You know you're from Oakland..., AC Transit passenger solidarity and #reading

It was an interesting day at school Wednesday afternoon. Still dealing with the challenge of channeling the students' creativity into actually writing.

We started off having a discussion of the "You know you're from Oakland if..." Facebook phenomenon. It was an old trend rekindled. In fact, I even compiled a blog while working at AC Transit on this same topic.

At any rate, after the students recounted their generation's version, we transitioned them into writing them down. Sadly, many who were able to make them up off the top of their heads seemed unable to concentrate long enough to write many.

We also tried to unpack why would being from Oakland give people these shared ideas, experiences and culture. Conclusion: Smart children, just need better strategies to encourage writing.

* * *

On the AC Transit #40 from Fremont High to downtown Oakland, I saw another random act of bus passenger kindness.

A man walking down the aisle dropped $1. A woman said to him, "Excuse me. You dropped some money."

After he returned to pick it up, she half-jokingly asked, "How much is it? Shoot!" and started laughing.

The man then smiled and gave her the money. "Thank you," she said.

Despite much of the other craziness I've witnessed, and the reputation of AC Transit as a "ghetto on wheels," the passengers are god people.

* * *

It's hard to tell from the photo above, but I've nearly finished Manning Marable's "Malcolm X: A Life of Reinvention."

I can't say the jury is still out on this one–it's definitely, as author Karl Evanzz said, not magnum opus. There are major logical fallacies and some assertions that lack substantial evidence, but there are other points of the book that are informative.

I may attempt to write a review, although other more scholarly writers will be writing a "Black Writers Respond" critique later this year.

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From Alameda to Louisiana

On my way to a family reunion in Louisiana, I was able to stop in Lake Charles and visit my oldest (known) relative, Mildred Carriere.


Mildred with my mother, Deborah James. The original art is of my great great great-grandmother Francis Garland.


Mom and her cousin, Alvin, who gave us a ride from Houston.


Mildred Carriere, 98, is my great-grandmother Alma Carriere's first cousin. Mildred was born in 1913 in Lake Charles, LA.


Group photo: Carriers, Holliers and Donattos.

I was recently involved in a major genealogical project with youth in Alameda County. You can read more on the African American Genealogical Society of Northern California blog.

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Canoeing at Lake Merritt in Oakland

One of my favorite workouts is Rowing. It can be a great fullbody workout, but it's especially good on the back, biceps and abdominals.

Listening to dead prez' "50 in the Clip" I strangely got the urge to go rowing. I posted it on Facebook and my KMT Sista Jazz the Poet said she wanted to go. Next thing you know, we have an Outdoor Afro type Friday afternoon outing at the Lake.

For those that don't know. For only $10, you can go out on the water at Lake Merritt in Oakland. There is the pedal boat, the canoe, the rowboat and single and double kayaks. (Of course, you can also get real oh-la-la and get a Gondala, but that's for hot August cupcake nights.)

Here's a few photos from the adventure.


Two emcees in a pedal boat: Tiana Wilkes and Al Pratt from Kurse Krew. I bet they were freestyling while pedaling.


"I want to get on the boat," said Nassor. "Yes, Little Africa, we gone get on a canoe."


Jazz the Poet riding up front, leading the way, with little man right behind.


Thought she was slick trying to get my "Canoe Face," so I threw up the deuces.

We had a short intermission when little man had to go "pee pee." Fortunately, the Oakland Parks and Rec staff was near by and brought him back to shore.


After we all made it back to shore, we posed for a group shot with the "Big Fish" that we caught.

I'm sure some of you are wondering, "Didn't you fall into Lake Merritt last year?" Yes, but I did not fall in again. If you want to go Boating at Lake Merritt, contact Oakland Parks and Rec.

Photos Courtesy of Jazz "The Poet" Monique Hudson.

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Photo: College of Alameda and Laney College mascots meet the brain

This photo was a long time coming.

Many, many moons ago, while a member of student government, I had a vision of students at the College of Alameda not only supporting their athletic teams and being proud of their college. I also wanted to encourage students to volunteer in the community.

Dreams do come true. And a piece of that dream came true last night, at the College of Alameda vs. Laney College basketball game, when I took a photo with Eddie the Eagle and Cool E. Cougar.

