C is for Tootie!

My Boo Thang and I went to the ATL over the Thanksgiving weekend to visit his family. As we approached the house the blinds were cracked open to reveal small piercing eyes (8 to be exact), like some Stephen King horror film that included a corn field. We came in and greeted the family and 4 small children, two girls and 2 boys. They were shy and a bit standoffish at first but as we allowed more time to pass the non stop questions began. There is nothing more tough and more honest about the questions children ask. I always feel like I am being accused of something I am not quite sure I did or didn't do. As we settled the personalities came to light. One very prim and feminine (the eldest girl who is 9 years old in case you were wondering), and the eldest boy very active and filled with curiosity about the world and how things around him function and believes adults should have all the answers and will quickly put you to shame if you don't (he is 6), the youngest girl only 4, who has the imagination of a young British girl who falls into a hole chasing a bunny rabbit and lastly we have the smallest a baby boy who walks around the house shouting and yelling out orders like an Army General who only speaks in gibberish. We played make believe, 21 questions, helped with homework, and pretended to be ninja assassins during the long weekend. My favorite part was when the 4 year old told me to leave the restaurant and come back in like a proper customer and ask for my food and not take it out of her tray she so neatly displayed with miscellaneous objects that included a car, plastic pie, blocks, and plastic shape hearts. I was instantly transported to a time I had long forgotten, playing tea time and speaking with British accents with my cousins and brothers and singing in my girl group and making up songs that rhymed with best friends, love, and hugs. I got a little carried away as I continued to put on a plastic nose and glasses against the 4 year old's wishes and made her cry. I was back in her good graces about 5 minutes later  as she gave me the thumbs up before bed time. I felt like a jester at their beck and call vying for their attention and even hopped around like a monkey and sang C-is for cookie as the four year old sang along "C-is for tootie". I may have taken a bit of a risk sliding down the kid's slide and going on some metal spinning contraption I almost fell out I was so dizzy just to gain their approval and would do it all again to see the smiles, giggles and thumbs up I received in return. I hope it's not to long until we meet again and dread the day they become preteens locked in their room to cool to hang out with their aunts and uncles who are now lame and old running around asking them 21 questions and telling them remember when.

Nickel, Dime, Quarter.

I once knew a man named Crazy Jessie. I am sure that was not his legal name but he was known in the neighborhood as the resident homeless guy and I am assuming at the time people equated homelessness with mental instability. Crazy Jessie would often ring the bell at the Flags (Forty Flags the motel I grew up in). He wouldn't say much just stare blankly and say "Got a nickel, dime, quarter" and hold out his hand. I would scrounge around for any money laying around, often coming up too short for Jessie. It was always more than a nickel and sometimes just a dime, and often short of a quarter. When I was short he would look back at his hand and at me and walk away. I would sometimes give him a dollar if I had it and was feeling generous enough to give away my candy money. I once tried giving him a sandwich and I think he cursed me out but could not get the words he was saying as he walked away grunting eating his sandwich after he snatched it from my hand. I wish he talked more and often tried to ask him questions about where he came from, if he had a family, what his full name was-assuming Jessie was his first name.  Jessie always looked bothered when I asked him these questions, he would grunt loudly and turn his back walking away speaking gibberish. I never got to know how Jessie got to be where he was in life but I am sure his journey was a tough one. In retrospect I had no right asking Jessie about something as personal as his life's journey. It was enough he was taking a handout from some kid but having to answer to them was where he drew the line. I sometimes pass the Flags and wonder what ever happened to Jessie. I don't see him anymore walking the streets begging for change. I'd like to think he got his act together and decided to seek help and get off the streets. I sometimes hear his voice in my head replaying his one phrase I was only ever able to make out, "Got a nickel, dime, quarter".

Occupy the World

 

There is a start of a revolution in the air, outside major cities and small towns all across the US many are voicing their frustration with the status quo. While the message may not be as clear as some would like there is definitely a consensus that the distribution of wealth is disproportionally owned by the top 1 percent. The media has not given much validity to the movement and have dismissed it as a chaotic nuisance of college grads ungratefully complaining about not being able to get handouts. This falsehood of the American Dream has now come into light and many are starting to realize this dream was only set up for some to attain and many to fail to obtain. The middle class has worked so hard to attain this dream and have been forced into massive debts keeping up with the Joneses.  The issue is the Joneses are big banks and corporations selling the middle class products and forcing them to buy it on borrowed money. This relationship was bound to shatter since many loss their jobs and the ability to have this life was no longer attainable. The poor of the world have always suffered and this just only makes it that much harder to survive. Not only are these occupiers trying to shed light on a broken system but also reveal how much control the government and corporations have on us. Michele Foucault's theory of power and self discipline has come to fruition as bodies of institutions have created a "Big Brother" situation and we are so fearful of going outside the lines we now police ourselves. We have become a fickle society waiting for the next sensationalized story or headline and so consumed by consuming we have become blinded by the control and power institutions have over us and what information is shared. When we try to complain or voice dissatisfaction we are faced with bureaucratic bodies set in place to keep us from obtaining real change. My professor at Berkeley (Yes I gloated a little) Michael Burawoy a respected sociologist committed to these matters once explained that race and religious differences are a diversion for the masses to the larger issue of socioeconomic disenfranchisement and if this came to light will be a huge problem for the powers that be.  I support any movement set in place to help eradicate inequality. Keep on pushing brothers and sisters. 

