One of my favourite current authors, Lori Tharps has her debut novel being released on August 24, 2010.
I will have the pleasure of receiving a copy gratis before the release date so I can read it and review it. To say I'm stoked would be an understatement.
I first fell in love with Tharps' writing with "Kinky Gazpacho"
I felt like I was reading my life, just from someone older and who was a Hispanophile compared to my love of the Francophilia. Her writing style is warm and inviting and her narrative is such a great story.
Sigh.
I can't wait to receive, read and love "Substitute Me" and who knows, even re-start my manuscript.
09 August 2010
20 July 2010
"Losing My Cool..." A review
My summer has been filled with books. In between longing for my return to France and acclimating to the Midwest I've read several books. Only one has compelled me to write about it: "Losing My Cool: How a Father's Love and 15,000 Books Beat Hip-Hop Culture"
*Disclaimer* Image taken from www.amazon.com
For people who have struggled with the conflict between fitting in and standing out,not feeling "black enough" , or simply with who they want to be, Thomas Chatterton Williams' first book is an invitation to decide. In "Losing My Cool: How a Father's Love and 15,000 Books Beat Hip-Hop Culture", Williams shares his journey from a caricature of hip-hop culture to an individual character.
Williams' memoir is the story of a young boy, who happens to be mixed, who is constantly pulled between two poles: the love his father has for him and learning and the most negative aspects of a seductive hip-hop culture that colored and discolored his interactions with his world.
Williams' story could be that of any black kid in the suburbs who tries to "keep it real", while unknowingly being fake. He shares his evolution without casting dispersions on those still caught up in image. This empathy is what keeps his narrative from being pretentious. He also stays away from stating that hip-hop is the devil.
Because it's not.
It's the importance that people place on the hip-hop image that is detrimental to their individual growth.
I will say that perhaps the title is misleading. I don't identify hip-hop the way Williams does. To me hip-hop is Lauryn Hill, Common, Mos Def, and The Roots to name a few. I wasn't allowed to listen to Biggie and a whole host of rapper when I was younger. I can identify with Williams to a certain extent. I,too,was sometimes not "black enough" but I couldn't even fake the funk, nor did I have a desire to. My own journey to hip-hop was a weird one. Growing up we listened to soul classics and country music more than anything else. I could sing you several George Strait songs before I could ever share 16 bars of Biggie. It wasn't until I got to college that I was introduced to hip-hop in a way where I could befriend it and it wasn't until my first heartbreak when I came to love it. So I've never been caught up in the desire to implement what I saw portrayed in some videos and songs.
I've read critiques of "Losing My Cool" that seem to disagree with a premise that I don't believe Williams makes. Hip-hop is not the root of all evil. (Nor does he exhibit self-hate.) I can see how one might think he is equating hip-hop culture with the whole of black culture. Again, I don't think he is. If anything he makes a case for reconsidering black culture's relationship to hip-hop (idealising entertainers over educators)and the case for the importance of individuality. Lastly, some will take offence to some of his black characters. Some are less than ideal individuals, such is life. That was his reality.
Not to criticise young Williams, but he did himself a world of hurt by forfeiting his choice to define himself. He says, "It was much easier to mime stereotypes than to invent ourselves as individuals."
The birth of Williams as an individual is an admirable one. From his imagined hard knock sometimes gritty streets of Jersey to the posh streets of Georgetown, Williams brings up several interesting, important questions that deserve answering or at least pondering: What is the nature of individuality? What does it mean to be black? What is real? How can one embrace hip-hop without being smothered by its negative aspects? Williams didn't set out to defend black culture or castrate hip-hop culture he simply has shared one narrative of millions about his relationship with the two-which of course are not synonymous.
Williams' story comes down to this (self-evident?) fact: there's more than one way to be black. Not every young black man must be an athlete or rapper. Not every young black woman must use her physical attributes for gain. Nor should they aspire to. Centuries after slavery's abolition, we are free to be individuals, but one would think it's easier to be enslaved to something whether it be to ignorance itself or ignorant images and messages.
This book is as relevant as it is timeless. It's well written and engaging. In an age where the United States of America has a black president it's time to reconsider how we as a people and as individuals will be defined. Hip-hop is not the only music that enriches the black American experience. It is a jazz number breathed to life by Miles or Louie Armstrong. It is a blues lament sung by Ella or Bessie Smith . Or it can be a country song shared by Charlie Pride or Darius Rucker.
