how's that grip going my brother?

i had lunch at the tombs--popular gtown bar--the other day with one of my absolute loves piña. here she is to the right doing some kind of tribal jewish woman black power rebel dance. that's just her. piña graduated last year, leaving me wet-eyed and disheveled as all hell. a dc native, she scooped me for some baked brie and french fries to catch up on things, old and new.

now if you can't tell by this picture, piña is a free spirit. as free as a mini skirt with no drawers on. on any given day, piña'll be like FUCK georgetown and peace out for a year-- discovering murals in argentina, taking paradisiacal pictures illiciting mad jealousy from those she left behind, smoking spliffs for breakfast, tutoring blue-eyed, brown-skinned children on argentinian sands, not shaving her armpits, and being more beautiful than chanel iman on her best day in the process.

we talked abt parties (piña and BleezyF are the women responsible for my first hangover freshman year--fat shout to the ice luge!), guys (piña has had a dreamy space king dedicated to her before hoyas were chanting "JTIII"), quitting bad habits ("oh, girlfriend, i meant cigarettes--never blunts!"), friendships (you'll never find a doper bunch post-college), and futures ("yeh, girl, they tryna get me to move to china, who tryna move to CHINA?!").

needless to say--any moment with piña is never a dull one. lettin' me know that everything is alright, and while she's evolved right before my eyes--she's never changed.

you write in cursive, she write in graffiti.

black maybe?

so i've been on commons finding forever for about 2 weeks straight now (yes, 6 months after its release)...i'm the queen of exhausting an album/artist/article of clothing till i'm over it and ready to move on. so i'm bumping common and rockin' my mother's periodote stone ring like its my job these days - till my next craze. in any case, if i had to choose, i'd have to say black maybe is my favorite track on commons joint.

you get judged..you get laughed at..you get looked at wrong/ you get sighted for not being strong.

apropos i've been reading a speech by Audre Lorde for my black women writers class, whose "Transformation of Silence" tells a tale too common (pun intended!)- that of a young person who finds that she is an outcast, reduced to invisibility by peers. For fear of being wrong, being mocked, or simply having an unpopular view, she hides behind a veil of silence that ultimately does herself an injustice.

Lorde says "my silences had not protected me" an idea that ive explored since reading her piece. the baddest revolutionaries have all somehow looked beyond a crippling veil in order to forecast a quality reality for themselves and their people. im thinking hip-hop can totally help our generation overcome their silence about politics, life, and about a system that can be daunting when u feel ure not included. so i think both Common and Lorde have an important message for us youngsters that is, speak even when u think u may look stupid or ppl snicker behind ur back, cause at the end of the day your silence won't protect u from shit.

how dope would it be anyway if our generation were on our own movement shit and our grandkids kids kids kids told stories about us in like 2245?...im just sayin..

LA BELLA MAFIA: how it all began

Let's just say this all started back in September 2004. Intro to Af-Am Studies. Georgetown University: the glorious bubble of privilege, luxury and learning found in the District of Corruption. Or maybe it started in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn. Cincinnati, even? Maybe Miami-Dade. The Bronx, too, and also Jersey. Always Jersey. But it was African-American Studies that brought us all together, that made this happen. And how fitting. The study of America's most important history - its most important and ignored, tragic and joyful, conflicted and fabulous history. But not to get too deep on you so soon.

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I was the white boy, and proud of it. I think the only white boy. Not counting the WHITE boy, of course, the one who courageously repped his conservative, obliviously racist point of view in a room full of righteous babygirls. We had to respect him for it, even as we brutally rebuffed him every time.

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She was the freshwoman, Black and beautiful. Call her wifey. Burberry rain boots and a watermelon Juicy tote. Yea, I noticed. We noticed. It started with glances and smiles, shared insights and whispered jokes, mutual flattery. Babygirl, you so fly. We fell into DuBois and Morrison, Baldwin and King, Angela Davis and Lil' Kim, each other. We never fell out, or out of love. We were cooler just knowing each other. And so it began. It became fatfuck caramel blendeds (WITH whipped, of course), celeb gossip and facebook gossip, constant consultation on which designer shades to cop, planning summers and dinners and careers together, overheated shopping strolls in the West Village and late late library nights disturbing uptight white women giving us salty looks with our booming laughter. She's still the flyest chick I know. Smart as hell, hilarious, always glamorous, always real, stylish without being too trendy. We just connect - to the T($).


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It grew from there...

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Bleezy and I have been down from day one, even before I knew wifey. Bumping the new Hov down the halls of Sleepy Hollow freshman year and blaming damning aromas on absent roommates. Shots of Bacardi O chased by juice from the caf. Sealing dorm rooms with duct tape and choking on Febreeze. Unforgettable nights out at Dream, even if I was blackout. "You guys, I VOMITED on someone!" Incredible Hulk for birthdays - you know, that hood rich cocktail made with Hpno and Hennessy. (Shit ain't cheap! And it turns money green.) There were hair curlers and matching Air Max Nikes, bottled blonde and worn copies of KING mag, and allllways that money greeeen. Bleezy's a Jersey Girl - breathtaking, adorable, and intelligent in a way a lot of people don't recognize. But I knew. And she crazy too - there's always been lots of drama. Drama and bullshit. But she's family regardless, always has been. Bitch can run to London, even, but it ain't over. We know that.

