Thursday, December 29

The Color Purple....on Broadway

Okay....so I have been treated like royalty since I've been here in the east coast.....the ultimate treat so far...another bud who has weathered the storm that is my friendship called in a couple of favors and secured two second row seats to the quite sold out broadway show.....The Color Purple. We had a lovely lunch at B. Smiths and then caught the 2:00 showing of the play.

I am so amazed and I stand in such awe of actors in general but theatre actors deserve a pedestal all to themselves. It's so amazing to me how these humans get on stage and perform....twice a day.....as if it were the first time every time. I cried, I laughed I was completely drawn in and overwhelmed with this performance. And let me had how hard a sale it was....I love Alice Walker's book, I love Steven Spielberg's interpretation into the movie...and I mean LURVE...so..I was skeptical. I mean how can there ever be another Shug or Sophia or Celie....we're talking..Margaret Avery....Oprah Winfrey and Whoopie Goldberg...A beyond tough act to follow. And even though broadway is a whole other vehicle...the expectations of all The Color Purple fans is still high as Mt. Everest. I'm certain I'm not the only one who was a little skeptical..even with Oprah's name attached to the production.

I'll admit I was not feeling the woman who played the role of Sophia (Felicia P. Fields)....a little skeptical of Shug Avery (Elizabeth Winters-Mendes)...but they both are talented and extra-skilled performers who clearly possess the same respect for the book and movie as the masses and were able to encompass their roles and draw the entire theatre. Especially Sophia who received "threshold of pain" amounts of applaud. Harpo (Brandon Victor Dixon) was a great looking guy and he WAS Harpo. Even Mister (Kingsley Leggs) held his own. Mister's father was played by Lou Myers who played Mr. Gaines on A Different world...that was a nice treat. Celie (LaChanze) was good....did what she was supposed to do... but the obvious favorites were...Shug Avery and Sophia.

The role of Nettie was played by an understudy who is a gospel recording artist and part of the Ensemble, Jeannette Bayardelle, and I have to admit I probably like the understudy more just based on complexion...that's right...there's no way I'm accepting a butternut squash Nettie (Renee Elise Goldsberry) over a dark-chocolate one, although the "featured" Nettie is on the soap, One Live to Live and I hear she's great, but because she's taping that show I'm sure she'll miss many of the afternoon showings....I'd like to catch a show with her next because I do intend to see it again and I live in a constant state of "open to being converted" Because I am such a bullheaded fool (I know it).

The Color Purple on Broadway is a well done joyous celebration of life with a fine balance of humor, heartache and triumph. A wonderous event to behold. I hope I can make it back again, again and again.




Next time I can do without the woman seated in front of me (C2), who tested my temper with her disgusting gum popping. Thankfully the performance washed out most of the popping but there were quiet reflective stage moments where Miss Tacky's gross habit tested my patience. Theatre tickets aren't cheap and I didn't pay to hear some fool smacking on gum...I can get that for free on any street corner. It's really a nasty habit people..you look like a cow chewing cud. All of you gum poppers. I've had so many arguments with fools, friends and foes who smack on gum. From strangers on trains to my own sister. For the sake of humankind and your safety......control that S&^%! Because one day, somewhere, someone is going to snap over the snapping of gum. Trust me.

Wednesday, December 28

Over the river and through the woods..

On my way home...not my official home but….my former home of New Jersey…must see my Grandma otherwise I would skip the cold ass weather part and go straight back to Cali….but again... as long as Minnie Pearl resides in New Jersey…I will call it my home and get there as often as possible to see her.

It’s been a crazy voyage…started in south beach on the 17th……hopped on a cruise line ship…one of those hugantic ships..holds about 2,000 folks..I had never been on one..never really thought about it, but when the opportunity came up I had to jump on it. I worked with a film crew on a commercial shoot. 18th – 21st. I originally had a lot to say about this floating hotel...but the inspiration has seeped from my pores. I'll say this...It's Massive and filled with a bunch of folks who assumed I worked FOR the ship because I'm a black woman with dread locks....after the tenth person asked me some f'in question about today's activities or which way the main dining room was or yadda, yadda, I had to ask a few crew members why everyone assumed I worked there (although I already knew the answer). One diplomatic chap said it was because I looked like one of the girls who works as a hostess in one of the restaurants...I told him there was no way the people who just got on the boat had seen this woman they speak of (and I never did as well) and one honest chap let me know the deal..I look like I'm an islander and that's what mostly works there...in other words I'm black and Should be working for the boat if I can afford to be on it. Well they can have that floating disaster waiting to happen.