When I was on student government at COA, I put together a proposal to get a mascot. That mascot was Cool E. Cougar (with an "E" for education). I was the first mascot, followed by my folks Jason (aka "Mouse"). When we left, Coolie ended up in a closet somewhere.

Meanwhile, now at Laney College pursuing Journalism, I brought a mascot there. Eddie the Eagle.

Eddie had a little more support at Laney College because the athletics program was more robust, plus the school had some fly cheerleaders.

In 2007, me and Josh Wolf got together and made this highlight reel of Eddie.

But I was never able to get them together for the real work that I wanted them for; to get children excited about learning.

So, even though taking the photo was only a symbolic gesture, I'm now confident that I will be able to involve the mascots in my current initiative, Peralta Reads.

Photos: Top, Me with Eddie the Eagle and Cool E. Cougar; left, Laney College student Ebony Miller dances with Eddie the Eagle at 2009 Welcome Back Bash; right, Cool E. Cougar posts up in the AC Transit Mini-Bus at Alameda's 2008 Welcome Back Bash.

p.s. I don't have a pot belly. I just came back from eating some really good Cambodian food and was a little stuffed.

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It's Friday and I'm Mr. Furley

Super busy day today. If I can push through the day, there's a fun night ahead.


Banned Books exhibit at Laney College.

Already finished class. Tengo mucho tarea para la fin de semana. Wrote an article about a student protest at Laney College yesterday. Read the NYTimes. Edited some photos. And studied for Geography. Not bad for an hour and a half.

But it's tonight I'm looking forward to.

Tonight in West Oakland, the Lower Bottomz Playaz are doing August Wilson's "Gem of the Ocean." I first got hip to Wilson when Laney College did A Piano Lesson a few years back. "Gem" is the highlight of the night, as I get to go with local writer Ann Jacobs.

Before that, I'm going to hit up the College of Alameda vs. Laney College volleyball game and check out the Northern California premiere of "Gerrymandering" at the Laney College theater.

But for now, I need to run for this meeting relating to the Peralta Colleges Accreditation story I'm writing.

Oh yeah, I might get my hurr did (hair done) at the Laney College Cosmetology Department.

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Camp Akili bound - Anticipating a Liberating Experience

After a fantastic (terrific/great) summer teaching at Oakland Freedom School, I'm super juiced that Camp Akili 2010 is here. And I am honored to be a part of it.

"Camp Akili offers interactive exercises that teach participants about the root causes of social inequality, cultivating their abilities to identify and solve problems in their communities. It is an annual, five-day residential camp that takes place out of the city. At camp, teens are assigned to “nations” that facilitate peer learning, youth leadership opportunities, and conflict resolution. The teens form strong bonds with each other and their counselors as they experience psychological, emotional, and spiritual healing on such topics as racism, sexism, internalized oppression, and economic disenfranchisement." Source: LeadershipExcellence.org

Camp Akili is a one week camp that trains Black youth 14-18 to identify and challenge systems of violence, racism, and sexism. It is a radical experiential healing camp that truly transforms young people's lives.

It is also transformative for adults.

In 2007, I volunteered as a Camp Counselor. Not only did experience train me to be a better youth development professional, but provided some healing for a number of issues I was dealing with in my personal life.

It also led to me being fired by the Alameda Boys and Girls Club for "job abandonment," for the three days I was attending camp. Even though I'd received permission from the site director to attend.

After being in an intense environment where young people were loved, staff supported one another and went through painstaking, sleep depriving debriefs -- in order work harmoniously together -- it was ultimately the best thing for my health. Although I'm always sad to hear the young men and women I worked with tell me they no longer go to a Center in their own housing complex and community -- and disgusted by some of the fraudulent things I've seen -- I know that there are organizations and people that really care about our youth.

Besides, if I'd never been fired, I would've never got the Peralta EasyPass program with AC Transit started. I would've never helped organized the 10th Annual Black Caucus Leadership Conference (ABCLC). I would've never been able to organize on behalf of the California Community Colleges UMOJA movement.

Most importantly, I would've never become a journalist. I would've never became Editor-in-Chief of the Laney Tower newspaper, expanded the Harambee Newspaper beyond a newsletter and blog, restarted the Laney Black Student Union (Laney BSU) and launched it's newsletter, The Defender or The Black Hour Radio Show.

