My family and I just returned from seeing the movie Avatar and I have to say that in spite of being thoroughly entertained I was also slightly disturbed. And as I write this blog I find myself still trying to work out why. So in an effort to make this discovery I will begin with the obvious. Everything about this movie from the smallest detail had “ginormous budget” written all over it. I will admit from my pedestrian point of view that most of the money was tastefully spent. This movie my finance’ likes to remind me was the most expensive movie ever made. This and the fact that I couldn’t get tickets to see it until tonight are what really made me want to see what all the fuss was about. When I finally saw it I began to realize that it was not only quite entertaining, but it was also an exercise in audacity (more on this later). I reached this conclusion right around the first half hour when the plot was revealed. I thought to myself this is Dances with Wolves in outer space. It was the story of how one colonist with a moral dilemma decided to take pity on a thriving yet clearly different civilization from his own. In the process he falls in love and decides to save it from his evil countrymen who are only concerned with the profit that comes from robbing the land of its natural resources at the expense of the mortal and spiritual lives of its inhabitants. Sound familiar?
With that being said however, I have to give respect where it is due. Cameron did an excellent job of including all the ingredients of a good science fiction story. He demonstrated yet again that there is and always will be an ongoing struggle between the forces of industry, the military and science and the values of simple folk. Of course the savior of this civilization always finds out that these simple folk aren’t that simple at all. The problem that I always have with these stories is that savior always ends up being braver, nobler and in the end more spiritually enlightened than the men of the society who have lived there for centuries. He also in the process emasculates the native who is next in line for the coveted position of leader AND gets his girl to boot! Maybe I’m just being picky here but there seems to be something slightly wrong with this motif.
These are some of the obvious splinters that I stumbled across on the road to deciphering this flick. However, the most disturbing blow that Cameron and his cohorts dealt was one that many won’t even feel. If the devil has any thing to do with Hollywood, (and those of us who believe in the devil know that he does) he is most definitely gloating right now at how often humanity chooses comfort and entertainment over change. I overheard two guys having a conversation about the movie at its conclusion. They were questioning the morals of a film which motivates its viewers to cheer for the “good guys” when in fact the good guys happened to be aliens from outer space slaughtering American soldiers. These people prior to viewing this movie probably didn’t know the amazing parallels it would make to real life soldiers in real life wars and will probably choose to conveniently forget by the time there heads hit their pillows. I also had a conversation that was directly aimed at me at the end of the movie. Some random stranger announced “I guess since the natives in this movie stood up for themselves everything’s ok now” and as a response to the confusion on my face explained that she was of course sarcastically referring to the bloody history of colonialism in this country. As I listened I found my self wondering how much of her sarcasm might be the remedy for a guilty conscience. At this point when I began to acknowledge my own sarcasm internally, I reached the conclusion that she and I were no different than the people having the first conversation. We have been given the luxury of dealing with the atrocities of war via Hollywood and in 3D! And whenever we find it necessary we can and will forget. Which is why Hollywood can audaciously release a movie which indirectly gives the message that maybe every once in a while Americans do some fucked up shit but since they only really want to be entertained with special effects and shit it won’t cause too much controversy. And even if it does all anyone will ever do is talk or maybe blog about it. The devil is always in the details but his greatest trick has always been to convince us that they don’t exist. I mean after all Avatar is just movie right?
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Monday, November 30, 2009
WTF!!??
This is something I picked up on Salon.com. I'm interested
in what folks think. I think how I feel is pretty obvious.
Editor:
Updated: TodayTopic:
Facebook Sunday, Nov 29, 2009 18:01 PST
Facebook, the mean girls and me
At 34 years old, I finally feel like a popular seventh-grader. How sad is that?
By Taffy Brodesser-Akner
I sit at my computer and wait for Barbara, who once poured yogurt on my head in front of the entire field hockey team, to tell me the details of her breakup with her current boyfriend. While I wait, I chat with Alison, who, years ago, stole my pants during gym and cut a hole in the crotch area, and who needs advice on how to sleep-train her baby. Still, while all this is going on, I play online Scrabble with Rachel, who, when I was 12, told everyone I had faked getting my period for attention.
I am someone with a life. I have a career, a son, a husband, an active volunteer life, and many current and real-life friendships that need maintenance. I have a work deadline in three hours, plus dinner isn’t ready. The laundry remains unlaundered. Why, then, am I sitting at my computer, concerned to distraction over the activities of the people who were cruelest to me during my formative years?
They weren’t always horrible to me. I loved fifth and sixth grades. I had a clique of friends, complete with secret nicknames, passed notes, knowing looks, friendship bracelets, friendship pens, friendship songs. We moved through the school as a group and took turns slumber-partying at each other’s houses.
We traded the title "best friend" regularly among different pairings in our group. Nancy and Barbara had spent two weeks together in Nantucket over the summer, and though Nancy and I had been best friends prior to that, apparently they had decided that their time had come to be best friends. They made this announcement to me via conference call the week before school started. I took it OK; after all, I’d been meaning to get to know Amy better.
Late in sixth grade, something changed, and I wasn’t a part of it. One day, all my friends came in with matching training bras. “I didn’t know we were getting bras,” I said. They looked at each other, a shared glance I used to be on the comfy side of, and my heart sank with the unspoken answer: We weren’t. They were.
Seventh grade began, and I found out we had grown out of things like changing best friends. I met a girl named Emily who had transferred to our school. After a good day of getting to know her, I asked if she wanted to be best friends. “You’re such a loser,” she spat. I looked around one day, and my group of friends had wandered away. Adults like to generalize and say things like, “Aren’t kids cruel?” But we kids, the ones who are left out in the cold, have a role in what happens to us. Not necessarily a fair one, but the facts of our unpopularity are not mysterious. We get fat, we say the wrong thing, we wear outdated clothing. Me, I was too needy. Long after my friends stopped needing superlative titles to know how much they meant to each other, I still did.
I did not go quietly into that lonely and unpopular night. Each morning, I tried to assume a casual air of friendship. Big mistake. My efforts backfired, and my former friends’ apathy toward me turned to hatred. Soon, I was not just ignored at school. I was tripped as I came out of the shower. People made flatulent noises when I sat down in class. My locker was magic-markered with the word "loser." We are tempted to remember this behavior and make light of it. Oh, it couldn’t have been that bad, we said. But I remember it well. It was that bad.
Now, all these years later, there’s Facebook, allowing us to put the past to rest, to erase the mystery that used to be inherent in the subject of wondering whatever happened to those people you once knew.
After accumulating college friends and ex-boyfriends, as we all do when we join Facebook, I took a chance and looked up Barbara. With the nervousness that accompanied me on every bus trip to school following my fall from grace, I pressed the button that would send her a friend request. Immediately, I received confirmation: She had agreed, finally, to be my friend. Brave now, I found Alison, then Amy, then Nancy. I was euphoric. Here I am, back in the inner sanctum. I sort through their pictures, their posts, their lives. I cheer their triumphs, their babies’ birthdays, photos from their ski trips. I cobble together the story of how life has been since we knew each other, deliberately, forcefully forgetting how it was we parted.
I check their updates and their statuses with eagerness each day. Like an addict, I am euphoric when I am practicing my addiction, remorseful and self-hating when I’m not. I am shocked at how easily I have forgiven these people. I am filled with the warm light of acceptance; I am wrapped in the cozy blanket of belonging.
In my imagination, my old clique’s renewed friendship tells me that they know they were wrong, that they were just being cruel. They’re sorry, they say with every LOL or emoticon. We were wrong, they say when they press the "like" button on my status update. If I’m honest, I bet they don’t think about it. I bet they regard me as a name that is familiar -- a new person in their lives, more than an old one.
There is no way to go back in time and undo things -- not the insults, not the humiliations. We can pretend some events never happened, though we are always still a little plagued. But, sometimes, we can also find a way to make what happened in the past right. I’m not saying you can do that with everything that haunts your past. But some things, you can. Maybe the way women in the '90s took back the word "bitch," calling themselves and each other by the ugly slur so that it wouldn’t hold power when men said it, maybe that’s what I’m doing with my former friends.
Why do you need to be loved by people who rejected you a hundred years ago, asks my husband, though I have explained it. He believes I have Stockholm syndrome, that I have fallen in love with my torturers. I tell him that these are just old friends, that I’m over it, that it’s nice to be in touch with a piece of my past. But I’m not exactly over it, am I? What I am, though, is someone who has finally found a way to put my life’s ugliest social chapter to rest. Maybe I didn’t come by it the honest way -- through a true reckoning with my past, a fearless inventory of what happened that year and why I can't get over it. But who is to say that we shouldn’t try to find peace any way we can? Who says it always has to be so hard?
Whatever my intention was when I contacted my former friends, it’s different now. I no longer want validation; I no longer am testing the waters to see if they now find me worth their time. These women are not who I thought they’d be. They’re people having a hard time in the economy, people who are struggling through their days, their relationships. I don’t have enough in common with them to think that, had we not fallen out, our friendships would have survived. But here, now, I am someone who also struggles with these things. I have stretched across a social divide that was narrower than I thought, and I found community where I least expected it. Am I pathetic? Maybe. But what I also am, finally, is a popular seventh-grader. I think of my younger self, eating her lunch alone, wondering when this agony will be over. I wish I could tell her I haven't forgotten about her. I wish I could tell her I've made it OK.
in what folks think. I think how I feel is pretty obvious.
Editor:
Updated: TodayTopic:
Facebook Sunday, Nov 29, 2009 18:01 PST
Facebook, the mean girls and me
At 34 years old, I finally feel like a popular seventh-grader. How sad is that?
By Taffy Brodesser-Akner
I sit at my computer and wait for Barbara, who once poured yogurt on my head in front of the entire field hockey team, to tell me the details of her breakup with her current boyfriend. While I wait, I chat with Alison, who, years ago, stole my pants during gym and cut a hole in the crotch area, and who needs advice on how to sleep-train her baby. Still, while all this is going on, I play online Scrabble with Rachel, who, when I was 12, told everyone I had faked getting my period for attention.
I am someone with a life. I have a career, a son, a husband, an active volunteer life, and many current and real-life friendships that need maintenance. I have a work deadline in three hours, plus dinner isn’t ready. The laundry remains unlaundered. Why, then, am I sitting at my computer, concerned to distraction over the activities of the people who were cruelest to me during my formative years?
They weren’t always horrible to me. I loved fifth and sixth grades. I had a clique of friends, complete with secret nicknames, passed notes, knowing looks, friendship bracelets, friendship pens, friendship songs. We moved through the school as a group and took turns slumber-partying at each other’s houses.
We traded the title "best friend" regularly among different pairings in our group. Nancy and Barbara had spent two weeks together in Nantucket over the summer, and though Nancy and I had been best friends prior to that, apparently they had decided that their time had come to be best friends. They made this announcement to me via conference call the week before school started. I took it OK; after all, I’d been meaning to get to know Amy better.
Late in sixth grade, something changed, and I wasn’t a part of it. One day, all my friends came in with matching training bras. “I didn’t know we were getting bras,” I said. They looked at each other, a shared glance I used to be on the comfy side of, and my heart sank with the unspoken answer: We weren’t. They were.
Seventh grade began, and I found out we had grown out of things like changing best friends. I met a girl named Emily who had transferred to our school. After a good day of getting to know her, I asked if she wanted to be best friends. “You’re such a loser,” she spat. I looked around one day, and my group of friends had wandered away. Adults like to generalize and say things like, “Aren’t kids cruel?” But we kids, the ones who are left out in the cold, have a role in what happens to us. Not necessarily a fair one, but the facts of our unpopularity are not mysterious. We get fat, we say the wrong thing, we wear outdated clothing. Me, I was too needy. Long after my friends stopped needing superlative titles to know how much they meant to each other, I still did.
I did not go quietly into that lonely and unpopular night. Each morning, I tried to assume a casual air of friendship. Big mistake. My efforts backfired, and my former friends’ apathy toward me turned to hatred. Soon, I was not just ignored at school. I was tripped as I came out of the shower. People made flatulent noises when I sat down in class. My locker was magic-markered with the word "loser." We are tempted to remember this behavior and make light of it. Oh, it couldn’t have been that bad, we said. But I remember it well. It was that bad.
Now, all these years later, there’s Facebook, allowing us to put the past to rest, to erase the mystery that used to be inherent in the subject of wondering whatever happened to those people you once knew.
After accumulating college friends and ex-boyfriends, as we all do when we join Facebook, I took a chance and looked up Barbara. With the nervousness that accompanied me on every bus trip to school following my fall from grace, I pressed the button that would send her a friend request. Immediately, I received confirmation: She had agreed, finally, to be my friend. Brave now, I found Alison, then Amy, then Nancy. I was euphoric. Here I am, back in the inner sanctum. I sort through their pictures, their posts, their lives. I cheer their triumphs, their babies’ birthdays, photos from their ski trips. I cobble together the story of how life has been since we knew each other, deliberately, forcefully forgetting how it was we parted.
I check their updates and their statuses with eagerness each day. Like an addict, I am euphoric when I am practicing my addiction, remorseful and self-hating when I’m not. I am shocked at how easily I have forgiven these people. I am filled with the warm light of acceptance; I am wrapped in the cozy blanket of belonging.
In my imagination, my old clique’s renewed friendship tells me that they know they were wrong, that they were just being cruel. They’re sorry, they say with every LOL or emoticon. We were wrong, they say when they press the "like" button on my status update. If I’m honest, I bet they don’t think about it. I bet they regard me as a name that is familiar -- a new person in their lives, more than an old one.
There is no way to go back in time and undo things -- not the insults, not the humiliations. We can pretend some events never happened, though we are always still a little plagued. But, sometimes, we can also find a way to make what happened in the past right. I’m not saying you can do that with everything that haunts your past. But some things, you can. Maybe the way women in the '90s took back the word "bitch," calling themselves and each other by the ugly slur so that it wouldn’t hold power when men said it, maybe that’s what I’m doing with my former friends.