Read this book and decide for yourself.
By the time I was finished reading this book, I wanted to force my younger brother to read it. However, I suspect that Williams would warn against this however well-intentioned act. No one can make anyone better. It's an individual choice.
Here's to choosing to be an individual instead of a negative image of a culture.
*Disclaimer* Image taken from www.amazon.com
For people who have struggled with the conflict between fitting in and standing out,not feeling "black enough" , or simply with who they want to be, Thomas Chatterton Williams' first book is an invitation to decide. In "Losing My Cool: How a Father's Love and 15,000 Books Beat Hip-Hop Culture", Williams shares his journey from a caricature of hip-hop culture to an individual character.
Williams' memoir is the story of a young boy, who happens to be mixed, who is constantly pulled between two poles: the love his father has for him and learning and the most negative aspects of a seductive hip-hop culture that colored and discolored his interactions with his world.
Williams' story could be that of any black kid in the suburbs who tries to "keep it real", while unknowingly being fake. He shares his evolution without casting dispersions on those still caught up in image. This empathy is what keeps his narrative from being pretentious. He also stays away from stating that hip-hop is the devil.
Because it's not.
It's the importance that people place on the hip-hop image that is detrimental to their individual growth.
I will say that perhaps the title is misleading. I don't identify hip-hop the way Williams does. To me hip-hop is Lauryn Hill, Common, Mos Def, and The Roots to name a few. I wasn't allowed to listen to Biggie and a whole host of rapper when I was younger. I can identify with Williams to a certain extent. I,too,was sometimes not "black enough" but I couldn't even fake the funk, nor did I have a desire to. My own journey to hip-hop was a weird one. Growing up we listened to soul classics and country music more than anything else. I could sing you several George Strait songs before I could ever share 16 bars of Biggie. It wasn't until I got to college that I was introduced to hip-hop in a way where I could befriend it and it wasn't until my first heartbreak when I came to love it. So I've never been caught up in the desire to implement what I saw portrayed in some videos and songs.
I've read critiques of "Losing My Cool" that seem to disagree with a premise that I don't believe Williams makes. Hip-hop is not the root of all evil. (Nor does he exhibit self-hate.) I can see how one might think he is equating hip-hop culture with the whole of black culture. Again, I don't think he is. If anything he makes a case for reconsidering black culture's relationship to hip-hop (idealising entertainers over educators)and the case for the importance of individuality. Lastly, some will take offence to some of his black characters. Some are less than ideal individuals, such is life. That was his reality.
Not to criticise young Williams, but he did himself a world of hurt by forfeiting his choice to define himself. He says, "It was much easier to mime stereotypes than to invent ourselves as individuals."
The birth of Williams as an individual is an admirable one. From his imagined hard knock sometimes gritty streets of Jersey to the posh streets of Georgetown, Williams brings up several interesting, important questions that deserve answering or at least pondering: What is the nature of individuality? What does it mean to be black? What is real? How can one embrace hip-hop without being smothered by its negative aspects? Williams didn't set out to defend black culture or castrate hip-hop culture he simply has shared one narrative of millions about his relationship with the two-which of course are not synonymous.
Williams' story comes down to this (self-evident?) fact: there's more than one way to be black. Not every young black man must be an athlete or rapper. Not every young black woman must use her physical attributes for gain. Nor should they aspire to. Centuries after slavery's abolition, we are free to be individuals, but one would think it's easier to be enslaved to something whether it be to ignorance itself or ignorant images and messages.
This book is as relevant as it is timeless. It's well written and engaging. In an age where the United States of America has a black president it's time to reconsider how we as a people and as individuals will be defined. Hip-hop is not the only music that enriches the black American experience. It is a jazz number breathed to life by Miles or Louie Armstrong. It is a blues lament sung by Ella or Bessie Smith . Or it can be a country song shared by Charlie Pride or Darius Rucker.
Read this book and decide for yourself.
By the time I was finished reading this book, I wanted to force my younger brother to read it. However, I suspect that Williams would warn against this however well-intentioned act. No one can make anyone better. It's an individual choice.
Here's to choosing to be an individual instead of a negative image of a culture.