Programs like Camp Akili help students recognize their innate African greatness and utilize that strength and talent to uplift ourselves, our families and our communities.

I'll write more about Camp Akili when I return August 27. Until then, this 2006 Camp Akili clip should let you know how I feel.

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Real friends fall in Lake Merritt together

Oakland’s Lake Merritt is one of my favorite places in the world. I have great childhood memories of Childrens Fairyland, Festival at the Lake, and just walking with my mom. (I also remember falling in the lake back in the late 80s. Maybe I'll tell you that story some day)

Today, over two decades later, I fell in the lake again. Uggh.

Sometime this afternoon, I got the urge to go rowing at the Lake Merritt Boathouse. My usual rowing partner, Caps, was busy packing for his move back to DC. So I hit up my dearest Saba the G. She was down.

Cool. I ride my Deebo (see, bike) to the Lake. As I wait for Saba, I see my Geography professor from Merritt College. We chop it up a bit about Kemet (Egypt). She asks if I used any geography while out there. Not really, but I was aware of the environment.

When Saba arrives, we make the reservation. We decide to get the Double Kayak. I’ve often kayaked by myself, but it’s been a minute since I did a double kayak.

After switching vests (I grabbed the XL while she grabbed the 2XL), we call the women over for our double kayak. We ask for another paddle since only one was near the boat.

We climb down to the lower platform. Saba gets in first, up front, I later sit down in back. As we hop into the kayak, Saba asks, “Does this ever tip over?” The woman says something about it being unlikely, or whatever.

While paddling out of the alcove, Saba keeps complaining about her little paddle. I’m looking at it, thinking it’s the same size, but I keep paddling.

We decide to switch paddles. Saba swiftly lifts hers over her head, and hands it back to me. I grab the paddle, and hand her mines.

“Much better,” she says.

Other possible titles for this blog post: How Reginald James fell in Lake Merritt (again) Ain't that a b*tch, I fell in the Lake Don't go swimming in Lake Merritt (I did) I know what Lake Merritt tastes like

Meanwhile, I’m in the back dripping water on myself due to the midget paddle. (No offense to my Ding people).

“Let’s go back and get a bigger paddle. I can’t kayak with this little ass kid’s paddle,” I say. We turn around and head back. When we ask for a paddle, they say they have no more.

I suddenly realize that the grip edges had been adjusted. I push it outwards and, “Whoop there it is!” I have enough room to paddle. We quickly begin turning left, as we had already moved back towards the boathouse platform/walkway. As we turned we kept gaining speed. We both paddled on the right side, turn ourselves left and moving forward. We quickly approached the boats on the side.

As we paddled to push ourselves left, suddenly we tipped over.

SPLASH!

We in the water. Dirty-ass-Lake-Merritt-water.. Ugghh!

“OMG” Saba yells, laughing. “Ugggh.” We fell in Lake Merritt. Get me out this water.”

Mind you, I've been fasting for Ramadan. No food or water (among other things) in the daytime. But now, I got nasty Oakland pond water in my mouth. Fortunately, I didn't swallow any. For health's sake, and my fast.

We quickly grab our now capsized kayak. I flap my soaked tennis shoe-flippers towards the edge and pull myself up. After I climb out onto the ledge, I help Saba out the water. I notice her purse, slightly open. I pull it out the water too, as she lays on the platform. Her upper body from her waist laid on the platform, while she held her legs and feet above the water.

“Damn, my cell phone,” I think. Suddenly, I feel the phone vibrating in my pocket non-stop. I pull it out my pocket. The screen was all white. Damn, this the second phone this week. I quickly pull the battery out. The woman who set us up, I mean, helped us get in the kayak takes our phones and goes to dry them off.

As we sit on the platform soaking, Saba pouring water out her shoes, she starts cracking up.

“At least I ain’t have a perm.” Wow. What a sport! A real G.

The guy working on the dock, trying to console us, says, “I fell in last week.” Uh huh.

We walk back to take off our life vests. Looking down at our soaked clothes. I say, “Pedal boats?”


“Hell naw. I’m going home.” She said. “Did you take the bus here?” Damn. I can only imagine what I'd look (smell) like taking AC Transit home.

“No, I rode my bike,” I respond.

“I’m taking you home,” she said, taking off towards the parking lot. I walk back to the office to get my ID (and refund). Mind you, I used to go rowing weekly, so I know my face is familiar.

