This recent shooting of the innocent and incredibly young Trayvon Martin has opened up so many doors of discussion and unearthed many things that have been percolating under years and years of silence. One of my favorite things to emerge from these devastatingly real unfair, shameful, absurd murderous events, in this case race is discussed in terms of the Kony video that was posted on every facebook wall from Beijing to Sacramento is this piece by Teju Cole, who pointedly puts everything I've been thinking about race, about injustice and about the general mentality that's been scarily spreading like rapid-fire. And this guy put all of that in a beautifully written, comprehensible article for The Atlantic. It says all the things no one wants to admit and forces Americans to really come to terms with history and the present. I can't emphasize the importance of this article enough, and cannot be happier it was written.
I'm out.
Showing posts with label ny times. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ny times. Show all posts
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Monday, December 21, 2009
the skinny on The Skinny
I have never felt so uncomfortable stepping into a bar as I did Friday night, walking through the doors of The Skinny in the lower east side. The lower east side- what a different place. I dunno if I can ever go back.
The Skinny
The minute my friends and I stepped foot in The Skinny I knew we had to leave immediately. Surrounded by an array of high school stereotypes, ranging from jocks to goths, there were just too many hormones flying around everywhere to see the comical situation in which we found ourselves. Not only did my friends and I feel like the oldest people there, but we felt like we were party crashing. These twelve year olds didn't need us to be there cramping their style. So we go further in, looking for some people we were suppose to meet up with, all the while I was secretly hoping they wouldn't be there because I wasn't sure the bar contained enough alcohol to diffuse the tremendous levels of discomfort we all shared. Walking past the sixteen year old, standing on a platform, dancing provocatively was enough for me to call it a night. Gyrating awkwardly, she reminded me of scenes from American Beauty, Girls Gone Wild, and various episodes of Maury. I felt dirty being there. The place was also extremely cramped, and the music aided in the strange high school feel permeating out of every crevice of the "bar." Also, the bar kind of looked like a parlor that would be in one of those really old, huge victorian homes that you see in Westchester County and can only imagine what kind of off the wall, illegal things happen in there.
Luckily, the people we were to meet up with were not there, but because they even suggested this place I began judging them harshly, and the next place we were supposed to meet may have been slightly worse. I don't even remember what it was called. It was across the street from Crash Mansion and the line was filled with dude-bros and girls stumbling all over the place. Again, not my cup of tea. Funnily enough we didn't make it into there either, but I assure you it would've been worse.
Due to the excruciating cold, we gave up on meeting them and went to this bar with a Spanish name that was pretty empty, but was playing loud, awesome music. Settling there, my friends and I had a great time dancing to music and being loud and obnoxious... well not too obnoxious. So the night wasn't a complete bust, but getting home at 2 on a Friday night? Eh, we could've done better haha
I wish I could remember the names of those other places, they just weren't as traumatizing as The Skinny. I promise it won't happen again.
I'm out.
The Skinny
The minute my friends and I stepped foot in The Skinny I knew we had to leave immediately. Surrounded by an array of high school stereotypes, ranging from jocks to goths, there were just too many hormones flying around everywhere to see the comical situation in which we found ourselves. Not only did my friends and I feel like the oldest people there, but we felt like we were party crashing. These twelve year olds didn't need us to be there cramping their style. So we go further in, looking for some people we were suppose to meet up with, all the while I was secretly hoping they wouldn't be there because I wasn't sure the bar contained enough alcohol to diffuse the tremendous levels of discomfort we all shared. Walking past the sixteen year old, standing on a platform, dancing provocatively was enough for me to call it a night. Gyrating awkwardly, she reminded me of scenes from American Beauty, Girls Gone Wild, and various episodes of Maury. I felt dirty being there. The place was also extremely cramped, and the music aided in the strange high school feel permeating out of every crevice of the "bar." Also, the bar kind of looked like a parlor that would be in one of those really old, huge victorian homes that you see in Westchester County and can only imagine what kind of off the wall, illegal things happen in there.
