“We are happy, even, that we have food enough for Daniel, who eats peacefully, not knowing that we are laughing, but sensing that something wonderful has happened to us, which means that wonderful things happen, and that maybe something wonderful will happen to him. ”
— James Baldwin
My favorite scenes in If Beale Street Could Talk (both the film and the book) happen at home. The first—though, chronologically, the second—is in the apartment Tish shares with her family. She reveals that she is pregnant to her mother, who creates a small celebration around the dining table with Tish’s sister and father to bring them into the joy and fright of a possible new life.
Then they invite Fonny’s parents and siblings over so that they might also enjoy and live in the news. It doesn’t go as well, but in it, we learn about the power and limits of hospitality and the malleability in the definition of family. It’s instructive for all that will follow in the story.
The other setting I love is the one quoted above. Fonny has a place in the world that is his, and sometimes it is also Tish’s, and they can invite an old friend into it and share a meal and fellowship. I do not know that I’ve read words more beautiful than Baldwin’s in describing that feeling of being able to provide respite to another. To sit around a table, break bread, drink a little, and talk. The intimacy and hope and security it brings, even if only for a few hours.
It builds us up. It fortifies us for whatever the world might throw our way.
We are in the process of buying a place right now. After figuring out if a space fits us, the next question on my mind is will it meet the needs of our people. We aren’t constant hosts, inviting others into our residence frequently, though we consider doing so often. Last year, my family tried to establish a new tradition of monthly dinners at each of our spots across the city. We were pretty good for about half the year, and I very much enjoyed the times we hosted including a Mother’s Day meal that had more people seated at our table than ever before. More common, though, is for us to have a single guest over, like Fonny and Tish, and we put on some music and pour some liquor, and we treat each other with kindness and sincerity for as long as necessary.
What I’ve learned watching those tours, especially while I’ve been reading Baldwin’s words is that if we get nothing else right, let’s do the last. Let’s make it so that our family—blood or chosen—feels welcome and that from the time they enter and until they leave, they will know that something wonderful happening is always a possibility.
It took me six weeks to complete Michael W. Twitty’s part autobiography, part narrative history, part cookbook. It’s only 400 pages long. My slow burn through rate is not a reflection on the writing which is often beautiful and lyrical and always well-crafted and considered. No, my pace is a common occurrence when faced with the grim reality of slavery as a lived experience. If I’m not taking it in small bites, I’m avoiding it entirely. Black grief isn’t for me, which is why I haven’t seen 12 Years A Slave or Hotel Rwanda or made my way to the end of Fruitvale Station.
I made it through The Cooking Gene, though, with my heart bruised but intact. Twitty makes plain what it must have been like for his specific ancestors and thus, the kin of many of us for whom enslavement was our forced entry into these United States. In the lived experience, we can feel in our bones the back-breaking work of picking cotton under the crack of the whip. We must consider the soul-crushing work of toiling in hot kitchens for our enslavers (who might also rape us on a whim and treat the children from the villainous union as property). In the papers from the time, we might understand the cruelty of the middle passage, the diet built on malnourishment (which plagues the genetic makeup of black folks to this day), the crimes of family separation. In the sober hunt for and re-telling of our shared history, we might stew in anger at the willful ignorance of those who would like to pretend slavery was something other than it is, and who endeavor to revisit those sins on people living today.
In the food, we might find where hope was found and resiliency fortified. In the food, we might find where the roots of true American cuisine began. In the food, we might see even more nuanced ways in which wealth, power, and culture were taken from black bodies, black hands, black ingenuity. In the food, we might find threads of our family trees back to Louisiana or Virginia or the Carolinas.
I don’t know my own history beyond a few generations on my mother’s side, but through The Cooking Gene, I can imagine my people were first brought to this country in the rice growing lands. Perhaps my love of the food comes to me from my ancestors, deep in my bones, in my DNA. What might I learn if I go wherever that thread takes me? What parts of Africa and Europe might I land?
Tiffany is cooking a true Southern meal today of smothered chicken, collards, and mac & cheese (macaroni pie, in the old words). If I get my gumption up, I might whip up a batch of biscuits to sop up the gravy and potlikker. It smells like kitchens of my youth in our house today. Like my grandma’s and great grandma’s homes in the summertime. It probably smells like the kitchens of their youth. And the kitchens our enslaved kin toiled in as well.
They only rarely would’ve been able to make such a meal for their families, producing it instead on the regular for Sunday dinners for the white people who had bought their bodies and claimed to own them.
It took me six weeks to finish The Cooking Gene. To move any faster would’ve felt like disrespect to the memory of the spirits Twitty stirs. To go more quickly would have removed the emotional release valve I require to process America’s terrible history.