As soon as I walk in, the woman behind the counter slowly looks up. Suddenly, she starts cracking up. “I tried to keep a straight face,” she said. “You wasn’t even out there for five minutes.”

They give me my ID, and my money back. I’ve seen similar incidents, people don’t usually get they money back.

I walk back to the car. Saba’s white t-shirt drenched. “I look like I won a wet tee shirt contest.”

Saba’s Blackberry was tripping. Plus, he digital camera wasn’t working. On the ride back home, Saba says, “Man, I can’t even tweet about it.”

Once Sista Africa gives me a ride home, I take off my seat belt and look at her.

“You ain’t getting no hug she says!” Hahaha. My mystic, mind-reading sister. I reach over and hug her close. Allowing the duck poop and toxic sewage to marinate between us.

I go inside. Take off all the wet clothes and throw them washer and shower up. Dry off and go outside. I still have to get my bike.

I was late for the bus. Luckily, AC Transit runs late on weekends. As soon as I come out the house, I see the bus down the block. I sprint to the bus stop on 5th and Lincoln. When I get there, I see a brother standing outside the L-I-Q (corner store). He says, “You still got it!” I laugh, lightly winded. “It’s good to be in shape,” he says, pulling out a Black and Mild.

I take the bus downtown and walk back to the boathouse. I go back to the bike rack. Before I grab my bike, the lady inside looks at me and laughs again.

How I fell in Lake Merritt in 1987 One day, I was at Lake Merritt with my mom. We were feeding bread crumbs to the ducks. Well, all the big ducks crowded near the lake's edge and were taking all the crumbs. According to my mom, "the first was when you were 5 trying to lean over the edge so the 'little ducks get some food,' AFTER I told you to not lean so close to the edge." I'd leaned towards to edge to throw the crumbs out further to the little ducks in the back. I leaned too close. I fell in the lake. Fortunately, I'm one of the 4 out of 10 Black children who could swim. I doggy-paddled to the edge, towards my mother's roaring laughter.

“I had to come back to get my bike,” I said. “Don’t worry, we’ll be back again.”

As I reflect on this experience, I have to smile about my growing friendship. Many women would have been flashing hella hard, crying and carrying old. Not only did Saba soldier up, but she was laughing about it too. Now, if she had that perm that might not have been the case.

They say real friends stick with you through thick and thin. Me and Sista Africa fell in the lake together. And I bet she's down to go back.

I hope everything works out with her phone and camera. Right now, I’m trying some “Put your wet phone in rice” method I saw on You Tube. Nonetheless, there is no one else I’d rather have fallen in the lake with.

I just hope that we don't mutate.

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Reginald James' cell phone dies. Cause of phone's death unknown

After 30 months of service, on August 12, Reginald James' phone broke. Permanently. The cause of death is unknown.

The phone had been "tripping" for weeks, James said. In recent days, the END call/power button seemed unresponsive. Suddenly, the phone's LCD screen went totally white.

"I just arrived at KTVU to cover a protest. I was planning on doing some live tweeting. When I pulled out the phone, the screen was all white," James said. "The phone had been tripping for a minute; buttons not responding, the phone calling other phones on it's own."

"I guess it was really time to get a new phone," he added.

Earlier this year, the phone's screen was damaged after being dropped. A large diagonal crack on the screen remained. It is unclear if the phone's death resulted from these injuries.

"I told him he should've been got a new phone," said Brandy Smith. "His (James) cheap ass didn't want to listen. Now he gotta get a new phone. Even though, he didn't answer that phone half the time."

James got the phone for it's texting dexterity. Although James tried not to talk too much on the phone, he frequently used it to send updates to Twitter. Last year, the phone stopped sending Twitpics, drastically changing James' usage of the service.

"I had the same crack on my phone's screen," said Dawna Williams. "I got a new phone months ago. I guess he held onto the phone for sentimental reasons."

James originally got the phone in 2008 to replace a malfunctioning Kyocera Strobe. Prior to that, James had a T-Mobile phone and Nextel service.

"This is the longest I've kept a single electronic communication device since a pager," James said. "I guess I was kind of attached to it. I just received a replacement in the mail, but it doesn't feel the same. The buttons are clean, there's no crack in the screen and I can't even smell my own breath when I speak into the phone. It doesn't feel right."