Why do you need to be loved by people who rejected you a hundred years ago, asks my husband, though I have explained it. He believes I have Stockholm syndrome, that I have fallen in love with my torturers. I tell him that these are just old friends, that I’m over it, that it’s nice to be in touch with a piece of my past. But I’m not exactly over it, am I? What I am, though, is someone who has finally found a way to put my life’s ugliest social chapter to rest. Maybe I didn’t come by it the honest way -- through a true reckoning with my past, a fearless inventory of what happened that year and why I can't get over it. But who is to say that we shouldn’t try to find peace any way we can? Who says it always has to be so hard?
Whatever my intention was when I contacted my former friends, it’s different now. I no longer want validation; I no longer am testing the waters to see if they now find me worth their time. These women are not who I thought they’d be. They’re people having a hard time in the economy, people who are struggling through their days, their relationships. I don’t have enough in common with them to think that, had we not fallen out, our friendships would have survived. But here, now, I am someone who also struggles with these things. I have stretched across a social divide that was narrower than I thought, and I found community where I least expected it. Am I pathetic? Maybe. But what I also am, finally, is a popular seventh-grader. I think of my younger self, eating her lunch alone, wondering when this agony will be over. I wish I could tell her I haven't forgotten about her. I wish I could tell her I've made it OK.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
What if...
What if a person could gain intimate knowledge of his neighbor by the simple act of sniffing his arse. I know it sounds kind of odd, but we have become a nation that is so completely obsessed with decorum in the midst of utter chaos, that it would be interesting to see how we would react if we could suddenly bring peace to the world by simply mimicking cats and dogs. And since I have never seen a poodle drop a bomb on a pit bull, I would say that they must be doing something right. I know it sounds crazy but what if sometime in 1000A.D. some king decreed that arse sniffing was uncivilized and that those who were caught doing it would be burned at the stake. I think that would be enough to make me walk upright. And maybe this king made this decree because he knew that performing this act would be the alternative to war and atrocities which would bare him more profit than peace on earth and decided that he and his knights would be the only ones worthy of the infinite wisdom that arse sniffing yielded. Therefore, it is possible that every high official in government who went to an ivy league school was in an arse sniffing fraternity and if they were ever caught sharing their arse sniffing secrets would be assassinated. Who knows? Maybe Kennedy was an arse sniffer who decided to blow the whistle on the whole arse sniffing conspiracy and was silenced in Dallas on that fateful day.
Just think if arse sniffing was legal, women would be sayin' shit like: I'm sorry, I don't arse sniff on the first date. And men would be sayin' "but I bought you dinner at an expensive restaurant, I think that deserves at least one arse sniffing"!? When applying for jobs, employers would not only require references and a credit check but a healthy sniff as well. (of course any use of tongue would be considered sexual harassment). On prom night fathers could put away their shot guns and sniff their daughter's dates instead. But would they? Absolutely not!
It seems that most of the masses are quite content with their mediocrity. Everybody says that they want infinite peace and wisdom but they'd rather not have to sniff arse to get it. What is confusing about this realization is now I don't know whether or not to be proud of the masses because of it.
Friday, November 13, 2009
The Word
Yesterday A student asked me why he had to learn English "if that's what we speak". It took me a day to articulate it but I came to the realization that speaking and writing is how we not only survive but evolve as a species. And since we speak English it is essential that we speak and write it well. If we cannot successfully express ourselves than we are subject to insanity. Nations live and die by the word. If we were never given the chance to hear King, Kennedy or Obama speak, they would only be mere men instead of the icons they have become. There are some who say that actions speak louder than words but people are called to action by the words of passionate and articulate men and women alike. Even if the words are "boy you ain't ever gonna amount to nothin" there are those who will be motivated to prove otherwise. Positive words just make such motivations easier to realize.
This goes out to all of the hard working people out there who sometimes can't find the words to express the fear, frustration and uncertainty that you feel in these challenging times. I personally have faith that you will find them. And when you do, make sure they are motivated by hope and love.
Here's to you and here's to "the word".
This goes out to all of the hard working people out there who sometimes can't find the words to express the fear, frustration and uncertainty that you feel in these challenging times. I personally have faith that you will find them. And when you do, make sure they are motivated by hope and love.
Here's to you and here's to "the word".
Thursday, November 12, 2009
'nuthin tragic...just news
If there is an art to being a grown up, I still have yet to master it. About 4 months ago when Devasha and I were finally closing on our new home it seemed as if our moment of Zen was approaching, but then the bills came and the promise of future bills followed. It was as if the issues that come with adulthood tapped us on our shoulders and with a wink and a smile informed us that the fun was just beginning. The good news is that nothing tragic has happened (knock on wood). Now don’t get me wrong. I am in no way wishing for tragic events to unfold. I am only acknowledging the fact that with the issues that come with home ownership one must always be mindful that stress is what comes with trying to make house a home. Anguish is what comes when that mission fails. There is something surreal about getting an astronomical bill for something that you have never had to pay for like water. The good news is that I now have a greater appreciation for water. My friend Sol put it best: “This stuff is just news…if it ain’t tragic news, it’s just news” even if it means I have to pay a high ass water bill, it’s just news; even if it means that because of said water bill I can’t buy the treadmill and the new snowboard equipment I wanted, it’s just news. . He also reminded me that sometimes even the most beautiful news can come with its own brand of stress. Hint: It’s the kind of news that can make a person both excited and terrified at the same time and takes 9 months to arrive (ok I will now pause for applause). Lucky for me all I have to do is to be stressed. The other stuff is all on Devasha (bless her heart). Maybe she can write her own blog on that subject. I’m sure she would do a much better job than I could ever hope to.
The last time I embarked on this journey to fatherhood my stress was from a more selfish place. I wondered how I could handle all of the challenges of being a father and still maintain a sense of self. My daughter Autumn came on the scene when I was sure I was on the road to being a rock star. I was hell bent on making every moment an adventure whether it was traveling, meeting new people or taking more personal journeys internally with the help of a cookie or two. I have since learned that being a dad is a quest unlike any I have ever experienced. Every moment I live now no matter how mundane is a fight against mediocrity. The demons, goblins and fire breathing dragons that I battle now are fiercest when I am most fatigued. Only a dad can know how tough it is to help a child with her homework after a long day’s work when all he wants to do is crack open a cold one and watch T.V. In fact, I’m STILL working on that one! Lucky for me we have a DVR. Now if I could just keep the cable on everything will be golden. And if not, it’s just news.
The last time I embarked on this journey to fatherhood my stress was from a more selfish place. I wondered how I could handle all of the challenges of being a father and still maintain a sense of self. My daughter Autumn came on the scene when I was sure I was on the road to being a rock star. I was hell bent on making every moment an adventure whether it was traveling, meeting new people or taking more personal journeys internally with the help of a cookie or two. I have since learned that being a dad is a quest unlike any I have ever experienced. Every moment I live now no matter how mundane is a fight against mediocrity. The demons, goblins and fire breathing dragons that I battle now are fiercest when I am most fatigued. Only a dad can know how tough it is to help a child with her homework after a long day’s work when all he wants to do is crack open a cold one and watch T.V. In fact, I’m STILL working on that one! Lucky for me we have a DVR. Now if I could just keep the cable on everything will be golden. And if not, it’s just news.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Comic rant to be continued...
Every angel is a potential devil whenever the devil calls him a bitch ass. Whenever I read a Superman or Batman comic I find The Joker or Lex Luthor in so many words taunting their enemies with the same idea: "The two of you are bitches because you are too scared to do anything for yourselves". And whenever you do you end up feeling extremely guilty about it. Even though Bats plays this rouge/playboy role, secretly he's not really having any fun at all. The funny thing is The Joker knows that somewhere within his arch enemies' heart there is some regret that he can't live a normal life. So he taunts him and in so many words calls him a bitch every time. I think I would laugh my ass off if some writer in the comic universe allowed The Joker to call him a bitch. It would be classic because most readers know that this is what he was thinking and doing all along. Lex on the other hand would take a much more refined approach. He'd probably never say it but his assistant Mercy probably would.
Ok so I guess it's evident now that I have a fixation with super heroes. I guess the most interesting thing about them is that in reality they're not that super, especially when you put them in the most modern of contexts. In this land of smart phones and i-pods which have made people almost sinfully self absorbed, a heroes story would grow to be a little insignificant, especially after CNN is done with it. I guess this why I'm so fascinated with comics. It takes a special kind of writer to create characters such as these specifically because they are freaks. And the most freakish thing about them is their undying optimism even when the enemy calling them a punk ass.
Ok so I guess it's evident now that I have a fixation with super heroes. I guess the most interesting thing about them is that in reality they're not that super, especially when you put them in the most modern of contexts. In this land of smart phones and i-pods which have made people almost sinfully self absorbed, a heroes story would grow to be a little insignificant, especially after CNN is done with it. I guess this why I'm so fascinated with comics. It takes a special kind of writer to create characters such as these specifically because they are freaks. And the most freakish thing about them is their undying optimism even when the enemy calling them a punk ass.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
The Genius of Imperfection
"Better to rule in hell than to serve in heaven"
- J. Milton Paradise Lost
Let us assume that there is a god. Let us also assume for the sake of argument that this god is a perfect god. From this premise it could be deduced that in an imperfect world populated by individuals who each in their own unique way fall short of perfection, our very existence is an act of genius (more on this later). As I gaze across my classroom observing my anxious students toiling through an exam this notion is quite evident. Every day I watch these young men and women who have been labeled special ed. struggle with the fact that they are not perfect. Because of this often debilitating concept their study habits, concept of time and outright desire to attend school suffers on a daily basis. This is all because somewhere during their development someone informed them of their imperfections in very harsh ways. In fact, they are constantly informed not only by outside influences but in their subconscious minds. I have one student in my 8th period class who blatantly, reports to class late, and when he arrives makes it his mission to be especially disruptive. When I asked him the reason for this destructive routine he replied that he might as well have fun now because he may die tomorrow. He is only 15.
What this student unwittingly described is the dilemma of human existence on a very basic level. Imperfection has been the engine that drives us since the invention of the wheel. It constantly places us mortals on opposite sides of a dichotomy where we are forced to strive for our highest good or be content with mediocrity. For example, each day I wake up and do 100 push-ups and 100 sit-ups to start my morning. This routine stems from my drive to be as aesthetically perfect as possible. Although I know that this is impossible, I achieve solace in the very process of it because helps me feel a sense of order (even if it is an illusion) to my life. Some would say that this is a fruitless venture because sooner or later age will catch up to me and I will eventually look like a man who has become comfortable with his own physical existence, which is a solace of a different kind. On a larger scale this example could also be applied to a monk who meditates for hours at time and lives a life of temperance and necessity. This type of existence is of course a far cry from the average person whose mind is steeped in western thought. We could also apply this example to the more (ahem) respectable professions of our society such as medicine, law or finance. At the purest level, the major element that these professions share is that not only do they have the ability to inspire but to deter as well almost unwittingly. For example, the drive and discipline that is needed to be successful in the professional arena is of no consequence to my 15 year old student. In fact, in his mind, it is all just a waste of time.
The genius of this dichotomy is that societies have been run by it for centuries. Our society, which is probably one of the best examples, is predicated on the pursuit of happiness [or perfection] and the contentment of mediocrity. Those of us who pursue perfection/happiness get to manipulate those of us who don’t. Although he may be fully aware what side of the dichotomy he is on, what my student doesn’t know is that his reluctance to reach perfection creates a crisis. Crisis is a by-product of mediocrity and is what fuels the engine of this society. The crisis of illiteracy is what pays my salary and could potentially pay the salaries of the alternative school that may accept him if he continues on his current path, the public defender who could potentially defend him if he decides to commit a crime, the staff of the penal system if he is convicted and countless others whose primary purpose is to serve and profit from the imperfect. And since we are all imperfect someone always gets paid.
On a more personal level, i.e. my obsession with push-ups, we also stand the risk of disillusionment and boredom when we don’t pursue personal goals of perfection. We then fall into the routine of creating our own personal hells in which issues of self-esteem and lack of self-actualization come in to play. It is possible that my student has learned how to make the best of his hell. It is possible that he is the classic example of the Miltonian demon in the above quote who is content with his current position in life. It is also possible that many of us have become slaves to the pursuit of perfection and if you asked him, he is free. If so, then I suppose this perfect god of ours truly blesses the imperfect perfectly.
- J. Milton Paradise Lost
Let us assume that there is a god. Let us also assume for the sake of argument that this god is a perfect god. From this premise it could be deduced that in an imperfect world populated by individuals who each in their own unique way fall short of perfection, our very existence is an act of genius (more on this later). As I gaze across my classroom observing my anxious students toiling through an exam this notion is quite evident. Every day I watch these young men and women who have been labeled special ed. struggle with the fact that they are not perfect. Because of this often debilitating concept their study habits, concept of time and outright desire to attend school suffers on a daily basis. This is all because somewhere during their development someone informed them of their imperfections in very harsh ways. In fact, they are constantly informed not only by outside influences but in their subconscious minds. I have one student in my 8th period class who blatantly, reports to class late, and when he arrives makes it his mission to be especially disruptive. When I asked him the reason for this destructive routine he replied that he might as well have fun now because he may die tomorrow. He is only 15.
What this student unwittingly described is the dilemma of human existence on a very basic level. Imperfection has been the engine that drives us since the invention of the wheel. It constantly places us mortals on opposite sides of a dichotomy where we are forced to strive for our highest good or be content with mediocrity. For example, each day I wake up and do 100 push-ups and 100 sit-ups to start my morning. This routine stems from my drive to be as aesthetically perfect as possible. Although I know that this is impossible, I achieve solace in the very process of it because helps me feel a sense of order (even if it is an illusion) to my life. Some would say that this is a fruitless venture because sooner or later age will catch up to me and I will eventually look like a man who has become comfortable with his own physical existence, which is a solace of a different kind. On a larger scale this example could also be applied to a monk who meditates for hours at time and lives a life of temperance and necessity. This type of existence is of course a far cry from the average person whose mind is steeped in western thought. We could also apply this example to the more (ahem) respectable professions of our society such as medicine, law or finance. At the purest level, the major element that these professions share is that not only do they have the ability to inspire but to deter as well almost unwittingly. For example, the drive and discipline that is needed to be successful in the professional arena is of no consequence to my 15 year old student. In fact, in his mind, it is all just a waste of time.
