We have arrived at part two for the month of July in the Great Gas-Out. This Saturday - don't gas up - instead, gas-out. Let us continue our unified effort to make the corporations understand that it is our money that keeps them in business and it is our money that can shut them down. If we don't make them aware of that very fact, gas prices will continue to soar. This effort takes many months to make their receipts reflect a loss in profits, so please don't give up. Please inform your family, friends, and include a reference with any e-mail correspondence that you send.
No Gas On Saturday, July 26th, 2008
In an effort to prepare you for future Gas-Outs, here is a short schedule for the upcoming months:
August 23rd and August 30th
September 20th and 27th
October 18th and 25th
Solidarity and consistency are the keys to our success, and perhaps a return to the days when we could all afford to gas-up our vehicles. Here at The Renaissance, we thank your for joining us and hope that you will continue to support our efforts. Peace.
Finally!! I have something in Black arts and entertainment that I can feel good about. Stepping away from the barrage of negative images and derogatory stereotypes that are propagated by both black and white media outlets hails the National Black Arts Festival. The festival began in 1988 and is now celebrating it's 20th anniversary! What was originally a bi-annual event has evolved into a year round institution. The festival is a cultural celebration showcasing our diverse artistic talents in the areas of: dance, music, theater, film, literature, and visual arts. Its mission is “to develop, expose and educate audiences to the arts and culture of the African Diaspora and provide diverse opportunities for artistic and creative expression.”
Being an absolute fanatic over all things "indie" and loving to see my culture depicted in the glorious and positive light that makes me ever more proud to be a Black woman, I will be in definite attendance for as many events that I can squeeze into my schedule. I'm a bit dismayed that as I drive around my city and listen to the radio, I don't see very many advertisements posted nor do I hear much publicity given on the radio. It's a sad testament to our times when we are more apt to be exposed to culturally and racially demeaning images and words rather than those that are rich, uplifting and celebratory.
I'll be doing my part to practice what I preach, as regardshelping to build more positive images of Black America by becoming a member and only financially supporting the media and entertainment venues that depict me in the light in which I wish to be seen. As I take my foray into the festival and all it has to offer, I will take time out to highlight many of the events that I attend by commenting/reviewing and yes, posting pictures of them here.
The National Black Arts Festival will take place in Atlanta, GA July 18th-27th. Mark your calendars!
Once again, it is time to boycott the oil corporations, and flaunt our economic power. The boycott for this month will be:
Saturday, July 19th
and
Saturday, July 26th
Please do not make any gasoline purchases on those days. If you must do so, please do so sparingly. We must let the corporations know that it is our money that keeps them in business and it is our money that can shut them down. Without some type of input from the people, gasoline prices will continue to soar. We must tell our families, neighbors, and our cyber friends. Each time that you send an e-mail, send a link to this page , or to your page telling them about the project that is afloat. With your help, we can make much progress.
We are adding a new facet this month: progress report. If you find the time, please stop back on Sunday or Monday and let us know how you fared. Whether you succeeded or were forced to make a purchase, we'd like to know either way. We promise not to scold if you made a purchase. Sometimes, desire must fold to necessity.
If we all work together, and spread the word, we can make a difference. We thank all of those who have previously participated and we welcome those who decide to join us now. Peace.
As you may recall, this past weekend, I was “At Da Club” for the first time in many a year.In fact, it was the first time that I went and actually stayed until closing in an even longer amount of time.I realized that the club scene is no longer for me, but, even with that, it was a pleasurable outing:the women were gorgeous (albeit most too young for me), the music was loud, and the drinks were not “through the roof” expensive.I guess that I haven’t really said anything because just how expensive can a glass of ginger ale get to be?What club doesn’t attract women half my age?Notice that I said the music was “loud”.I can’t say that it was good.I recognized about ten songs out of about seventy, and the DJ, to me, hadn’t the foggiest idea how to spin.I absolutely love “Get Me Bodied”, by Beyonce, especially the video re-mix which is almost twice as long as the original.However, the song sounded like it was being sung by Alvin and the Chipmunks.The DJ failed to play the music at the proper speed.I’m glad to say that I didn’t dance, as I would have been tired after only one song, as fast as they were being spun.
