This one is not about boys, so if that is what you're tuning in for, apologies.
~~~
I am currently taking an African American Literature class. I had my reservations about regeristering for this class due to guilty feelings, (Although I hand no hand in slavery.) and sadness about all the social diseases that slavery has brought to the dinner table.
Due to this course I have read stories by Booker T. Washington, W.E.B. Du Bois, Richard Wright, Ralph Ellison, and James Baldwin, among others. I have read poetry by Langston Huhges, Countee Cullen, and Claude McKay, among others.
A few weeks ago I was given 'Evolution Of The Game,' Michael Oars story. And my current book club novel is, 'Same Kind Of Different As Me.'It's a true man's tale of how plantaion slavery (The slavery that continued on after Abe, thanks to -- "Not know'n any bett'r") ruined the first 62 years of his life. (Well, that is where I am, thankfully the story is looking up.) There is a definite Christian influence to it, which isn't bothering me too much. This is not my month, therefore I did not choose the book. Yet, what I am getting at is the current theme.
Earlier this evening, rightly fits with this theme. It was six hours ago that I had to wait for my connecting train at Newark, Penn Station. After dark the waiting area at this station is widely populated by homeless individuals, yes they were predominantly black, but there were white vegabonds as well.
There are many persons who tend to wait for their train at the track, or they crowd about the track entrance. This was not something I felt like doing. I wanted to sit in a warm place where I could continue to read the novel mentioned moments ago. I walked around attempting to seek out a spot on the wooden pew-like benches. The only decent space was closely between a homeless looking black gentleman and a black couple, so I sat.
Denver, the man in my novel dealt with homelessness for 20 or so years of his life -- The facts he was able to share have affected me to some extent, because in truth I would typically think twice about sitting beside a homeless person, black or white, without really thinking on it.
As I read on, there was an incident at the station. It was something having to do with someone being robbed, the accused was pulled aside, and the police were going through this person's back pack. The homeless gentleman to my left sat up straight in an effort to witness what every person was looking at. I was about to tell him what was going on when the woman to my right rose. While I was reading I heard her voice from time to time, so I looked up for a moment to place a face to the sound. And what I heard when I returned by eyes to the words were:
The Boyfriend: "Why you gotta put relaxer in your hair." (They were in mid conversation.)
The Girlfriend: "I gotta put relaxer in my hair to look like her hair cuz we aren't free." Then she went further on about her people not being free. As she spoke I attempted to tune her out as I mouthed the words of the novel, but this woman was looking directly at me and not at her gentleman friend as she went on. At this point I nearly blurted out -- The last time I checked our President is African American! But I held on because I knew she was upset for many reasons, I not being one of them. I did not give her any sort of special look. I think what provoked her was that I over heard something that she would rather not have me hear.
After leaving her presence without a word, I did some thinking on platform 5. The written works I have been reading are essential. It is important to know these details and try for a better understanding of what was. But I do not think I will ever truly grasp the pain that some people continue to live with due to race. And I wondered -- When will this whole thing end? I do not mean forgetting, I mean finishing.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Hoboken
Dear Hoboken:
New York trumps you in every sense. Apologies, but why would I come spend time with you when the big buildings are at the other side of the tunnel?
Someone I regard as family invited me to her brother's birthday at some bar, and since I heard (wrong) that Hoboken is a place of many bars that are worth venturing I said yes without thought.
I think I will describe it as it hits me. There is no decent public transportation and parking is impossible. The establishments which were visited were not bad, but there were too many men who were donning tight shirts behind their bulging bodies, paired with gel in their hair.
Now the first spot we were at, Trinity, was okay. But, as we walked to the second place I conversed with a few of the boys that were in our group. It was a mix of cops, firemen, and frat boys. (Mr. Birthday has more friends that he can keep track of) The frat boys didn't bother me, but I had nothing in common with firemen. And less in common with the cops. There was way too much testosterone there for a proper conversation.