The genius of this dichotomy is that societies have been run by it for centuries. Our society, which is probably one of the best examples, is predicated on the pursuit of happiness [or perfection] and the contentment of mediocrity. Those of us who pursue perfection/happiness get to manipulate those of us who don’t. Although he may be fully aware what side of the dichotomy he is on, what my student doesn’t know is that his reluctance to reach perfection creates a crisis. Crisis is a by-product of mediocrity and is what fuels the engine of this society. The crisis of illiteracy is what pays my salary and could potentially pay the salaries of the alternative school that may accept him if he continues on his current path, the public defender who could potentially defend him if he decides to commit a crime, the staff of the penal system if he is convicted and countless others whose primary purpose is to serve and profit from the imperfect. And since we are all imperfect someone always gets paid.
On a more personal level, i.e. my obsession with push-ups, we also stand the risk of disillusionment and boredom when we don’t pursue personal goals of perfection. We then fall into the routine of creating our own personal hells in which issues of self-esteem and lack of self-actualization come in to play. It is possible that my student has learned how to make the best of his hell. It is possible that he is the classic example of the Miltonian demon in the above quote who is content with his current position in life. It is also possible that many of us have become slaves to the pursuit of perfection and if you asked him, he is free. If so, then I suppose this perfect god of ours truly blesses the imperfect perfectly.
Monday, September 28, 2009
What happens after I watch Californication
Writing takes courage. I needed to say this more to myself than anyone who happens to be reading this blog. Once a person utters the words “I am a writer” he becomes immediately responsible for the title. This means that he or she is expected be an authority on any subject that he writes on even if the subject happens to be himself. The reason why this is especially frightening to me is that I can be criticized on anything under the sun via this blog especially since the very title of it suggests that what is on my mind incessantly is indeed every thing under the sun. But I can live with the fear.
So here I am again, naked to the three readers I have, (myself being one of them), attempting to get passed fear, the only thing in the world that has the ability to compel me to or stop me from writing. In fact, I have realized through writing these thoughts that I have never even dared to call myself a writer until recently, when I wrote something which forced me to make the claim [of writer] in my own defense of being viewed as a faker. I was forced to say to myself “I am a writer and sometimes we upset people”. That’s what writers do sometimes. We can even upset our friends when really all we are being is honest. A friend told me once that all writing is is being honest. Sometimes I feel like I’m lying everywhere else and this is the only place I can be honest. And I’m starting to think that many of us haven’t made the claim on a great deal of things we love to do for fear of disappointment and rejection. This is why we (or I, whichever the reader prefers) “half do” a great deal of things.
Damn. All that from watching Californication.
So here I am again, naked to the three readers I have, (myself being one of them), attempting to get passed fear, the only thing in the world that has the ability to compel me to or stop me from writing. In fact, I have realized through writing these thoughts that I have never even dared to call myself a writer until recently, when I wrote something which forced me to make the claim [of writer] in my own defense of being viewed as a faker. I was forced to say to myself “I am a writer and sometimes we upset people”. That’s what writers do sometimes. We can even upset our friends when really all we are being is honest. A friend told me once that all writing is is being honest. Sometimes I feel like I’m lying everywhere else and this is the only place I can be honest. And I’m starting to think that many of us haven’t made the claim on a great deal of things we love to do for fear of disappointment and rejection. This is why we (or I, whichever the reader prefers) “half do” a great deal of things.
Damn. All that from watching Californication.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
a moment to acknowledge
A Different Kind of Nigga'
May 5, 2009
Two weeks ago i had an argument with one of my students about being habitually late to my class in excesses of 20 minutes or more. He appeared to be in disbelief of the fact that I had the nerve to charge him 5 points off his final grade for each infraction. During the conversation he looked at me with the same kind of smirk basketball players use when they believe they have been unjustly charged with a foul and said "Mr. Knight, you a different kind a nigga". Someone suggested that this be the title of my memoirs. I'm not sure if I would go that far, but the situation is worth noting. Normally I would connect this anecdote to a larger point, but today...I got nuthin'!
Comments? Suggestions? Be my guest
I spoke to this young man two days ago. He was late again to another teacher's class as I happened to be leaving. I asked him if he was working on the problem. I will admit to paraphrasing but the general gist was that the importance of his puntuality was starting to sink in. He seemed to be more adjusted and at peace with his surroundings than last semester. Two students approached me today and informed me that he was shot to death later that same day. I remember taking offense to the his previous description of me but now I think that it will forever mean something more. I now know that our brief acquaintance will be a constant reminder that teachers are not the only ones who teach in the classroom. Our students have just as much power to influence as we do. It is possible that he was paying me a compliment. So I will take this time now to thank him for helping to shape me into a different kind of teacher.
R.I.P Jahlal Lee
May 5, 2009
Two weeks ago i had an argument with one of my students about being habitually late to my class in excesses of 20 minutes or more. He appeared to be in disbelief of the fact that I had the nerve to charge him 5 points off his final grade for each infraction. During the conversation he looked at me with the same kind of smirk basketball players use when they believe they have been unjustly charged with a foul and said "Mr. Knight, you a different kind a nigga". Someone suggested that this be the title of my memoirs. I'm not sure if I would go that far, but the situation is worth noting. Normally I would connect this anecdote to a larger point, but today...I got nuthin'!
Comments? Suggestions? Be my guest
I spoke to this young man two days ago. He was late again to another teacher's class as I happened to be leaving. I asked him if he was working on the problem. I will admit to paraphrasing but the general gist was that the importance of his puntuality was starting to sink in. He seemed to be more adjusted and at peace with his surroundings than last semester. Two students approached me today and informed me that he was shot to death later that same day. I remember taking offense to the his previous description of me but now I think that it will forever mean something more. I now know that our brief acquaintance will be a constant reminder that teachers are not the only ones who teach in the classroom. Our students have just as much power to influence as we do. It is possible that he was paying me a compliment. So I will take this time now to thank him for helping to shape me into a different kind of teacher.
R.I.P Jahlal Lee
Friday, September 11, 2009
Thoughts on 911
I remember walking through the village as the smell of change in the form of smoke informed me that things in this country would never be the same again. There was a sense of disbelief almost surreal heavy on my soul. I remember the need to call family and friends just to let them know they were in my thoughts and to see if they were ok and being frustrated because all the lines were down. I still experience these feelings 8 years later since the towers fell. It’s funny how these thoughts always find a way to creep in to my lessons during the first week of school. For the past three years I have used the poem First Writing Since by Suheir Hammad to illustrate the emotions that could have been possibly felt by people who some may view as the enemy. It’s funny how every time I use this device it brings me up close and personal with the reality that there really are no enemies in war…only victims. This year I decided not to use it because it always proves to be just emotionally charged enough to tip me over the edge of composure. I guess testosterone took over this time. I guess I should get to know my students a little more before I allow them to see me struggling with these emotions in the middle of class when they find their way to the surface as they always do. People around me are just as confused if not more, when they do, especially since I didn’t personally lose anyone in the attacks, although there were some close calls. Maybe I’m just a softy to feel this way every single year. But to deny these feelings would be far worse.
May God bless you all.
May God bless you all.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Thoughts Triggered in the Wee Hours
It is now 5:58 A.M. and I am bright eyed, bushy tailed, and ready to begin the new day. The only issue is that I have not slept. I have spent most of my evening thinking about guns, the upcoming school year and a series of miscellaneous occurrences from my past respectively. Since sorting out this stuff is always so much fun, let’s begin.
Guns: I’m discovering now that since 40 is now within reach enough to give me a wedgy, mortality feels slightly more real. Never before have had I thought about security and safety in the wee hours of the morning as I have as of late. I must have run through at least 10 to 15 different scenarios tonight of what I would do in the event of a break in. I have always thought that the very presence of a gun is what brings violence in to ones life. Now I find myself wondering if it would be foolish not to have one (legally of course). I am becoming increasingly aware that I have a family and a home to protect. Lately this instinct to protect my family feels ten times more intense. I must admit that it feels slightly hypocritical because I know it is also attached to something materialistic, but it exists nevertheless. And the raw truth of the matter is that I have never been so driven to protect what is mine (i.e.: home, family) than at this moment in time.
School year (a.k.a job, a.k.a bread and butter, a.k.a my half of the mortgage):
Last year I pelted out quite a bit of ramblings about change. I am realizing with each passing day that there is always change to spare. I wonder if Mr. Obama really knew the weight of the word and what it would mean to the average citizen in this country when he uttered it so many times during his campaign. Its latest manifestation has appeared in the halls of my current work place in the form of a new principal. I’m not sure what this will mean accept that it probably won’t be comfortable. Change on many levels is making many of us uncomfortable. I suppose the fact that I’m not alone in this scenario is in its own ironic way…comforting.
Miscellaneous: The third head of the three headed beast that won’t allow me to sleep this morning comes in the form of bullies who got the best of me when I was a kid, former bosses who did the same and a host of one-liners that I wish I had said to old ex-girlfriends who escaped with slithers of my self-esteem which took years to replace. Currently I can’t think of any of those one-liners but I think that I am coming closer to the realization as the wedgy grip on my mortality tightens what happens now pretty much trumps all that shit. It is quite possible that the hand gripping that wedgy has nothing to do with my age. Maybe it’s all those memories that bring us closer to death. Maybe those embarrassing and shameful moments that we won’t let go grip us by our briefs and pull us back in time while the present stands there shrugging its shoulders wondering why we keep lagging behind.
It is quite possible that this new principal might remind me of a former boss…or maybe not. And in either scenario I won’t have to recreate the scene in the movie Lean on Me when the disgruntled teacher turned over a desk to avoid striking his principal crazy Joe Clark because I have a bona fide teaching license and can always find another job. It is also possible that the crime rate may drop to a respectable level at least on my block and I won’t have to become a gun toting masked vigilante. And maybe the next time my fiancé irritates me I’ll just let it go because I’ll realize that when my ex did it, she was just an evil bitch and my fiancé’ is not out to get me even though she might be getting on my nerves. I guess the lesson that my current delirium is trying to teach is that metaphorically or otherwise it’s not always wise to come out guns blazing especially in this illusion of decorum. There are times however, when moments of clarity do apply.
Wish me luck and good luck to all of you…all three of you. ;-)
Guns: I’m discovering now that since 40 is now within reach enough to give me a wedgy, mortality feels slightly more real. Never before have had I thought about security and safety in the wee hours of the morning as I have as of late. I must have run through at least 10 to 15 different scenarios tonight of what I would do in the event of a break in. I have always thought that the very presence of a gun is what brings violence in to ones life. Now I find myself wondering if it would be foolish not to have one (legally of course). I am becoming increasingly aware that I have a family and a home to protect. Lately this instinct to protect my family feels ten times more intense. I must admit that it feels slightly hypocritical because I know it is also attached to something materialistic, but it exists nevertheless. And the raw truth of the matter is that I have never been so driven to protect what is mine (i.e.: home, family) than at this moment in time.
School year (a.k.a job, a.k.a bread and butter, a.k.a my half of the mortgage):
Last year I pelted out quite a bit of ramblings about change. I am realizing with each passing day that there is always change to spare. I wonder if Mr. Obama really knew the weight of the word and what it would mean to the average citizen in this country when he uttered it so many times during his campaign. Its latest manifestation has appeared in the halls of my current work place in the form of a new principal. I’m not sure what this will mean accept that it probably won’t be comfortable. Change on many levels is making many of us uncomfortable. I suppose the fact that I’m not alone in this scenario is in its own ironic way…comforting.
Miscellaneous: The third head of the three headed beast that won’t allow me to sleep this morning comes in the form of bullies who got the best of me when I was a kid, former bosses who did the same and a host of one-liners that I wish I had said to old ex-girlfriends who escaped with slithers of my self-esteem which took years to replace. Currently I can’t think of any of those one-liners but I think that I am coming closer to the realization as the wedgy grip on my mortality tightens what happens now pretty much trumps all that shit. It is quite possible that the hand gripping that wedgy has nothing to do with my age. Maybe it’s all those memories that bring us closer to death. Maybe those embarrassing and shameful moments that we won’t let go grip us by our briefs and pull us back in time while the present stands there shrugging its shoulders wondering why we keep lagging behind.
It is quite possible that this new principal might remind me of a former boss…or maybe not. And in either scenario I won’t have to recreate the scene in the movie Lean on Me when the disgruntled teacher turned over a desk to avoid striking his principal crazy Joe Clark because I have a bona fide teaching license and can always find another job. It is also possible that the crime rate may drop to a respectable level at least on my block and I won’t have to become a gun toting masked vigilante. And maybe the next time my fiancé irritates me I’ll just let it go because I’ll realize that when my ex did it, she was just an evil bitch and my fiancé’ is not out to get me even though she might be getting on my nerves. I guess the lesson that my current delirium is trying to teach is that metaphorically or otherwise it’s not always wise to come out guns blazing especially in this illusion of decorum. There are times however, when moments of clarity do apply.
Wish me luck and good luck to all of you…all three of you. ;-)
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
better than cookies
Just when I think I'm having a moment of brilliance, something even more brilliant happens. Tonight I finally convinced the subject of the last entry to read this blog. As soon as she sat down to read, my 6 year old daughter Autumn walks in, grabs the computer and proceeds to read it aloud. Now that's remarkable!
And when that was over I ate cookies
Today I was depressed. It's funny how one little argument with your one and only can dictate the tone and rhythm of your day. I slept a lot, woke up in hazes where I just sat and stared for 30 seconds or more, went to the bathroom, answered several of my daughters questions concerning the world and returned to bed to sleep some more. After I decided to call her and talk about this was when I finally woke up and officially started my day. One little argument created all of this. I think that's remarkable! Now here's the part where the black neo-mammy chick jumps into this little stream of consciousness of mine and says "That's the power of love baby!"(or cookies.)But I guess in this case she's right. Especially since in my commercial she finally drops that damn Pinesol bottle!
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Random and not so random voices
Often when I find my self in doubt about what my life is worth or what my purpose is, some random voice out of nowhere lets me know that I have all the elements of a sweet existence. I only notice these voices when I shut up, listen and pay attention to the details.
I'm developing a growing appreciation for these voices, especially when they are random and unsolicited. I am aware that my preference for the random and unsolicited makes my desire to write in this space a slight problem because nothing about blogging is ever random or unsolicited. Nevertheless, any voices random or otherwise are always welcome.