The replacement phone was sent in the mail the same day and arrived to James' home Friday. Ironically, but not uncharacteristically of Metro PCS, the phone was shipped without a battery. James was forced to harvest the organs of the old phone and use them in the replacement, even though the phone was not registered as an organ donor.

All of the phone's contacts -- including phone numbers and email addresses -- are gone. All of the phone's pictures are UNretrievable, also.

"All of our memories are gone. Even though the mind and soul of my phone is gone," James said, fighting back tears, "I'm using the battery of my old phone in this new one. It's like the heart is still with me, pumping and radiating energy."

"My phone don't pump no Kool-Aid," James said as he broke down and cried. After he wiped away the tears, he was seen on Craigslist.org looking for smartphones.

A private ceremony in memory of the phone at Alameda Beach will be held Saturday, August 28 (Although there is no MetroPCS service there).

In lieu of flowers, email James your name and phone number, or, you can call James at five one zero - seven seven six - one six nine five, and stay connected.

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Kemet Awaits: My journey to Egypt, Africa

I've always wanted to go to Egypt. In about 24 hours, I will be in Cairo.

Growing up, I dreamed of going to Egypt. Then Michael Jackson's 'Remember the Time' video came out when I was at Longfellow (Elementary) and I said, 'I'm going to Egypt.' Now, I've been blessed to have a dream come true.

The two week trip is a part of the Merritt College Africana Studies Department's Study Abroad program. The purpose of the program is to "globalize students’ understanding of the African world historically, culturally and politically from an African Centered perspective.

The true name of the land now called Egypt is Kemet, written as KMT. I will be taking lots of photos and posting regularly to this special blog, California to Cairo.

Traveling always makes you grow as a person. Not only did I grow as a human being with my 2005 trip to Bosnia, but after my 2006 trip to Jamaica, I grew locks.

I am extremely great(full) for this opportunity. This experience will make me a better person for the community I serve," Besides documenting the trip on the Cali to Cairo blog, I will be making community presentations this summer and through the fall, to share my experiences.

It is my hope to be able to use the experience to elevate consciousness and respect for Africa, and articulate the greatness of African people. Actually, the greatness of all people and our ability to be great reflections of the Divine Order of Netcher (Nature).

---

To follow my travels, request a postcard or contribute, visit http://calitocairo.blogspot.com

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A crackhead called me beautiful

I've been on a month long blogging haitus. Mainly concentrating on school and contributing reports at TheBlackHour.com and its corresponding radio show, The Black Hour; Oakland news site Oakland Local and my college newspaper, the Laney Tower.

---

However, today I got some inspiration from an unlikely source; a crackhead.

Today, a crackhead told me I was "beautiful."

As I walked by her on 14th and Franklin Street, she stood near the AC Transit bus stop bench leaning. Y'all know that lean.

I said, "Hey, auntie!" as I walked by.

Raising her hand in the air, "Young man," she said, pausing as if she was swallowing a part of her tongue, "you beautiful."

I said, "Thank you" and kept it moving. As I reflected on this brief interaction, I wondered why it was so significant to me.

Crackheads are like the vampires of the hood.

Just say that word outloud: Crackhead.

Depending on how you cope with the biological warfare of cocaine against Black people, as sponsored by the U.S. government, that word is either scary, funny or a depressing reminder of how bad crack hit Black people.

Nowhere did crack hit harder than on the morality of the Black family. Families were obliterated. It is so bad, many Black folks now call the era prior to the epidemic "B.C.," short for "Before Crack."

Tyrone Biggums tribute

Yet, in popular culture, crackheads have become an object of comedy. Comedians like Chris Rock (Pookie from New Jack City) and Dave Chappelle (Tyrone Biggums), and the show, Are you smarter than a crackhead?.

Instead of seeing people as human beings with an addiction to a substance, they are simply seen as a joke, a scapegoat. Opposed to respecting their humanity, they are degraded to being rock sucking zombies.

As Sister Dereca Blackmon pointed out to me via Twitter:
"Correction: a person suffering from addiction to crack; underscore the person part"

People suffering from an addiction to crack (or any substance) are still people. That beautiful woman who complimented me today is someone's child. She is someone's daughter. She may also be someone's sister, wife or mother.