Peace.  

These Days

Watch Wes Anderson Movies

The Mission

Walking through the Mission I am excited by all the small vendors and smells of tender meats cooking street side. Not the vendors that claim to sell organic produce but the vendors who own the shabby surplus shops and push carts. My Boo Thang and I walk through all the shops void of any hipsters and tourist and are reminded by our mother lands, we can finally speak the language of haggling. You can't do that at these hipster trendy spots where they claim all the best products from Indian tea to Brazilian potions and lotions marked up at least 200%, yet seem to lack flavor and soul. Who do they think they are fooling?  If I like something yet know it's over priced I feel I have the right to dispute this, you can't do this at Therapy across the way on Valencia. It's a bit surreal to see this crumbling of a civilization happen right before our eyes. Each small colorful shop filled with people of color speaking all sorts of languages some familiar some I have never heard of replaced with a stale looking brunch, coffee, or retail shops and restaurants that specialize in small plates (no thank you I want a whole burger please) with cashiers covered in tattoo's and fake thick rimmed glasses. And these damn ironic shops that sell cupcakes and blasts loud gangster rap with a small dork girl with blue hair (can I punch you in the stomach and leave with my $4 mini cupcake please?) I must admit I frequent these shops and love my Philz coffee and understand that the gentrification would mean that the Mission will soon become just like every other place void of character and flavorful food true to its region.  I can always go to Richmond on 23rd Street and Oakland on International Blvd  to find my fix of food and stores I can haggle my way through but I will miss walking through the Mission with the back drop of the city risking food poisoning while searching for papusas, lumpia, tortas, gyros, and dosas. And everyone turns a blind eye to people beating their children publicly and local strangers are more than happy to help you chase down your child to beat some more. 

Ready for the Weekend

I got to get some dancing shoes on these feet.

Gypsy Lesbian

Painting by Kees van Dongen

In middle school I was known to be socially awkward. I had no clue how to communicate with other human beings. It was my first time regularly interacting with people from all sorts of ethnic backgrounds, Iranian, Indian, Nigerian, Japanese, Chinese and Arab (I lived in a predominantly Black and Latino neighborhood) and the first time I heard the name Ashweenie over the school loud speaker. I heard that name at least a hundred times over the loud speaker and always wondered who this Ashweenie was, we never got to meet. I was raised by MTV, during the time they had music and shows that included Beavis and Butthead, Singled Out, and bands like Green Day, Nirvana and rap group Bone Thugs and Harmony were popular. I would sit with my usual lunch crew near the sewer drain who consisted of a nerdy Chinese girl with glasses, a couple guys that would call me a lesbian but insisted on hanging out with me so we could discuss hot topics that included any new Beavis and Butthead episodes and Jim Carey films. We spent our lunch hours telling jokes and imitating film actors (I liked to think they secretly thought I was cool and had major crushes on me). I once body slammed one of those kids out of rage for breaking my Beavis and Butthead key chain and ran as he lay crying on the cement floor. I  also went through a phase of shunning my assigned gender role and refused to wear anything pink , frilly, or dresses. I would borrow my brothers pants and use a shoe lace as my belt. I cut my hair short and dyed it black and refused to make eye contact with anyone. My Granny would pray I was going through a phase. People would whisper and stare not quite knowing what to make of me. I'd like to think people were so intrigued by my mysterious ways they would spread rumors about my sexuality and background and gypsy lesbian was the only thing that fit. I wasn't really bothered by the moronic immaturity at school because I had crack heads and ladies of the night outside my house to worry about. And if anyone pushed it to far I would get all crazy bag lady on them. I liked keeping people at a distance that way they wouldn't want to come over to study or call a motel and ask to speak with me. I liked having only my nerdy Chinese friend around. She was the one person I knew who could imitate the hell out of Beavis. We spent our lunches talking about mindless shows with no judgment of the identities we were assigned during junior high. However, I still had a line and refused to hang out with band geeks and thespians. While we since drifted apart I still hold a special place for her. Thank you nerdy Chinese girl for being my only friend in junior high when everyone else thought I was a mysterious lesbian gypsy.