Luckily, the people we were to meet up with were not there, but because they even suggested this place I began judging them harshly, and the next place we were supposed to meet may have been slightly worse. I don't even remember what it was called. It was across the street from Crash Mansion and the line was filled with dude-bros and girls stumbling all over the place. Again, not my cup of tea. Funnily enough we didn't make it into there either, but I assure you it would've been worse.
Due to the excruciating cold, we gave up on meeting them and went to this bar with a Spanish name that was pretty empty, but was playing loud, awesome music. Settling there, my friends and I had a great time dancing to music and being loud and obnoxious... well not too obnoxious. So the night wasn't a complete bust, but getting home at 2 on a Friday night? Eh, we could've done better haha
I wish I could remember the names of those other places, they just weren't as traumatizing as The Skinny. I promise it won't happen again.
I'm out.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Subway Antics
I have not been gracing the NY social scene as of yet, considering my entire life has just been moved into an unfurnished room in Brooklyn and well, some organization is necessary. My room looks like a crack den right now, black garbage bags of miscellaneous items strewn about, full suitcases with clothing spilling out, a nest of blankets and pillows on the ground for me to sleep until I can procure a bed. It's great though, I'm so happy to finally be home. I am very pleased with my living situation and I'm insanely lucky to have such awesome roommates.
I had my first day of work yesterday- I was late. Nervous and excited, I left the house a few minutes after I planned and hopped on the train. After getting to Canal Street and running for my life towards the Q train, I slumped into the seat relieved- until, all hell broke loose. There was an announcement over the speakers, explaining the police had been called. "Oh, what now," I thought to myself, "This cannot be happening right now." It was. One plain clothes officer following a disgruntled passenger came to the car and pointed to an older gentleman who had been sitting on the train before I got on, reading with his briefcase in his lap. "That guy," the passenger with the policeman says, "Him." Without hesitation the plain clothes cop sternly asks the man to step off the train. Utterly bewildered, the man stands up and immediately begins asking what he did. Then 3 or 4 more police officers come running to assist with the obviously overpowering perpetrator. This poor man looked like someone's dad or grandfather, hardly anyone who would be wielding scissors and threatening passengers.Yes. Apparently, there was a man who pulled out scissors, "threatened" someone with them, then jumped off the train. So, the wrongly accused stood at the wall while three police officers thoroughly searched his person and briefcase, only to find papers, a plastic knife (oh my!), and a banana. The entire time they searched, the man asked that they show him a little respect, him being an elder and all, but the police laughed haughtily and ripped through the man's belongings without saying a word to him. After finding nothing, the plain clothes cop came back on the train and asked if anyone had seen anything. Silence, then someone said no. He then asked if the older man was on the train already or if he got on more recently. Someone said he'd been sitting there. The officer looked amused as he walked off the train, ordering the other officers to cease their aggressive inquisitions. Then the strangest thing happened. They all started to smile at each other. Giving the "perp" back his suitcase they told him it was all procedure, but I don't remember if they apologized or not. The older man seemed extremely relieved and told the cops he understood. I even heard laughter. WTF?!
The entire time this was happening I couldn't help but to think, he's black, that's the only reason he's being targeted. Then I thought of that phrase driving while black, and thought damn, he wasn't doing anything. He was just living while black and that's enough to almost get arrested. Maybe my view of the judicial system is a little jaded (to say the least). I'm glad he wasn't arrested, though and intrigued by the subsequent events. Also, during the fiasco, there was a couple sitting across from me frowning the entire time. The woman whispered, "police brutality,"to the man sitting next to her. I was watching those cops like a hawk, preparing myself to be a witness in a case if anything should happen, my hand clutching my phone ready to document any mistreatment. Luckily, there was nothing worthy of reporting. It was all just a big misunderstanding that caused me to be late for my first day of work. Lamesauce. Work was-interesting. The store is very different then the one I'm used to, but it was just my first day so I'll refrain from formulating any judgments.
I'm out.
