An Open Letter

To you (you know who you are):

I know you see me.

Because I sure enough see you.

I see you - with your Super Bowl sized shopping cart filled to the brim with baked goods, Aquafina and raw beef - trying to pretend you don’t see me. But I’m right there, standing behind you in line, a bag of frozen salmon beneath one arm, an eight-pack of muffins beneath the other and a bag of shrimp in between my first finger and thumb holding on for dear life.

See me?

Yeah, I’m the one whose eyes are throwing daggers your way.

I shift the frozen fish beneath my arms as you take care to load your 16 pack of hot dog buns onto the conveyor belt. You pick through the bottom of your never-ending cart to pass more items toward the cashier.

Triple chocolate cake.

Tyson’s Hot Wings.

Jumbo-sized Shampoo.

Batteries.

You make me sick.

You and people like you. You’re the person who decides to wait until the end of the month to stock up on everything you need in life and then jump in the express line at Sam’s Club. As you unload your purchases, I, or someone like me, come up behind you.

I just ran in for a few items. I hadn’t expected to be in line for that long. I didn’t even need to pick up a shopping cart. I could hold it all in my hand. It's going on 15 minutes in line.

My arms are going numb now. You don’t seem to care.

Instead of saying, “oh, you can go ahead in front of me since you only have a few items,” you stubbornly continue to unload your cart onto the moving belt.

A 15-pack of college ruled notebooks.

Toilet paper.

Anti-freeze.

Truth be told, I probably don’t have the right to be mad. You were here before I was, standing in line a whole two seconds before me. It’s only right I should wait while you pay for enough supplies to last your family through winter hibernation.

Clam chowder.

Coffee creamer.

A folding lawn chair.

Rightfully or not, I am mad. I’m steaming, actually. I try not to let it show on my face as you look toward the back of your cart, averting your gaze to keep from locking eyes with me.

My salmon is on the floor now. My muffins, on the display of Gatorade to my left. I watch you unapologetically. I want you to see me staring at you.

I want you to see me waiting.

Twin-packed loaves of bread.

A dictionary.

A rotisserie chicken.

Finally, you make your way up to the checkout. The cashier swipes your card and begins transferring your purchases to an empty cart nearby. I move forward and place my seafood and muffins on the conveyor belt, being careful to put the plastic separator between our orders.

I look down to dig into my purse, so I can have my debit card and membership card at the ready when its finally my turn. As I raise my head, I wonder to myself what is taking so long.

My gaze finds you hunched over the credit card machine, but you’re not swiping plastic.

Are you really writing a check? No. Not now. Not today. Not ever.

You tear the perforated edges and hand the slip to the cashier, glancing back in my direction.

Oh, you want to see me now? What do you expect, a polite smile?

If so, you need to keep looking because you won’t find one here. I despise you and people like you. You make life hard for single people like me who just want to run into the store and grab enough fixings to make a bowl of spaghetti or a simple seafood supper tonight. If I hated things, you’d be at the top of the list. You and all of your groceries.

I hope the bad things in life happen to you and only you, inconsiderate grocery line person. You make me sick.

Sincerely,
T-Dot

Now we're listening to people in Prauge?

I know, I know, that's an elitist American kind of statement, but that's what I said when I heard about this. How you gonna just kick a planet out of the solar system?

CNN says:

After a tumultuous week of clashing over the essence of the cosmos, the International Astronomical Union stripped Pluto of the planetary status it has held since its discovery in 1930.

For now, membership will be restricted to the eight "classical" planets in the solar system: Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus and Neptune.

I demand a revote.

No lie, Pluto was always my favorite planet. Something about it being a little different than the others and out in the middle of nowhere appealed to me. Pluto was like the renegade planet. The black sheep if you will.

No more.

I guess this means the old memory device goes out the window, huh?

My Very Educated Mother Just Served Us Nine Pies.

Turn off the oven, because there will be no more pie for us, guys.

Pluto, you will be missed.

*Pours some out for the departed planet.*

Negros Ain't Bout Journalism

If Poynter is a journalistic oasis, then NABJ conventions are spring break.

It's not relaxing enough to completely re-energize you (in fact, I think I'm more tired now than I was before the convention), but you leave with so many good memories, you don't mind sacrificing the sleep.

To tell you the truth, most of the convention is a blur. Not because I was juiced up on some illicit substance, but because there were so many things competing for my attention.

Should I go to the Job Fair and lay ground work for my next move? That session on Hurricane Katrina looks pretty interesting. What, Mr. Recruiter? You want to take me out for coffee and talk about my future at your paper? Oh, Ten95, I'll be at the hotel suite for the social in a minute.