I did love the route...Fort Lauderdale to the Dominican Republic to Puerto Rico...I had never been to any of those places, nor have I ever seen water as deep blue and beautiful not even in Saint Barth's (one of the best places I've been). And if the only way I can get to see deep ice blue beautiful water again is by cruising on a big boring ship filled with a bunch of old school fools who think I work for them....then I'm pleased as punch I took pictures because I never will again. The wrap party our crew decided to have the night before the last shoot day was a beautiful and fun release of "trapped on a floating hotel" tension...we danced and drank and partied like it was 1999. And then overslept like nobody's business. Ahhhhhhhhh......a load of liquor and the big blue sea...man was I sick the next day. It was a great experience, definitely something to behold...my biggest head trip was being in an elevator on a ship (there were four).....very happy I got paid instead of having to pay. Three days is the maximum cruise for me and definitely not on a boat with a 2,000 person capacity....way to many folks to be trapped with. My next cruise (if ever) would need to be more of an Oprahesque cruise.....beyond frou, frou with 200 of my closest friends. :-)

We were done in Puerto Rico (though I felt like I was still on the boat for two days after I was off)...the ship cruised on to the Bahamas and back to Fort Lauderdale...Thank the Big God's of Little fishes, our part of the voyage was over. Everyone flew back to Miami, or Los Angeles or wherever they wanted or needed to be for Christmas...I booked a room in Rio Grande, Puerto Rico called one of my buds.... Al....one of my friends who has weathered the storm that is my friendship for over 23 years and God Bless her..she puts her foot in my locs......that's right..... and we spent Christmas basking in 86 degree weather baking our (own) buns in the sun....It was great. Had a wonderful Christmas dinner at a local restaurant in a city called Fajardo. Metropol was the name....delectable food was the game....if you ever find yourself on Deste 3 highway in Fajardo, Puerto Rico.... STOP....and eat. If you're in a rush.....STOP.....and get a black bean soup to go....Seriously...take my greedy food lovin' word for it.


And two seconds in to the 4th leg of my trip....New Jersey/New York...unneccessary aggravation came to wash away the island dreams and give me my shot of reality with the "annoying passenger syndrome" elixir. This guy is looking over my shoulder right now..... so I shrunk my word viewing to 75 % on my computer and now I can’t even see what the hell I’m typing…but this guy pissed me off so bad I can't even understand how I was able to control "THE TEMPER" long enough to keep me from causing a delay by being beaten and dragged off the plane by airport security. He and his wife thought I just fell off the turnip truck…they learned really quickly that I own my own turnip truck and I push fools off mine.. when I got to MY seat, they had already negotiated with seats they didn’t even have..a couple of dumbass yahoos with a foolish and false sense of entitlement tried to take my window seat and then asked me "Well what’s wong with a middle seat?" obviously a whole lot..... as your asses have been pissing everyone off trying to negotiate your way out of two middle seats. Sigh......I will love God's children despite their arrogant dumbass 'selves. And I have to say in all honesty....I would have softened and given up my EXIT row window seat to sit in an EXIT row non-reclining Exit Middle row had their approach been different..I'm that kind of gal. But they were way to arrogant and jackassy to get anywhere with me or the other passengers because the guy on the aisle seat in my row told me they tried the same with him before he got to his seat....how the hell do you start taking and switching before all groups have been boarded? And with nothing to negotiate because middle seats aren't great negotiating vehicles. So of course the big man had to sit next to me while his wife went to the seat behind...and you know this dude was all in my personal space...but I made it through....and this is how. It's nice being grown and coming up with more peaceful ways to handle stupid situations....23 year old Dayna would have went neuroballistic....33 year old Dayna pretended to be nauseaus during take-off. Watery eyes, gagging, grabbed the barf bag and held it by my side for take off......obnoxious guy leaned his ass back into his seat space...it was great. I wish I didn't mind the whole cattle call feel of being an actress because I acted my way right into actually feeling sick for a minute...that was crazy. But it was worth it and it was a peaceful resolution not one in which I would be forced to attack a strange man and his strange wifes character and then cry about it later because I gave FOOLS my energy. So I leaned against "THE WINDOW" and lost myself in the stories of the first women in "The Red Tent" ....one of my Christmas gifts from my friend Sarah....the same friend who schooled me on "Wicked" which is now historically one of my favorite reads.