I'm developing a growing appreciation for these voices, especially when they are random and unsolicited. I am aware that my preference for the random and unsolicited makes my desire to write in this space a slight problem because nothing about blogging is ever random or unsolicited. Nevertheless, any voices random or otherwise are always welcome.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Blogging is cool.
I went to see G.I. Joe tonight. It was ok I guess. Once you got past all the action packed cliche's, Marlon Wayan's painfully over played role of black sidekick who would do any thing for his BFF who happens to be the hero of the movie; who also happens to be a larger than life god who can do virtually any thing and live; who also happens to have the demeanor of a man that should be taken seriously even when he's joking and who also happens to be white. But like I said, once you got passed that it was cool.
As I sit here writing I'm feeling a sense of pride because I finally decided to connect this computer in a place within my new home that actually feels like I'm really in my new home. It's my own little nook where I can sit calmly and churn out all of these random thoughts/rants with complete confidence... well maybe not complete but they will be churned nevertheless. To be completely honest, I don't know where this desire to think out loud will ever take me besides away of boredom. Perhaps that is the only place I need to go. I actually started this blog out of a desire to go there. And during my journey I also found some other kinda scary stuff(see earlier postings). Here's the part where I get cryptic: Sometimes things in movies in a very sneaky way hit very close to home. What's ironic is that I'm almost ashamed to admit that I actually get to be the occasional hero in this place that my words created. Here i can make Marlon Wayans disappear.
As I sit here writing I'm feeling a sense of pride because I finally decided to connect this computer in a place within my new home that actually feels like I'm really in my new home. It's my own little nook where I can sit calmly and churn out all of these random thoughts/rants with complete confidence... well maybe not complete but they will be churned nevertheless. To be completely honest, I don't know where this desire to think out loud will ever take me besides away of boredom. Perhaps that is the only place I need to go. I actually started this blog out of a desire to go there. And during my journey I also found some other kinda scary stuff(see earlier postings). Here's the part where I get cryptic: Sometimes things in movies in a very sneaky way hit very close to home. What's ironic is that I'm almost ashamed to admit that I actually get to be the occasional hero in this place that my words created. Here i can make Marlon Wayans disappear.
Monday, August 3, 2009
I wanted to name this" 40 is a bitch" but I'm only 39.
I'm sorry I jumped the gun but I've been feeling quite mortal lately. As I sit here in my bedroom unable to sleep I'm realizing at this very moment that at this ripe old age I have been both blessed and cursed with the insight that enables me to fear the future and the insanity to face it anyway. I guess I thought I had at least a year to feel this way but as I said before I jumped the gun. I'm somewhere in between what the fuck am i doing and dude just go with it. Is there word for this? Maybe someone will tell me or maybe it's a secret held dear by a clandestine group of people who will only reveal it when I'm 40 or older like them.
btw please no midlife crisis jokes I'm trying to be poetic here!
btw please no midlife crisis jokes I'm trying to be poetic here!
an addendum...
To [Oops! I almost forgot]:
#6. People can be assholes at times. When at all possible ignore this flaw.
It will make your life a helluva lot easier.
#6. People can be assholes at times. When at all possible ignore this flaw.
It will make your life a helluva lot easier.
A poem
I hold your footsteps in my memories
multitudes of me
once sleepwalking
all want you.
In this now
my entire experience
is you.
I want you...
grant me this
grant me now
grant me u.
multitudes of me
once sleepwalking
all want you.
In this now
my entire experience
is you.
I want you...
grant me this
grant me now
grant me u.
Monday, July 20, 2009
one random thought that became just one verse...
Do you have a light to light my way
through these dark and cloudy days
do you have some change to spare
to pay the fare to get me there
Sometimes it seems
I'm the only one who feels the need
to see the son
But in my heart I know its not true
'cause in their faces all i see is you
Sometimes its hard to remain unchanging
in this ever changing world
its seems I'm the only one remaining
who feels the need to touch a hand
and look into eyes that understand
my truth
is you.
through these dark and cloudy days
do you have some change to spare
to pay the fare to get me there
Sometimes it seems
I'm the only one who feels the need
to see the son
But in my heart I know its not true
'cause in their faces all i see is you
Sometimes its hard to remain unchanging
in this ever changing world
its seems I'm the only one remaining
who feels the need to touch a hand
and look into eyes that understand
my truth
is you.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Oops! Almost Forgot
July 1st was my birthday. My best friend Moisses from high school used to make fun of me when I would do what he would call in his best Walter Cronkite voice "The Year in Review" Damn I said Walter Cronkite I must be getting old. Anyways here it goes.
1. This year I learned that although it is important to continue to have faith in people they can still disappoint you. If one stays mindful of this then they have a greater capacity for forgiveness of the dissappointer and the disapointee. I'm still working on the latter.
2. Laughter is soooooo important. Still working on that one.
3. My mom's favorite phrase during my youth up was "Fuck the Dumb Shit! I guess she was right.
4. I'm 39 now and this will be my last official year as a "thirtysomethinger". I could cram a whole bunch of stuff into this year in an effort to get it in before I'm officially 40. But that would be dumb. I'm just happy to be alive.
5. I used to watch thirtysomething when I was about 17. I remember being so intrigued by the lives of the white middle class folks in that show whose lives had absolutely nothing to do with my experience at the time. That's the magic of TV I guess. I guess the fact that I just bought a house makes me middle class. But I'm not white so I'm still a little curious about the connection. I think I might rent all the episodes on netflix just to see what all the fuss in my imagination was about.
Ok there it is. This has been yet another year in review. I'm Craig Knight and that's the way it is.
1. This year I learned that although it is important to continue to have faith in people they can still disappoint you. If one stays mindful of this then they have a greater capacity for forgiveness of the dissappointer and the disapointee. I'm still working on the latter.
2. Laughter is soooooo important. Still working on that one.
3. My mom's favorite phrase during my youth up was "Fuck the Dumb Shit! I guess she was right.
4. I'm 39 now and this will be my last official year as a "thirtysomethinger". I could cram a whole bunch of stuff into this year in an effort to get it in before I'm officially 40. But that would be dumb. I'm just happy to be alive.
5. I used to watch thirtysomething when I was about 17. I remember being so intrigued by the lives of the white middle class folks in that show whose lives had absolutely nothing to do with my experience at the time. That's the magic of TV I guess. I guess the fact that I just bought a house makes me middle class. But I'm not white so I'm still a little curious about the connection. I think I might rent all the episodes on netflix just to see what all the fuss in my imagination was about.
Ok there it is. This has been yet another year in review. I'm Craig Knight and that's the way it is.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
R.I.P Michael Jackson
I just learned that one of the greatest pop stars to ever grace a stage or screen has passed on to the great beyond. I always wondered where I'd be, what I'd be doing or how I would feel on the day he passed. I can honestly say that I feel nothing but gratitude that I was able to witness his greatness and be a part of the generation that spawned him. May he finally rest in peace.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
A Humble Request
Here I stand five days away from payday, surrounded and drowning in the muck left by the indifferent, under achieving and disillusioned…broke and aggravated. There is a burning in my belly bordering between gas and exasperation. Lately, I have been greeting each day with a gritted tooth smile. Good mornings are still customary in my little world even among the aliens that do not share this custom. Needless to say, I need a reason to smile today…just today. I will take care of tomorrow. To the best of my ability I will treat all suggestions,jokes,funny stories etc. equally without pomp or judgment. Consider this a loan of sorts. I’ll hit you back on payday.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Spike Lee: One of the Family
Submitted this one on Wheresmars.com which is a site dedicated to the celebration of Spike Lee as one of the founders of the Black Arts Movement in Brooklyn USA. Feel free to check it out.
http://www.wheresmars.com
As a New Jersey transplant, I received my first understanding of this place called Brooklyn from watching Spike Lee movies.
I was introduced to a neighborhood unlike any I had ever seen: from the quirky ramblings of Buggin’ Out; to the gentle nurturing of Mother Sister. It was the first time I experienced blackness as a thing to be admired for its beauty and diversity and constant state of flux, with jazz and hip-hop as the soundtrack of our multifaceted lives.
Spike Lee was to the 1990’s what James Baldwin and Langston Hughes were to the page during the Harlem Renaissance. With the urban landscape as his canvas, he painted our flaws and triumphs with equal honesty. Lee in essence allowed us to laugh at ourselves without shame and at the same time aspire to improve our conditions.
This is a quality every Brooklynite — in his own right — strives to achieve. It is an essence evident in the general attitudes of its citizens which to the outsider can be perceived as chauvinism.
If one has any doubt, I dare to criticize the Knicks in the presence of Lee or any other fan. What the outsider may not know is that these people (to quote Bowie) ‘are quite aware of what they are going through.’ But, to be criticized by anyone outside of family would be considered an unmentionable act.
Spike’s genius is in his knowledge of this unwritten law which he has thrown down on to the American landscape, like Moses, to be shared not only with his Brooklyn kin, but with his extended family throughout the Diaspora.
There can be no doubt that Spike Lee’s work has been woven into the fabric of Brooklyn culture. The honor of having a day in his namesake is long over due.
http://www.wheresmars.com
As a New Jersey transplant, I received my first understanding of this place called Brooklyn from watching Spike Lee movies.
I was introduced to a neighborhood unlike any I had ever seen: from the quirky ramblings of Buggin’ Out; to the gentle nurturing of Mother Sister. It was the first time I experienced blackness as a thing to be admired for its beauty and diversity and constant state of flux, with jazz and hip-hop as the soundtrack of our multifaceted lives.
Spike Lee was to the 1990’s what James Baldwin and Langston Hughes were to the page during the Harlem Renaissance. With the urban landscape as his canvas, he painted our flaws and triumphs with equal honesty. Lee in essence allowed us to laugh at ourselves without shame and at the same time aspire to improve our conditions.
This is a quality every Brooklynite — in his own right — strives to achieve. It is an essence evident in the general attitudes of its citizens which to the outsider can be perceived as chauvinism.
If one has any doubt, I dare to criticize the Knicks in the presence of Lee or any other fan. What the outsider may not know is that these people (to quote Bowie) ‘are quite aware of what they are going through.’ But, to be criticized by anyone outside of family would be considered an unmentionable act.
Spike’s genius is in his knowledge of this unwritten law which he has thrown down on to the American landscape, like Moses, to be shared not only with his Brooklyn kin, but with his extended family throughout the Diaspora.
There can be no doubt that Spike Lee’s work has been woven into the fabric of Brooklyn culture. The honor of having a day in his namesake is long over due.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
moments of clarity (revisited)
I wrote this one a while ago when I was still doing that myspace thing. I'm not sure why I'm rehashing it. It could be because there are an increasing number of kids carrying guitars in the halls where I teach (which I am told is my fault). Or it could be that I recently broke a string. I don't know I guess I'll figure it out later.
It's about 1:15 in the morning. I just came home from an open mike in a place called Kili on Hoyt Street in Brooklyn. I've been drinking. I think that my performance was on fire! But, as I mentioned earlier, I've been drinking. Now anyone knows that when you've been drinking (or other fun "ing" words) your view on life can sometimes become very clear. My friend Mikel likes to call these moments "moments of clarity"; like when you wake up and discover that the job you've had for years really does suck and you wasted 20 years. It's kind of like that. I had a few of those moments tonight. However; they may or may not be considered as tragic as the one I just mentioned in the example. This of course would depend on the reader's choice of "ing" activities prior to reading this.
Moment 1: While in the bar, I had a conversation with my friend Sharrief about how I named both of my guitars after my deceased grandmothers. Their names are Lilly after my paternal grandmother Lillian Downing and Mattie after my maternal grandmother Mattie Ruth Patterson. I was not hit with this moment of clarity until I took the stage and started to play. Somehow during a spell of egotism as my surface self was sensing the admiration of the crowd and thinking "damn I'm kickin' ass up here", my insecure self was reflecting on a conversation that I once had with a producer regarding my playing. He told me that he loved my songs but when I played them he could sense that I had not yet gotten to know my instrument. He felt that my songs would be more felt if I developed more of an intimacy with it. I remember thinking that what he was saying sounded a lot like masturbation. Fast forwarding to tonight, the moment of clarity came when I realized that he was right...that is about the guitar part but I digress. Although there is a chance that he could have just been planting a self fullfilling prophecy in my brain, it didn't make the moment any less powerful or any less prophetic. So I guess (he says reluctantly)he deserves my thanks.
Moment 2: This is the part where the "ing" thing counts. After my performance I also realized that I often feel these voids of intimacy when playing the very guitars that bare my grandmother's names. And then I realized that just like I don't know my guitars I never really knew my grandmothers either. I loved them both, but I never got to know them them as people. Anyone who sees this connection might also see the tragedy here.
Moment 3: In the cab ride home I started thinking that maybe there was some kind of deep revelation that I was stumbling upon. Maybe this connection with my guitars meant that I had to start calling my parents, aunts and uncles and getting information on my grandmothers so that some black history month movie of the week moment would happen and the spirits of those great women would jump into my guitars with each bit of knowledge and turn me into a supernatural Robert Johnson type dude. But then the moment of clarity came when reality yanked me out of the daze, shook its head at me and said "nope dat ain't it". I realized at that moment that if any of those women were alive today they would tell me that the only way I'm going to get to know my guitar is by picking it up every day and playing it.
I guess maybe I did know those ladies after all.
It's about 1:15 in the morning. I just came home from an open mike in a place called Kili on Hoyt Street in Brooklyn. I've been drinking. I think that my performance was on fire! But, as I mentioned earlier, I've been drinking. Now anyone knows that when you've been drinking (or other fun "ing" words) your view on life can sometimes become very clear. My friend Mikel likes to call these moments "moments of clarity"; like when you wake up and discover that the job you've had for years really does suck and you wasted 20 years. It's kind of like that. I had a few of those moments tonight. However; they may or may not be considered as tragic as the one I just mentioned in the example. This of course would depend on the reader's choice of "ing" activities prior to reading this.