Not only was the schedule stimulating, I was in a sort of awkward position during this, my first NABJ-only convention. During UNITY, I was on the prowl for a job. Clearly, I'm now gainfully employed, so the familiar routine of trolling the job fair for ledes wasn't high up on my list. So, instead, I did something I haven't been able to do in a long time when it comes to my career:

I enjoyed myself.

I went to the sessions that interested me. After a long night of partying, I slept in until 9 a.m., then made my way to the job fair to drop off a few resumes and chat with mentors. I lunched with friends, had coffee with mentors and just soaked in the fact that I was surrounded by thousands of journalists who looked like me.

Besides serving as a mini-vacation, the convention also gave me the chance to chill with old friends, make new ones and cultivate relationships with journalists across the country. Shout out to the Ten95 clique, who kept me rolling, M.G. for being my partna in crime for much of the convention, and Dapper Don for buying me lunch when a chick was a little more than starving.

I can only imagine if we had this much fun in a city like Indy, the trouble we'll get into in Sin City.

NABJ 2007 - Vegas, here we come!

"Girl, you so fine, I'd drink your bathwater..."

The drinks are gone, the dance floors have cleared and I'm still trying to catch up on all of the sleep I missed.

NABJ was a good time.

Check out my pictures here: http://picasaweb.google.com/TaliaBuford/NABJ

I'll post more later, but I just wanted to share this exchange I had with a good friend of mine around 9 a.m. today about a certain producer in the District of Columbia. Enjoy.

My buddy: "So, I peeped your Facebook pics and I've decided me and your girl Veronica need to meet."
Me: "You ain't ready for her jelly. She's in DC. Roadtrip, nigga."
Buddy: "I'll make a sandwich out of that jelly. How am I gonna look just appearing at her doorstep?
Me: "Like a stalker. But crazy is as crazy does."
Buddy: "I'm good. I don't need any additional charges."

He's right about that. V, watch your back. Looks like you have an admirer. I'll be sure to tell that nigga to watch his conduct. :-)

Somebody, ring the alarm...

...NABJ is coming.

I'm well rested from my Monday holiday. One of the perks of living in Rhode Island. Don't everybody rush to resettle here all at once, now.

Anyway, I'm amped. In just about 24 hours, I'll be in sunny Indianapolis rubbing elbows with some of the best in the business. Not to mention these jokers.

In the meantime, to all my sources: if you have a news tip - leave a message. I'm on vacay until Sunday.

Peace out!

I'm weak

I said I'd never join MySpace.

I spoke too soon.

www.myspace.com/taliabuford

But I have a good reason. My boy, Joe, who is overseas right now, has a page and will be making regular updates on his band's touring escapades. So he said to join, add him as a friend and I'd be sure to stay in the loop.

So I gave in. Ah well.

If you're on MySpace, and I haven't already hit you up, add me as a friend.

First Facebook. Then Blogger. Now MySpace. Like I needed something else to distract me from work. Geez.

Reminisce

This originally came from Hizzle, and has made it's way to a few blogs. Figured I'd follow suit.

Ten years ago today, it was August 10, 1996.

1) How old were you?
THEN: 12
NOW: 22

2) Where did you work?
THEN: Um, Flint Southwestern Academy. I was in 7th grade, dude. I didn't have a job.
NOW: At a major newspaper in the Rhode Island

3) Where did you live?
THEN: Flint, Mich.
NOW: East Providence, RI

4) How was your hairstyle?
THEN: I was rocking the perm and the slicked back pony tail. My edges were TIGHT!
NOW: Natural and loving it. Currently sporting the mini-fro.

5) Did you wear contacts?
THEN: No.
NOW: No.

6) Did you wear glasses?
THEN: Yes, but I didn't wear them often just because I forgot.
NOW: Yup, now, sometimes I forget to take them off.

8) Which of your pets were still alive?
THEN: Pets? Rutha Mae wasn't going to stand for having more mouths to feed.
NOW: No pets in my apartment.

9) Who was your boyfriend/girlfriend?
THEN: Nobody. I was a late-comer to the social scene
NOW: Beyonce said it best: "Me, myself and I is all I got in the end"

10) Who was your celebrity crush?
THEN: I think I was leaning real hard on Larenz Tate.
NOW: I still love Larenz.

11) How many piercings did you have?
THEN: Two in each ear.
NOW: One in each ear.

12) How many tattoos did you have?
THEN: Zero.
NOW: None. Not really my style.

