I Think I'm From Where Dreams Are Made. The Lights Will Inspire You.

First things first.

One Hand in the Air for all of us Born Yankees, we the few New York City natives, who know what it is to walk by skyscrapers and never look up because we were too busy slinging tokens and bus passes, stopping at the deli for a beef patty and a quarter water.

Shout to the barber shop with the beautiful black men getting the edge-up, to the corner where the grizzled elders are politickin as the scent of Nag Champa wafts overhead, to the beauty shops like Harlem Berry where the ablutions happen over the sink. You might have relocated to Houston, W. VA, FL, no matter, I bet you still bleed blue. And I bet that Blueprint 3 is on repeat today.



As the still agile Jigga Man preps his show at the Garden (I see you, Greg!) tonight, benefitting the city's bravest and finest, I wonder where were you on 9/11? I was on Morningside Heights and some of us converged on my friend M's Uptown pad overlooking the George Wash. Smoke billowing even from that vantage point, we prayed, talked, reflected, cried, called out incantations. A Towering loss.

Allow me to reintroduce myself: I'm from the Empire State, most definitely from New York and I go by the name of Black Girl Named Becky. If this is your first visit with me, wipe your feet, welcome. To everyone else who's supported me, I appreciate you. I'm back.

You coming?