In retrospect, a month and a half is a short time with Twitty’s tales. They will stay with me for much longer.
“What would you do, you knew you couldn’t fail I have no fear of anything, do everything well I have no fear of jail, I was born in the trap I have no fear of death, we all born to do that It’s just life, I’m just nice, tonight I might raise my price”
— The Carters
I was writing my 2019 plan, but then Shana showed up in my inbox and, well, I’m going to take a detour.
What did you do in 2018 that you’d never done before?
Felt unafraid to stand up for myself and others. I’ve stood up before. It’s the lack of fear that’s new and to do so in ways that remained true to me and how I operate. I didn’t imagine how someone else—someone I imagine as stronger than me—would do a thing, I did it as me. In my voice, in my way, and with the confidence that doing what’s right can be scary but doesn’t mean you gotta be scared.
I also worked with yeast in my baking for the first time, and it was a hit.
And, I had a case of gout. Shout-out to middle-age.
Did you keep your New Year’s resolutions and will you make more for next year?
The act of gift giving this holiday season was, perhaps, my most explicit confirmation of that as, to a person, I felt like I gave presents that reflected what I knew and understood about them and our relationship, specifically.
Staying present enough to remember most birthdays, anniversaries, and other special moments felt great and is a behavior I definitely want to continue.
I’m inspired at the end of this year, though, by my friends that are committing so heavily to serve our communities. Those actively working to make the world a bit better for those who are most in need and leveling up their own personal development in the process. My 2019 mission will be centered around these broader ideas of generosity.
Did anyone close to you have a child?
Not in the immediate circle but there were babies this year, and I got a chance to babysit, even if only for a few minutes in Disneyland.
The only weddings I (virtually) attended were Royal.
Did anyone close to you die?
A great aunt passed, and I can sense that one matters more than maybe some others in recent years. There’s a sadness in my grandmother’s voice that hasn’t gone away now that this sister, in particular, is gone and it breaks my heart every time I hear it in our conversations.
What countries did you visit?
I stayed domestic this year, but there are discussions of trips south of the border for 2019.
What would you like to have in 2019 that you lacked in 2018?
What was your most significant achievement of the year?
The best compliment I got was someone told me that they were not only a better employee but a better person for having worked on my team. I think that’s a reflection of a communication philosophy that I’ve worked on most of my professional life but became second nature in 2018: empathetic candor.
I want people to seek my counsel and know that they are going to get an honest conversation with no ulterior motives, ill will, or bad faith on my part. Kindness, honesty, and generosity of spirit is the vibe I think I most conveyed this year.
What was your biggest failure?
One afternoon, as I rushed to catch a bus I was running late for, I saw a man with a walker moving awfully slowly to cross the street to get to his destination. Maybe he didn’t need or want my help, but I didn’t even offer, choosing my convenience over kindness.
Every time I made that choice this year, I failed.
Did you suffer illness or injury?
Gout sucks. It feels like you’ve broken a toe and I do not recommend flying when you have it. Your foot is already swollen, and air travel will only exacerbate the issue.
I was full of foot ailments this year. I also had to correct plantar fasciitis with therapeutic insoles in nearly all my shoes.
What was the best thing you bought?
Mentioned above, but I really dug the holiday gifts I gave this year. Money well spent. I also like Apple TV and the series 4 Apple Watch is aces (as is the iPad Pro Tiffany gave me).
Whose behavior merited celebration?
My friend Melle has spent this year working so hard to battle food insecurity in Los Angeles through her own personal efforts and in partnership with local groups like Beauty 2 The Streetz. Every time I spend time with her discussing this work that she’s so passionate about, I’m inspired to do more and am reminded that giving time, effort, and energy to things with impact is the best way to live.
Where did most of your money go?
Who even knows? Basketball and bills? We saved more this year. I spent a little more on clothes. Lots of non-profit organizations and political campaigns got checks from.
What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Black Panther. I’m still really, really, really excited about that movie, the music, the experience, it’s success and how it wasn’t alone in the popular culture.
What song will always remind you of 2018?
Compared to this time last year, are you:
i. Happier or sadder?
I’m rarely very up or very down, but I lean towards optimism so let’s assume I’m happier.
ii. Thinner or fatter?
I weigh almost exactly the same as the beginning of the year, but I’m leaner.
iii. Richer or poorer?
We made that paper this year.
What do you wish you’d done more of?
Journaling and meditation: my days were always better when I started that way.
Volunteering: I gave money and advice regularly but rarely did I give of my time in 2018.
What do you wish you’d done less of?
Twitter and Instagram scrolling
Stewing in my own juices
How did you spend Christmas?
