Story of a Champion.

So it's official: I'm on the Titanic.

On Monday morning, my boss tendered his resignation, making him the fourth person to leave this year. The June issue will be his last.

I knew it was coming. I just didn't realize it would be this soon.

Last week, during another unofficial farewell party for another soon-to-be former employee, he talked about how, the day before, he had been sitting in a spartan hotel room in Champaign, Illinois, thinking about his life when he realized that he just really wanted to be happy. And it was there--in that moment--that he decided to leave the company and quit his band.

I keep thinking about things were a year ago. How I was actually happy to come into work every day, how I felt like I was in some small part contributing something important to the world.

But then a lot of things were different a year ago.

I'm the fucking string quartet playing "Bethany" as everyone abandons ship.

The longer I stay in the game, the more disillusioned I become. I don't wanna turn into Ernest Hemingway. I don't wanna be boozy and brilliant. Brilliant is just fine.

So I'll keep chipping away at my Plan B. Because right now it looks like it'll be in full effect sooner than I thought.

Because, sometimes, that's all we have.

I'm a career cynic. If I find a twenty on the street, I've got one eye on the dub and the other on the sky, anticipating the falling Acme anvil. Because that's what life is, really. Waiting on that fucking anvil to flatten you. It could come in the form of a murdered brother. Or a terminally ill friend. Or someone marginalizing your existence.

This entire presidential campaign has been about the latter. I know I'm supposed to be thrilled that a black guy and a white chick are in the running for the first time in history. But I can't, because I read and I listen to everything. And it's exhausting, really. The commentaries, the punditry, the responses to the commentaries and the punditry. And then karnythia calls and/or links me to some crazy shit that makes me want to slap the closest person I see.

You'd imagine if America were a person, it would be one of those Bangbus broads. I just wish I could fast forward to the part where she gets a big one shoved in her mouth.

Was that crass? Good, I was aiming for crass.


I should be washing my hair right now. I think I'll go ahead and do that.

Nothing's better than free money. Except maybe amazing sex atop free money.

Fran gave her two weeks yesterday. Got a nice insurance gig downtown making more money than me. Clearly I'm in the wrong field.

It's not going to be the same without her. I'm really quite sad. Her and Spizz make that place bearable.

I've decided to see what happens when one goes off dairy for a week. Be prepared for a Pookie-style breakdown. Maybe I'll wait until Friday. Or next Monday. Fucking lattes. So addictive.

I have no idea why I'm still up. Let me rectify this situation now.

I need two things:

1. starfishncoffee to hit me back on the plantation email.

2. Someone (or someone who KNOWS someone) familar with nanotechnology, as I have to write about it for the next issue.

Any help would be greatly appreciated.

Signed,
a slightly hungover thewayoftheid

I DID try to sneak in a last minute "Gotcha!"

My bad. But hey, at least it was different from the annual "oops, I'm preggers!" bit.

*ducks*

I don't think I'm getting married.

Hi there.

Weird week, huh? Don't I know it. And I'm certain that the internet has set race relations back at least 30 years.

Last week my old high school music teacher was arrested for fondling two boys in the school choir. The alumni listserv has been buzzing. Who didn't know Mr. Lenon was gay?! C'mon! and Now what we know what the fuck is wrong with R. Kelly and Teh geighs love small boys!--which forced me out of lurkmode to clown, only to get my hand e-swatted by a broad I couldn't stand 15 years ago. Um, people are entitled to their beliefs, Jamie... ending her lecture with some biblical quote.

I was almost tempted to respond with, "Hi, Olivia. Great to see you're still a BITCH!" But I didn't, because I've become kinder in my old age. (But only a little.) So I politely checked her and kept it movin'.

I need Jaheim to stop singing wack shit.

I'm profiling people for my "Michigan Brownfield Leaders" feature and though I hate my job, I've been having fun talking with various agency folk and politicians about their work. It must be nice to come into work and not want to punch your boss in the face.

Meanwhile, my editor is still drinking coffee by the carafe and trying his best to...not punch the CEO in the face.

Brian McKnight dancing in overalls? Kinda makes you happy that the 90s are over.

Sometimes I doubt my appeal. I shouldn't do that.

So I think I'm going back to school. Not so much for the education than for the deferment option. If I play this right I can defer this shit to the grave.

Whatever happened to Javier? Not a bad lookin' dude.

Standing in front of the Lorraine Motel at night can be a pretty intense thing, especially when you consider that it's a month before the 40th anniversary of King's assassination. You stand there and the seconds really do feel like hours. And it's quiet...eerily quiet, like a complete contrast to Beale Street, which is only a few minutes away.

An Alicia Keys/Common sammich? Don't mind if I do!

I've got about two weeks to track down Van Jones for my "Green Jobs" feature. The fine mufukkas are always the hardest to catch.