16 July 2010
Blog Your Way Around the World
I just discovered this contest and to say I'm stoked would be an understatement.
My task is to write a 400 word essay (only 400 words?!) about why "I should be selected – including how you will blog from the road should you win"
So, I have a goal in mind and a possibility.
Here it goes.
I love seeing new places and meeting new faces.
I could blame it on my parents-we moved a lot when I was younger, living in seven different states .This experience of having to adapt and learn to love where I am has stuck with me. I could blame my parents, but the truth is that , I must take responsibility for the declaration and decision at age seven that I would move to France one day.
My mother, says she remembers being surprised then, but when I left Omaha spring semester of my Junior year she remembered the declaration. When I returned to France a year later to teach English, she believed me. So my love of travel has existed for awhile. When I was in France most recently, I had the opportunity to travel a bit more throughout the European continent. I would send e-mails and blog posts back to family and friends. In February, I saw the beauty of Northern Italy. The colours of Verona's buildings mixed with the tastes of true Bolognese cuisine enticed me. I was thankful for a first taste of Italy and looked forward to April holidays when I would visit Sweden and Spain. I planned for these trips anxious to drop a few words of Swedish on my friend's family and experiment with my rudimentary Spanish.Then a volcano from a small island country struck me and thousands of other tourists-Eyjafjallajökull . I still can't pronounce its name, I can only pronounce the unquenched thirst for travel that I missed because of its eruption. I am always anxious for a new adventure -especially one that involves a new locale.
If selected, I would share the love I have for travel with the help of my faithful laptop.I would also synch a microblogging site to keep followers up on minute-by-minute updates using my smart phone. There is such a wide world out there and I've only been to six countries. I would love the chance to see and share more.
So, vote for me . Merci, Gracias,Todah Rabah and Thank you.
My task is to write a 400 word essay (only 400 words?!) about why "I should be selected – including how you will blog from the road should you win"
So, I have a goal in mind and a possibility.
Here it goes.
I love seeing new places and meeting new faces.
I could blame it on my parents-we moved a lot when I was younger, living in seven different states .This experience of having to adapt and learn to love where I am has stuck with me. I could blame my parents, but the truth is that , I must take responsibility for the declaration and decision at age seven that I would move to France one day.
My mother, says she remembers being surprised then, but when I left Omaha spring semester of my Junior year she remembered the declaration. When I returned to France a year later to teach English, she believed me. So my love of travel has existed for awhile. When I was in France most recently, I had the opportunity to travel a bit more throughout the European continent. I would send e-mails and blog posts back to family and friends. In February, I saw the beauty of Northern Italy. The colours of Verona's buildings mixed with the tastes of true Bolognese cuisine enticed me. I was thankful for a first taste of Italy and looked forward to April holidays when I would visit Sweden and Spain. I planned for these trips anxious to drop a few words of Swedish on my friend's family and experiment with my rudimentary Spanish.Then a volcano from a small island country struck me and thousands of other tourists-Eyjafjallajökull . I still can't pronounce its name, I can only pronounce the unquenched thirst for travel that I missed because of its eruption. I am always anxious for a new adventure -especially one that involves a new locale.
If selected, I would share the love I have for travel with the help of my faithful laptop.I would also synch a microblogging site to keep followers up on minute-by-minute updates using my smart phone. There is such a wide world out there and I've only been to six countries. I would love the chance to see and share more.
So, vote for me . Merci, Gracias,Todah Rabah and Thank you.
Time flies...
Wow, so it's been a minute since I've written anything.
I didn't realise it until a friend shared the last post I wrote about a beautiful person we knew who died too soon. For us.
Since then, April left the map to join the other months in the grave of days. May came and went too fast, I loved Marc, and my students and left them in turn.
June came and I adjusted and moped and made my peace with where I am. And July has started with promise,ascended to greatness and I hope it plateaus here.At least for awhile.
I've recently come back from a trip to Norman to see my friends, sisters really.
I was worried about seeing them. Worried that nine months had made a gap we couldn't or wouldn't bridge. Worried that 8 days would be too much and that I would kill, or more likely, be killed by one of my friends.
But it was lovely. And too brief as I knew in my heart of hearts it would be.
I'm going to get back into this thing. If nothing else, but to keep up with telling stories. I'm thinking of starting a section of stories called "To Sirs with Love" stories about guys I've loved. Or something like it.
