So the word is that the old bird is back in the hood. MySpace is coming back. My best years were spent rummaging through her pages finding past childhood loves and adding them to my ‘top 8’ in a very calculated manner. Couldn’t have him at the top because he’d think I liked him to much…duh

But the real question is, seeing as MySpace was the grandmomma of this new generation, can it get a makeover, grab a sports car and be an actual presence in this 2012 twitterverse? Will we roll our eyes at the old broad or admire her preservation? With facebook, twitter, tumblr, instagram, spotify, etc. is there room?

Well, here’s how I see it. None of those previously mentioned sites were an ENTIRELY new concept, just a new way of presenting information. It’s like we are still consuming a hamburger, whether in a pan or grilled (grilled obviously the improvement). Facebook is just a moving yearbook stuck online. Twitter, little facebook statuses; instagram, a photoshop masters quickie; spotify, napster without the keeps. All these innovations just presented the same information different, fresher, whiter, easier (and legally) and the public catches suit. People like when you take something familiar and give it a little teeny refreshing twist. In our social media chaos we are dealing with confessions of personal feelings, friend stalking, picture taking, bragging rights, business promotion and music. If Myspace can come up with a different more concise way of presenting all that information into a beautiful UX, with an interface flowing so easy its fun, I’m down for the switch. I must say I’m a HUGE fan of the lateral moving website. I always want to scroll sideways, feels more like a landscape and entering another world than reading a report.

(Not to mention I miss picking a page song: Bossy by Kelis was my LAST opportunity!)

Google+ you tried and failed. I wanted to be on your bandwagon but you lost us with the circle overload. We don’t need to categorize our friends especially when Facebook does it for us (frequency depending on who’s page we visit the most). UX is so much greater when users can be lazy. We like laziness.

I’m excited to see how lazy i can be in this space.

JT did you just happen to bring sexy back? again?

People that know me well know I have a bit of a vendetta against Starbucks. I could go on and on but to summarize, I feel they cheapen the art of coffee making, the community closeness of a local coffee shop, and exploit their employees by paying like, nothing. Put it this way, working there, you make a drink that cost more than 30 minutes of your time. All day. Every five minutes. Not even by grinding the beans; you’re just pressing a button. I’m sure the original staff studied the coffee making process, garnering an actual love for coffee. Now, a high school diploma isn’t even necessary. This post is really a reminder to myself once again to read Onward to see when they turned.

They brand so damn well. Upstairs in my undergrad’s Starbucks, we laid on leather sofas in front of the fire place, highlighting our notes for hours. We fought over the lamp lined joint desks in front of the windows. I was hooked. Starbucks was not only a treat, it was a RE-treat. So I purchase my black tea soy latte–giftcard from dad–with that Starbucks in mind.

But it’s transforming.

I see you Starbucks. Giving me the soft lighting, warm wood, and handwriting of the small coffee shop while slowly making the chairs more uncomfortable, taking away the bathrooms, assembly-lining my experience. As Forbes explains “taking away my ‘third-place'”. Forbes

So if Starbucks is no longer that third place what will they become? Is that uncharted territory since other fast food chains are so inexpensive? (We can consider it fast food now since they sell microwaved breaaakfast sandwiches :/) Do ya’ll still consider it a “re-treat” while being forced out of the premises after your purchase? Can somebody get a ‘for-here’ cup up in there anymore?

My brand lesson from Starbucks: keep the product consistent but hook em on a memory. Costumers will hold on to that.

Everywhere I click on the internet I keep running into the same wall: the race wall. Is there a war about to start cuz I’m gonna need somewhere to hide. *Looks around* My white and asian friends can join me. *Hand gesture to come on in*. Grab some Fresh Prince, orange soda, salt and vinegar chips and those 90s white skittles. Sigh, when life was easy.

Its getting worse though, it really is. Everyday I seem to gasp and grasp my face with my left hand, starting at my eyes and stretching the pull all the way down til it holds the chin of my gaping mouth. This gives me enough time to process the latest *what the fuck did I just read* story.