A Van Jones/Common/Alicia Keys sammich? Hells yeah!


It was really cool to hang out stannate and truetooneme recently. And D, we did drive pass the infamous Effingham cross on the way back to Chicago. A bizarre and scary sight. I think Huxtable said they light it at night.

If Illinois has "sundown towns," can Indiana be considered a "sundown state"?

The most important lesson I've learned in recent days? Not notifying your girlfriends about trips to the premium outlet mall could land you in the morgue.

I need a spa day. I also need it to stop snowing.


Maybe we'll paint the apartment this weekend.

...and that's my time. Must prepare for tomorrow's snowstorm.

Wonder when "monster6 is coming back to visit?

re: last post i - I was posting from my phone and got cut off. I'll have to finish my thought another time. Memphis was cool, though. Had a good time. But right now? I'm two seconds away from quitting my job. Muthafuck this fucking place.

Well more like driving from it now.

I'm standing in front of the Lorraine Motel, staring at Room 306 and seconds become hours. You don't think it's going to be this huge emotional deal until you're standing there, in the dark chilly Memphis air.

I'm still up half-assedly working on a press release due tomorrow. My future husband is still at work, where he will remain until the wee hours of the morn. I've killed half a bottle of cabernet, watched Lost, and played with my Valentine's gift. It's cute, fluffy, and made of felt. Yes, Barky Von Schnauser and I are totally BFF now.

Anyway.

So...the Trump story. Some of you know what went down because you were the ones talking me down from the belltower. I was getting straight Herald flashbacks. But at least I still have my job. And my integrity. Not sure if that's still a hot commodity, though.

Like Erykah Badu, I'm sensitive about my shit. My work is important to me. I'm thorough because that was what I taught to be. I don't know how to do it any other way. So when I'm told to sprinkle sugar on top of a shit sandwich to please "our sponsors" only weeks after being told that the magazine was taking a more critical look at the industry? I'm gonna look at you sideways as I reach for the "Help Wanted" section.

So my byline had to come off because I wasn't gonna claim that shit. After the sponsor's PR department hacked it to pieces it wasn't even my story anymore.

My editor understood. He always understands. He loves the craft as much as I do. But the politics are nauseating. So much so that you find yourself wanting to walk out the door.

But I can't do it. Matt Taibbi's right. Journalists are cowards.

Not until I have a Plan B.

...and I'm workin' on it.

And HELLO, THIRTY-ONE.

Home on a Friday night with a glass of red and some Alicia Keys on the telly. And I like it.

Tomorrow I may or may not go to the salon to get my hair blown out. Depends. I hear tell of a surprise something or other happening a little later in the day. And of course, everyone's tryna be Fort Knox-tight with it.

Got the obligatory card from the coworkers. Would've been nice if some obligatory cash came with it. Won't get the actual CELEBRATION until three weeks from now. Celebrating all of the month's b-days in one day.

Thanks to all the well wishers. I really appreciate it.

Wonder if my MOM will remember this year?

Where do I go from here?

Obama won Iowa. Wow.


Anybody got any salt? This crow tastes a little bland.

What a weird year. Kinda glad it's almost over.

I resolve to be thankful for what I have, and for the people who make my life interesting--for better or worse.

I also resolve to never attend another fucking hip hop concert again. Because someone's gonna wind up in jail, farreal farreal.

---

These glasses really do make me look like the black Lisa Loeb. Hrm.

And with that, I shall continue preparing our crib for the NYEs party.

Happy New Year's, folk.

In a half hour, I'll be attending the funeral of the woman who ruined my parents' relationship. The woman who claimed that my father was the father of her child (who's now in prison on a drug charge) and even went as far as putting his name on the birth certificate.

Two weeks ago, she was found dead in her apartment. Drug overdose.

Anyway, forgiveness is a powerful, freeing thing. And I forgave her a long time ago.

Time to ride out.

Taking a 5-hour conference call from HOME.

Eff me. Eff me in the ear. Literally.

I really need a headset.

Tried to leave home. Lake effect snow AND CTA? It wasn't lookin' good.

These are the longest intros EVER.

Anyway. Lemme go pay attention.

On April 9, 2007, thewayoftheid wrote...

Fourteen days from next Monday [Imus] is gonna be back on the air saying some more incorrect shit, only this time he'll be smart enough to have some Oreo sidekick cosign.

Today's AP headline...

Imus returns to air with black cast members; whether that helps his image remains to be seen (Full story here.)

Ok, I may have been off by a few months, but I still called it.

So what have we learned today, kids?

Anyone? Anyone?

That if you're a high-profile racist, all you have to do to atone for your sins is hire a couple of black people! (And make sure they're funny!)

That NABJ spent so long on THIS bullshit is embarrassing. Like, "cancel my membership" embarrassing. What a collosal waste of fucking time.