And although she was missing teeth and had overly yellow eyes, she had a beautiful smile that lit up those eyes when she looked at me.

If I am beautiful, it is only because I reflected her beauty.

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Leave your umbrella behind

To brave the winds and the rain, human beings hide behind protective vinyl force fields called, “Umbrellas.” These devices are used to shield people and property from being ruined by water falling from the sky.

More often that not people I know end up using rinky-dink (see: Janky) umbrellas that end up falling apart.

That’s because people don’t reasonably invest in umbrellas. Folks may pay five dollars for an umbrella that rips apart due to the wind. The metal wires that hold it up end up protruding, in fact, even poking people.

Today at Laney College, I witnessed a young woman leaving school fuddling with her umbrella. The wind was battering her, and her umbrella, making it difficult for her to walk forward. The umbrella was also turning inside out.

In the heat of the moment, she throws down her umbrella, abandoning it.

I commented on her actions, and she responds, “It ain’t worth it.”



I thought about it later as I walked back to campus to hear Ericka Huggins speak. The wind blew against my umbrella, blocking me from reaching my destination. The rain wasn't pouring to hard. I put down my umbrella.

I became a lot more aerodynamic.

Sometimes, we think we are protecting ourselves. We use all sorts of artificial barriers (umbrellas) to protect ourselves from the elements. In the end, we end up hindering our own progress.

These umbrellas make us more vulnerable to the winds. Like sails, we float in the direction with our umbrellas as enablers.

And more often than not, the umbrellas get ripped apart and poke their owners.

Instead, we must abandon these cheap umbrellas that don’t protect us. Let the rain hit your face. Feel the wind in your hair.

Leave your umbrella behind. Sometimes, it’ll make it easier to reach your destination.

Update: Per the request of Dan Figueroa, I've included photos above, as well as a slideshow below of people with umbrellas at Laney College.



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There are Black people who ride segways

I once saw an image of a bunch of white folks on segways in a line juxtaposed against Hitler inspecting a Third Reich military company. Very impressionable.

However, in 2010 -- in the age of Obama -- there are actually some Black people who ride segways. We just rarely see them.

Ever since segways came out -- and got more popular, people of my generation saw them as something "white people ride." Why? Well, the false assumption that because they were expensive, only people with money could afford them, and although not accurate, people think the only people with money are white.

Then again, the 25 white people riding segways on a tour through West Oakland also contributed to the stereotype.

Photo: Flickr user Draveller

More than that, most Black folks just ain't gonna spend five racks on some generic Star Trek $hit. Seriously, if I can't teleport in that bia bia, I ain't spending that much money.

Plus, I can just borrow a dolly and ride that g thang as my segway.

But besides the hipsters, the only people I regularly see on segways are the po po (see: police). Whether they were campus cops, folks at the airport, etc., they were the only ones I'd ever see. And if you don't know, Black people and police is like Glenn Beck going to a Public Enemy concert. Also, I saw videos of folks in the military.

When I was a child, I used to rollerblade. Folks in the 'hood would say stuff like, "Why you trying to be white?" These folks limited their understanding of what Black people could do. That's why I'm always juiced when I see youngstas rockin those skateboards trying to Kick-Push and Coast through the hood.

Then, in the Summer of 2008, I saw a Black dude mobbin' on a segway (See: Lil Bruce) at Rockridge Out and About. He moved so fast, yet so smooth. He breezed through the crowded festival effortlessly. I said, "I will ride a segway one day."

In 2009, A.C. Transit held a test demonstration of putting segways on buses at its Accessibility Committee. Segways are also being used by people with disabilities, so they were testing whether or not segways could be secured on the bus.

But it was my chance to ride.

The folks from Segway of Oakland were on hand. I quietly asked, "Could I try?" For all I knew, I was the third Black guy in the history of Oakland to ride on (and probably the first with locks).

I got on and got the hand of it quick. Want to go forward, lean forward. Want to go right, lean right. Want to stop, lean backwards. But it's not quite a lean, its a body shift. I even started doing donuts.

I haven't ridden a segway since, but recently saw an elderly Black man -- he looked like General Larry Pratt's little brother -- riding a segway at the Subway restaurant in downtown Oakland.

To be clear, he was on the Segway in Subway, decked out in Red, Black and Green getting a five dollar footlong.



And believe it or not, his order was to go.

