And scene.

I decided to explore the hippie goodness of Berkeley, CA on my last night here. I took myself out on a date to see a show at the Berkeley Repertory Theater - very "pinky up."

I loved the city of Berkeley the moment I stepped off the train. As I made my way off the BART (Bay Area Regional Transit), I was met by a station musician (you know the ones playing their guitar for change), and she was singing about peace. She was literally playing her guitar for CHANGE. I knew right then, that I would love this little city.

Berkeley is filled with old hippies and hippies-in-training. As a result, the city has a very chill vibe that I dug a lot. (Yeah, I say dig/dug now). No one was in a hurry and everyone looked...well, happy. The main strip, Shattuck Avenue, was filled with a veritable bevy with quirky eateries, movie theaters (two), bookstores and playhouses - all very "me."

The show I saw was called, After the Quake. An all Asian-American cast brought to life the short stories of Haruki Murakami. For the non-Murakami scholars, he is a very fanciful writer who juxtaposes reality and fantasy in order to parallel traditional themes of love and loss, and to examine our collective subconscious. (God, I sound smart).

The script was dynamite. Very powerful language and carefully drawn characters. The only issue I took with the play was that it was VERY presentational. I felt that I could have been more affected had the actors themselves been affected by what they were saying. It was definitely the director's choice, but one I would not have made. I prefer my theater to be full of raw, guttural vulnerability and emotion. I'm not so in to the presentational esoteric interpretation of emotion. It's kinda like the difference between actually eating food and reading about the digestive process.

All and all, California , you're OK by me. You treated me well, and kept me on my toes. You kept me company, and entertained. You taught me a lot. And most importantly, you didn't kill me. So, I guess this is goodbye.

Until we meet again...San FranOakeley!

My Very Own Carl Weathers

Last night I skipped out on dinner with the conference attendees (whose median age was 60). Instead, I decided to take myself to the Grand Lake Theater (redeeming quality #6 about Oakland).

This theater was gorgeous! And while it was a bit run down, it was a classic movie house, through and through. Exampled by the fact that they are a "cash only" establishment.

The building lived up to my expectations: a grand staircase in the middle of a tiny lobby and a screening room that was jaw-droppingly ornate and elegantly lit. It reminded me of DC's Uptown Theater in many ways: the smell of weed, oddly placed bathrooms, and being located far away from public transit are just a few of the overlapping qualities.

You should be comforted to know that my draw to this theater wasn't the 7:30pm showing of The Heart Break Kid (Ben Stiller, what happened?). It was the The Oakland International Film Festival. This festival kicked some major ass. I saw five films for fifteen dollars.

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GRASS GROWS GREEN
The story of one Marine's complicated relationship with life and death - from behind the recruiting office desk. The film explores the internal struggle of a man bound by honor and duty to recruit the best and the brightest for an uncertain future away from the familiar violence of the 'hood.
Directed by Jesus Beltran

THOMAS SANKARA
“He who feeds you, owns you."
Thomas Sankara

Sankara, a charismatic army captain, came to power in Burkina Faso, in 1983, in a popularly supported coup. He immediately launched the most ambitious program for social and economic change ever attempted on the African continent.

HEROES WANTED
Set on the streets of New York City, Heroes Wanted, (trt: 4:05) is a short black & white film that explores the idea of one’s “hero” status being completely in the mind of the perceiver.

Written and Directed by Marquette Jones

I, STAGOLEE
I, Stagolee was a black man who owned a bar in St. Louis in the 1980s. He was the leader of a group of pimps called The Macks. This short film is about one incident in the life of the hero Stagolee.

Directed by Cecil Brown

NAMIBIA
From the director that brought you “Killer of Sheep,” and “To Sleep with Anger.”

Charles Burnett's latest feature tells the story of Sam Nujoma, the first president of Namibia. Charting the future leader's political awakening and his part in the country's fight for freedom from occupation by South Africa. Rather than a documentary-style history of the long and brutal conflict, the film mixes real and composite characters to explore the spirit and sacrifices of the struggle that culminated in independence in 1990. Covering more that 60 years of history, the film was financed by the Namibian government and includes more than 150 speaking roles in multiple languages and dialects.