Example: At the second place, as I was speaking with a Mr. Cop a man bumped me, nearly knocking me over. (There were many people there, bumping is a given.) At this Mr. Cop's back arched for attack -- His eyes grew larger and starred down this man. This annoyed me. Who does he think he is? I can very well take care of myself and this was not a situation that called me to do so. (In truth, I can take care of myself, but large back up never hurts.) I broke his stare by waving my hand inches away from his face, then I grabbed him by the shirt and said: "I have no problem with throwing an elbow at someone's throat." This was me saying, I can handle myself, also I wanted to scare him a bit. Smile. I did not receive the response I was hoping for. He came back with: "That was so hot." And I thought -- O God, now I'll never lose him. See what I mean about too much testosterone?
At the second locale women were dancing provocatively against walls. Why? Strangers were sandwiching, and/or grinding against each other. Now, I am all for dancing, but I do not want to feel some idiot's crotch on my leg, unless I have known him for about a long time. I stood there at times as if I were at a zoo watching the animals, wishing I had a note pad. Needless to say, I will not be returning. I have better things to do, like drink coffee.
Hoboken I expected more. Sigh.
(Now that I have slept a night, I have realized that I left out the most essential part of the evening. Although I was unappeased with Hoboken & Hoboken's silly boys, fun was had. My friend danced around while smiling, and kept saying, "Stop laughing at me!" Because I was. But it was due to gladnessss. I haven't seen you smile in some time, it made the rest worth it. Hearts.)
New York trumps you in every sense. Apologies, but why would I come spend time with you when the big buildings are at the other side of the tunnel?
Someone I regard as family invited me to her brother's birthday at some bar, and since I heard (wrong) that Hoboken is a place of many bars that are worth venturing I said yes without thought.
I think I will describe it as it hits me. There is no decent public transportation and parking is impossible. The establishments which were visited were not bad, but there were too many men who were donning tight shirts behind their bulging bodies, paired with gel in their hair.
Now the first spot we were at, Trinity, was okay. But, as we walked to the second place I conversed with a few of the boys that were in our group. It was a mix of cops, firemen, and frat boys. (Mr. Birthday has more friends that he can keep track of) The frat boys didn't bother me, but I had nothing in common with firemen. And less in common with the cops. There was way too much testosterone there for a proper conversation.
Example: At the second place, as I was speaking with a Mr. Cop a man bumped me, nearly knocking me over. (There were many people there, bumping is a given.) At this Mr. Cop's back arched for attack -- His eyes grew larger and starred down this man. This annoyed me. Who does he think he is? I can very well take care of myself and this was not a situation that called me to do so. (In truth, I can take care of myself, but large back up never hurts.) I broke his stare by waving my hand inches away from his face, then I grabbed him by the shirt and said: "I have no problem with throwing an elbow at someone's throat." This was me saying, I can handle myself, also I wanted to scare him a bit. Smile. I did not receive the response I was hoping for. He came back with: "That was so hot." And I thought -- O God, now I'll never lose him. See what I mean about too much testosterone?
At the second locale women were dancing provocatively against walls. Why? Strangers were sandwiching, and/or grinding against each other. Now, I am all for dancing, but I do not want to feel some idiot's crotch on my leg, unless I have known him for about a long time. I stood there at times as if I were at a zoo watching the animals, wishing I had a note pad. Needless to say, I will not be returning. I have better things to do, like drink coffee.
Hoboken I expected more. Sigh.
(Now that I have slept a night, I have realized that I left out the most essential part of the evening. Although I was unappeased with Hoboken & Hoboken's silly boys, fun was had. My friend danced around while smiling, and kept saying, "Stop laughing at me!" Because I was. But it was due to gladnessss. I haven't seen you smile in some time, it made the rest worth it. Hearts.)
'New Moon'
Let's start this with a quick opinion of 'New Moon,' since I saw it last night. It was not crap, all though I expected it to be. The lines and acting were better. Bella passed for funny more than once. Good for her.
I received a text during the movie saying: "Team Edward or team Jacob?" My response: Team Jacob. That boy's body is really something to take note of. I would not mind to be friends with him. Anyway on to the reasoning of this choice. I will always pick the good guy. In truth, even the "good guys" have undesirable qualities. The men who are referred to as "bad boys," I fear are not worth the trouble. Relationships are tough as is.