I had my first day of work yesterday- I was late. Nervous and excited, I left the house a few minutes after I planned and hopped on the train. After getting to Canal Street and running for my life towards the Q train, I slumped into the seat relieved- until, all hell broke loose. There was an announcement over the speakers, explaining the police had been called. "Oh, what now," I thought to myself, "This cannot be happening right now." It was. One plain clothes officer following a disgruntled passenger came to the car and pointed to an older gentleman who had been sitting on the train before I got on, reading with his briefcase in his lap. "That guy," the passenger with the policeman says, "Him." Without hesitation the plain clothes cop sternly asks the man to step off the train. Utterly bewildered, the man stands up and immediately begins asking what he did. Then 3 or 4 more police officers come running to assist with the obviously overpowering perpetrator. This poor man looked like someone's dad or grandfather, hardly anyone who would be wielding scissors and threatening passengers.Yes. Apparently, there was a man who pulled out scissors, "threatened" someone with them, then jumped off the train. So, the wrongly accused stood at the wall while three police officers thoroughly searched his person and briefcase, only to find papers, a plastic knife (oh my!), and a banana. The entire time they searched, the man asked that they show him a little respect, him being an elder and all, but the police laughed haughtily and ripped through the man's belongings without saying a word to him. After finding nothing, the plain clothes cop came back on the train and asked if anyone had seen anything. Silence, then someone said no. He then asked if the older man was on the train already or if he got on more recently. Someone said he'd been sitting there. The officer looked amused as he walked off the train, ordering the other officers to cease their aggressive inquisitions. Then the strangest thing happened. They all started to smile at each other. Giving the "perp" back his suitcase they told him it was all procedure, but I don't remember if they apologized or not. The older man seemed extremely relieved and told the cops he understood. I even heard laughter. WTF?!
The entire time this was happening I couldn't help but to think, he's black, that's the only reason he's being targeted. Then I thought of that phrase driving while black, and thought damn, he wasn't doing anything. He was just living while black and that's enough to almost get arrested. Maybe my view of the judicial system is a little jaded (to say the least). I'm glad he wasn't arrested, though and intrigued by the subsequent events. Also, during the fiasco, there was a couple sitting across from me frowning the entire time. The woman whispered, "police brutality,"to the man sitting next to her. I was watching those cops like a hawk, preparing myself to be a witness in a case if anything should happen, my hand clutching my phone ready to document any mistreatment. Luckily, there was nothing worthy of reporting. It was all just a big misunderstanding that caused me to be late for my first day of work. Lamesauce. Work was-interesting. The store is very different then the one I'm used to, but it was just my first day so I'll refrain from formulating any judgments.
I'm out.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Helloooo NY!!!
I'm baaack!
Packing for my move was so strange. Everything that I experienced and lived in VA was also getting packed away in a different sense, and as I folded clothes and shoved books into my book bag I began to grasp the infallible change that has occurred within me these last months. It really has been like a story, with a definitive beginning, middle, and end along with rising action, klymaxx (haha), and all the rest. And what an extraordinary ending. I left on such a fantastic note.
So here's my life in VA packed away in suitcases and such...
Note how uneasily neat everything appears. It reminds me of Nietzsche's Appolinian/Dionysian feuding dualities. A violently raging, chaotic reality beneath an appearance of perfect serenity.
After months of rehabilitation and self-discovery I find myself back where I started, in the place where it all began- a slowly deteriorating house in Yonkers. Being here makes me feel strange. Not exactly like I'm reverting back to who/what I was before, but a certain sinking feeling, like staying here for any extended amount of time (more than 3 days) will eventually lead to self-destruction. Luckily, I am not staying here, but moving into my apartment in Brooklyn. However, when that is has not been discussed which makes me a tad nervous and slightly irritated. Alas, I cannot complain for my family has been such an extraordinarily dependable entity in my life.
For these past months I have been slightly withdrawn from certain emotional connections for (to me) obvious reasons, but have since shed that defense mechanism because though being numb is sometimes necessary, being in a constant state of aloofness is just plain unhealthy. Though I thought I was protecting myself, there was something I knew was missing. I wasn't entirely whole because I kept myself from feeling. Gah, I love learning. Isn't life awesome?!
And now I am ready to take on the big city! There are so many things I want to realistically accomplish, so again I'm planning and executing. You can call me the executioner (only if you so desire).
I shall leave you with a song I am currently infatuated with...
I LOVE THEM.
I'm out.
