There are certain things that I missed out on growing up in New York: a backyard to play in, central air-conditioning, personal space, getting a driver’s license before age 30… But even when I was sweating uncomfortably, awkwardly sandwiched between strangers on a packed subway train during my 3-hour daily commute to high school, there were benefits. For one thing, I was constantly learning to be at home around all types of people. It made me who I am.

It’s possible to exist in ethno/religious social isolation in New York but you have to work really hard and live in very cloistered communities to do it. Most of us like our diversity. If we didn’t, we could save a lot of money by moving. Which is why the current wave of Anti-Muslim hate get nothing from me but “Bronx cheer.”

I’m proud to say that the information exchange we created for people wanting to volunteer skills and services to help support rebuilding Haiti (from wherever they are) is still very much alive and active. There are constantly new posts and offers on the website from around the world – and the twitter feed broke 13,000 …followers yesterday with over a hundred new followers since then! Thanks, everybody.

Turns out that the World Cup finalists are also the two prettiest teams (as determined by this survey from a dating site for Beautiful People only. They would know.) We’re all winners! Especially when they swap shirts.

Some of the African players should have ranked much higher (ahem, Ghana, hello?) but this is entertaining nonetheless. Christiano Ronaldo is probably more peeved about losing this contest to Spain than the actual World Cup (Spain’s Torres, apparently, out-hotted him).

New York has plentiful daily plagues and irritations, some of which are lethal, but most are just nuisances. They have given New Yorkers a well-deserved rep for being neurotic. I Googled “neurotic New Yorker” (with the quotes) and came up with no less than 219,000 results.

Who wouldn’t be a psychosomatic bundle of stress with so many physical threats, especially those of the itty-bitty-hard-to-spot variety? A few short months back at home and I am already obsessive about hand sanitizer and the lurking presence of bed bugs.

My three years in Atlanta were clearly a sanitized bubble. I’m starting to understand why my mom (not a native New Yorker) used to wash all the clothes we wore on the subway train with disinfectant.

For better or for worse, I have left the city of Atlanta, GA and am now back in New York City. I am glad to be back. This is home. The shoe fits. I plan to stay.

Atlanta was a great adventure. It required me to drive, which was no small feat. As I explained to a friend once, growing up in New York, I thought that driving was an occupational choice, not a requirement to buy a loaf of bread. Thanks, Atlanta, for making me a more “normal” car-friendly American.

I’ll likely have some musings about the experience and maybe wax a little nostalgic about the things I enjoyed during my stay in Atlanta.

But it’s great to be back in the Rotten Apple. Where everything is great except the lack of central air conditioning.

I finally saw Adam Lambert’s “controversial” performance at the American Music Awards. Other than the fact that it seemed more like the Emmy’s than an AMA typical type of performance, I don’t see the big deal.

I can’t wait until the day when all gay performers come out of the closet. For homophobes, it’ll be like the climax moment in your traditional alien invasion movie: “Oh my god, they’re on every single channel and throughout my entire record collection. I can’t even get away at the theater or Abercrombie & Fitch.”

For these people, just like John Mayer said about folks who were shocked to find out that Britney Spears lipsyncs her shows and want their money back, “Life will continue to be hard for you.”

before/after

Dominican baseball star Sammy Sosa’s skin seems to be turning white. His publicist can say whatever… metrosexual skin treatments, bad lighting, lemon astringent… But, coupled with the permed hair and green contact lenses, there’s a pretty complete story. He probably doesn’t like being Black.

Is this new? Heck no. Skin lightening and a million potions for becoming more Euro-lovely have existed for a long time. My grandma used them, I’ve seen them around the world, and I even used them when I was much younger and confused about how I matched what society told me was pretty.

It seems that every country where people are pigmented has an aesthetic caste system based on color. Latin cultures are certainly no different. That’s why I find the concept of the monolithic “Latino” to be so perplexing — as are the generic images of tanned people with straight hair that are universally meant to depict “Latin” in pop culture.

I’m not a Latina. I was just mistaken for one enough times on the streets of New York that I decided to finally learn Spanish. At least then I could give directions to the people asking me for help every day. I spent time throughout Latin America and noticed something interesting:  a heck of a lot of Black people. Then I noticed something else, few of them wanted to be identified as “Black” because that was bad, just about as bad as being identified as indigenous or “Indian.”

To this day, I find it rare to hear a genuine conversation about race and Latinos. If anything, hopefully the fact the Sammy Sosa is being accused of pulling a Michael Jackson might start a dialogue about the reality of skin color and the social invisibility of darker Latinos.

What pops to mind is one of my Latin college professors joking that if you watched typical Spanish-speaking television dramas, you would think that they were cast in Sweden.

Have you ever had an experience where you witnessed a real professional and then suddenly understood what people in that field are really supposed to be capable of? I had an experience similar to that last Friday night when I saw Buckshot at the A3C hip hop festival in East Atlanta.

Buckshot is seasoned, he’s real and he is master of ceremonies… an actual MC. He controlled the crowd, the stage, freestyled on full blast, and had a powerful rapport with the DJ, legendary Evil Dee. He was absolutely hypnotic and ferocious. I don’t know if I have ever seen anyone do it quite as well. It was like, bam, that’s it, an MC – not just a rapper – but an MC. Phenomenal. I think he might be the new gold standard for what I think of as skills on the microphone. Respect well earned.

I was able to get up close and personal with Google Wave this week. The jury’s still out on whether this new open source platform for online collaboration is building a quiet revolution in web life. The skeptics say this is just a case of the “emperors new clothes” or much ado about nothing. Cynics worry that its another mark of the beast in Google’s plan for global dominion. Enthusiasts believe that we’ll all be riding the Wave into the promised land of Web 2.0.

The potential that Wave presents is outstanding. Although no one yet knows exactly where it will take us, the possibility is tantalizing. Will we be communicating in real time with infinite layers of sophistication? Probably not overnight. Google’s offered just enough of a glimpse into its vision to make open source developers start jonesing for sexy new applications. Anticipation is mounting but who knows how long it takes for the hype and our hopes to materialize into something we can sink our teeth into.

I’m all for free speech. I like to exercise it regularly. The thing is that all this “death panel,” “communist,” and “birther” conspiracy stuff is reminiscent of other progress-fearing protests in U.S. history. We’re a young country with a diverse population but have long had a significant faction that doggedly resists change (particular as relates to equity and human rights), even when the time has clearly come and it makes logical sense.

If we could put the birthers and Glenn Beck and Rush Limbaugh and the random screaming people at the town halls in a time machine and plop them out in the sixties, it’s not hard to imagine them holding one of the these placards. I’m just saying that he/she who screams the loudest and the angriest is not always on the side that is most just. While these voices deserve to be heard, their volume should not be mistaken as a representation of the greater public.