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Dear Keith,

No, I don’t want to be an activist anymore either. There are many other ways that I’d rather be spending my time and energy, too.

For instance, I want to take even more beautiful pictures and exhibit them in galleries and museums all around the world. I want to spin house music and classics at parties that exist wherever we are and help people feel a higher high, a spiritual love through dance. I want spend lots of time with my nieces and nephews (and perhaps my own children, someday), teaching them everything that I know and encouraging them to be their own personal best. I want to continue to define and redefine my own personal best and strive toward that vision. I want to luxuriate in the fruits of my labor and revel in my own self-actualization, too.

There is a new urgency surrounding the latest episode of a continuing crisis; I’m referring to the videoclips of the recent gay bashings in Jamaica and relating them to Buju Banton’s performance here at Madison Square Garden tomorrow evening. (If you haven’t heard about any of this, please refer to Terrance Heath’s blog.) I am concurrently working on resurrecting my podcast series in order to respond in protest, so be on the lookout for that.

However, the purpose of this particular entry is not to talk about the specifics of that.

I’m writing this at around 4am on Saturday morning. Yesterday I spent most of the day emailing and calling people that I know personally in my community in the hope of garnering a response greater than any that I could undertake by myself. I did not leave Harlem. I started out by making a deposit at my bank to fund my domain renewal and my upcoming global telecommunications. I walked over to Halal Roti Plus (one of the sponsors) in an attempt to engage in a productive dialogue with owner Don Grant. When I arrived, I was greeted with the same poster that I’d previously seen around Harlem promoting tomorrow’s event, but Mr. Grant was away at a doctor’s visit and was not available for comment. I crossed the street to inquire about community relations at the Amsterdam News. I walked back down 125th Street past the Apollo Theater to the Harlem State Building. About a month ago, I ran into the wife of State Senator Bill Perkins at a local restaurant and she encouraged me to physically go and remind the Senator’s chief of staff of some photos I’d taken of them during an event he sponsored this past February in celebration of Black Style Now and Fashion Week. I did just that. His chief of staff gave me her business card as she was leaving the building with the Senator. I took the opportunity also to tell them about Buju’s upcoming performance (and our Internet-based response); she hadn’t heard anything about it and actually thought he wasn’t performing anymore. We continued walking east on 125th Street and relayed to them as much as I could before going back home to organize a bit more. At the end of the day, I ended up conferencing with Tokes Osubu, executive director of Gay Men of African Descent for my podcast. We accomplished that, however, we both agreed that the need is ultimately so much greater than a response to Buju’s latest machinations or to any specific crisis.

It is time, to coin a biblical phrase, to separate the wheat from the tares.

I attended John Amaechi’s booksigning last night, held at the Barnes and Noble on Astor Place. It looks like it’s the last date of his HRC-sponsored book tour.

As I mentioned to a good friend later that evening, a man like him really reminds me of how much I want a husband. No, he doesn’t have to have all the answers (although I hope to pose some good questions to Mr. Amaechi to coincide with the resurrection of my podcast) and no, he doesn’t have to be a 6’10” ex-NBA player, but yes, there has to be a certain dynamism and humility. To hear John question his own psychological process in front of a room full of adoring customers reminded me of that. I would not call it fearlessness or even overcoming fear. I think it’s putting fear into perspective and seeing that the moments we have to connect are opportunities far greater than fear.

Those of you who read my blog regularly (well, when I blog with any regularity) know I’m pretty up front about some of the more intimate details of my life and my psyche. I guess it feels like sharing, overcoming, bragging … no, more like sharing, but most of the time I can’t help but feel like ultimately I’m shooting myself in the foot.

Life has shown me that there are people out there who really don’t give a shit about me and sometimes it has even been gracious enough to name names - sometimes in bold and underline. I run into these people and they mention reading my blog and relaying what they read as if they’re doing me a favor for the couple of strained moments that we have to exist in the world together. Usually I’m nice about it, questioning their interest and smiling through wishing for the moment to end right along with them so we can each return to our requisite corners of the world as quickly as possible. Sometimes, I cross the street.

from l-r: cultural icon Geoffrey Holder, Harlem historian and preservationist Michael Henry Adams, choreographer Mercedes Ellington (and granddaughter of Duke Ellington), noted Harlem real estate agent Lana Turner and grandson, milliner Willard Winter and Quinntin Phelps, Global Beauty Expert for Bergdorf Goodman

Donnie’s The Daily News

Maxwell’s Black Summer’s Night

Whatever Anil Dash is up to in New York

OS X 10.5

More nieces and nephews!

Lots of Skype WiFi phones

Betty Black’s Sunbathing In Black

superfast ultra broadband Internet access

New flash unit (probably this one)

Google Jotspot

Firefox 3

Finally rebooting!

Every time I met Willi Ninja, I would immediately gush and pour on the ‘legendary’ accolades. Sweet, warm and personable, he just smiled and listened. He surprised me - he said he didn’t see himself as a legend or an icon, but he appreciated the sentiment. He said, “Willi suits me just fine, keeps me on a normal level.” His humility only amplified his greatness.

There are close to 6.5 billion people on the planet. I think most people realize what a miracle it is to meet someone that you love, but I think it’s even a miracle to meet any one particular person. Think about it: out of billions of people, the probability of connecting with any one individual is slim. And precious. Well, at least in theory. I’m sure there’s lots of people that I don’t want to meet - maybe even billions … *chuckle* but I want to be open to the possibilities of that singularity where the probabilities of time and life collide and offer an arena for personal connection.

I rode Greyhound yesterday out of New York to Washington D.C. to visit family. You could imagine how crazy it was a couple of days before Christmas; the bus was packed. The seat next to me was one of the few vacancies, so a man with a large leather-bound Bible (complete with zipper) sat next to me. Although I had on headphones, he was intent on making a connection. I could see where this was going a mile away …