From 86 degrees to 40 degrees in 60 seconds. Puerto Rico to New Jersey.....damn. I have to add a little about the feel of Puerto Rico..because what God made....the ocean and the sun...was just grand and beautiful....but something is lost there. It has the feel of a beaten society. A society who is bummed out at the 5 dollar minimum wage as they see how it's going down in the country that claims them. Fat Joe is making millions..I'm at this resort making a dollar....damn. I swear that was the feel and a local cat trying to do the right thing told me and my friend about it because I had to ask. And maybe it's because I'm comparing it to St. Barth's and Jamaica. So far...as far as the spirit of an island....Jamaica wins hands down. Even the Bahamas (though I'm quite tired of the place).....there was an undeniable spirit for life and living. Puerto Rico and Hawaii are both a little too tamed for me...at least the parts I've been too. I'll go back and try again...just not anytime soon. I must get to Jamaica....it's so my cup of tea.


*foot in my locs = she started them and maintains them with love and it shows.

Thursday, December 22

It's like everybody's on some kind of Sex Drug

or drug to make them feel sexy in South Beach, Miami(me included)....and I lurve it.

It's Humid and Hot....to death and I lurve it.

Beautiful and naturally bronzed bodies crowd the streets and clubs....and I lurve it.

It's a place where a guy can walk down the street, arm around his woman while staring another woman down, without being slapped, and a woman can dance with another woman's guy and it's all good for that night....and I lurve it.


South Beach was the first leg of my strange voyage....I was there one night..December 17th...stayed at the National (actually, my luggage stayed there.)


First club stop Mango's...where I was immediately grabbed up by a hostess dressed in a wonderfully scandalous outfit(if ya got if flaunt it even if ya think ya don't ...still flaunt it) who escorted me through the crowd up to the VIP section..she whispered to me "You'll like it up here better". Got my VIP hand stamp and continued on....and she was sooooooooo right. Good Lord. The downstairs area was for the nerdy tourists. Upstairs was for the real deal, the "We didn't come to just watch", folks....that would be me. It was great. Danced, and danced and danced.

I drank all of four beers over a six hour time span yet felt so lifted and relaxed....high off the humidity and sexiness of the whole scene.

And after club hopping and dancing and blah, blah, blah....the cherry on top....finding a pizzeria with delicious pizza, open at 5:00am in the morning...and it was as busy as it might be at lunch time on a random work day.....and I lurve it.


Finally made it back to The National hotel at 5:30am...up at 6:30 and in the lobby by 7:00am...getting barely one hour of sleep before the rest of my very busy sleepless voyage began. I'll sleep when I'm dead.

Alternative Scenario of my one night in South Beach had I opted to be a stick in the mud... I would have gone to the hotel room...gotten in the bed to try to force my completely sober ass to sleep well before it's time....twisted and turned until the throbbing pain in my restless legs foced me to jump up and scream with sleepless frustration. Thanks to one of my PA Brudda's..Jay Gon, for getting a sister up and out of the usual. My one night in South Beach was da' bomb.


South Beach is just an unbelievably sensuous place...you don't even notice the goons and nerds who come to gawk because your too busy gawking (or being gawked at)....and I swear fo' God.....I lurve it.


It's the Latin Persuasion that does it...a slew of men and women who aren't obsessing over their looks...because they were born that way.....and I lurve it.

Uninhibited humans, free of all that crazy self scrutiny we're spoon fed in America. Believe me, I swallowed a big healthy serving of my looks (and dark skin) are ruining my life, when I was a freshman in high school...talks of a nose job...in the great words of my friend Luis "child bye". That stupidity lasted all of a month. And though the claim is so much "beauty" in LA....It's actually more like a beauty side show, were you pay to get in the tent and see the ridiculously enhanced woman.

All ye women of Los Angeles and those who have adopted their surgically cosmetic enhanced ways.....Beauty really does come from within...I swear it does. And wrinkles plague those who carry jealousy and envy in their hearts. When you're always walking around turning up your nose at something or someone for no good reason....No amount of cosmetic surgery can reverse that wrinkle in your soul.

If I could mix the price of homes in New Jersey, with the dopeness of New York City, the weather and sexy feel of South Beach with the space, location and entertainment focus of Los Angeles... I would be as content as an Ant in a sugar factory....at least for a good while. More on the voyage later....

