Kevin Powell is one of the nicest brothers I have ever met.

We met while standing in line to buy Chinese food @ Ho Kwong’s in DaCosta’s Mall, Bridgetown, Barbados back in 1998.

I saw him out of the corner of my eye, and said, “That guy looks like Kevin Powell,” in my mind and turned away. As the queue moved forward, and I happened to have another look, I said to myself again, “Well, well… this fella, REAL looking like Kevin Powell.”

You must understand: The only reason I knew who he was at all was a combination of being in Trinidad and having cable TV the season that he was on The Real World, and being a music writer in Trinidad and devouring many of the magazines he was then writing for.
Read more…

Back in March, during a frightfully short trip to Trinidad, I accomplished one of my short term goals: acquire a tawah.

This tawah for me, is part of my enforced liberation from bad roti experiences when outside of Trinidad. This consists of course in learning how to make roti. I’ve gotten the curry part down… it’s the paratha that is the hardest of course.

I tried buying skins from the super markets here locally, but O.H. G.E.E.D.! NASTY! When they weren’t showing mould in the supermarket freezer and hence un-purchasable, they were not very pleasant when eating.

So I determined the solution was to get a tawah and just practise how to make them until I got it right. however, acquiring a tawah in Barbados is not an easy prospect… this is not really tawah country if you feel me. Read more…

If a photograph is worth a thousand words, then my recent profile pic update (see it to the right) is speaking volumes.

I am thirty five years old. I’ll be thirty-six in April. This year proved to be trying and trial, but most years present this way. This year was hell on everyone I think.

I made and did amazing things and despite the global financial situation, and my enormous challenges, I had some really interesting developments. I may write more about these later. Now the story of the little red dress.

In February I was diagnosed with chronic gall bladder disease. Because I opted not to have my gall bladder removed, managing it with a change in my eating habits, it has led to some of the most dramatic weight loss in my life. I’ve dropped from the 16-18 I’ve pretty much been since I was 19, to somewhere between a 8-12. Something like 60 or 70lbs.

Read more…

Although I know many of you within Barbados (possibly the Caribbean) and who are slaves to C&W cannot access this content, I still want to share it with you. Anyone watch this one as a child? My brother and I were g.l.u.e.d. to the TV on Saturday afternoons, engrossed in this story (told cheesily, I admit) and I still remember the plot (if not all the details) very well. Fascinating that this show is being revived…

As a side note: Can I just say, that any reason whatsoever to see more Morris Chestnut on my screen is a good reason. From first time, to last time, I think that man is just delicious to the eye.

Hulu – V: Pilot – Watch the full episode now..

I am sitting as I type this, in Bean & Bagel in Sunset Crest. I feel a little ‘dark’ since I happen to be the only person of colour sitting at the tables. The help is still not very clever… and still answer questions with a blank dazed look

I am in the approximate location, of the infamous in my memory “Coffee Friday” limes that Keffi and I made every effort to attend every Friday for roughly a year and half.

I am sitting here, like I sat so many times waiting for her to come and meet me so we could smoke, drink coffee and talk shit. We’d order two coffees in one cup, fight over who was paying for everything and burn through a pack of cigare

I am sitting here, and I can’t help myself from scanning the entrances, waiting for her to appear in her red bank uniform, red lipstick, cornrows and adorned with that fantastic smile of hers.

How do you define grief? How do you ever really get past that ‘missing’? I haven’t been able to do it. Not a day in nine years has gone by that I have failed to think of her and miss her. My memories of her, are always of her smile, her smile, her smile. Which is ironic, since she was in such constant pain that to remember her smiling means something to me… I wiped away so many of her tears, but those memories are blurry….

I miss my sister. I miss her. I still haven’t figured out how to get used to her not being here… I still catch myself wanting to call her and tell her stuff.

When I was leaving, I saw preciousc. Ironic huh? Pity about preciousc… but you can’t use the memory of someone’s dead best friend to inveigle your way into their good graces, slash and burn them, and then expect to be held in high esteem. I am not mad… it’s kind of interesting. I have so few reactions to seeing her, and now it’s the second or third time I’ve seen her in the same place. I see her and my heart doesn’t pulse with anger, I don’t see red, I don’t feel sadness, nothing… nothing. She is one of less than a handful of people I have completely excoriated from my emotional space… and I ain’t fucking sorry about it either.

I just think it’s funny I was there, thinking and missing Keffi, and preciousc appeared. Not sure what that means, but I’ll tell you, I don’t miss preciousc at all… and Keffi’s memory still burns flame bright in my heart, and it often pulses with an ache that doesn’t really ever go away..

When I was a little thing, and my Auntie Gillian was still a steady presence in my life, at some point she introduced me to Beano Magazines.

For those of you in a America, you may not be familiar. Beano is the home of the UK Dennis The Menace. Dennis is older, tougher, scrappier, snottier and a lot less innocent.

I–lover of Marmalade Atkins–and already dubbed the ‘naughtiest girl at [my] school’, loved Beano mag. Read more…

This morning, after dropping the Lil King off to school, and I was walking up Deacon’s Road to go fight up with the damned ZRs, I chose this song to be my soundtrack.

I bopped up the road, locks flying as my head invariably bounced, and more than once I belted out the lyrics as the busy road flowed past me, around me, and never touched me.

I am dreaming big today… Read more…

It’s not just that I loved this album, and it was part of my steady soundtrack from April 2005 to December of the same year, and hence, part of the soundtrack leading up to Dayo’s conception.

This song in particular was one of my “keep pushing” tracks, and contributed greatly to Gorillaz still being in my Top Twenty artists on last.fm.

I love the video too–as I do almost all Gorillaz videos–with all it’s little subversive touches, Noodle shaking her pen and ink little butt, and Murdock’s scary dream within a dream.

This track remains high up on my list of ‘keep pushing baby’ tracks…. I just need a new iPod now, and enough distance to travel to justify spending the money. Read more…

As I type, the little boy who was made in South London is clambering across the back of my chair, and talking into my ear and nuzzling my neck. Off to find more mischief…

As I look at the photo above, taken not far from where I first stayed when I moved to England — North Greenwich — my heart aches for the beautiful city I loved living in.

I LOVED London. I loved everything about it, even the grind and the harsh reality of it, I loved my life there. In London, I was more me than I have ever been, and every day I have been in Barbados has been a day deep inside, I wished I was still there.

Go visit the gallery, the photos are amazing…

Naughty Boy Getting His Mess On

I left him watching TV for two minutes to go pour a cup of coffee. When I got back, it was all I could do to grab my camera and start shooting. He did not require any moisturising for a few days.