Tis all for now.
I didn't realise it until a friend shared the last post I wrote about a beautiful person we knew who died too soon. For us.
Since then, April left the map to join the other months in the grave of days. May came and went too fast, I loved Marc, and my students and left them in turn.
June came and I adjusted and moped and made my peace with where I am. And July has started with promise,ascended to greatness and I hope it plateaus here.At least for awhile.
I've recently come back from a trip to Norman to see my friends, sisters really.
I was worried about seeing them. Worried that nine months had made a gap we couldn't or wouldn't bridge. Worried that 8 days would be too much and that I would kill, or more likely, be killed by one of my friends.
But it was lovely. And too brief as I knew in my heart of hearts it would be.
I'm going to get back into this thing. If nothing else, but to keep up with telling stories. I'm thinking of starting a section of stories called "To Sirs with Love" stories about guys I've loved. Or something like it.
Tis all for now.
18 April 2010
Lord, when she sung
Ashlee T. Madison the Great, Jr.
Lord ,when she sung,
It moved you.
Hips swaying, feet tapping, head moving, soul stirring movement.
When she smiled you felt thankful. Thankful that the sun had dropped a bit of its light some years ago.
When she called me beautiful, I wondered if she knew the definition, because she was one of the most beautiful women I've met. A soul that couldn't help but escape through her eyes and smile and skin. Beauty, light and love radiating.
I didn't know her well, but I got to stand in her light for a little while.
Got to see her bounce, glide or walk across campus.
Or just see her smile.
But,Lord, when she sung.
Lord ,when she sung,
It moved you.
Hips swaying, feet tapping, head moving, soul stirring movement.
When she smiled you felt thankful. Thankful that the sun had dropped a bit of its light some years ago.
When she called me beautiful, I wondered if she knew the definition, because she was one of the most beautiful women I've met. A soul that couldn't help but escape through her eyes and smile and skin. Beauty, light and love radiating.
I didn't know her well, but I got to stand in her light for a little while.
Got to see her bounce, glide or walk across campus.
Or just see her smile.
But,Lord, when she sung.
Best laid plans of Mice and Men
So, it's Sunday, 18 April.
Instead of being in Barcelona, I am in my bed in Les Sables d'Olonne. I'm annoyed,but trying to not be.
If I've learned anything from The Roots and Chinue Achebe it's that things fall apart. A force of nature/act of God as you wish although I would hope that God didn't have it in for me for wanting to go to Barcelona. I was going to be good)
This damn volcano.
Let me start with the altruistic, good Kayle part:
I'm thankful the volcanic activity didn't have any fatalities, it could have been Pompeii and that's all bad.
I'm thankful that I was able to stay with a true friend, Celine, in Paris instead of in limbo.
I'm thankful I got to see my friend Nathan from like 5 years ago.
I'm thankful for how efficient and helpful Air France was. It was really impressive. I told the lady how surprised and thankful I was because I really was.
I'm thankful that I made it back to Les Sables and that the weather is beautiful and hot so I can at least have some beach time.
The fail saga began Thursday. I woke up at 5am to catch a 5h45 train. I was ready. I bought a Swedish travel phrase book to impress Tobbe's friends and parents. I bought a backpack. You know the ones, the "I'm hiking across Europe" ones, except I was taking trains and planes.
I was stoked.
I get to Paris at 10h33 plenty of time to grab a fast fallafel at my favourite falafel place in France and head to Charles deGaulle.
Then at around 11h I received a text informing me flight was cancelled, thanks for understanding. I didn't understand. Went out to CDG to assess the situation and was reminded of the volcano that I had dismissed. I read about them evacuating parts of Iceland because of a fear of flooding,but that was the last I paid attention.
The lovely AirFrance rep booked me on a new flight which I thought was for Friday,but wasn't and I went to explore the Marais. The Marais (4 and 5th arrondisements or districts) are heavily Jewish and I love it. Each time I come to Paris, without fail, except Fridays and Saturdays for Sabbath, I go to L'as du Fallafel. It's reportedly the best falafel in Europe. A friend suggested that I try another fallafel place perhaps I should, but why?
Why try something that could be less than the best when I'm pretty sure outside of Israel this is as real as it gets? Replete with yelling, attractive, only feigning annoyance Israelis. Bon, get my falafel eat it, decide to go to the Musee de la Shoah. The Shoah museum. Not exactly uplifting,but important.
