my favorite blogs this year was What About Our Daughters, well known for being the blog that started the effective boycott against BET’s “Hot Ghetto Mess,” (and winner of “best blog – judge’s choice” in the black weblog awards). It is an unfalteringly inquisitive critique of how modern media portrays black women and inspires me to question – everything – every single day. This post is a perfect example of why it’s so amazing – the whole thing is about finding and exerting political and consumer power, and as an equal vestige of that, finding and using the power within. It’s about change – and that’s why I’m extra excited to see what happens with the newly launched Black Women Vote!
I have spent so much time doing, and thinking, things this year I have not been able to chronicle on this blog – for time constraints, for brain constraints, for the mere fact of being a single woman struggling through the drama both personal and careerical and, fuck, just trying to make rent in an increasingly affluent, decreasingly interesting [as a result] New York City. My friends who have kids? Forget it. Pope Rottweiler should anoint them as saints just for attempting. One of my closest new friends is about three years younger than me and has the most adorable baby girl – she’s two and a half and was a little ballerina for halloween – and she’s lucky her baby’s daddy is in the picture but let me tell you, that shit is difficult. But I digress – the whole point of this is, I have the next 9 days off, so maybe I will actually get to blog in a way that is in full sentences, rather than three phrases and a link popped off and published with no punctuation in between editing or tryna meet one deadline or another. Regardless, my point is I don’t have it bad, at all, but in 2008, the luxury of locking myself in a cabin in Maine (shout to my peoples in Vinalhaven) or on a Barcelona beach towel and jamming out all the compacted contents of my brain in a black spiral notebook is gonna happen, trust. Only four more years til the Mayan apocalypse, babies. Live it while the living live.