(Disclaimer: The Trayvon story of course is absolutely sickening, and I’m not denying something seriously has to be done about this craziness)

But some things I’m like really? Really that upset you? Because its not that serious.

Personal take time. I grew up in a world of being the only black girl. Until 8th grade. When I was what? 13? I’m starting to recall things and thinking, hey maybe those were racist instances…but I never considered them as such and it never made me hate anyone and I moved on with my life. Like the hair thing, we’ve gotta relax.

I remember times where I’d watch all my white girlfriends braid their hair, unbraid their hair, flip it up in ponytails then down, then two pig tails, then ribbons all over, and my nine year old brain went “I wanna do that…”. So one day, I did. I grabbed one of my three fatty fat fat braids and started to unravel it. In the middle of boring ass science class (i started my biology hatred young). When I ended up with one side third of my head in this humungous poof, the teacher stopped her lecture.

“Kaye, would you like to go to the bathroom and get yourself together?”

Umm, no. No I would not. I would like to just throw it up in some ribbons or in a bouncy pigtail. But thanks for calling me out.

“Sure” I said and left. I was nine, not quite the revolutionary I’ve grown up to be yet. Worse, I didn’t know how to get myself together; mommy does my hair every morning. I don’t know how to handle this situation. So I sat in the tiny bathroom and stared.

I remember who came in the bathroom that day, but I won’t say her name. I haven’t talked to her in about ten years. She came in and reached out her hand “Can I touch it?”

She meant my hair. I wasn’t appalled or insulted. I didn’t feel like a chia pet or an animal. I didn’t care really, I was too bewildered myself about what to do with it. “Yea sure” I answered.

“Woah, its really cool. Your hairs really cool…I wish I had hair like yours”

I smiled. I got in this mess thinking the same thing about hers. “I cant braid it back.” I confessed.

“I can try, we can try” She answered. And we started braiding the big poof in about five other braids, secured them all together with my band. I looked a hot mess, but threw my head up high and back and walked into lab cheesin.

“So cool Kaye, your hair looks so cool!” My lab partner gushed. And I was cool, man. As the only black girl at school I was automatically the best dancer, the best singer, had the best taste in music and the coolest shoes and cough cough the best bubble letter draw-er by that given talent. I grew up with a sense of self-confidence STILL unmatched. Sure, you can dwell on the teachers view being racially insensitive, OR you can look at my peers’ reaction. I could look at myself as the token, or the coolest girl in school.

The race war is insane. Ask each other questions, awe in each others differences and we all can feel fourth grade cool. I needed something uplifting after all this mess going on in the world.

Why do I have so many views today? What are you all even looking at? I know the anticipation is intense but let me do something first!

Right now, as I work on this project for you, and this project for you, and job search, and eat, and NIKE fitness workout, I’m squeezing in lettering. I thought I’d combine my past life painting skills with my new life typography skills and its going to become something I promise! I didn’t know what to letter so here’s step one of a book that was lying on the floor next to me in my mommy’s room. Now it’s time to perfect and edit in illustrator…I’ll be back son!

If you can’t tell by my series of tweets and facebook posts I’m mad and riled up.

I know too much about societal issues and wish I was ignorant! As I’ve been saying, I really wish I could be Sarah Palin and just see Russia in my backyard.

I recently went to a dinner with wallstreeters and one commented they were “annoyed with the protesting that wouldn’t do anything because wall street doesn’t care about them” .

Well, because I didn’t answer that when I had the chance because I wanted some ammunition, LET me address that now. It’s not ABOUT wall streeters. We KNOW you don’t care that one in three kids in New York City are living in poverty while you received your finance degree to work 11 hours a day crunching numbers only to use the money to drop 700$ on tables at Butter. We KNOW your lifestyle.

Great.

Good.

Marvelous.

Its not ABOUT you. I wish your father told you that.