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I first saw J spittin' street gospel at Urban Fare. The MIA prodigy. I get goosebumps just remembering her spoken word - that fearless wisdom. "How do I not KNOW this gorgeous genius???" I was on it. I made it my business to find her, befriend her, and I consider it one of my greatest accomplishments that I not only came to know her - she's family too. J's one of those people I always worry doesn't love me as much as I love her, even when I know the worries are unfounded. She's like sex walking. Tight little body in booty shorts and platform heels, scarves as shirts and a different weave on the weekly. Let it fool you, though. She wants it to fool you. She's Trina with a JD. She runs laps around your Econ theses in a bikini and stilettos while rhyming God's good word with Weezy's verses. Please say the baby.

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I still remember the night that wifey met J at Bleezy's crib. They all seemed a bit unsure at first. Tipsy off Haterade, maybe. Too much fly for one little campus apartment. Who knows? In little time, though, La Bella Mafia was born. And it don't stop.

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Then there's Amaaaaaris (say it Brooklyn style). Amaris is wifey's girl since way back. We're cool because they're cool, because she's cool. We were friends before we even met. We hardly know each other and we love each other. What can I say? Real recognize real and she lookin' familiar. We made our mutual admiration realer than most at one unforgettable Bed-Stuy BBQ last summer, taking shots of mystery punch and beastin' on Momma B's pasta salad. She's a real stunna, one of those brown-skinned beauties so pretty you don't know where she's from. You can just hear the boys, "What IS that girl?" Sri Lanka? Venice Beach? The DR? The Bronx. Of course. She's got that b-girl style and brains to match it. She rock them doorknockers with reading glasses. Model or MBA? Don't you decide.

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So basically, that's us. That's how we came together. African-American Studies, more or less. And how fitting. Four righteous babygirls. And I'm the white boy - proud of it. Here's the shit we do, we love, we buy, we wish we could buy, we listen to, we live for, we laugh at. It's hip-hop mixed with high fashion, politics with street philosophy, our personal shenanigans with the fabulous lives of our fave celebs.

Always hilarity, never a flaw.

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Now, meet the babygirls...

"now your girlfriend's mad, 'cause i got what she neva had"

listen to "phatty!"

so i've been bumping this go-go joint "phatty" like i wear nike boots, bonidacci bionzo, dreads under my durag, all the accessories i own at once, say "jaaah like," beat my feet, and other area head tendencies/characteristics. don't hate me brooklyn, but this is a certified BANGER. from the ppl who brought you "classy" as in "i'm classy, not trashy," Critical Condition Band has successfully eased me into the go-go trend which i so fiercely fought against my whole 4 yrs in the district of corruption.

somethin' bout kiki, the band's lead singer, repeatedly yelling "it's my phatty! look at my phatty!" for the whole damn chorus just gets me to shuckin' and jivin'. check the link out--you'll be gettin' lower than low in no time.

And you're my sure-fire, superstar, sure-shot, firecracker extravaganza, fantastic, super-size with extra cheese… You best believe.

He is the love child of Madonna and Diddy. This generational orgy of hip-rock, funk and roll, and rhythm and you is our resident hiphop.funk.soul.real.politik.rebel, R.Porter. Marching to the beat of your own drum is sooo 1985 and ever since RPT has crafted his own high hat and inserted his sound into the bass line of pop culture as we know it.

My firecracker extravaganza who henceforth should be known as the Sir John Barbirolli of the babygirls, sparked the love below. I’m forever indebted to him for the kinship he created in this symphony of personalities. And in an ironic sense, it was all just as simple as black and white, yet if I could describe him, I’d do so in sun and colors. His love travels from BK to Dirty Jerz, from Madrid to Dade County, DC to the Nasty ‘Natti and everywhere in between. In a lot of ways he caught these righteous.bright.young.babygirls long before we ever hit the net.

In his spare time he crusades for AIDS, campaigns for Change, and sips Moscato in his Nikes with a bag of Doritos in tow.

“There is a great man who makes every man feel small. But the real great man is the man who makes every man feel great.”

RPT will make you feel fantastic baby…

Keep a Dedicated Squad Wit Me...

Staring at the blank screen in front of me for the past seventy minutes - remembering - only begins to explain the difficulty of describing J. I remember when I saw her. Bernard's class. Imagine the guy that did the "Clear Eyes" commercials. Imagine being forced to listen to him talk for two hours straight, three days a week. While having your eyes gouged out with someone else's fingernails. While sitting in a circle.