Part of the allure of going to a club, is what happens after closing: standing outside watching the procession, as the party-goers leave the club.OK – watchin’ the honeys strut!You can do that inside the club, but, once you get outside, the lighting is better and you can really get a bird’s eye view of some of the finest women to walk the face of the earth.But, not here!!!We were not standing at the front of the club for more than two minutes before Philadelphia’s Finest showed up.They didn’t just show up, they showed out!!!
The club sits on a small street off the main thoroughfare with enough room for parking on both sides of the street, and room for only one car to get by at a time (a two-way street).In this small, short city block, there were no less than ten (10) police cars, parked all over the place.The officers got out of the cars with blackjacks in hands, ready to bust heads.They walked from one side of the street to the other, up and down, telling everyone to “Walk or be arrested”.Did I or did I not just explain the dynamics and beauty of standing by the front of the club after closing?You talk about putting a damper on things . . .I understand the concept: disperse the crowd which would produce less trouble.Had we all decided as one unit to “diva gaze” and “ab search” (for the ladies who wait outside), then, we may have been in violation of creating a public gathering without a permit.However, each of us who decided to stay and watch did so of our own doing and not at the urging of others, so if anything was violated, it was our civil rights.
Let’s leave MORGAN’S and head downtown.Center city Philadelphia has more clubs “per capita” than any other section, of any other city that I’ve ever had the pleasure to visit.I kid you not.Picture the block of Second St., between Market St. and Chestnut St. – that’s one city block.There are, at least, five (5) clubs and seven (7) bars on that one street.Add to that, Market St. on both sides of Second St., and Chestnut St. on both sides of Second St. – that would be approximately twenty (20) more clubs and bars.Traffic on Second St. is southbound and folks turn off Market St. onto Second St. - non-stop – until about 1:00am.The police block the street at that time, allowing only cabs to get through.You can still walk down the street, but driving is not allowed.
Ninety-nine percent (99%) of the clubs downtown are not minority-owned.I’ll bet that you can see the difference in MORGAN’S and the down town clubs already, can’t you?Well, there are no policemen with blackjacks in hand, telling folks that they will be arrested if they do not move along.There are no squads of police cars littering the area.There is one lone patrol car blocking half of the street so that only the cabs can pass.That’s the extent of crowd control in the area of the down town clubs.
Again – I can see the benefit of telling the crowd to move along: less potential for trouble.What I can’t fathom is the disparity between the manner in which people are treated in different sections of the city.I have stood outside the clubs down town without ever hearing a policeman tell me to move along.I have never witnessed a bevy of police cars in that section of the city for basic crowd control.
Those clubs, down town, are not minority-owned.
Did I mention that MORGAN’S is Black-owned, and has been since it opened over twenty years ago?
It sits in the heart of a section that we call Germantown, a Black ghetto.
If there are 1000 guests on any given night, no less than 999 of the patrons are Black.
It’s a Black club!
I guess that if the clubs are Black, that calls for “Black jacks”.Peace.
What you see in the image is an expandable-keyboard cellphone. It is the number one sight viewed by yours truly this past Saturday night. I hit the club! OMG!! Everybody and their mother had a cellphone either in their hand, pocketbook or attached to their waist. My intended view was a bevy of delectable honeys in my direct or peripheral vision. Trust me - there was a ton and a half of beautiful, vivacious women to be ogled, but, these phones seemed to play a key role in their lives. I say that as every other moment was littered by one person or another glancing down at their phone, or diligently typing a response at lightning-fast speeds.