13) What was your favorite band/singer?
THEN: Fugees
NOW: I'm really feeling Miles Davis right now. But my favorite will always be Outkast.

14) Had you smoked a cigarette?
THEN: Smoking stinks. Yuck.
NOW: Negativo. I have, however, tried its green cousin. But only once. I didn't inhale.

15) Had you gotten drunk?
THEN: Not then. But it was coming.
NOW: Mojitos, anyone?

16) What kind of car did you drive?
THEN: Um, how about I rode the bus. Or got chauffeured in my mom's Buick LaSabre.
NOW: "Dee-Dee," my Chevy Cavalier

17) Looking back, are you where you thought you would be in 2006?
No way. I never thought I'd end up in Rhode Island. I don't even think New England was on my radar. I just knew I'd be out of Flint doing something with my life. I probably thought I'd be in Atlanta, which is where all people from Flint went to "be somebody."

Now, an addendum from my sister's blog:

I'll take this opportunity to make a few predictions for August 10, 2016.

Age: 32
Family: In a relationship with (or married to) a man who loves God and me. No prenups!
Job: Reporter or Editor for a good newspaper somewhere in the world. Teaching journalism at a local college, freelancing for a magazine or two.
Home: Three-bedroom condo or a 3-bedroom home.
Accomplishments: Preparing young minds for a life in the biz; recipient of some good industry awards (a Pulitzer would be nice); financially stable and student loans paid off; visited 3 to 5 different countries.
Volunteer work: Career and personal development with teenagers.
My ride: Something nice, simple and petite. Maybe a compact since Dee-Dee goes so hard.
Drinking: Sparingly, if at all.
Glasses: Indeed. It'll help me look sophisticated with my - by then - huge afro puff or twists.

I always feel like, somebody's watching meeeee...

I'm convinced people are always laughing at me.

I'm not a comedienne, nor am I paranoid.

See, I do stupid stuff all the time and in this world of Big Brother, I know someone, somewhere is watching.

Take today for example.

I was heading to my car for an interview and decided to take the elevator down from the third floor. While I was waiting, I checked to see how much my butt had grown in the reflection of an office door, twirled maybe - three times- and stood on my heels. When I looked up to my right, I saw the tiny square camera watching me.

Then, *Ding* my elevator arrived.

During the long ride from the third floor to the first, I decided to see if I could remember my old school dances. I can't recall the name of it, but take a trip back in time with me, we'll figure it out:

Okay, remember the ABC "Iesha" video? Remember how they were dancing in the playground? Alright, so the dance looks like you're pumping your arms forward, then kicking, and also sliding a foot back at the same time. Kinda hard to imagine? Ummm, maybe it was the New Kids on the Block Dance. Maybe not. But you kinda get the era and the type of dance I'm talking about. Now, back to the regularly scheduled blog...

So, I'm in the elevator - in heels and a skirt, mind you - and I decided to test my old school dance recall ability. I bit my lips, flexed my arms and got to hopping. It wasn't a pretty sight. I did this all four floors, stopping just before the doors opened to plop me safely on the bottom level. I straighted my skirt, uncurled my lips and walked out like nothing happened.

Though I never saw anyone or heard their giggles, I refuse to believe no one was watching. There are probably cameras in the lights or embedded in the walls. Or better yet, my security guard friend, Marley, is probably watching all of my antics from the wooden desk in our building lobby. Maybe that's why I've started to avoid the main entrance. ...

Anyway, as I walked to my car, I couldn't help but laugh at myself. Here I am, 22 years old, a journalist at a respectable paper and I'm doing a bastardized version of the running man during my elevator trip. And sadly, it's not the first time. In the past, I've practiced my harlem shake (yes, I really do), my motorcycle (cuz it's going down), and my snap dance (shake that laffy taffy) for 30 seconds in the confines of a steel and aluminum closet.

What's wrong with me?

My conclusion? Nothing.

My little antics, whether they are broadcast on closed circut television or not, are part of what keep me sane. Seems counterproductive, I know, but think about it. We work in one of the most stressful professions, next to police and fire, I think - we've got to do something to release the pressure.

Some drink.
Some smoke.
Some sleep around.
I dance in elevators.

What do you do to relieve stress when no one is watching?

Put Ya Stunna Shades On

Today, my niece Kyla celebrates her first birthday. It's crazy because I remember when she was just a lump in her mother's stomach. I was even the first person to hold her when she'd been in the world only a few minutes. Now she's 365 days old.

How time flies.

Anyway, today's your day, kid. Live it up. It goes by all too quickly.

Love,
Aunt Talia