Time for cawfee.

A call is placed to the Trump Organization. I'm put through to Mike Cohen, executive veep who is the very embodiment of New Yawk attitude. After a 15 minute interview (because there's only so much obnoxiousness a girl can stand), I thank him for his time. He responds with "Anytime, doll."

...say WHAT?

Today is the day I need a penis. I'd be leavin' imprints on mofos left and right. I'd fly to NYC and put it on Cohen's forehead, then hunt down the people responsible for that awful NBC News "Black Women: Where They Stand" segment and fwap 'em on the head. Then I'd hunt down Jason Whitlock and go to town on his fat Uncle Tom ass.

I may take this thing NATIONAL.

I hate Mondays.

Anyway.

That's my time.

and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.

...yeah. We won't be doing this again for another 5 years. Our carpet will have recovered by then.

Saw "This Christmas" with the sisters and the fiance. Never saw so many fine ass people on a screen before.

Chris Brown's legal, right? ...good.

Going to see the Wu with Al and the fiance next month. My first Wu concert. So excited.

The official date for our housewarming is 12/22. If you're in the area and wanna come out, shoot me an email: encyclopediabgirl@gmail.com and I'll send an Evite.

And with that, I'm off to be productive. Challah.

By this time tomorrow, there will be over 20 people in my house eating, drinking, runnin' up my electricity, and fuckin' up my carpet. Happy Thanksgiving to ME, indeed.

The future mother-in-law is staying with us for the week. She's a peach. A little loud, but a peach. Went grocery shopping with the siblings-in-law yesterday. An ordeal, it was. But, family is family. Mama asked if BIGBADBARBARA was coming. When I told her "yes" she went silent.

Interviewed Majora Carter for December issue. Amazing. Girl crush material. Tribal brownfield story pushed back to February due to tight-lipped contacts. Sadly, no DC next month as it is not in the budget. Will be sitting in on day-long conference call with editorial board instead.Yay me.

Funny how I have tons of LJ entries in my head but no time to write them.

Slowly getting the apartment together. Still haven't painted. Paint still sitting at bottom of closet.

Went to my ex's wedding a couple weeks ago. Nice affair. Expensive. His other ex was there looking bitter as hell. Had a great time. Happy for him.

Still looking for a location for OURS. Headache. Blah.

That's your thewayoftheid update. May have more tomorrow, if the iBook chooses to cooperate.



Oh, and if someone tries to send you a link to "Two Girls, One Cup"? Do not click. DO. NOT. CLICK.

You've been warned.

Ok, so I've been neglecting folks left and right lately (and forgetting birthdays), but I plan to rectify this soon. How, you ask? I dunno...something that involves a pole and pasties? How about a nice apple pie? Oh, you remembered that I can't cook. Never mind.

Confidential to D.C. Breezies: Expect to hear from me soon. Hopefully this week, time permitting.


That's it. Back to work, slackers.

From: John S.
Sent: Wednesday, October 24, 2007 2:13 PM
To: Jamie N.
Subject: Halloween

Jamie,

As you might know, next Wednesday is Halloween. Since I think it is important that our department help keep up the morale of this organization, I feel that we both should dress up for the occasion. If you do not have a costume idea, let me know and one will be assigned. Please inform me of your costume choices by Friday. I would also like you to go around the office and pass out a special treat which I will devise.


Thanks for your participation,

John

-----

From: Jamie N.
Sent: Wednesday, October 24, 2007 2:16 PM
To: John S.
Subject: RE: Halloween


LMAO. Great! My Disgruntled Employee costume is already at the cleaners, and should be ready by next week.

-----
From: John S.
Sent: Wednesday, October 24, 2007 2:21 PM
To: Jamie N.
Subject: RE: Halloween


As long as there are no weapons involved, that will be fine.

______


Hi. Long time, no read. I'm doing better. Haven't blown up any states yet, so that's a good sign, right? All the conference ish is finally over with, so I can breathe for a bit. Still haven't painted the apartment yet, or sent out housewarming invites, or even finalized wedding plans. But I WILL. You have my word on that. Though my word is as strong as the U.S. Dollar right now. The upside to life is that I keep lucking up on free events that serve free drinks, which makes the work week a little easier to bear. Yesterday it was Stoli martinis w/ Common at the Stoli Hotel, today it's cocktails and manis at the Sunishynin Beauty Suites. And next week? More free events with free alcohol. Yeeeeeeeeees.

If you've been checking my MySpace you'll notice I haven't been on since August. Why? Because I forgot my password and am too lazy to recover it. I may get around to it after I finish this cocktail.

Alcoholic? NO! Lush? YES!

Bought Stephen Colbert's new book and am currently trying to mate with it. Satire makes me feel all funny in my girl parts.