It’s about the country. In case you’ve had your head in a hole, there is this radical right thing: the tea party, making hayway on the floor. If you have a DROP of liberalism in you, you realize we need a radical left to balance this shit out. Yea, I didn’t know it would come to this either. I personally thought Obama was more on it. Nevertheless, I’d personally like to continue to fight for universal healthcare (makes no fuckin sense that we don’t have it), planned parenthood, social security. I’d kinda like to not have sick, poor, neglected children, and elders out on our streets. I’d kinda like America to be clean with great bridges and roads and doctors and ma and pa shops. I don’t waaanna buy everything at Wal-mart.

Maybe you don’t want to go down to wall street and stand with the hippies and grannies. Maybe you want to scoff at the unemployed from your couch. But DON’T degrade that fight, because it’s saving your ass too.

When the people shall have nothing more to eat, they will eat the rich- Rousseau 

 

Oh and if you’re looking for me, try wall street.

My hand hits the floor before my cheek. Thank God. I glanced down at my legs which should have been hurting from the tumble, I reasoned but they weren’t, detached by the amount of alcohol I’d consumed, I suppose.

“Charlie get up”

Max. I think that’s who I fell down these stairs to see. He stands as a friend-hook-up-not-quite-boyfriend sort of hybrid in my life and every Saturday night I find the most inventive ways to get to him. Tonight that meant falling down the stairs of his dorm.

“Get up Charlie”

The floor freezes my hand and cheek as the florescent lights hurt, even through my eyelids, but I’m not moving. Even cold, the floor is my favorite spot. When everything’s changing and moving so quickly I can always count on this buddy to stay still. You can always rely on a floor. I try to get up by pushing against it but fall right back. The Malibu and Gatorade in my stomach shakes up my head, spins up my stomach and I just can’t face life right now.

“Alright, fine”

My arm limps over his shoulder when Max scoops my long body off the tile. Long thick black hair mats in his face and he spits it away. He doesn’t mind, he’s determined to get me away from his bed. I wonder what I am to him, are we the girlfriend boyfriend thing? I start to ask but slump back instead. After climbing three flights to my dorm, he opens my room and rolls me onto my floor.

Rolls.

And we are not the girlfriend boyfriend thing.

“Charlie, sweetie, why are you on the floor”

The light reaches me just before Jennifer does. Fitting. My roommates like a literal ray of sunshine. Sometimes it’s sickening, most of the time it’s heart-warming. Never one to miss her 7 AM run, I know she can’t tell this is far to early to wake a drunk person. But I can never be upset at Jennifer, plus I’m blocking her closet.

“Yea, I just really like the floor,” I grunt probably incoherently.

She smiles, probably finally realizing I’m crazy and opens the Anthropologie-filled closet. Color-coded.

“You’re welcome to run with James and I in the morning, it may be a quick cure for you!”

There is no cure for me, I say under my breath, and grab a blanket across me that fell on the floor. From my position I watch Jennifer’s feet leave. So small and delicate, they fit her well and I start to wonder how she gets along in the world without floating away with balloons and butterflies. I start running my legs up and down our prickly cheap carpet appreciating the scratchy feel. By this point my skirt rode up and it tickles my super prickly legs. Maybe if I shaved he’d fall for me more…Maybe if I sleep this off he’d….

“Bitch get the fuck up”

Danielle bursts through my always open door. I roll over.

“Seriously???” She yells, I grunt. Many confuse us as the same person. We look absolutely nothing alike to those who actually know us but I’m pretty sure we are only best friends because of our high-yellow skin and hair length. Shame how these things work out.

She pulls my hair.

“What happened last night?” I grudgingly asked.

“Besides you drinking all my shit and getting what you deserve?” she asks.

“Yea, besides that.” I roll my eyes and lean back on my elbows. The drama.

“You were a hot ass mess!” she breaks into a fit of cackles. “But in that state we told you, you can’t be in our crew just messing around with just anybody. Confront him and tell him to be your boyfriend!”

I looked at her horrified. I knew I never should have trusted her. This deep pressing feeling kept telling me she has your worst interests at heart–

“And it worked!” she cut off my thoughts, “Ya’ll are together!”

I pulled her into a hug and we hopped around like the 18-year-old girls we are.

“So I have a boyfriend?!” I squealed. She screamed. I screamed. We jumped.