I found myself standing at the end of the bar, perusing the room to see which young lady would attract my eye first. As I glanced down, I saw no less than three cellphones gracing the bar, each lit with a neon-blue backlight. Upon glancing up again, there were cellphones in the hands of nearly everybody seated or standing at the bar - except for yours truly, of course. Those who held their phones in their hands were busy reading the latest text-message or creating one of their own to send to a waiting friend. Years ago, nearly everyone was seen in public with a pager attached to the hip. Next came a cellphone attached to the ear, which was followed by a long white cord that we have come to know as earbuds. Just that quickly, that sight has been replaced by expandable-keyboard cellphones. I was truly amazed at the amount that I saw this past Saturday night.
Of course, by now, you're wondering what in the world was I doing "at da club". I have a friend who needed to be out and about without the lure of being around the "old gang" - a recovering addict. I thought that I would show him that a good time can be had without the use of drugs and alcohol. This is the second outing that we've had, the first inside a club. He seems to be getting the hang of it and it looks at though it may become a fairly regular thing. Fortunately for me, it will only be every other weekend that he is in town.
We went to a club called "Morgan's", which is a club that I had frequented years ago. Figuratively speaking, it was my second home. I had ventured into this particular club about four years ago, after not having been there for a very long time. I stayed all of ten (10) minutes before walking back out the door. Everyone in the club seemed young enough to be my child or grandchild! A year later, I entered Morgan's again, wondering why I had only stayed a few minutes the last time. Needless to say, it didn't take me long to remember. So, years later, there I was, again.
An extremely attractive woman, who was seated at the bar right beside me, leaned over, while pulling tickets from her pocketbook, and asked if I'd be interested in attending a fish-fry at another popular hot-spot. I kindly replied that I'd think about it. She smiled and returned to staring off into space, sipping on some bottled brew. I eyed her off and on from the corner of my eye, but, decided not to start conversation as it would lead to nowhere, what with the ages of the attendees. My buddy had found his way to the dancefloor and was shaking quite a tailfeather when I spotted him. As a few patrons to my left rose to leave, I quickly scrambled for a seat, in the corner, in the dark. I ordered another ginger ale, much to the dismay of the barmaid, and prepared to nurse it for the remainder of the night. Finally, my buddy left the dancefloor and headed for the bar for some liquid libations to cool himself down. He stopped to order at precisely the same spot from which I had recently moved - next to this vivacious woman with the tickets. She was now talking to her girlfriend who was seated next to her, but, when bud strolled up, the tickets came up for air, once again. He didn't buy a ticket but proceeded to chat with her for quite some time, buying them drinks as they both giggled (the two ladies, that is). Later, he tells me that this vivacious young lady that I so graciously and magnanimously passed up was (so he tells it) thirty-eight (38) years old - not the as-young-as-my-daughter vixen that I had earlier supposed.
There is a very real, very valid reason that I stay out of clubs these days. I can see myself engaged in a flirtacious evening with some fresh, young hottie and she decides to make a post of it on her My Space or Facebook page. I can see my name, description, and possible photo (what with today's gadgety phones) on her page. I also see my daughter's profile there in the "friends" section. OMG!!! Is there a rock that I can crawl under right now???!!! Years ago, I walked into Morgan's, and walked right back out because the crowd was way too young for me. I'm sorry - waaaaaaaay too young for me. Ironically, because of my humanitarian gesture taking place, I finally stayed this time, struck gold in a beautiful, vivacious vixen who was not as-young-as-my-daughter, and I passed on the opportunity. Sheez!!
We left the club about ten minutes before closing, and headed for the car. After realizing that the club was about to close, we decided to stand outside the front door with the rest of the crowd and watch the parade of exiting honeys (as if we weren't going to do it anyway). The procession was inudated by expandable-keyboard cellphones either being read or typed upon. They were making the "hook-up" or lying about why they couldn't make the "hook-up". Either way, it was all being executed by way of man's latest form of human contact and communication - the expandable-keyboard cellphone . . . at da club.