Wednesday, December 21

an excerpt from : Undefined Attraction© revisited

I have plenty to say as I have had a very interesting few days, but I'm too damn tired (thanks to those crazy days) and this is more befitting of my christmas cheer anyway.... .So I'm posting a prior entry...one of my fav's.

Originally posted:

Thursday, July 14

an excerpt from : Undefined Attraction©
It’s never really a restful sleep. Living a few stories above the streets of Manhattan. We all say we do, sleep restfully, us New Yorkers. It’s similar to when one under dresses for the weather but will swear up and down they’re fine, when if you had x-ray vision you could see the goose bumps on their back and the chill on their bones, so us Manhattanites always claim,

“Of course I sleep, once you get used to the noise you don’t even notice it.”

You never get used to the noise. So at six years old, living in a small apartment two stories above the continuously buzzing streets of Manhattan, I certainly hadn’t experienced a restful sleep. Most noisy nights, I would rest my head on my mother's lap, while she cradled my ears in her hands, until I drifted off to sleep, shielding me from the fire engines, the ambulances, the police sirens or car alarms, the barking dogs, the happy couples, the angry couples and the mad rantings of her live in boyfriend.

On this particular night, shielded from the world by my mother’s magic hands, you couldn’t tell me I had not drifted off into heaven. A blissful angelic sleep. The last blissul sleep I would know for a long time. I was shaken out of my deep slumber moments later, by what every other resident of the apartment building may have assumed were two firecrackers. Maybe one little bad ass boy had lit one seconds after the other.

“Bang”
“Bang”

I leapt to my feet and screamed.

“Mommy!”

Standing on my bed, waiting for my mother to enter, with her magic hands and shelter me. I screamed again.

“Mommy!”

I waited. I heard our front door slam. I heard a thump. This thump sounds in my head over and over. On any bad days in my life to this day, which are any in which that thump sounds in my head, twenty-five years later. It still hits me…hard. I don’t believe it myself on most days. How this thump, this sound sends me right back to the worst day in my life, when I was a six year old standing on my bed, waiting for my Mommy’s hands.

Always afraid of that man, I wouldn’t dare venture out of my room in the middle of the night. Not for anything, not a drink of water, not to pee, not even to see my mom. But on this night, that thump, forced me out. I had to risk it. I had to go see what this sound, more disturbing then any firecracker, police siren or car alarm was. I stuck my toe out first. If he was there and mad at me for venturing beyond my boundaries, I’d prefer to have my toe knocked off before my head. Next, my entire foot. I wiggled it, tried to get his attention. I felt nothing. I heard nothing. No yelling. No, “Get back to your room you nosey brat!” Didn’t hear it. Only silence.

Enough of this scared little girl routine. I’m going to find my mother. I swung the door open and boldly stepped out into the living room. She’ll tell me what this disturbing sound was about and why out of all the noises I’ve heard every night of my six years of life, this noise would move me so. And screw that loser. I’m even going to call for her.

“Mommy!”

I feared at any moment I was going to get slugged for waking the fool. But he must’ve been awake. No one but his rude ass would have slammed the door so hard. And my mother would not, could not, ever leave me alone, not for five seconds with that volatile fool. He was a volcano set to erupt. When, was the question. Unhappy and miserable, he hailed from a filthy rich, quite white upper west side family who loathed him and his love of the darker women and in return he loathed them back and everyone else in the entire world including himself. He felt my mom owed him. He had sacrificed his family’s love for her. Delusional. Best believe if it weren’t my mother, it would have been some other woman of color, seeing as how he cheated on her several times with her chocolate counterparts. Ungrateful, loser. Go get a job trust-fund baby. His family paid him to stay away. College drop-out and lover of black women. God forbid they have a baby. They didn’t have a chance to.

I took a deep breath, stuck out my chest and marched right into the bedroom. Not a soul to be found. Where the hell is my mommy? I heard a moan from the kitchen. The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up, until that moment, I hadn’t even realized I had hair on the back of my neck.

“Mommy?”

I froze at the kitchen door.

“ Go back to your room, Pumpkin.”

She nicknamed me pumpkin at birth. She said when I was born I was as round as a pumpkin and every part of my plump body was dimpled, my cheeks, my chin, my arms, my legs and my little baby butt; her little pumpkin.

And there she was. Looking as if she were simply resting on the kitchen floor. Still being strong for her little Pumpkin.