Moment 1: While in the bar, I had a conversation with my friend Sharrief about how I named both of my guitars after my deceased grandmothers. Their names are Lilly after my paternal grandmother Lillian Downing and Mattie after my maternal grandmother Mattie Ruth Patterson. I was not hit with this moment of clarity until I took the stage and started to play. Somehow during a spell of egotism as my surface self was sensing the admiration of the crowd and thinking "damn I'm kickin' ass up here", my insecure self was reflecting on a conversation that I once had with a producer regarding my playing. He told me that he loved my songs but when I played them he could sense that I had not yet gotten to know my instrument. He felt that my songs would be more felt if I developed more of an intimacy with it. I remember thinking that what he was saying sounded a lot like masturbation. Fast forwarding to tonight, the moment of clarity came when I realized that he was right...that is about the guitar part but I digress. Although there is a chance that he could have just been planting a self fullfilling prophecy in my brain, it didn't make the moment any less powerful or any less prophetic. So I guess (he says reluctantly)he deserves my thanks.
Moment 2: This is the part where the "ing" thing counts. After my performance I also realized that I often feel these voids of intimacy when playing the very guitars that bare my grandmother's names. And then I realized that just like I don't know my guitars I never really knew my grandmothers either. I loved them both, but I never got to know them them as people. Anyone who sees this connection might also see the tragedy here.
Moment 3: In the cab ride home I started thinking that maybe there was some kind of deep revelation that I was stumbling upon. Maybe this connection with my guitars meant that I had to start calling my parents, aunts and uncles and getting information on my grandmothers so that some black history month movie of the week moment would happen and the spirits of those great women would jump into my guitars with each bit of knowledge and turn me into a supernatural Robert Johnson type dude. But then the moment of clarity came when reality yanked me out of the daze, shook its head at me and said "nope dat ain't it". I realized at that moment that if any of those women were alive today they would tell me that the only way I'm going to get to know my guitar is by picking it up every day and playing it.
I guess maybe I did know those ladies after all.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Stars and Role Players are We
In his post-game interview after last night’s loss to the Orlando Magic, Lebron James explained that their problems in these playoffs are primarily with Dwight Howard who is a beast to guard in the paint. Any attempts to defend him there thus far have resulted in 3 point plays, monster dunks, or passes to his supporting cast who have exhibited stellar shooting. In essence, although James may be every bit as great as they say he is, he cannot do it all. Factors such as fatigue and pressure to make big shots night after night can sometimes take their toll. Another factor that was mentioned is that his supporting cast must also make big shots if they have any chance of winning.
Personally, I have never hit a three pointer to win a game, but I think I have an idea of what Mr. James and the Cavaliers are going through. The events that occur in their locker room from this point forward will either be the stuff of legend or mediocrity. Whether they win or lose, their conversations will either forever bond them or send them on their separate ways. It is important that in these challenging times that we go back to our locker rooms also. The discussions that we have with each other in our own personal huddles are far more pivotal than any playoff game could ever boast. Through communication defeat becomes nothing more than change. Change must sometimes be handled as a team.
The playoffs have been great so far and it would be safe to say that many of us are living vicariously through the heroes of these contests every night. My hope is that the rest of us mortals can show the same kind of strength, resolve, and dignity that Lebron James has shown even in defeat. It is important that we use our God given talents as both role players and stars to make the adjustments we need to experience the victory of full and happy lives.
This blog is dedicated to the two stars in my locker room that have played pivotal roles in my life.
Personally, I have never hit a three pointer to win a game, but I think I have an idea of what Mr. James and the Cavaliers are going through. The events that occur in their locker room from this point forward will either be the stuff of legend or mediocrity. Whether they win or lose, their conversations will either forever bond them or send them on their separate ways. It is important that in these challenging times that we go back to our locker rooms also. The discussions that we have with each other in our own personal huddles are far more pivotal than any playoff game could ever boast. Through communication defeat becomes nothing more than change. Change must sometimes be handled as a team.
The playoffs have been great so far and it would be safe to say that many of us are living vicariously through the heroes of these contests every night. My hope is that the rest of us mortals can show the same kind of strength, resolve, and dignity that Lebron James has shown even in defeat. It is important that we use our God given talents as both role players and stars to make the adjustments we need to experience the victory of full and happy lives.
This blog is dedicated to the two stars in my locker room that have played pivotal roles in my life.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Definitely Not Your Mom's Antichrist
Evil over the past decade has been associated with two things: The Bush administration and its enemies; followers of the Islamic faith. In a recent interview in Interview magazine Yusuf Islam (aka Cat Stevens) one of the biggest pop stars of the late sixties and seventies made some interesting observations about the future of the world via the book of Revelations. Islam who converted to the religion of the same name almost 3 decades ago stated:
“There’s a common threat facing all of us—Christians, Jews, and Muslims—and it is the Antichrist. It’s a very deep subject, and it’s a horrendous thing to contemplate. Someone will appear who is, in fact, the opposite of what he appears to be. Some people will believe in him, and that’s really frightening”.
Although I’m not exactly big on the Bible I have watched enough apocalyptic themed cinema (i.e.: The Omen’s 1 through 3, The Seventh Sign etc.) and listened to enough Bob Marley and Peter Tosh to at least be scarcely aware that these are times of great tribulation. It seems that presently there are so many tragedies going on in the world such as the economy, swine flu pandemic and wars in the Middle East that according to sacred text we should be somewhat suspicious of any man wielding the flag of salvation. Is it possible that these texts, movies and music inspired by them have been written too well? I can recall vivid accounts of an aunt of mine reading them and becoming inconsolable afterward. I can also remember hearing my mother’s passionate rants that Ronald Wilson Reagan whose name mathematically emblazoned the numbers 666 was indeed the Antichrist. Since I never knew her to go to church except on occasion, these observations frankly seemed laughable.
Imagine the irony and utter shock if this fabled figure spoken of so many centuries ago presided over our current administration. I know I and many other black folk would probably be thinking ‘Damn! Why it always gotta’ be a black man!? Again, this concept seems laughable but should be noted because there is a great mass of people who want and need for him to be successful. History has unfortunately shown us that in times of great need and peril many of us have the tendency to act irrationally. Therefore, it would behoove us all to be critical as well as patient for progress to become a reality.
In the same interview Yusuf Islam when asked about his feelings about America; the same country that once denied him passage because he was suspected of being a terrorist said the following:
“America was my home for a very long time, and it’s a fascinating, pioneering country that many people look to. In the recent past it hasn’t been doing very well, but there’s a great new hope now with the election of Obama. America took a very big leap there and proved that it still has the edge as far as being able to do things many other countries may find difficult”.
What’s scary here is obvious or laughable depending on which side of the fence the observer happens to reside. I’m sure many republicans out there have already circled in red ink the text in question. The inspiring thing here is that even with a message as scary as Armageddon in mind Yusuf Islam was still able to suspend it long enough to consider hope in the present day. In the final part of his interview when asked about the difference between knowledge and wisdom he said:
“Knowledge is a thing you can carry around with you, but you may not apply it. Some knowledge is indiscriminate, and it can be damaging. I recently found a wonderful definition of wisdom: It is that thing which results in the maximum good and the least harm”.
Let us all hope, pray for and in our daily lives practice wisdom.
“There’s a common threat facing all of us—Christians, Jews, and Muslims—and it is the Antichrist. It’s a very deep subject, and it’s a horrendous thing to contemplate. Someone will appear who is, in fact, the opposite of what he appears to be. Some people will believe in him, and that’s really frightening”.
Although I’m not exactly big on the Bible I have watched enough apocalyptic themed cinema (i.e.: The Omen’s 1 through 3, The Seventh Sign etc.) and listened to enough Bob Marley and Peter Tosh to at least be scarcely aware that these are times of great tribulation. It seems that presently there are so many tragedies going on in the world such as the economy, swine flu pandemic and wars in the Middle East that according to sacred text we should be somewhat suspicious of any man wielding the flag of salvation. Is it possible that these texts, movies and music inspired by them have been written too well? I can recall vivid accounts of an aunt of mine reading them and becoming inconsolable afterward. I can also remember hearing my mother’s passionate rants that Ronald Wilson Reagan whose name mathematically emblazoned the numbers 666 was indeed the Antichrist. Since I never knew her to go to church except on occasion, these observations frankly seemed laughable.
Imagine the irony and utter shock if this fabled figure spoken of so many centuries ago presided over our current administration. I know I and many other black folk would probably be thinking ‘Damn! Why it always gotta’ be a black man!? Again, this concept seems laughable but should be noted because there is a great mass of people who want and need for him to be successful. History has unfortunately shown us that in times of great need and peril many of us have the tendency to act irrationally. Therefore, it would behoove us all to be critical as well as patient for progress to become a reality.
In the same interview Yusuf Islam when asked about his feelings about America; the same country that once denied him passage because he was suspected of being a terrorist said the following:
“America was my home for a very long time, and it’s a fascinating, pioneering country that many people look to. In the recent past it hasn’t been doing very well, but there’s a great new hope now with the election of Obama. America took a very big leap there and proved that it still has the edge as far as being able to do things many other countries may find difficult”.
What’s scary here is obvious or laughable depending on which side of the fence the observer happens to reside. I’m sure many republicans out there have already circled in red ink the text in question. The inspiring thing here is that even with a message as scary as Armageddon in mind Yusuf Islam was still able to suspend it long enough to consider hope in the present day. In the final part of his interview when asked about the difference between knowledge and wisdom he said:
“Knowledge is a thing you can carry around with you, but you may not apply it. Some knowledge is indiscriminate, and it can be damaging. I recently found a wonderful definition of wisdom: It is that thing which results in the maximum good and the least harm”.
Let us all hope, pray for and in our daily lives practice wisdom.
Love, Truth and Chrisette Michele
Tonight at approximately 11:20 pm I was having a conversation with my fiancé about Chrisette Michele’s new CD. What was remarkable is that we were both listening and agreeing that this woman had just become our favorite artist. I’m not sure but maybe it’s because she is Gemini and I’m a Cancer that we hardly ever agree on anything musically…or anything else. But our tastes in music are distinctly like apples and oranges. Tonight however, we somehow achieved synchronicity.
As Chrisette’s magic was being weaved from my fiancé’s I-phone (a gift I gave her which has been nothing but a distraction ever since) produced conversation in the room I thought to myself how amazing the lyrics were in a song where she tells a man to say whatever he wants about her as long as he says goodbye. When I mentioned how hard core that statement was she said “She (Chrisette) speaks the truth and that makes it ok…and I can’t think of anyone better to have the truth with than you”. Needless to say, that shit kind of blew my mind. I immediately thought about how ugly the truth could get especially since neither of us is perfect. But I also thought about how beautiful the truth is and could be. So what she was essentially telling me was that she loves me enough to take them both. Kudos to Chrisette Michele for resuming us on the path to truth and love.
As Chrisette’s magic was being weaved from my fiancé’s I-phone (a gift I gave her which has been nothing but a distraction ever since) produced conversation in the room I thought to myself how amazing the lyrics were in a song where she tells a man to say whatever he wants about her as long as he says goodbye. When I mentioned how hard core that statement was she said “She (Chrisette) speaks the truth and that makes it ok…and I can’t think of anyone better to have the truth with than you”. Needless to say, that shit kind of blew my mind. I immediately thought about how ugly the truth could get especially since neither of us is perfect. But I also thought about how beautiful the truth is and could be. So what she was essentially telling me was that she loves me enough to take them both. Kudos to Chrisette Michele for resuming us on the path to truth and love.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Barack Obama: Mack or Machiavellian?
I have a friend who once said that any man who handles his conflicts in public is essentially no man at all. I’m paraphrasing of course but I guess the point of his comment was that there are two types of men: the strong and tactful type and (to use a more pedestrian term) the bitch. To most, the latter of these is often associated with femininity although many men have presented paradoxical examples of strength through acts that exemplify manhood. For example, a man who attends a tea party whose guest list includes Barbie, Dora the Explorer and his five year old daughter would definitely not be considered a bitch despite the fact that the act itself is uncommon among many males. My friend was referring of course to the ilk that often resort to beating their chests over petty matters such as cash, women to whom they are not committed or other trifles. It must be the stress of the current economy that has increased my encounters with such individuals lately. I suppose there are many who could be blamed for their resurgence but at this moment one man comes to mind: George W. Bush.
It doesn’t take a historian to know that our former president had some deep seeded bitch issues which originated with his daddy George Sr. and later manifested in his foreign policy. Many would agree that the problem is that Mr. Bush possessed an ill defined concept of diplomacy. When I think of past leaders of the free world in general I assume that their Ivy League training which echoed the voices of Machiavelli, and Richard III, was often dinner conversation. The subjects of these conversations made an art out of avoiding “bitchdom”in this sense. They all shared a similar philosophy when it came to leadership which was to be angels in public and demons in private when it came to both national and their own security as leaders. One thing that many leaders of old shared in common was that the use of force (at least in public) was not always necessary. Was Mr. Bitch…excuse me Bush paying attention? If he was, how would the Iraq/Afghanistan situations look today?
Enter: Barack Obama. Many would agree that he was elected because people want change in this country. There are also those who want to go back to the good old days when America was “the greatest country in the world”; when diplomacy was king and foreign annoyances like Osama Bin Laden could be taken care of efficiently by the time the Knicks game was on and dinner was being served. Could Obama with his slick intellectual swagger be the guy to restore this sense of security? Although this remains to be seen, I’m pretty sure that he at least knows who Machiavelli was. Although the term Machiavellian in modern society is a pejorative term, it is no secret that he was if nothing else a realist about the inner workings of modern day government and politics. So it is understandable if our current president avoids this association. I wonder if he at least saw the classic blaxploitation movie “The Mack”(check youtube if you are unfamiliar) in which the main character Goldie in my opinion exhibited diplomacy 101 when he told Pretty Tony ... ‘we can settle this like you got some class or we can get into some gangsta sh*t’. This scene despite its ‘pimped out’ theme suggested that it is important to be a gentlemen and a scholar even in times of conflict. With this in mind, Barack Obama does not seem like the ‘bitch type’ at all which is a plus. With all of the factors which could cripple this country at stake I wonder: Is it possible that we have a “Mack” in office? Only time will tell.