I'm glad I went. And I'm glad that France is,at least in that moment, dealing with the complicity of its leaders during that time. A post for another time.
Wandered around the Marais and eventually Celine got off from her internship. I was blessed to run into a really nice Parisienne, Jennifer, who helped me find a convenient meeting place because Chatelet, the stop, was too big. We talked about my life in France and she shared her desire to leave Paris for a variety of reasons. I empathised with her more than she knew.
The next day I tried again the whole leaving thing, but to no avail. Flight after flight was cancelled and I decided to try to find an Air France store. I walked along the Champs Elysees with a fury. I searched and searched only to walk into IranAir hoping they could help point me to an AirFrance location. I pulled a number looked around, felt uncomfortable and left.
Finally, I remembered there was a street of embassies near by. My brain remembered a Canadian flag waving from my last trip to Paris amidst the Gucci store, 5 star restaurants and beautifully expensive flats.
Never have I ever been so excited to see a Canadian. I asked the young security guard and he directed me to Les Invalides. I thanked him with probably more than a hint of desperation in my voice.
I reach Les Invalides only to find the longest line of my life. If you know me, you know I hate lines. HATE THEM.
Yet, I had no choice. I said a prayer for my sanity an waited. 20 minutes later I was talking to an Air France representative who I felt compelled to compliment. Usually I make fun of the French for being feckless, but this time I was so impressed by their work ethic I almost felt bad for years of bashing them.
I was helped by a young man who informed me that my original ticket had been rebooked for Saturday(!) and not Friday as I had thought. So I hadn't missed a new flight, I was still booked for one. However as life turns out Charles de Gaulle was closed until...now I believe so Stockholm became a no go.
Discouraged and disheartened I went back to Celine's.
The next day I went to SNCF to see if there were any trains to Barcelona.
Nada. Not a blessed one.
I tarried with the gentleman for a good 20 minutes hoping he could finagle away,but to no avail. The next trains available would arrive Wednesday when I had to be back in Paris to greet my friend Nick and his father for their trip which...
Has been postponed.
So faced with this disappointment and annoyance I am back in Les Sables d'Olonne.
I know it could be worse and it doesn't make me any happier to know that so many people are affected and some trying to get home. I'm grateful I had a friend to stay with. Grateful that I got home. Grateful that my home happens to be near the beach.
But God, how I wanted to go to Stockholm and Barcelona. Oh well, the best laid plans of Mice and Men...
Instead of being in Barcelona, I am in my bed in Les Sables d'Olonne. I'm annoyed,but trying to not be.
If I've learned anything from The Roots and Chinue Achebe it's that things fall apart. A force of nature/act of God as you wish although I would hope that God didn't have it in for me for wanting to go to Barcelona. I was going to be good)
This damn volcano.
Let me start with the altruistic, good Kayle part:
I'm thankful the volcanic activity didn't have any fatalities, it could have been Pompeii and that's all bad.
I'm thankful that I was able to stay with a true friend, Celine, in Paris instead of in limbo.
I'm thankful I got to see my friend Nathan from like 5 years ago.
I'm thankful for how efficient and helpful Air France was. It was really impressive. I told the lady how surprised and thankful I was because I really was.
I'm thankful that I made it back to Les Sables and that the weather is beautiful and hot so I can at least have some beach time.
The fail saga began Thursday. I woke up at 5am to catch a 5h45 train. I was ready. I bought a Swedish travel phrase book to impress Tobbe's friends and parents. I bought a backpack. You know the ones, the "I'm hiking across Europe" ones, except I was taking trains and planes.
I was stoked.
I get to Paris at 10h33 plenty of time to grab a fast fallafel at my favourite falafel place in France and head to Charles deGaulle.
Then at around 11h I received a text informing me flight was cancelled, thanks for understanding. I didn't understand. Went out to CDG to assess the situation and was reminded of the volcano that I had dismissed. I read about them evacuating parts of Iceland because of a fear of flooding,but that was the last I paid attention.
The lovely AirFrance rep booked me on a new flight which I thought was for Friday,but wasn't and I went to explore the Marais. The Marais (4 and 5th arrondisements or districts) are heavily Jewish and I love it. Each time I come to Paris, without fail, except Fridays and Saturdays for Sabbath, I go to L'as du Fallafel. It's reportedly the best falafel in Europe. A friend suggested that I try another fallafel place perhaps I should, but why?