I received a text during the movie saying: "Team Edward or team Jacob?" My response: Team Jacob. That boy's body is really something to take note of. I would not mind to be friends with him. Anyway on to the reasoning of this choice. I will always pick the good guy. In truth, even the "good guys" have undesirable qualities. The men who are referred to as "bad boys," I fear are not worth the trouble. Relationships are tough as is.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Changes Lead To Plans
Or do plans lead to changes?
By January I can no longer label myself as a college student. Unless I return for further education.(which will not happen in any immediate sense)
After that, what are you going to do? Is everyone's favorite question. Let's see if I can give a clear response.
O but before we go to me, here is an update to a previous post on Florida that will reflect upon current changes. Yes, my mother purchased an apt. on that trip in April. She told my father of this a month ago. He may not be convinced on the matter since he keeps saying things like: "I don't believe you -- show me the papers!" Nonetheless she is moving on Jan. 3rd. I know this, because I will be driving her, then settling her in. This being change number two, school being the first.
After Florida I will return to the semi empty house with my dog, Baby, for two or so weeks. Then I will be heading to Brazil for carnaval. (!) (And to complete a writing project.) I want to say I'll be away for a month, but who knows when I'll be back. :) I also want to check out Argentina during this trip. Of course I will be writing about this. (And I will be back in May by the latest. My mother will cut me if I miss the diploma walk.)
But what, after this play? More play? Or something a pinch more substantial?
I keep toying with the idea of returning to Europe, picking up a job in writing if possible, or teaching English if must, and live abroad for a year. But we all know if I do that I will most likely disappear for a while. I'd probably marry some Italian and force him to move out of his mother's home. (Side note: Most Italians don't leave Mama's cooking until marriage.)
Then there is New York City, working in New York, living there, giving myself up to the big buildings. I have such mixed feelings on the subject.
Don't get me wrong I will pull a knife on anyone who speaks badly about New York. One has to have an understanding of the big buildings to discuss it's pro's and con's. The pro's -- It is the land of much and everything. New York has all variations of culture, it's people, it's foods, it's fashions, it's arts. If you want it, what ever it is, you can get it, as long as the pennies provide. It's 3 a.m.? What of it?
But, my dearest New York, you are also the land where many men have lost the concept of time. The shiny lights have fooled them into thinking that women are the only ones who deal with that ticking thing. Here is a friendly hint to such men: When the wrinkles come, there are two things to be done about it. One, get yourself some anti-aging cream. And two, It's time to plan life's next move, not the next party, or time will paint you as that sad gentleman at the bar that no-one wants to speak with.
To be fair, the city does not do much to assist this evolvement. It moves too quickly. And, as for the men in general, they are many things -- Intelligent they are. Handsome? For the most part. But what about the stuff that will keep in the fridge, lasting qualities? Yes, it is the land where the best of the best go, but are the best simply aiming to walk in the best shoes, and nothing more?
Dear New York:
Stop walking so quickly, allow the people to look at each other eye to eye, allow someone to pleasantly finish their lunch. Can you do that? If there is any likelihood that I could do New York this way -- Then I will sign the dotted line in haste.
Am I asking too much?
~~~
This is the clearest response I am willing to offer for now.
By January I can no longer label myself as a college student. Unless I return for further education.(which will not happen in any immediate sense)
After that, what are you going to do? Is everyone's favorite question. Let's see if I can give a clear response.
O but before we go to me, here is an update to a previous post on Florida that will reflect upon current changes. Yes, my mother purchased an apt. on that trip in April. She told my father of this a month ago. He may not be convinced on the matter since he keeps saying things like: "I don't believe you -- show me the papers!" Nonetheless she is moving on Jan. 3rd. I know this, because I will be driving her, then settling her in. This being change number two, school being the first.
After Florida I will return to the semi empty house with my dog, Baby, for two or so weeks. Then I will be heading to Brazil for carnaval. (!) (And to complete a writing project.) I want to say I'll be away for a month, but who knows when I'll be back. :) I also want to check out Argentina during this trip. Of course I will be writing about this. (And I will be back in May by the latest. My mother will cut me if I miss the diploma walk.)