It doesn’t take a historian to know that our former president had some deep seeded bitch issues which originated with his daddy George Sr. and later manifested in his foreign policy. Many would agree that the problem is that Mr. Bush possessed an ill defined concept of diplomacy. When I think of past leaders of the free world in general I assume that their Ivy League training which echoed the voices of Machiavelli, and Richard III, was often dinner conversation. The subjects of these conversations made an art out of avoiding “bitchdom”in this sense. They all shared a similar philosophy when it came to leadership which was to be angels in public and demons in private when it came to both national and their own security as leaders. One thing that many leaders of old shared in common was that the use of force (at least in public) was not always necessary. Was Mr. Bitch…excuse me Bush paying attention? If he was, how would the Iraq/Afghanistan situations look today?
Enter: Barack Obama. Many would agree that he was elected because people want change in this country. There are also those who want to go back to the good old days when America was “the greatest country in the world”; when diplomacy was king and foreign annoyances like Osama Bin Laden could be taken care of efficiently by the time the Knicks game was on and dinner was being served. Could Obama with his slick intellectual swagger be the guy to restore this sense of security? Although this remains to be seen, I’m pretty sure that he at least knows who Machiavelli was. Although the term Machiavellian in modern society is a pejorative term, it is no secret that he was if nothing else a realist about the inner workings of modern day government and politics. So it is understandable if our current president avoids this association. I wonder if he at least saw the classic blaxploitation movie “The Mack”(check youtube if you are unfamiliar) in which the main character Goldie in my opinion exhibited diplomacy 101 when he told Pretty Tony ... ‘we can settle this like you got some class or we can get into some gangsta sh*t’. This scene despite its ‘pimped out’ theme suggested that it is important to be a gentlemen and a scholar even in times of conflict. With this in mind, Barack Obama does not seem like the ‘bitch type’ at all which is a plus. With all of the factors which could cripple this country at stake I wonder: Is it possible that we have a “Mack” in office? Only time will tell.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
A Different Kind of Nigga'
Two weeks ago i had an argument with one of my students about being habitually late to my class in excesses of 20 minutes or more. He appeared to be in disbelief of the fact that I had the nerve to charge him 5 points off his final grade for each infraction. During the conversation he looked at me with the same kind of smirk basketball players use when they believe they have been unjustly charged with a foul and said "Mr. Knight, you a different kind a nigga". Someone suggested that this be the title of my memoirs. I'm not sure if I would go that far, but the situation is worth noting. Normally I would connect this anecdote to a larger point, but today...I got nuthin'!
Comments? Suggestions? Be my guest.
Comments? Suggestions? Be my guest.
Friday, May 1, 2009
What the Flux??!!
Last week while playing hooky from my job I happened upon a street vendor that sold rare DVD’s not sold in stores. Among these treasures was the Silver Surfer cartoon which was dropped from the Fox network after 1 season. I watched in delight as Galactus the devourer of worlds made his way across the galaxy with the Surfer as his guide. Oddly enough this animated fantasy stimulated some thought about my own world. In my case however, the surfer is my landlord Paul who is selling the building and Galactus is the juggernaut influx of new tenants and buyers who permeate my neighborhood in Bedstuy. In essence, the change that I spoke of in previous blog posts has literally reached my door step. I will be moving in about 3 days.
This theme of change does not only involve my living situation. It has also affected my job and even the bar where I go on Tuesdays to unwind and play guitar. The school where I work is undergoing massive restructuring and the bar now has a new owner. This sudden awareness of change has hit me on all major fronts; home, work and entertainment. It is astonishing how rapidly these milestones have taken place especially since it was only a short time ago that I was speaking of it only as a passive observer. All of the speeches I heard and literature I read that have echoed these sentiments could never have captured the essence of what I am experiencing at this very moment. Galactus has arrived and he is hungry. But at the moment as I experience this state of flux as pieces of my world begin to unravel and float into space, I am calm and composed. But the wraith of the planet eater is nothing compared to my fiancés’ who does not share in my calmness or composure and will surely wonder (loudly) what the flux is going on if she found me blogging instead of packing. Therefore, I will embrace the changes to come and the boxes with open arms.
This theme of change does not only involve my living situation. It has also affected my job and even the bar where I go on Tuesdays to unwind and play guitar. The school where I work is undergoing massive restructuring and the bar now has a new owner. This sudden awareness of change has hit me on all major fronts; home, work and entertainment. It is astonishing how rapidly these milestones have taken place especially since it was only a short time ago that I was speaking of it only as a passive observer. All of the speeches I heard and literature I read that have echoed these sentiments could never have captured the essence of what I am experiencing at this very moment. Galactus has arrived and he is hungry. But at the moment as I experience this state of flux as pieces of my world begin to unravel and float into space, I am calm and composed. But the wraith of the planet eater is nothing compared to my fiancés’ who does not share in my calmness or composure and will surely wonder (loudly) what the flux is going on if she found me blogging instead of packing. Therefore, I will embrace the changes to come and the boxes with open arms.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Congestion
I can’t sleep. But I guess that is obvious. Tomorrow I begin working again because I have come to the end of my much anticipated spring break. My chest hurts. In the past two hours I have tossed and turned in my bed unable to identify the exact source of my anxiety besides the obvious which is of course all the stress associated with my job. I have a sneaky gnawing suspicion however, that my job is not the only reason why I’m sitting here typing away at this ungodly hour.
There is some stuff that I think I left unattended. And although the reasons are difficult to articulate they remain here in my chest…heavy like emotional congestion. I wonder if Robitussin makes a medicine for this kind of cold.
I suppose that I must be on the verge of some kind of break through or breakdown depending on which half of the glass one focuses on. And I guess the challenge that I face as a human being/artist/writer is to confront it the best I can without fear. Another writer friend of mine told me that no matter what I should always tell the truth. I have always admired people who could do what she said. Although I’m not sure if I am one of these people yet, I’d like to think that my current path is leading me there. I remember thinking once that when I grew up (as a writer) I wanted to be Sherman Alexie. I don’t know or maybe I just haven’t paid much attention to any other writers who are quite as honest as he is. I wonder what he writes about at 3 in the morning when he can’t sleep.
The funny thing about congestion is that it is not pretty. And all of that truth that I’m supposed to be writing about is all green and slimy. And the thing that is scariest of all is how people might react to all that nastiness. Hence it remains in my chest unattended for now. Anybody got a cough drop?
There is some stuff that I think I left unattended. And although the reasons are difficult to articulate they remain here in my chest…heavy like emotional congestion. I wonder if Robitussin makes a medicine for this kind of cold.
I suppose that I must be on the verge of some kind of break through or breakdown depending on which half of the glass one focuses on. And I guess the challenge that I face as a human being/artist/writer is to confront it the best I can without fear. Another writer friend of mine told me that no matter what I should always tell the truth. I have always admired people who could do what she said. Although I’m not sure if I am one of these people yet, I’d like to think that my current path is leading me there. I remember thinking once that when I grew up (as a writer) I wanted to be Sherman Alexie. I don’t know or maybe I just haven’t paid much attention to any other writers who are quite as honest as he is. I wonder what he writes about at 3 in the morning when he can’t sleep.
The funny thing about congestion is that it is not pretty. And all of that truth that I’m supposed to be writing about is all green and slimy. And the thing that is scariest of all is how people might react to all that nastiness. Hence it remains in my chest unattended for now. Anybody got a cough drop?
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
The Aftermath or The Sky is Falling.
If I was watching all of this from some celestial place like Mount Olympus or heaven I would be most entertained. I would be able to see from that aerial view that it was the experience and knowledge that I gained that was most exquisite. All of the emotions felt during that journey were of no consequence in the end…
For the successful man, the goal of history is not to know a set of events and dates, but to get to know the men and women behind those events and dates and learn from their mistakes and triumphs…
I have been thinking…Again. I realize that this comes as no surprise to anyone who follows this blog but today I find myself wondering if my cousin’s warning about thinking too much was indeed a valid one. My current thought process is the result of a recent visit from the state of New York concerning my school’s status on the Schools under Registration Review list a.k.a. (S.U.R.R.). Anyone who works in the school system knows that this is not a good thing. I am still trying to process what happened here. The only thing that I can articulate is that it feels very quiet; kind of like ground zero after the planes hit. Some may think that this description is a little dramatic but I can only speak from the purest of emotions when I describe what occurred after the army of suits left the building.
On the week prior to the states’ arrival there was a feeling of tension in the air. It was as if everyone knew that there would be bad news…they were right. I have decided not to go into the particulars of what they reported because frankly it was too much to remember. But one thing I can recall is that from my vantage point in the back of our huge auditorium, I could not see the state representative. But from the tone of his voice as he flayed at the very culture of our school and its faculty, I pictured a man wagging his finger and shaming a room full of adults…It wasn’t pleasant. Another thing that I can remember is that during his tirade I could also visualize a little man in my head next to a chalk board. On this chalk board there was line drawn in the middle with boxes on either side. One side was for things that I was guilty of doing. The other of course was not guilty. Honestly, I cannot say how often he checked the guilty box but the fact remains that I was indeed responsible for some of the infractions that he mentioned. So what now? Honestly, I am not certain. But one thing that experience has taught me is that sitting around waiting for this thing to blow over is the worst thing that I could do.
I am curious how others feel about this. We are living in time in our country’s history when everyone’s usefulness is being tested. In this era of scarce resources every individual’s character will be evaluated. Misfits will be outed and everyone will have their opportunity to play judge or jury. But in the midst of all of this I have decided to burn a candle of optimism. I am hopeful that people will begin to talk to one another face to face instead of behind each other’s back. And I am also hopeful that love and honesty will prevail. Naïve? Maybe. But in spite of my naïveté I am certain that although this is probably not the most that we have ever needed each other in our history, it still does not mean that it is any less urgent. What has happened here in my little world is only a small example of what’s to come.
For the successful man, the goal of history is not to know a set of events and dates, but to get to know the men and women behind those events and dates and learn from their mistakes and triumphs…
I have been thinking…Again. I realize that this comes as no surprise to anyone who follows this blog but today I find myself wondering if my cousin’s warning about thinking too much was indeed a valid one. My current thought process is the result of a recent visit from the state of New York concerning my school’s status on the Schools under Registration Review list a.k.a. (S.U.R.R.). Anyone who works in the school system knows that this is not a good thing. I am still trying to process what happened here. The only thing that I can articulate is that it feels very quiet; kind of like ground zero after the planes hit. Some may think that this description is a little dramatic but I can only speak from the purest of emotions when I describe what occurred after the army of suits left the building.
On the week prior to the states’ arrival there was a feeling of tension in the air. It was as if everyone knew that there would be bad news…they were right. I have decided not to go into the particulars of what they reported because frankly it was too much to remember. But one thing I can recall is that from my vantage point in the back of our huge auditorium, I could not see the state representative. But from the tone of his voice as he flayed at the very culture of our school and its faculty, I pictured a man wagging his finger and shaming a room full of adults…It wasn’t pleasant. Another thing that I can remember is that during his tirade I could also visualize a little man in my head next to a chalk board. On this chalk board there was line drawn in the middle with boxes on either side. One side was for things that I was guilty of doing. The other of course was not guilty. Honestly, I cannot say how often he checked the guilty box but the fact remains that I was indeed responsible for some of the infractions that he mentioned. So what now? Honestly, I am not certain. But one thing that experience has taught me is that sitting around waiting for this thing to blow over is the worst thing that I could do.
I am curious how others feel about this. We are living in time in our country’s history when everyone’s usefulness is being tested. In this era of scarce resources every individual’s character will be evaluated. Misfits will be outed and everyone will have their opportunity to play judge or jury. But in the midst of all of this I have decided to burn a candle of optimism. I am hopeful that people will begin to talk to one another face to face instead of behind each other’s back. And I am also hopeful that love and honesty will prevail. Naïve? Maybe. But in spite of my naïveté I am certain that although this is probably not the most that we have ever needed each other in our history, it still does not mean that it is any less urgent. What has happened here in my little world is only a small example of what’s to come.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
The Tower of Babel and the 6 People Involved
After the debate generated from my last entry I decided to take a breather from the political side of things for a while. Although I still faithfully watch CNN and other news programs with a healthy interest, I have come to realize that some people just want to engage in a little small talk from to time. Hey, what can I say? I ain’t mad at those folks but as the title of this blog suggests, small talk just ain’t my thing. That said, I still maintain that any discussions had in this forum have the capacity to teach even when the original intent of the message is completely pushed aside. With this in mind I decided to do a little research on the art of communication. The following is a theory of communication from Osmo Wiio in which he states:
“No form of communication is simple. Because of the number of variables involved, even simple requests are extremely complex. Theorists note that whenever we communicate there are really at least six "people" involved: 1) who you think you are; 2) who you think the other person is; 3) who you think the other person thinks you are; 4) who the other person thinks /she is; 5) who the other person thinks you are; and 6) who the other person thinks you think s/he is.
We don't actually swap ideas; we swap symbols that stand for ideas. This also complicates communication. Words (symbols) do not have inherent meaning; we simply use them in certain ways, and no two people use the same word exactly alike”.
I must admit that Wiio’s theory has forced me to confront the notion that maybe I originally retreated to the realm of cyberspace because I have become somewhat disheartened with the rigors and disappointments of human communication. I would even further admit that last week’s debacle momentarily made me somewhat disenchanted with my current form of communication; not because of differing opinions but because it seems that the goal of reaching understanding was never achieved. But I digress.
When I began blogging it was at time when I felt extremely over stimulated and under attack in the midst of a growing population of individuals whom I felt had much to say but no time for authentic interpersonal connections. I decided that maybe a more effective way to get any message out would be in a forum where there would be no distractions. I would blog passionately with one goal in mind: to send a message and have it received completely unmolested. Oh how naïve I was! If Wiio’s theory of communication is correct however, no one is to blame. A pessimist would suggest that the advances we have made in communication are simply another attempt to build yet another
p.s. I thought Jukka Korpela’s analysis of Wiio’s theory was quite interesting. Maybe others will also.
Wiio's laws: Communication usually fails, except by accident.
Wiio's laws are "humoristically formulated serious observations about how human communication usually fails except by accident". Here's a quick summary (excerpted from Jukka Korpela's detailed analysis):
- Communication usually fails, except by accident.
- If communication can fail, it will.
- If communication cannot fail, it still most usually fails.
- If communication seems to succeed in the intended way, there's a misunderstanding.
- If you are content with your message, communication certainly fails.
- If a message can be interpreted in several ways, it will be interpreted in a manner that maximizes the damage.
- There is always someone who knows better than you what you meant with your message.