Now, back to the grind, for I have a tribal brownfield story to write and only two weeks to write it.

Just kicked Huxtable and 13ascension out. Bastids. You won't third wheel ME.

Anyway.

I know I said I wouldn't speak of the dead anymore, but it's pretty difficult to do that when the dead is STILL BEING THE MANWHORE OF THE EASTERN SEABOARD.


So while melaninjitsu (if you say his name three times in front of a mirror an image of a free clinic will appear) was romancing white girls and attempting to reacquaint himself with my groin, he was gaming a 40+ mother of two on the east coast. Now this particular broad was an acquaintance of mine who not only knew about the ring on his finger but what had went down between the two of us for several years. So...sympathy? All out. According to the friend who contacted me out of the blue last week, she got an angry call from dude's wife on some "stay the fuck away from my man, chicken!" shit a FEW MONTHS AGO. Heeeeeelarious. He had told her he was gonna help put her through grad school if she'd moved down there, and this dizzy cow was ready to pack up everything and move to be with him. He'd also made threats against the friend who told me all of this, threatening to fly to Vegas to "straigten him out" on her behalf because he was disrespecting him. There's also rumors of him living in the basement of someone's house because his wife threw him out. Who knows? No one from the Intell circle has heard from him in months, they say.

Hopefully someone threw his trifling ass under a bus. If not, keep an eye on dontdatehimgirl.com because that negro WILL be getting added. Hell, he's already on Lipstick Alley.

Don't look at me. That muthafukka had it coming and I promise you that if I hear ONE MORE THING about his cootielicious oreo ass I'll be renting muthafukkin' billboards all up and through North Carolina.

...lost a lot of fights rollin' with the wrong ace...

It's been weird seeing someone I once cared for deeply become a caricature, a punchline to a joke that everyone knows. When all this shit hit the fan I found myself questioning my judgment, revisiting events in my head in hopes of seeing any signs I may have missed the first time 'round. Wondered how I let a dude like that get in my inner circle. But then I realized that this was the first time anything like this had ever happened, and as far as crew goes, I'm doin' pretty fucking well. Besides, I don't do professional victim well. Doesn't work for me.

I'm more worried about becoming a widow before a bride, seeing that my fiance is practically LIVING at work now. He's still sorta adjusting to his new role as boss of a team that has been downsized to death during one of the busiest seasons of the year. This means I only get to see him 10 minutes a day, and he's usually unconscious. So I'm gonna need something to change, and fast because this right here? Really isn't working for me.

ETA: aaaand guess who just came home? Mmhmm.

In other news, 13ascension and I have decided to become professional Wedding Expo Crashers. We'll be hitting every one in the region. Went to our first one last weekend, and they gave us cake. CAKE! Can you believe it? You'll do anything for cake, jst_us told me during our daily email exchange. And she's right. So very right.

Oh, and my mother has tracked down my 34 year-old nephew and will be flying out to see him for her birthday next week. Kid's not too keen on seeing his pops though, which may be due to years and years of "daddy ain't shit" brainwashing. I hear his mother was quite the barracuda. I wouldn't know; they broke up before I was born.

My Detroit story for the magazine came out quite nicely. I'll be emailing it to a few of yous who helped me. My annual review also went pretty well, but everything now depends on next week's national conference, where I'll be sitting in on a few sessions for possible story ideas and prepping a few of the speakers. And hosting Brownfield Jeopardy. And schmoozing with members. I'd been trying to get out to DC for this NABJ workshop but it doesn't look like it's going to happen. Kinda sad about that.

Ok, I'm fading. But, before I do...please stop here and put a dick in this yamp's mouth, k? K, cuz I'm tired of hearing or seeing shit like "see ladies, this is why you don't open your legs for every man" or "if she'd been a bit more selective..."

We never take a day off from criticizing ourselves, do we? Just sayin'.

I'm out. Challah.

I should've stayed my black ass north. Seriously.

http://www.pr.com/press-release/52561

Jason Whitlock's take on Jena 6, because you care.

Y'know, with all of the shuffling this fat fuck does he should be a LOT smaller. I'm glad he's found a new home at Fox. He should feel right at home with the rest of the mediocre, self-serving fucktards who never let facts get in the way of good copy.

I know most of you have heard about the Jena 6 by now. If you haven't, please don't read his column because--as usual--Shuffle McTomTom's piece is high in righteous indignation and calories but low in truth. Dude's copy of The History of U.S. Race Relations was clearly written by those two pricks who wrote The Bell Curve. Google and find the info for yourself.


And oh--lookie HERE: Apparently yelling "nigger!" while torturing your kidnapped captive is NOT a federal hate crime.


So dig it: as of now, I'm the new Marcus Garvey and the movement is back on. Calmly collect all of your belongings and walk--hell, RUN--to the nearest airport. It's time to go, kids.