Here in LA with Tiffany and my family. The weather was gorgeous. The food was great. The gifts were delightful. There was so much basketball. I felt like the Björk song.
What was your favorite TV program?
Killing Eve was the best and most surprising show I watched all year.
Also worth your time:
The final season of The Americans
American Crime Story: The Assassination of Gianni Versace
Her Body and Other Parties by Carmen Maria Machado
Baby Teeth by Zoje Stage
Saga, Volumes 8 and 9 by Brian K. Vaughan and Fiona Staples
What was your most significant musical discovery of 2018?
Rosalia. She is a late in the year find courtesy of many a best of list, but her full-length El Mal Querer is incredible and has become my entry point into the wonderful world of Spanish language pop. I’m excited to dig deep in 2019.
Mass shootings and gun violence made me feel sad and helpless (but inspired by the actions of the youth in this country in their aftermath). The nomination of Brett Kavanaugh and the way Christine Blasey Ford was treated by our elected officials, though, pissed me the fuck off.
Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Ignoring the obvious answer, we really gotta get Stephen Miller out the paint.
How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2018?
Age and income appropriate. I started using Stitch Fix to upgrade my wardrobe a bit and have found it to work for me pretty well, especially with pants that I wouldn’t seek out for myself and some statement pieces that get compliments every time I break them out.
What kept you sane?
Riding the bus every day reminds me that my daily worries are likely minuscule compared to many others in my community and it teaches me patience. Public Transportation in Los Angeles forces you to slow down and accept that most things in this life you can’t control but we all get where we’re going, eventually.
Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
I thought Cardi B and Ariana Grande were the most exciting celebrities this year and Mona Chalabi’s data journalism and visualization are making her kind of famous, too. I think that’s hella cool.
Who did you miss?
Uncle Mike. Always.
Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2018.
“‘Cause I know you wanna see me come home proper.”
— YG
My love of books starts with my grandmother. She was a librarian and would subscribe me to book-of-the-month clubs (Sweet Pickles and Berenstein Bears when I was first learning words and then the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew Mysteries, Encyclopedia Brown, and Choose Your Own Adventure later). It was encouraged by my mother who would take me to the library on Saturdays and leave me alone to explore the stacks with little direction. Whatever books I fancied, I could check out. As I got older, my allowances were spent on books: comic books and Stephen King novels and The Babysitter’s Club. My weekends followed common patterns: chores, basketball, books. Once my parents had thought I was missing when, in fact, I had come home from a friend’s house early to read a book I was engrossed in and fell asleep in my room with those words and characters.
I thought about how parents might nudge us toward or away from reading with small choices yesterday. A young boy was in the books section of Target, impatiently waiting for his mother to see the book he wanted. It was Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.
“That’s a big book,” his mom said. He was discouraged. He pleaded. She suggested a far less exciting book. His reading skills were clearly beyond it. He tried to explain, but she was uninterested and moved to leave the books section with no books at all. As his dad arrived and distracted his mother, I watched him slide the blue covered book with the boy wizard into their cart.
The experience of reading Little Fires Everywhere reminded me of how I read as a child. I would lose all track of time. I nearly missed my bus stop two days in a row because my mind had departed to Shaker Heights. I took lunches further away from the office to not be interrupted while I hung out with Pearl and Mia and Izzy and Mrs. Richardson. It was that kind of read. You should find some time for it.
It’s a story about mothers and their choices. Today is Mother’s Day, and I’m thinking about my mothers and their choices. I would have never been discouraged in a store aisle about entering a world too grown with words too big, pages too long, and binding too thick. In fact, Phyllis or Pauline would’ve likely put it in my hands before I even knew to look.
“I’m not America’s nightmare. I’m America’s dream.”
— Janelle Monáe
In the movie The Neverending Story, Bastian is so engrossed in the book he’s reading that he feels he’s become part of the story (in fact, he has). What the book’s protagonist, Atreyu, feels, Bastian also feels. This is the connection I felt with Jojo in Jesmyn Ward’s Sing, Unburied, Sing. I don’t know the last time I was that engrossed in a novel.
There’s a point where Jojo recalls cutting his foot, the description so vivid it settled into my mind as if it were my memory. When not reading the book that day, I kept coming back to that moment and the sharp pain of the laceration, the blood, the fear, the curiosity of being sliced open. I dreamed about it that night. When I opened the book the next morning, I reached down towards my own foot feeling the phantom of an injury I never personally experienced.
When his stomach hurt, mine twisted in knots. When he was disappointed, I was heartbroken. When he protected his sister, I believed I would do the same. When the terribleness of the world reveals itself to him, and he stands up to meet it, I stood with him as if we were one.