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My Bicycle: Lost & Found on AC Transit

I almost lost my bike. I left it on the bus.

I know, I know. Hella stupid. I never understood how someone could leave their bike on AC Transit. Until I did.



I'm glad I got my bike back. If you ever lose your bike on AC Transit, contact Customer Service.

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Paul Mooney at Berkeley Black Repertory Theater

Paul Mooney is pretty funny. He's in the Bay for his annual New Year's Eve show at the Berkeley Black Repertory Theater.

Since he didn't let me interview him, I probably won't post this blog until the New Year. Nonetheless, you can see the routine here. If I do post it, it's out of love for Sean and the Berkeley Black Rep. He's doing some good work for theater, the arts and community organizations.

Without further ado, Paul Mooney.


Paul Mooney in Berkeley. December 2009

The event was pretty interesting. Half of the audience was Mexican, and the other half Black (2% margin of error -- there were a few white folks). Interesting how Mooney tailored his comedy to the audience. He pulls few punches.

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Theater: "Firing Blanks at Moving Targets" pays homage to Philadelphia's MOVE organization

Photo: Pen Oakland

I recently returned to the stage as a part of Pen Oakland's "Night of Short Plays."

In the play, "Firing Blanks at Moving Targets," I play Daniel C. -- the peacenik poet. He is a former Marine who returned from Vietnam seeking peace. Seeing images of the anti-war demonstrations, free love, free speech and all, he saw Philadelphia's revolutionary MOVE organization -- ONAMOVE his path.

The revolutionary MOVE organization is a African centered, anti-technology, pro-Earth, pro-community organization based out of Powelton Village in the 1970s. The Philadelphia government dropped a bomb on MOVE killing many women and children.

Our final showing of "Firing Blanks at Moving Targets" -- at the Live Oak Theater -- screened to a full house. Here's the video, courtesy of Eddie Lankford.

Firing Blanks at Moving Targets (Part 1)

Watch the complete video of the Staged play about Philadelphia's MOVE "Firing Blanks at Moving Targets" on YouTube.

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Case of the 'Stolen' Camera

A tale of a lack of cautiousness, but an abundance of hope; a tale of a bad mistake and a good neighbor.

Friday Morning
On Friday, July 24 I arose at 6 a.m. as I do every Friday. Depending on the time of year, I wake up early for prayer (fajr) and meditation. This Friday, I did not.

Although I felt guilty, I proceeded with my morning. I always wake up early on Fridays to make sure that our garbage and recycling bins get picked up.



I put on my shoes and went outside. My neighbor was heading to work. None of my cans were out, so I put all my bins and my other neighbor's out.

Soon after, the guy from ACI came to take the blue bins.



Confession: The other reason I wake up on Fridays is to watch the garbage man grab the bins. Since I was a child, it fascinated me. Watching the trucks claw reach out and pick up the bins was just so cool. So, when I saw the truck, I ran inside to get my camera.



This was a total impulse move and I ended up paying for it.

I photographed the truck as it rolled out. I figured, I would wait until they came for the trash and the green bin to get more pictures. In the meantime, I would take all our blue bins back in and sweep up the backyard. While waiting, I put my camera on the ledge by the gate (so it'd be accessible).

Caught me slipping
I needed to use the bathroom, so I ended up going back in the house. I don't remember if--at the time--I was aware I left the camera outside. I may have assumed, "There's never anyone up at this time. It'll be alright."

When I go back in the house, I was my hands, use the lavatory and come back out.

Where is my camera
When I got back outside, something was different. I look to the ledge where I left my camera.



I thought to myself: "Where is my camera?" "Oh, no!"

I went to the fence and looked down the block. I don't see anyone. I go to the front of the house, no one. My neighbor is getting in his car to go to work.

"Have you seen anyone outside?" I ask

"No, I just came out the house," he responds. Damn.

I go back inside and ask my mom if she saw it lying around the house. No. She starts to tell me how I need to "slow down."

I don't want to slow down. I want heads to roll. I raise my voice at her but soon apologize.

I then search every room. I retrace my steps. No luck. I run back outside. No luck.

Reporting the theft
I call Alameda Police to make a report. Since I'm in this police academy class in Oakland, I'm somewhat familiar with what they want to know on the phone and try to comply. But the dispatcher was pissing me off.