“I’m okay, go back to your room.”

I eyed my mother. Her face seemed so angelic, I almost believed her until the thump replayed in my head. I scanned the floor. My eyes followed the pool of blood on the floor to the holes in my mother’s chest and stomach. The holes bubbled with deep red clumps of my mother’s lifeline. She was a living breathing oil refinery being drilled. Drained of life.

I remembered hearing the door slam before hearing the thump. The faggot didn’t even wait for her body to drop. This woman he claimed to love so.

What goes through a child’s mind when she sees such a horrific sight? Wouldn’t you, my aunt, my father, my grandmother, a slew of cousins, uncles, friends, three child psychologists and even myself like to know? God, I believe is the only one who knows because I certainly don’t. What I do know is, I am a product of that night. Everything I am and am not is because of the night I heard my mother’s body hit the kitchen floor. And I had believed I had grown to be the best person I could possibly be, against all odds. Proud of myself first and foremost. Happy, I chose wine and weed over cocaine or crack. I always felt every bad choice or rundown road a person chose to take could be justified someway, somehow.

I smoke crack because my mother abandoned me when I was a child.
I smoke crack because I never knew my father.
I smoke crack because I saw a man get shot in our backyard.
I smoke crack because I was molested.
I smoke crack because my parents are divorced.
I smoke crack because my mother is crazy.
I smoke crack because my father is crazy.
I smoke crack because I lost a slew of money in the dotcom industry.
I smoke crack because I made a slew of money in the dotcom industry.
I smoke crack because I got caught cheating on my wife.
I smoke crack because I caught my husband cheating on me.
I smoke crack because I can’t keep an erection.
I smoke crack because I was a straight A student until I got a B in Gym.
I smoke crack because I asked for Malibu Barbie and got Balibu Marbie.
I smoke crack because this….
I smoke crack because that….
And I smoke crack because the gotdamn other….
I smoke crack because one day my reality became too much to bear, some situation, some accident, some thing. I needed to escape. I chose to escape. I thought I could escape.

I, Destiny Marie Bell, chose to be okay. Some people don’t know how to be okay. I’m not judging. But thankfully, I’ve always known this: Crack won’t make it okay. I’ve had no real run ins with crack, no temptations and no long lost brothers climbing through the window to steal my television for a vile of crack, but to me crack epitomizes escapism, a sure fire way to not be okay. So whenever I f#@$ed things up somehow or someway, offended a love one, smoked too much weed, drank to much wine, drove to fast, slept too long, cried too hard (this was a weakness in my book), ate a jelly donut while grocery shopping and forgot to mention it to the cashier… My cure all phrase: “At least I’m not on Crack”

My method of escape, My crack of choice, fleeing. And I mean really fleeing, running away in the middle of the night like a fugitive. ©



This is the first page of my soon to be abandoned novel. I needed to show some of it. I might have to leave it alone and get back to the screenwriting....I'm not really trying to write long ass serious ass novels.........I like comedy...I like funny movies....I wanna write those....but I don't think my mind will allow me to continue until I get the rest of this book out of me. Thanks for reading."


Every time I read that part of the book, I hope it ends differently...Is that crazy?

Monday, December 12

Stir Crazy, Which Way Is Up....

Bustin Lose, Car Wash, Harlem Nights, Jo Jo Dancer, Silver Streak, The Wiz and a delightful cameo in The Muppet Movie.... to name a few.....( I own them all and watch them too frequently to admit)

I have to mention another movie I bought because Richard Pryor was with Bill Cosby in this one "California Suite" ( a Neil Simon screenplay)....they were friends on vacation in this movie....and though it was muy toned down for the usual Richard Pryor antics....it was cute and I like that they were on the screen together. It's worth a peek. And of course....the stand-up comedy...just out of this world. Richard Pryor's contribution to the world of entertainment is/was and always will be priceless and far beyond an expression of words.

I'm sad about the end of an era yet I'm pleased the brother's suffering has come to an end. Rest in Peace, Sir Richard Pryor.
Thank you for being one of the funniest M'fers on the planet and sharing it with the rest of us and paving the way for the rest of the (black) funny m'fers...ie....Eddie Murphy, Dave Chappelle, Bernie Mac and stay tuned for more to come.

Things I wonder about in my strange world with my strange mind......Gene Wilder....will he attend Richard Pryor's funeral? As they were a great comedic team. I know, I know...but it is an interesting thought.