There’s mysticism at the root of this story, and magic in Ward’s words. The perspective shifts between three characters, all damaged by the terrible traditions of race in America. It’s Jojo, though, who is our hero. Somehow his spirit overcomes all that wants to sink him. He’s not indomitable or indefatigable, but his humanity is undeniable. Unburied despite being born in the dirt. Who he is resonating like a song from the pages.
I’m not sure I ever found a flow on the mat over these 30 days. I have one more session tomorrow, so maybe it will come then. Perhaps it won’t. It’s okay either way. What I have found with this practice is a sense of control and awareness of my body that I hadn’t had since college when I was playing basketball four or five days a week.
My shoulders have strengthened a lot during this process. My trainer has noticed and is now regularly increasing how much I lift during our full body workouts. I’m holding much less tension in my neck. My balance is better. My left hip is working hard at loosening. It’s still the tightest area of my body, but it doesn’t want to be.
If you stayed on track for the full month, the journey was supposed to end today on the 31st. Mine continues as I took this most recent Sunday off to give that hard-working hip some recovery time. I’m looking forward to tomorrow morning’s time. And to the next day on the mat.
And the next.
“The first time your name was used, it was beauty, and I knew.”
Come September, Tiffany and I will have been together for a decade. It feels both not that long—she is still a beautiful mystery to me in many ways—and like we have always been this way, comfortable in our connection.
This month, I love her for meals made, and appointments kept. For grocery store runs and shared TV time. After the first of the year, we didn’t leave the house together much but we found time to delight at Grown-ish, guffaw at Desus + Mero and Alone Together, and binge One Day at a Time.
I dipped into her viewings of Disjointed and always enjoyed a weekend day where we both spent time in the home office, the sun beaming through our windows, the neighborhood alive.
My heart still swells at her smile and when her eyes light up with accomplishment. I ask about her day knowing she will get overly technical as I like hearing her talk passionately about the work of solving problems.
I loved her despite her destroying my time in the mini-crossword more days than not. I loved her even though every time I turned on a TV in the house it was tuned to MSNBC.
“We ain’t looking at the time, don’t nobody got a phone.”
That lyric sounds like heaven right now. I’ve been thinking a lot this month about what I’m not doing with my time when I’m spending too much of it with my devices. How lovely it would be to not always feel like I’m fighting for the attention of others with their much more compelling smartphones.
I stopped bringing my laptop and tablet to meetings, and I leave my phone in my pocket unless I need to reference something in service of that meeting.
Once I finish “Bored and Brilliant,” I may swear off reading via the Kindle app on my phone so that I can put it away during my commutes. I ordered a work phone in part for privacy concerns but also because it will allow me not to be available 24/7. To put my phone in my bag at the end of the day and not get any work messages until I check again in the morning?! I don’t even remember what that is like, but I’m looking forward to getting back to that.
“Feelin’ Inspired cuz the tables have turned.”
I do. I feel energized creatively. I wrote more this month. I spoke up more at work. Digital media is in this uncertain place that has many people feeling unsure about the path forward. Not me.
If you’re smart, you take the opportunity to check in with the purpose of what you do. Give up on quick fixes and hacks and tricks and do what’s right.
Let’s just get back to basics and make good shit every day. Let’s do right by our audiences. Let’s build the audiences we want by giving them real value. Why does our content exist? What do we hope they do with it? What conversations do we want to start and participate? How do we show appreciation for people spending time with us in a cluttered space? Do we think of those clicking our stuff as data points or people?
My favorite quote from a Spike Lee Joint is from Shadow Henderson in Mo’ Better Blues:
“If you play the shit that they like, then the people will come.”
Still true, y’all. Make good shit. Put it in a pretty box. Be grateful. Be humble. Learn something.
I took my bike to the shop the other day. I haven’t ridden in over a year. It has a flat. It’s been locked up outside through rain and ash, and whatever other weather has come our way during that time.
I’m inspired to get back on and start pedaling away again. Eleanor Davis’s You & a Bike & a Road (2017, Kayoma Press) is the spark. It’s the story of her bike tour from Arizona to Georgia told by the illustrations she made along the way. It’s about perseverance and depression and kindness.
It’s a story about the people in our border states and the complicated realities of those crossing into the US without documents and those paid to stop them.
It’s one woman’s incredible journey, weeks long, by herself with just her bicycle, the open road, and the people—friends, family, and strangers alike—in her corner along the way.
The idea of a long bike tour doesn’t interest me. Especially one through unfamiliar parts of these United States. I don’t have faith those same strangers would treat me with the openness and compassion that she found throughout. I may be wrong about that but I’m not willing to chance it.