In the beginning Jordyne sat across from me. She always looked so occupied and focused – staring intently at her desk, taking notes. I constantly wondered how she never fell asleep. One day I ran into class late to take an empty seat directly next to her. As I leaned down to pull out my notebook I caught a glimpse of her desk. It was covered with sheets of paper. With fashion designs all over them. Ball Gowns.

Did I mention how old she was sitting halfway around that circle? 17.

I couldn't figure out why I was having so much trouble with this until I realized that she defies all description. All stereotype. For every extraordinary one thing that she is – she is equal parts something else. Suffice it to say the most intelligent and the most hysterically funny. The most willing to drop everything for a party … Or pick up all her 'RA on Duty' shit and bring it to one. Knows the most words, and yet still ~'pray on it'~ so concise. All in a pair of booty shorts.

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"Let's walk into class a half hour late" ass back.

"Let's drink a bottle of Jack and then eat scrambled eggs" ass back.

"He asked to eat my pussy ass backwards……" as babies play at our feet … ass back.

Or just the baddest bitch around. Hands Down.

"If you don't see her on the Vineyard, she ain't tryna hide..."

...she blend in with the hood, she caaamouflauged.


Somehow Bleezy F. Baby pulls off keeping it gangsta while sunbathing on Martha's, and therein lies her irresistible mystique. It may sound cliché, but there's just something about Bleezy. She's had many a groupie - male and female - and I can't say I haven't qualified as one of them at some point. When I first met her, I wasn't sure if I wanted her to be my girlfriend or best friend. I settled on - no, relished in - the latter, and it's been a hood-fabulous rollercoaster ever since.

You can find Bleezy tearin' up the club, tearin' up the Bukket, or tearin' pictures off the wall of her bedroom. She's got a style that's half luxe celebutante, half hip-hop earth mother, and 100% fly. Three years ago she got a tattoo on her back of an African woman carrying a baby - it's from a deadprez album cover. Her daddy said she'd be outta the will if she added the rifle slung across her back. Needless to say, babygirl packin heat today.

Shit between us has been on the rocks lately, but if it ain't rocky, it probably ain't worth it - and you know my classic joint is vodka-rocks. Just BLAZE!

"like a windface rolex, you just shine..."

this girl. where do i begin. she'll have you saying "ma," "swift," "monster," and "sheesh" like you're back in P.S. 235, suntanning in DR eating helados bon and crooning to haitian rap, buying mad karmaloop items you can't afford, throwing bbqs at your brooklyn mansion while she teeters around like a ballerina "helping out," and she'll also have your stock soaring immediately just by mere association.

a true loyalist and hip-hop hipster, amaris ffb's favorite biggie line from his monstrous banger "gimme the loot" is "and when i rock her and drop her, i'm takin' her door knockas/and if she's persistent--bocka! bocka! bocka!" geez. who even makes girls like that anymore?

our stories are many. one time, amaris flung a LIT blunt across the seven seas when one paranoid club-goer announced "the cops are here!" and didn't even give it a second thought. a slick one, i tell you. she'll push you to leave your phone number on an unsuspecting shorty's range rover, walk past bad boy entertainment 5 times in hopes of being seen, and to hurl cat calls at passers by outside of your internship office building all in one lunch hour. her spark is contagious and she'll dance circles around you just because you tried to keep up.

whether she's speeding down the FDR blasting "touch it or not" from her electric blue scion, modeling and ghostwriting for karmaloop.com, role playing as "Ox" from hood classic Belly, hustling her poli sci professors in the classroom, or confusing the shit out of you with her ever-evolving vocab, this babygirl is never too busy to remind you who run it.

"who wan' ramp wit' she??!"

"u just mad cause she tell it how it is and u tell it how it might be"

never one to bite her tongue, glorious founder and ceo of righteous bgs, tutor extraordinaire, lboogs (it says that on her w-2) is probably the coolest person i know. so cool in fact she wins my 'friend of the week' award on a regular fucking basis cause she brings the fury to her work as a friend. loyal, truthful, attentive, insightful. whats more? shes giving our BG readers that bit of lboog sazon (not Goya) we're all missing in our dinner plates. her illuminating sense of fashion, celeb gossip bru haha, and no nonsense smack the shit out you honest opinion rubs off on those of us who may be behind a day or 2, or just need some enlightenment about the shambles we witness on a regular basis.

so basically lboogie is like superwoman or maybe a new age Eartha Kitt playing catwoman? (halle couldnt do it like E.K.) from the longest days ever together at good housekeeping (we shared a desk for an ENTIRE summer!) to the days we just chill at a breakfast spot in the city of giants it is a pleasure to be around this girl that i just love to be in love with. reserved or not g-ma, lboogs, ffb (i'll define later) is a wad of surpises, jokes and unadulterated, less than reserved fun!

o and shes parappa the rappa too aka our in house lyricist so she will obvs be spitting that hot fire a la dylon... parappa anyone?