- The more we communicate, the worse communication succeeds.
- The more we communicate, the faster misunderstandings propagate.
- In mass communication, the important thing is not how things are but how they seem to be.
- The importance of a news item is inversely proportional to the square of the distance.
- The more important the situation is, the more probably you forget an essential thing that you remembered a moment ago.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Disclaimer
In my classroom I often use anecdotes from my life to express larger points about the day's lesson. In some cases I have used this same strategy in this blog to discuss current trends which I feel are driving American culture (ie: reality television and its affect on creativity, people's preoccupation with technology and gadgetry etc.) . All of the themes that I cover are written with the hope of stimulating thought and provoking conversation even if the discussions sometimes get controversial. Although the subject matter is sometimes political, this is not the sole purpose of this blog in general. The world is a place full of diverse peoples who bring with them many diverse ideologies. I am interested in reading about all of them if this is possible. Therefore my ultimate goal for writing this blog is to give my self and anyone who contributes the opportunity for growth and understanding. The views expressed here are never personal.
ps. I would also like to take this opportunity to apologize to anyone who has felt misrepresented in this forum.
Regards,
Cknight
ps. I would also like to take this opportunity to apologize to anyone who has felt misrepresented in this forum.
Regards,
Cknight
Monday, March 16, 2009
Semantics, Sensibilities and Sensitivity
What happens when people stop being nice and start getting real?
-The “Real World” season 1
Last week in my 8th period class I had yet another confrontation with one of my students. This student who has a history of belligerence was going about his usual routine of non-compliance when I asked this question: “Are you and I going to get along in this class or are we going to continue to butt heads everyday?” The student then replied: “I ain’t no butt head…Don’t call me no butt head!” As laughable as this may seem, it represents in many cases how we as Americans react when we feel that we have been personally insulted. Most of us are dealing with beasts that are caged and pacing back and forth somewhere in our psyches, just waiting for the right opportunity to pounce any victim who dares to stick their hand in our cage. This beast does not listen to logic and has no use for logical discourse. It only wants to attack.
Ironically I was reminded the next day during my weekly snowboarding trip that although many of us have learned to contain the beast better than most, there is always a chance that someone might unwittingly open the cage. This moment happened when a seemingly benign conversation came up about the recent controversy surrounding the New York Post and it’s political cartoon which some allege was directed toward Barack Obama. The driver on this trip stated (I’m paraphrasing) how ridiculous he thought the whole debate was because presidents all throughout history have been subject to criticism in the press and that Obama was not exempt. He also stated that it was silly that people thought that this cartoon was offensive because in the past even president Bush was depicted as a primate. He went on to say that it was ridiculous for anyone to associate the gorilla in this cartoon with Obama since he did not write the stimulus bill. He only signed it. This was the point at which the beast in my cage began to emerge. The argument which followed later however is irrelevant because I consider this individual a friend therefore, a tirade highlighting all of the reasons why I felt he was wrong is not necessary. It is necessary however is to display what I learned from our discourse.
1. Each culture that makes up this country possesses a set of sensitive and inherent triggers derived from history. These triggers can at any time impede the progress of the country to move forward. For example, no matter what the intent of the New York Post cartoon was, it set off a trigger in African Americans because for generations since slavery we have been compared to the primate. Although some of us have transcended this insult, many of us still feel the pain especially when it could possibly be used to insult our first African American president whom I’m not ashamed to say I am quite proud. Also, when I think of all of the faces of older African Americans who openly wept after the election I cannot help but think that they are the ones who actually experienced Jim Crow. Some of them can actually remember a time when voting was a life threatening experience. My grandfather who is my last remaining grandparent remembers. I wonder how he feels about the New York Post cartoon.
What I learned: In hindsight, I see my friend’s point. Why should Barack Obama be exempt from criticism? If we start excusing every thing that he does and when attacking him starts to become a taboo then we begin to approach a dangerous realm reminiscent of the fascism that this country fought in the not so distant past. It is possible that because of my friend’s Jewish background that my defense of our president might have sounded too much like the kind of support that another leader in the 1940’s might have received. These triggers are real.
2. Because everyone possesses these triggers, it is helpful when opinions are expressed in the appropriate setting. Although there was slight tension between my friend and me when this debate happened, it was completely healthy and beneficial to us both. I am confident that we both walked away a little more enlightened then we were previously. However, I cannot help but think about other situations when the same differences might not have been so neatly resolved.
What I learned: When our discussion ended we both agreed that the reason for our debate was that we both came from two unique backgrounds with different sets of issues. We also expressed that we have both been in somewhat awkward situations where we might have been outnumbered by the dominant culture and been forced to be diplomatic when we would have rather come out with our guns blazing. For example, he is a white male who moved to Bedford Stuyvesant right before its current gentrification boom. During that time he was subject to all sorts of insults designed to either discourage his choice of residence or to test his metal. I on the other hand, have been the subject of backhanded insults by some of my white counter parts which were designed to measure my level of intelligence or to see whether I was A. the type of ‘angry black man’ who was insulted by everything or B. the type of man who was only interested in getting along with folks and would turn a deaf ear to their coy banter. The bottom line is that in the hood whether it is Bed Stuy or Benson Hurst, no one cares about the type of discourse that we had the opportunity to engage. In most cases people just start pulling their triggers and letting metaphorical bullets fly. And there are some that would agree that this type of response is the best because it leaves little room for bull. Again, one must know their audience.
It is no secret that in the world of commerce, it is essential that no matter how many times during the course of our day that we are insulted we must maintain certain amount of decorum or be reduced to the level of lawless cowboys who settle our differences with six shooters. The insults that we feel most passionate about are mostly rooted in personal tragedies that we had to endure from our past. In a world that is so concerned with the present we may sometimes be unaware of the ripple effects of the past. Although there are many of us who possess the awareness needed to deal with some of these issues, there are others among us who find comfort in the simplicity of ‘hood thought’. And for some of us these roles are interchangeable. At the root of it all is raw emotion. Despite our social, financial or cultural backgrounds we have all been blessed and cursed with the ability to feel based on our life experiences. If enough of people feel a certain way it might behoove the rest of us to consider that these emotions have not been formed in a vacuum. In the case of the New York Post, maybe a simple apology and attempt at understanding would have gone a long way.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Who Will Dare to Watch?
About three months ago during the previews of the much anticipated film The Dark Knight, Legendary Pictures gave movie goers a glimpse of the next highly anticipated comic book inspired film that was waiting in the wings. That film of course was The Watchmen. The stunning visual effects and haunting Billy Corgan vocals were enough to peak the interest of this comic book nerd. However, when I was finally able to see it, a litany of reactions resulted. The first thing I remember thinking after the opening scene was this not your ordinary Hollywood comic book movie. After further thought, I decided that it may or may not be successful for four reasons:
1. The movie stuck to the original story more than any movie of its kind in my experience.
I have seen just about every comic inspired movie that has been made in the last 5 years and none of them were able to escape the firm grip of Hollywood’s manipulative hand. I hate to say it but I now understand why big movie execs often opt to change a few things to make a film more palatable to main stream audiences. Although I don’t necessary think it makes them better, it does address the fact that Americans get bored or scared quite easily (more on this later). Is it because the current trend of media that passes for entertainment today has shortened our attention spans?
2. It was extremely wordy. I have never seen this much dialog in a comic inspired flick. It was as if I was really watching a live action graphic novel without the text bubbles. Please note that the book which inspired this film was the most celebrated of its kind for a reason. Its courageous handling of themes like the pathology of costumed heroes, their role in a modern society and the various ways in which governments would undoubtedly manipulate their power was ahead of it’s time when it was written 25 years ago. Therefore, in my view the dialog was necessary. In the view of the mainstream consumer however, I would venture to say it was just overkill. I could hear the moans and groans in the climax when the character Dr. Manhattan decided to explain why life really did matter and why he decided to be its salvation. In his soliloquy this character revealed in my opinion the raison d’être for the story as a whole. The unexpected ending then of course further asserts his point that life is most essential when it is seen for its uniqueness and aesthetic value. Dr. Manhattan points out that these values are profound because often they are produced from the harshest and most impossible circumstances. He later proves as all of the heroes do with their indiscriminant violence that any part of humanity outside of this paradigm is expendable. Kind of deep for a comic book movie…right?
3. The running theme of human nature and its discontents was extremely heavy for a mainstream film. This movie was chock full of harsh criticisms of American culture, especially the urban squalor that was often expressed by the film’s narrator Rorschach. Throughout the film, he vocalized his contempt for the city and it’s penchant for feeding upon itself. His example of inner dialog throughout the film which was first introduced in two other Legendary Pictures releases; 300 and Sin City was brilliantly executed because it translated the character’s mental state much like an actual comic book. However, judging from the reactions around me, this was just another annoyance.
4. It was dark...very dark. The Watchmen is not a movie for the optimist. This point in my opinion is what makes it truly revolutionary. What has made films such as Superman, Spiderman and the Fantastic Four so popular is like their predecessors they have always focused on some boogie man who is external to our collective consciousness. Older comics even went as far as depicting actual villains such as Hitler and the Nazi Party in their features. Although The Watchman also presents the Soviet Union as an external villain they are only a smokescreen. The true enemy presented in contrast to the old paradigm is the darkest part of the human psyche; the most fearful part of ourselves that wants to be kept safe from harm without being privy to all of the dirty details that go into keeping us that way. I wonder in this age of war and its atrocities if Americans are truly ready for this kind of entertainment.
Frankly, this was a movie that was just way too heavy for the layperson who only wants to be dazzled with loose story lines and gaudy special effects. Yet, I still have confidence in its intellect. I am not saying that the mainstream wouldn’t get it. I am simply saying that in these bleak times most people would rather stick with what is safe. The fluorescent lights of cell phones, idle chatter and incessant fidgeting of some of the watchers of these watchmen suggested that the mainstream’s attention span is too short at this juncture to observe the insights they have to offer. My hope is that many will be patient enough to see its message. If the fate of this movie is bleak however, it will not be because it sucked. It will only be because it was ahead of its time.
1. The movie stuck to the original story more than any movie of its kind in my experience.
I have seen just about every comic inspired movie that has been made in the last 5 years and none of them were able to escape the firm grip of Hollywood’s manipulative hand. I hate to say it but I now understand why big movie execs often opt to change a few things to make a film more palatable to main stream audiences. Although I don’t necessary think it makes them better, it does address the fact that Americans get bored or scared quite easily (more on this later). Is it because the current trend of media that passes for entertainment today has shortened our attention spans?
2. It was extremely wordy. I have never seen this much dialog in a comic inspired flick. It was as if I was really watching a live action graphic novel without the text bubbles. Please note that the book which inspired this film was the most celebrated of its kind for a reason. Its courageous handling of themes like the pathology of costumed heroes, their role in a modern society and the various ways in which governments would undoubtedly manipulate their power was ahead of it’s time when it was written 25 years ago. Therefore, in my view the dialog was necessary. In the view of the mainstream consumer however, I would venture to say it was just overkill. I could hear the moans and groans in the climax when the character Dr. Manhattan decided to explain why life really did matter and why he decided to be its salvation. In his soliloquy this character revealed in my opinion the raison d’être for the story as a whole. The unexpected ending then of course further asserts his point that life is most essential when it is seen for its uniqueness and aesthetic value. Dr. Manhattan points out that these values are profound because often they are produced from the harshest and most impossible circumstances. He later proves as all of the heroes do with their indiscriminant violence that any part of humanity outside of this paradigm is expendable. Kind of deep for a comic book movie…right?
3. The running theme of human nature and its discontents was extremely heavy for a mainstream film. This movie was chock full of harsh criticisms of American culture, especially the urban squalor that was often expressed by the film’s narrator Rorschach. Throughout the film, he vocalized his contempt for the city and it’s penchant for feeding upon itself. His example of inner dialog throughout the film which was first introduced in two other Legendary Pictures releases; 300 and Sin City was brilliantly executed because it translated the character’s mental state much like an actual comic book. However, judging from the reactions around me, this was just another annoyance.
4. It was dark...very dark. The Watchmen is not a movie for the optimist. This point in my opinion is what makes it truly revolutionary. What has made films such as Superman, Spiderman and the Fantastic Four so popular is like their predecessors they have always focused on some boogie man who is external to our collective consciousness. Older comics even went as far as depicting actual villains such as Hitler and the Nazi Party in their features. Although The Watchman also presents the Soviet Union as an external villain they are only a smokescreen. The true enemy presented in contrast to the old paradigm is the darkest part of the human psyche; the most fearful part of ourselves that wants to be kept safe from harm without being privy to all of the dirty details that go into keeping us that way. I wonder in this age of war and its atrocities if Americans are truly ready for this kind of entertainment.
Frankly, this was a movie that was just way too heavy for the layperson who only wants to be dazzled with loose story lines and gaudy special effects. Yet, I still have confidence in its intellect. I am not saying that the mainstream wouldn’t get it. I am simply saying that in these bleak times most people would rather stick with what is safe. The fluorescent lights of cell phones, idle chatter and incessant fidgeting of some of the watchers of these watchmen suggested that the mainstream’s attention span is too short at this juncture to observe the insights they have to offer. My hope is that many will be patient enough to see its message. If the fate of this movie is bleak however, it will not be because it sucked. It will only be because it was ahead of its time.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
The Great Black Hope
It is the year 2009 and our once thriving example of capitalism is now looking quite mortal. People all over the nation are beginning to feel the slings and arrows of uncertain economic times. Many political analysts have considered the idea that our once great nation will eventually take a backseat to other economic powers on the rise such as China, India or the European Union. I must admit that I was one of the people who possessed that fear. I also must admit however, that whenever such fears reared their ugly heads there was also a sense of incongruity that gnawed at my subconscious. It was a little voice that whispered “why are you so worried about where this country stands in the world economy? After all, you have always been poor; therefore you really don’t factor in the grand scheme of things”. I guess I could blame this line of thinking on all of the speeches I read from revolutionary speakers such as John Henrik Clark, Louis Farrakhan and of course Malcolm X. One quote that comes to mind is from the latter. In his speech the message to grass roots, Malcolm X said:
“If the master said, "We got a good house here," the house Negro would say, "Yeah, we got a good house here." Whenever the master said "we," he said "we." That's how you can tell a house Negro. If the master's house caught on fire, the house Negro would fight harder to put the blaze out than the master would. If the master got sick, the house Negro would say, "What's the matter, boss, we sick?" We sick! He identified himself with his master more than his master identified with himself”.
