Well, the acronym is NABJ, but it doesn’t have anything to do with phallic stimulation that often happens in the backseat of cars, which then requires copious amounts of Lysol, sanitation wipes and bleach to remove all traces…have I said too much? Eh, whatever. I’s married. I drove down south to San Diego yesterday for the National Association of Black Journalist’s convention to meet ace boon coon Janice and our agent, Regina Brooks, who just so happened to be speaking on a panel.

The conference was fine, but what was really struck my fancy was concurrent yearly convention of Old Ladies Who Wear Funny Hats and Wear Purple Club. Being the curious pseudo-journalist that I am, I asked one lady what up wit dat:

"We wear purple because we're old and we CAN! Oh, and we give to charities and stuff too."

…but then stopped listening because the Queen of Funny Hats Walked passed and we were all hushed into reverent silence:

Queen Bee of the Purple Hat Ladies!

Back to BJ: So after all the requisite hand-shaking and business card swapping I decided to take in some local color.

The San Diego Gas Lamp District

Cute bouncer at a club who reminded me of the urban version of the toy soldiers in front of the Tower of London

This is an outrage! Someone call PETA!