I came home Monday afternoon to a strange house. A confused woman who does not know me had been wandering its rooms, but now sat quietly, staring into space. Another woman that I barely know busily cleaned one room, shaken by what she'd witnessed, and a little old man hobbled in the living room. In the back bedroom, a young giant slumbered in clutter, and the family cat did not peep from behind the kitchen's bay window curtains to see who'd come to visit. Neither did the family dog bark in the backyard as he usually does when anyone arrives.

I'm going to tell you a truth about life, and in order to do that, I'm putting my revelation in context with the comedy of Russell Peters and his commentary about our racist world. In the piece, Peters draws laughter pointing out a snippet of reality we've probably observed, and he begins it telling white people how much he admires them.

I was supposed to be at the BlogHer conference in Chicago this week. Had I been able to attend it would have been the first vacation I've had in three and a half years, but I'm not at BlogHer, and I can't even help promote it, and I've turned off the guilt machine in my head because if I listened to its dogma, you all would have to order a straight jacket for me.