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I loved it. I loved the films (good and bad). I loved the tiny crowd. I loved the talk backs. I loved it all. And just as I was beginning to think that my night (read: life) could not get any better, I spotted him at intermission.

He was about 6' 4", a tall drink of water by any standards. He had a smile that could light up a room - and it did. His voice was like honey, and he had a gait you could set your clock to. Who was this man? None other than: Carl Lumbly.

Who is Carl Lumbly? Well, I didn't know either.

I bumped into Carl in the line for popcorn at the festival. He waved "hello" to me (or so I thought), so I did a half-wave/half-finger-arm-stretch just in case I was wrong. I was really wrong. I realized that the woman behind me was the recipient of his "hello" and I begin to smile at my social faux pas.

If this wasn't awkward enough, I stared at him while smiling. I stared at him longer than I should have and thought to myself, "Did this guy take an improv class from me?" I was willing him to recognize me, but it didn't work.

It wasn't until the final movie screened that I realized that I was sitting in the same row, in the same theater, and eating the same popcorn as Mr. Carl Lumbly: Marcus Dixon from television's, Alias.

B-list celebrities, old-timey theaters and cable cars. So far, California is turning out to be a-OK by me.

Twenty-Sexy

It's my birthday people!

I'm 27 years old today. It's weird because usually I celebrate my birthday hard, but this year I literally haven't had the time. As you know, I'm in California for my birthday week. And while my stay here is work related, I couldn't imagine a better place to be!

1. Being on the West coast means that I am celebrating my birthday on both coasts, in two time zones. Ipso facto: I'm a princess longer.

2. EVERYTHING is new and exciting - it's like San Francisco is my present. A very expensive, gay, hilly, fabulous present.

3. I am surrounded by strangers who (after learning it's my Placenta Freedom Day) want to pay for my food! And no, I'm not going around telling people, my boss is - and you gotta love that!

On a deeper note, I view my age in two ways: on one hand I think, "Girl, you've done a lot! You're only 27 and look at all you've done." And on the other hand I think, "Girl, you're 27! What have you been doing? 27 is nearly 30. 30 is close to 40, so basically your 50. Girl you are 50, and you have nothing to show for yourself!"

(Yes, I call my self "girl." It's a black stereotype that I example only in mental role-plays in which I address myself).

One of my goals as a twenty-sexy year old is to silence the negative homegirl* within, and listen to that positive homeskillet* who thinks I'm pretty awesome.

Word.

*Technical blackisms that should be handled with care.

The Top 5 Things to Like About Oakland, CA

1. The glowing clock at the top of the Tribune Building
2. The Bay Area Rapid Transit (BART) - to get out of the city
3. Poverty
4. Goodwill Thrift Stores
5. Cheap Cabs

Californication

So, I spent the morning exploring San Fransisco, and me likey.

<--(The conference that I'm attending is in Oakland. This is the view from my hotel room). Did you know that Oakland and San Fransisco are, like, across the street from each other? That's a fun little geography fact that I learned when I got here. So, I crossed the bay this 9 o'clock this morning (that's noon in DC). And I found myself on a cable car riding through the stunning city of San Fran. It was like riding through a movie set: ridiculously hilly streets, and row houses in pastel colors with bay windows. It was awesome. In a divine act, my iPod went kaput (no more battery juice). As a result, I had no security blanket. I had to hear the sounds of the city and - gasp - talk to people. It was great. I felt more open and at the same time more vulnerable (not in the rape-y way). I felt like I was experiencing the city more fully that I would have if I had pumped my brain with all things familiar.

Sans security blanket, I traveled alone today. I could not have been more pleased with how I spent my day. I met a woman on the cable car who was shocked and a little befuddled by my traveling alone. She made a face after I told her that I was by myself (she asked, I didn't just give up this information). The face she made was part pity, part shock and part jealousy.

It's that last part that I was most amused by. She was with her husband of however many years, and looked perfectly happy. But when I said, "I'm a wanderer. I like to explore on my own," she looked at me like an alien, an alien from a planet that she regretted not visiting.

I resisted every urge to look her dead in the eye and say, "Ooga booga!" and snap her picture.