"I want to report a theft" I say.

"What was stolen?"

"My digital camera was stolen from the back of my house." I tell her my address. "It was about 10-15 minutes ago. There is no one outside"

I also give them the address for the backside of the house since that's where I am.

About 15 minutes po-po show up. Of course, they sent him to the front of the house. I ask him to come around. He drives around the block to the back.

I've seen the guy before, never had any problems with him. But of course that Skip Gates mess is in the back of my mind. I come out the yard and close the gate (and lock it).

I describe the camera, model and make. He asks if I have a serial number.

Serial number? Dang. "No."

He explains that having that makes it easier to verify and if it ever pops up, it'll be in the state database.

He asked for more info and I go to get the strap that connects to it. He eventually comes in and I rush out. He wasn't coming too close to the house w/o a warrant. That's sad. Even in times of need, that suspicion of the the police is there.

He advises me to check out the swap meets because "that's where they'll try to sell it."

"I'm going to do a perimeter search. If they're on foot, they may not be far away." Before he leaves, he checks the recycling bins.

"Did you check these bins? Someone could just be trying to screw you around!"

I checked them already, but I fa sho checked again.

He gave me a report number and his information (he didn't have any cards). He speeds off.

Community watch
Man, I'm pissed. But I'm hopeful.

I had texted a couple neighbors and youngstas from the neighborhood to put out our own APB. The streets talk. I also put it out on Twitter and Facebook.

I got a lot of moral support online. A couple of people told me to chalk it up. But I kept faith.

Saturday morning
Fast forward to this morning, Saturday.

I wake up at 4 a.m. this morning. First thing I do is drop to my knees. I was so grateful to wake up, rested and early. I go outside to see if anyone is walking around. Maybe they think they'll find a video camera today. Or maybe the person will come around looking. It could've been a person walking their dog or jogging, I think.

I go inside and do my morning prayer.

Come back outside. Nobody.

I come back in and eventually, I go back to sleep.

A few hours later, I get awaken by my mom.

Camera found
She says (BLAH BLAH BLAH - BLAH BLAH BLAH) "Someone found your camera. There is a flyer on the pole. Get up and go call them." Now, not to knock what my mama said, but I was hella tired and just don't remember. I'm sure she'll tell you.

I go outside and there is really a flyer taped to the pole.

Found digital camera
Call cell ___
Give description of camera and I will return
Want to find owner

The phone call
I call the number.

"Good morning. I just saw the flyer. You found my camera."

"Can you describe it?" the voice asks.

"Sure. Canon Rebel EOS XTI. And the battery is low."

"Describe the strap on the camera."

Done. He tells me I can come pick the camera up at his work.

I go out to the spot on the base. All the time I'm thinking, "What made him pick it up?"

So I get to the spot, ring the buzzer and I meet Dan.

Good Samaritan
Guy opens the door. He's on the phone. Regular dude. T-shirt and glasses.



He had it boxed and inside bubble wrap. Wow!

Turns out, he was walking to work and saw the camera and all the garbage bins.

"I figured, if I took it, there was a chance I could get it back to you," Dan said. But if someone else took it, the owner would never get it back."

"I waited out there a couple minutes, he added."

He liked the pictures and didn't add any new ones to my collection.

"I saw the pictures of the Chipman Cougars and figured this was a young person trying to do something cool," he said.

Indeed. And Dan did something very good. He not only reinforced my belief in the genuine goodness of people, but he gained a new friend.

In the future

Lessons Learned:

• Don't leave your shhh...stuff outside.
• Know your neighbors and know your neighborhood
• Don't let the police in your house if you don't have to (I learned that from all this Gates controversy
• Keep the faith
• When something bad happens to someone, there should be a grace period before you criticize their mistake
• When something bad happens, don't take it out on your loved ones. It ain't they fault yo ass was slippin

And if you ever find something of someone else's, give it back. I can't describe how good it is to have my camera back.

Updated: 11:35 a.m.
So I called the police to let them know that the camera was found. An officer was sent out to follow-up. We walked around the house to the location where it was taken from.
He wanted to see the camera, so we walked back around to where I came out. I walked in can closed the door behind me partially. This dude steps into the house. I walk up and say, "You mind stepping back out my house."

"No worries" he responded.

I'm not worried, but don't just walk in my house, I thought.

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