During my college years when I became more aware of literature like the above example, I found myself struggling a great deal with the concept of patriotism for a country that historically has been so cruel to African Americans. Therefore, when I found myself during those years at games saluting the flag or rooting for the home team while watching the Olympics the question in the back of mind was always why? I suppose I reconcile this conundrum with good old fashioned hope which is ingrained in the minds of every American who has been educated in this country. It is a hope that is so powerful that even in the most horrible of conditions there are many of us who still believe that we can make it.
When college ended I was forced to do some soul searching. Many of the questions that plagued me concerning how I would define patriotism still haunt me today. But even now that I struggle with what it means to be a patriot, I do know that it exists. The little boy in me who recited the pledge of allegiance in grade school still lives. Thomas Friedman helped me to discover this when he said:
“No other country can substitute for the U.S.,” a senior Korean official remarked to me. “The U.S. is still No. 1 in military, No. 1 in economy, No. 1 in promoting human rights and No. 1 in idealism. Only the U.S. can lead the world. No other country can. China can’t. The E.U. is too divided, and Europe is militarily far behind the U.S. So it is only the United States ... We have never had a more unipolar world than we have today.”
After reading this quote my first reaction was relief which was immediately followed by embarrassment. Had I become so indoctrinated with the competitive nature that is so characteristic of America (especially in the last administration) that it did not matter whether or not we were actually going to get through this crisis? In that moment it seemed more pertinent to me that we were still running the show, no matter what the cost. The fact that the whole world is watching with baited breath as we face our greatest challenge of the decade should not be in any way comforting even if we still are considered “the greatest country in the world”.
I have since gotten over my embarrassment and my temporary chauvinism. I have decided to be the same hopeful citizen of this country that I was as a child. It is this same hope along with stern criticism that motivated Martin, Malcolm and of course Barack Obama. These individuals knew that even with the brutal history that this country possesses it still has the potential for greatness. It is not the kind of greatness that is measured by military strength or monetary might, but that which is measured by valuing all of its citizens for their talents which in the end will help us get through these tough times. It is these principles alone which point me in the direction of patriotism. I will be watching closely to see where we are headed. And I too will be hopeful.
“If the master said, "We got a good house here," the house Negro would say, "Yeah, we got a good house here." Whenever the master said "we," he said "we." That's how you can tell a house Negro. If the master's house caught on fire, the house Negro would fight harder to put the blaze out than the master would. If the master got sick, the house Negro would say, "What's the matter, boss, we sick?" We sick! He identified himself with his master more than his master identified with himself”.
During my college years when I became more aware of literature like the above example, I found myself struggling a great deal with the concept of patriotism for a country that historically has been so cruel to African Americans. Therefore, when I found myself during those years at games saluting the flag or rooting for the home team while watching the Olympics the question in the back of mind was always why? I suppose I reconcile this conundrum with good old fashioned hope which is ingrained in the minds of every American who has been educated in this country. It is a hope that is so powerful that even in the most horrible of conditions there are many of us who still believe that we can make it.
When college ended I was forced to do some soul searching. Many of the questions that plagued me concerning how I would define patriotism still haunt me today. But even now that I struggle with what it means to be a patriot, I do know that it exists. The little boy in me who recited the pledge of allegiance in grade school still lives. Thomas Friedman helped me to discover this when he said:
“No other country can substitute for the U.S.,” a senior Korean official remarked to me. “The U.S. is still No. 1 in military, No. 1 in economy, No. 1 in promoting human rights and No. 1 in idealism. Only the U.S. can lead the world. No other country can. China can’t. The E.U. is too divided, and Europe is militarily far behind the U.S. So it is only the United States ... We have never had a more unipolar world than we have today.”
After reading this quote my first reaction was relief which was immediately followed by embarrassment. Had I become so indoctrinated with the competitive nature that is so characteristic of America (especially in the last administration) that it did not matter whether or not we were actually going to get through this crisis? In that moment it seemed more pertinent to me that we were still running the show, no matter what the cost. The fact that the whole world is watching with baited breath as we face our greatest challenge of the decade should not be in any way comforting even if we still are considered “the greatest country in the world”.
I have since gotten over my embarrassment and my temporary chauvinism. I have decided to be the same hopeful citizen of this country that I was as a child. It is this same hope along with stern criticism that motivated Martin, Malcolm and of course Barack Obama. These individuals knew that even with the brutal history that this country possesses it still has the potential for greatness. It is not the kind of greatness that is measured by military strength or monetary might, but that which is measured by valuing all of its citizens for their talents which in the end will help us get through these tough times. It is these principles alone which point me in the direction of patriotism. I will be watching closely to see where we are headed. And I too will be hopeful.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Hell is other people before my morning coffee
“Hell is other People”
-Jean Paul Sartre
This morning around the end of my 2nd period class I was witness to a lover’s quarrel between two of my students who are currently on the outs. During this spat one told the other to go to hell. I attempted to end this debacle armed with my cup of coffee and the quickness of wit which the right amount of caffeine can sometimes yield. I immediately told the class to take a deep breath and exhale. I then explained that no matter what is going on in one’s life if they can complete this action than there day really isn’t that bad. Corny? Maybe. But it worked. From that point on, every time these two attempted to continue with their argument one of my students would immediately inhale and exhale loudly. The result of course was laughter.
Although this situation ended well, my student’s aggressive request for her ex to visit the land of fire and brimstone suggested to me that he could not have gone without taking her with him. In fact, if we applied the Sartre quote to this situation she was already there waiting for him. In (reflective) reality she should have told him to “come to hell” because the hell in fact could not really exist unless the two of them were involved whether as lovers or friends.
This quote from Sartre further asserts my point:
“The "Other" (meaning simply beings or objects that are not the self) is a construct of reflective consciousness. One must be careful to understand this more as a form of warning than as an ontological statement. However, there is an implication of solipsism here that Sartre considers fundamental to any coherent description of the human condition.[20] Sartre overcomes this solipsism by a kind of ritual. Self consciousness needs "the Other" to prove (display) its own existence. It has a "masochistic desire" to be limited, i.e. limited by the reflective consciousness of another subject. This is expressed metaphorically in the famous line of dialogue from No Exit, "Hell is other people."
I am often blown away when I apply this philosophy to the stresses that I experience in my daily life. When I actually give myself the deserved solitude needed to think about the many “demons” that exist in my life who contribute to my own personal “hell” experience, it is easier to realize the vital role I play in my own salvation. The postal worker who gave me attitude, the train conductor who closed the subway doors just as I was approaching or the payroll secretary who marked me a minute late are all individuals who contribute to my reflective consciousness. In my solitude however, they can all disappear. I can also transform these individuals into angels simply by maintaining a positive attitude and being more time conscious. Again, I am aware of how corny this sounds, but what if everyone took the time to think about it.
I was recently given a warning from my cousin about the dangers of thinking too much. I accept this warning with both love and respect. But there are times like today that remind me that there is some virtue in recognizing the bold examples of wisdom that life can offer. A hokey experiment like today is proof that all the new age books, documentaries and movies that I have consumed over the years actually have some relevance when applied without pretense. And yes sometimes stimulants such as caffeine can help too. With this in mind, I’d like to take the opportunity to thank Jean Paul Sartre, Iyanla Vanzant, Deepak Chopra, Oprah Winfrey, The Dali Lama and Dunkin Donuts for their help in today’s observation.
-Jean Paul Sartre
This morning around the end of my 2nd period class I was witness to a lover’s quarrel between two of my students who are currently on the outs. During this spat one told the other to go to hell. I attempted to end this debacle armed with my cup of coffee and the quickness of wit which the right amount of caffeine can sometimes yield. I immediately told the class to take a deep breath and exhale. I then explained that no matter what is going on in one’s life if they can complete this action than there day really isn’t that bad. Corny? Maybe. But it worked. From that point on, every time these two attempted to continue with their argument one of my students would immediately inhale and exhale loudly. The result of course was laughter.
Although this situation ended well, my student’s aggressive request for her ex to visit the land of fire and brimstone suggested to me that he could not have gone without taking her with him. In fact, if we applied the Sartre quote to this situation she was already there waiting for him. In (reflective) reality she should have told him to “come to hell” because the hell in fact could not really exist unless the two of them were involved whether as lovers or friends.
This quote from Sartre further asserts my point:
“The "Other" (meaning simply beings or objects that are not the self) is a construct of reflective consciousness. One must be careful to understand this more as a form of warning than as an ontological statement. However, there is an implication of solipsism here that Sartre considers fundamental to any coherent description of the human condition.[20] Sartre overcomes this solipsism by a kind of ritual. Self consciousness needs "the Other" to prove (display) its own existence. It has a "masochistic desire" to be limited, i.e. limited by the reflective consciousness of another subject. This is expressed metaphorically in the famous line of dialogue from No Exit, "Hell is other people."
I am often blown away when I apply this philosophy to the stresses that I experience in my daily life. When I actually give myself the deserved solitude needed to think about the many “demons” that exist in my life who contribute to my own personal “hell” experience, it is easier to realize the vital role I play in my own salvation. The postal worker who gave me attitude, the train conductor who closed the subway doors just as I was approaching or the payroll secretary who marked me a minute late are all individuals who contribute to my reflective consciousness. In my solitude however, they can all disappear. I can also transform these individuals into angels simply by maintaining a positive attitude and being more time conscious. Again, I am aware of how corny this sounds, but what if everyone took the time to think about it.
I was recently given a warning from my cousin about the dangers of thinking too much. I accept this warning with both love and respect. But there are times like today that remind me that there is some virtue in recognizing the bold examples of wisdom that life can offer. A hokey experiment like today is proof that all the new age books, documentaries and movies that I have consumed over the years actually have some relevance when applied without pretense. And yes sometimes stimulants such as caffeine can help too. With this in mind, I’d like to take the opportunity to thank Jean Paul Sartre, Iyanla Vanzant, Deepak Chopra, Oprah Winfrey, The Dali Lama and Dunkin Donuts for their help in today’s observation.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Echoes from the Black Box (edited)
The more I write the more it becomes evident that I
am an absolute weirdo. There are times (like now) that I find myself thinking
of things that should no longer hold relevance in my life. Random thoughts
involving apparitions from my past never seem to go away completely and always
find a way to creep up at the oddest of times.
The person who comes to mind right now (at 1:33 in
the morning) is a woman I once knew briefly. In fact our acquaintance was so
brief that by any reasonable standard our “relationship” is really a misnomer. And since we barely knew each other, lamenting
over this experience as if she was the one that got away seems a little
ridiculous, yet here I am. When I met
the woman in question I was young and quite fond of myself. She knew this, which
is probably why we never even became friends.
It was during the 90’s when I was an idealistic
poet. Although I’d still like to think of myself as idealistic, a poet is
something I have not been in quite some time. She is still a poet/writer and
has earned many accolades. During those times when I wrote much more than I do
now I thrived on peoples’ perceptions of me. I loved going on stage every week
and spinning twines of verbiage which I spent days prior perfecting hoping to
be rewarded with a rousing round of applause once it reached the stage. In
hindsight, I see clearly how shallow I must have seemed to some, but I can
honestly say that during those moments on the stages of the Brooklyn Moon or
the Nuyorican Poet’s Café I really felt as if I was part of something that was larger
than life. I felt like I was part of a collective of geniuses. She was among
those few whom I deemed as such. I had great respect and admiration for her.
I remember one night after a performance at the
Nuyorican I had an opportunity to walk to the train with her and some other
folks whose names escape me. We walked for a few blocks making small talk about
the night's showcases, the sound system, etc. until we reached a part of the
journey that became very awkward. It was as if she pulled out a sword and
sliced away all pretenses when she abruptly uttered the words “I hope you don’t
think you are coming home with me because you’re not”. Needless to say the
proverbial bubble was burst. There was nothing left to do accept deny the
notion and make my way home. I suppose it would be stupid for me to “front” as
if the thought had not crossed my mind, but in my own defense I have to say
that it was no more than a passing idea that would go through any man’s mind
when given the opportunity to talk to an attractive and brilliant woman like
her. But I must also admit that if it was my mission it was inchoate at best. Her words uprooted any such ideas before they
even had a chance to germinate. Her approach was so direct that it left little
room for any other interaction with her outside of a hello and some possible
small talk in the days, months and years that followed.
It is not as if this sort of thing hasn’t happened
before in my single life which seems eons ago. Neither is it a secret that for
every moment of triumph that exists in the life of a young “player” there are
equally as many if not more times when he will crash and burn. I suppose these
memories are kind of like my own personal black box that has been recovered
from my own personal wreckage. What is unique about this situation is that my
plane never even left the runway. It actually exploded before I even thought
about boarding. Honestly, it’s quite laughable. Part of me wants to blame it on
my friend “T”, who was considered a notorious player back then. It’s quite
possible (at least my ego tells me) that my guilt by association with him is
what really killed my chances with her. But that would be a cop out of course.
What is important is that she has gone on to accomplish many of the things that
I had always hoped I would in writing. She has written poetry, which I have
taught in my classroom. One poem was so
moving; I literally fought back tears in the middle of my lesson. I remember
seeing her on the street after some years and mawkishly gushing to her how much
her poem affected me. Her response was a blank stare. I believe that that was her way of telling me
to stop trying. And whether it was her
physical home or a place in her well-guarded sensibilities, I was not invited.
I realize now that during the time of our
acquaintance when I was merely performing poetry, she was using
it for a greater purpose that I am only now beginning to understand. At the
very least, it was a way and a means for her to navigate through the often
murky landscape of identity and gender in a land where such concepts can be
landmines waiting to explode. Somewhere inside of me I believe I understood
that then, but it would be some years later that such insight would make its
way to the surface; like in my classroom on the third anniversary of 911 a half
a breath away from tears.
I suppose this post is an open apology and a thanks
to her; an apology for ever giving her the slightest impression that I would
undermine her or her mission as a writer; a thanks for bringing me deeper
understanding of myself. It is often that the most humbling moments in our
lives are the ones that give us the most wisdom.
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