I do love getting up to speed on my bike, though, feeling the wind going with me, and just slicing through neighborhoods regardless of my destination. It’s been too long since I’ve done that.
In August, my mom stated that she wanted to take a family trip this year. We were actively considering Puerto Rico, but then there was Maria and my mother’s broken leg (now healed), and so contiguous options seemed the best choice. Tiffany and I had visited NOLA over the holidays before and enjoyed what had, at the time, been a relatively sleepy week in the city.
Sleepy is not the way I would describe Crescent City this time. There was Christmas Fest and the Sugar Bowl. The Pelicans and Xscape. And a more substantial international tourist body than in 2009. But, I’m getting ahead of myself. First, we went to Greensboro, North Carolina to visit with and my mother-in-law.
Birds love it here
Greensboro has a very fancy Whole Foods with an excellent hot bar. We went there the first night. A couple of days later, I made biscuits from scratch to my MIL’s delight. Mostly, though, I sat in her sunroom and caught up on my media consumption. Hulu has all the non-Netflix Marvel shows so I binged Legion and caught up on Runaways and continued to sample The Gifted. I feel a kind of way about Bryan Singer‘s attachment to two of the three but Legion, in particular, was worth the time.
I read Goldie Vance, Volume 1 (very fun!) and A Wrinkle in Time. I stopped reading Wrinkle just before the final action occurs. I didn’t love it. Many elements feel very of the 50s, and I’m curious to see how Ava Duvernay will translate them in her film. I like the bones of the story, though, and think it will likely make a much better movie.
I went through the best end-of-year music lists I could find to see what I was missing. Complex. NPR. NY Times. Pitchfork. KCRW.
KCRW’s DJ lists were the plug in this excursion. Jeremy Sole had the most similar chart to my best-of, and several of the albums from his list fit right in with my sensibilities.
We did leave the house to take in a G-League basketball game. The game was mostly trash until late in the fourth quarter, as were the concessions, but we had great seats.
Then, on Christmas Day, we got on a plane and headed to N’awlins, baby.
Tiffany is off to Washington DC for a few months doing good works. She’s been doing cool shit all year (ed. note: Have you bought CSS Master yet? Stop reading right now and improve your code life) but this is the first time she’s left for an extended period since our union.
It’s only been like three days but dang. The house is too quiet. Time has slowed down. And, I need projects.
Yesvember
Kid President tweeted this just this morning, and I’m on board.
I’m focusing on my fitness y’all. The eight or so people that actually watch my snaps with any regularity know I’ve been toying with a fitness challenge. I tried one at the beginning of October: a 30 day commitment that died on day 14 when my legs gave out. This month, I’m going to give it another go.
21 Days of running or biking. At least 20 minutes. Preferably 30. No Days Off.
I’ve also been wanting to try a meal service. I have proven over 40 years that I don’t really have the personal discipline to manage my own eating in a healthy manner and with Tiffany not here cooking regularly, the risk of lots of Chipotle and Popeye’s runs is high so…
I just had some breakfast tacos. Not bad. Not bad at all.
Netflix and Clones
Derrick peeped me to this chronological list for viewing the animated series Star Wars:The Clone Wars which I’ve watched in bits & pieces over the years but never consistently. It’s been much more enjoyable this way.
There are projects around the house that need tending. I’m going to make a list of them and…probably send them to our landlord. I’m not Fix-It Felix. I may do some re-organizing, though. Sorry, Tiffany.
Reading List
Books and everything in my Pocket. I cleared so much out of my backlog yesterday afternoon. I felt smarter and unburdened.
“People with so much to say but I’m only hearing the words that you left me with on that day.”– Mary J. Blige, Nobody but You
I thought I had read a lot more this year than last because I’ve spent the entire year commuting by LA public transit but because of Serial and my new interest in podcasts, I’ve spent the last month listening rather than reading so I’m only five books up on last year. Boo. There’s too much media to consume.
I read a lot of good stuff this year, particularly in the first three months. I wrote about Americanah and Urban Tumbleweeds in January both of which are still among the most memorable. I finally read Kindred which somebody should make into a film. That time travel story was after I read 11/22/63 which is Stephen King’s excellent novel around the same concept. I love a good time travel tale.
I think my favorite book of the year, though, was Hatching Twitter by Nick Bilton. The service dominates my every day. It’s birth (and the tools and people that spawned it) coincide with my own growth and participation in our digital culture. I was at those South Bys. In some ways, its history feels a bit like my own history. #relatable
It’s also just a damn good read. I devoured it and wanted to talk about it to anyone who had also read or cared.