Packing for my move was so strange. Everything that I experienced and lived in VA was also getting packed away in a different sense, and as I folded clothes and shoved books into my book bag I began to grasp the infallible change that has occurred within me these last months. It really has been like a story, with a definitive beginning, middle, and end along with rising action, klymaxx (haha), and all the rest. And what an extraordinary ending. I left on such a fantastic note.
So here's my life in VA packed away in suitcases and such...
Note how uneasily neat everything appears. It reminds me of Nietzsche's Appolinian/Dionysian feuding dualities. A violently raging, chaotic reality beneath an appearance of perfect serenity.
After months of rehabilitation and self-discovery I find myself back where I started, in the place where it all began- a slowly deteriorating house in Yonkers. Being here makes me feel strange. Not exactly like I'm reverting back to who/what I was before, but a certain sinking feeling, like staying here for any extended amount of time (more than 3 days) will eventually lead to self-destruction. Luckily, I am not staying here, but moving into my apartment in Brooklyn. However, when that is has not been discussed which makes me a tad nervous and slightly irritated. Alas, I cannot complain for my family has been such an extraordinarily dependable entity in my life.
For these past months I have been slightly withdrawn from certain emotional connections for (to me) obvious reasons, but have since shed that defense mechanism because though being numb is sometimes necessary, being in a constant state of aloofness is just plain unhealthy. Though I thought I was protecting myself, there was something I knew was missing. I wasn't entirely whole because I kept myself from feeling. Gah, I love learning. Isn't life awesome?!
And now I am ready to take on the big city! There are so many things I want to realistically accomplish, so again I'm planning and executing. You can call me the executioner (only if you so desire).
I shall leave you with a song I am currently infatuated with...
I LOVE THEM.
I'm out.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Good Hair
As a black woman, I must say I was never consumed by the necessity to perm my hair. My mother encouraged my sister and I to keep our hair natural and not once had anything negative to say about our tight curls. I am incredibly grateful to my mother for instilling in me an "alternative" sense of beauty. Beauty that wasn't in all the magazines, I guess- it shouldn't be called alternative, but you get my point...
I love my hair. Now, there were instances in elementary school when I would dream of having long flowing hair, but quickly realized even with the best hot comb treatment my hair just would not do that haha. So, now I'm 22. I am natural and have been my entire life, and had no idea the amount of stress some black woman go through to uphold unfair societal standards. I was reading an article in the times a few weeks ago about some upheaval about the two first daughters not wearing their hair straight. I was ashamed and embarrassed that there was an article in the NEW YORK TIMES detailing the stress of women and their hair, a need to have "good hair." But it was real. Women are going through some shit to make themselves more appealing to society. It really isn't fair and stems back to the standard of beauty: white, blonde, thin women. Ugh, luckily that's changing, at least I think so. More black woman are feeling comfortable with their natural hair, and they should! It's beautiful, and so is straight hair. No one should feel ashamed about themselves. Ugh, beauty in America. That's a whole other can o' worms.
Anyway, this entry was really to share with you Chris Rock's new documentary that looks hilarious called "Good Hair."
Here's the trailer, enjoy!
I love my hair. Now, there were instances in elementary school when I would dream of having long flowing hair, but quickly realized even with the best hot comb treatment my hair just would not do that haha. So, now I'm 22. I am natural and have been my entire life, and had no idea the amount of stress some black woman go through to uphold unfair societal standards. I was reading an article in the times a few weeks ago about some upheaval about the two first daughters not wearing their hair straight. I was ashamed and embarrassed that there was an article in the NEW YORK TIMES detailing the stress of women and their hair, a need to have "good hair." But it was real. Women are going through some shit to make themselves more appealing to society. It really isn't fair and stems back to the standard of beauty: white, blonde, thin women. Ugh, luckily that's changing, at least I think so. More black woman are feeling comfortable with their natural hair, and they should! It's beautiful, and so is straight hair. No one should feel ashamed about themselves. Ugh, beauty in America. That's a whole other can o' worms.
Anyway, this entry was really to share with you Chris Rock's new documentary that looks hilarious called "Good Hair."
Here's the trailer, enjoy!
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