Why try something that could be less than the best when I'm pretty sure outside of Israel this is as real as it gets? Replete with yelling, attractive, only feigning annoyance Israelis. Bon, get my falafel eat it, decide to go to the Musee de la Shoah. The Shoah museum. Not exactly uplifting,but important.
I'm glad I went. And I'm glad that France is,at least in that moment, dealing with the complicity of its leaders during that time. A post for another time.
Wandered around the Marais and eventually Celine got off from her internship. I was blessed to run into a really nice Parisienne, Jennifer, who helped me find a convenient meeting place because Chatelet, the stop, was too big. We talked about my life in France and she shared her desire to leave Paris for a variety of reasons. I empathised with her more than she knew.
The next day I tried again the whole leaving thing, but to no avail. Flight after flight was cancelled and I decided to try to find an Air France store. I walked along the Champs Elysees with a fury. I searched and searched only to walk into IranAir hoping they could help point me to an AirFrance location. I pulled a number looked around, felt uncomfortable and left.
Finally, I remembered there was a street of embassies near by. My brain remembered a Canadian flag waving from my last trip to Paris amidst the Gucci store, 5 star restaurants and beautifully expensive flats.
Never have I ever been so excited to see a Canadian. I asked the young security guard and he directed me to Les Invalides. I thanked him with probably more than a hint of desperation in my voice.
I reach Les Invalides only to find the longest line of my life. If you know me, you know I hate lines. HATE THEM.
Yet, I had no choice. I said a prayer for my sanity an waited. 20 minutes later I was talking to an Air France representative who I felt compelled to compliment. Usually I make fun of the French for being feckless, but this time I was so impressed by their work ethic I almost felt bad for years of bashing them.
I was helped by a young man who informed me that my original ticket had been rebooked for Saturday(!) and not Friday as I had thought. So I hadn't missed a new flight, I was still booked for one. However as life turns out Charles de Gaulle was closed until...now I believe so Stockholm became a no go.
Discouraged and disheartened I went back to Celine's.
The next day I went to SNCF to see if there were any trains to Barcelona.
Nada. Not a blessed one.
I tarried with the gentleman for a good 20 minutes hoping he could finagle away,but to no avail. The next trains available would arrive Wednesday when I had to be back in Paris to greet my friend Nick and his father for their trip which...
Has been postponed.
So faced with this disappointment and annoyance I am back in Les Sables d'Olonne.
I know it could be worse and it doesn't make me any happier to know that so many people are affected and some trying to get home. I'm grateful I had a friend to stay with. Grateful that I got home. Grateful that my home happens to be near the beach.
But God, how I wanted to go to Stockholm and Barcelona. Oh well, the best laid plans of Mice and Men...
12 April 2010
Updates
*Vacances! Je suis en vacances
I leave for Stockholm Thursday-Sunday,then Barcelona Sunday-Thursday then Paris, Normandy Beaches and then Paris back to Les Sables.Phew :) Bring it!
*Hosting Couchsurfers for the first time. Really sweet family of 3 who brought me a bottle of plum brandy(?) from their garden. Cheers!
*Went out on a date ( hate that word) with a co-worker...(Someone needs to stop me from dating Frenchmen)
*Will be home in less than 2 months
*Still looking for employment until I receive word whether I've been re-accepted for next year
I'm dancing in the midst of uncertainty. The sunlight has brought me back to 100% Kayle and dah dah dah dah dah I'm lovin' it!
I leave for Stockholm Thursday-Sunday,then Barcelona Sunday-Thursday then Paris, Normandy Beaches and then Paris back to Les Sables.Phew :) Bring it!
*Hosting Couchsurfers for the first time. Really sweet family of 3 who brought me a bottle of plum brandy(?) from their garden. Cheers!
*Went out on a date ( hate that word) with a co-worker...(Someone needs to stop me from dating Frenchmen)
*Will be home in less than 2 months
*Still looking for employment until I receive word whether I've been re-accepted for next year
I'm dancing in the midst of uncertainty. The sunlight has brought me back to 100% Kayle and dah dah dah dah dah I'm lovin' it!
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