Obama, Obama, Obama! Chisholm72, Santos Party House, Madiba

Every morning I hypothetically kiss the ground of this wonderful piece of Earth called Brooklyn. Clearly, I love it a lot, but yesterday it literally kissed me back! Although Obama has long since been declared president of Bed Stuy, last night it became official, and I couldn’t have been happier. My friends were crying, fireworks went off in the park, strangers hugged me enthusiastically and Brooklyn kissed me back!

Wait, I started too soon, let’s go back to the voting booth. There I was standing for too long, when the old woman at the registration table shouted, “Pull the lever!”. Right, I knew that, pull it twice and in between exercise Agency. Or as Obama would say, “Yes We Can.” I floated out of the booth feeling like something of a rock star, and washed into the Activate party at Tom and Jerry’s. The charm of post-academics quickly wore thin, and after an hour I was ready for Stranger than Fiction.

Chisholm72 was truly an inspiring film. I would love to talk more about it soon. I told the director Shola Lynch that she was on my good list and better get ready for an interview, seems like she was amenable, so more on her and the film later. For now, I will just say that Shirley was deeply inspiring, especially in these times when we are re-investing in Heros. The first black congresswoman, and from Brooklyn, who presided over Bed Stuy (really!), Chilsholm was also the first woman to seriously run for president. A great speaker and a true believer in paving the way for systemic change. She stood up for the Black Panthers, Native Americans, feminists, poor people and Black Americans. In sticking with our recent themes, Shola’s next film will be about Angela Davis.

After the film, I arrived back in Brooklyn in time to chill over a drink and a television set at Bonita’s, the swanky cool Mexican fusion joint on Dekalb which is closely affiliated with No 7. The verdict came in so early and by that insane landslide, you know what happened next (Brooklyn kissed me back). The street revelry spilled back into a bar, this time Madiba. We had to watch the acceptance speech. Champagne was popped, whiskey was inhaled, the restaurant owner sincerely thanked us all for sharing this historic moment with him and as the confetti started to settle, we knew that the party must not stop.

We hit Santos Party House. Oh my God, it was hot! Q-tip was DJing, as if that weren’t enough, Busta Rhymes was suddenly spinning and talking to us. Was this for real? We had a black president, Busta Rhymes was in the flesh spitting the word, a person I went to High School with identified me (somehow in my state of drunken revelry) and everything was fine. Yes I said, I believe.

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