But what, after this play? More play? Or something a pinch more substantial?
I keep toying with the idea of returning to Europe, picking up a job in writing if possible, or teaching English if must, and live abroad for a year. But we all know if I do that I will most likely disappear for a while. I'd probably marry some Italian and force him to move out of his mother's home. (Side note: Most Italians don't leave Mama's cooking until marriage.)
Then there is New York City, working in New York, living there, giving myself up to the big buildings. I have such mixed feelings on the subject.
Don't get me wrong I will pull a knife on anyone who speaks badly about New York. One has to have an understanding of the big buildings to discuss it's pro's and con's. The pro's -- It is the land of much and everything. New York has all variations of culture, it's people, it's foods, it's fashions, it's arts. If you want it, what ever it is, you can get it, as long as the pennies provide. It's 3 a.m.? What of it?
But, my dearest New York, you are also the land where many men have lost the concept of time. The shiny lights have fooled them into thinking that women are the only ones who deal with that ticking thing. Here is a friendly hint to such men: When the wrinkles come, there are two things to be done about it. One, get yourself some anti-aging cream. And two, It's time to plan life's next move, not the next party, or time will paint you as that sad gentleman at the bar that no-one wants to speak with.
To be fair, the city does not do much to assist this evolvement. It moves too quickly. And, as for the men in general, they are many things -- Intelligent they are. Handsome? For the most part. But what about the stuff that will keep in the fridge, lasting qualities? Yes, it is the land where the best of the best go, but are the best simply aiming to walk in the best shoes, and nothing more?
Dear New York:
Stop walking so quickly, allow the people to look at each other eye to eye, allow someone to pleasantly finish their lunch. Can you do that? If there is any likelihood that I could do New York this way -- Then I will sign the dotted line in haste.
Am I asking too much?
~~~
This is the clearest response I am willing to offer for now.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
A Work In Progress
Boarding School
By: Jane Feige
Part I
She sits upon her single bed,
legs back,
right elbow
supporting a frame.
It's moving to see my mother sit as I would.
Various chips are brought out -- "My parents never cared for me."
The good ones always go fast.
We discuss how Newark airport transformed to
a '52 Brazilian bus station --
the two hours, or so she said,
I delayed, when she waited.
On that day,
she had a tram of bags unsystematically stacked,
on the other day, at that age when one's choices are bedridden and or bullied --
It was one valise then.
Part II
Watching my mother's age ten eyes omit
ground water from the inner core of her preserved theories.
"They sent me away, only me, the only one of fourteen."
Mom, is it okay if I take this from you for a while?
I promise to give it back when I've changed it.
I can take it to the courtyard and treat it as we did the grass --
There's only weeds back there now.
"All this time --
I thought this washed from my hair."
Don't worry,
I'll wash your hair for you.
~
(Above: My Mother.)
Monday, November 2, 2009
Side Note To: This Evening
I believe many of you have read that post -- You know who you are.
I was trying not to mention R in this blog, since I know he does not like it very much. But I will say this: I should have spoken to him of those things before posting them, or better yet, not posting them at all because it was not worth the trouble.
We are not together, yes. -- But lines were becoming blurred and the confusion was getting so thick I could hardly see. I understand that his friends are looking out for him, and it's good that they are doing so.
Whatever the case may be he is a friend of my heart. What else can I say on the matter?
I was trying not to mention R in this blog, since I know he does not like it very much. But I will say this: I should have spoken to him of those things before posting them, or better yet, not posting them at all because it was not worth the trouble.
We are not together, yes. -- But lines were becoming blurred and the confusion was getting so thick I could hardly see. I understand that his friends are looking out for him, and it's good that they are doing so.
Whatever the case may be he is a friend of my heart. What else can I say on the matter?
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Halloween
I spent most of the day light hours recuperating from the previous night's gathering. Yes, swallowing more then two glasses of wine does bad things to me. So, I actively lied around all day until it was time to ready myself. (Of course I did the bare minimum of activities.)
When I was readied in my 20s Lady get up (I know not very inventive.) I headed to Chelsea. On route a pack of ninjas did a dance party around me to bumping music that blared from a nearby car, and I thought with a smile across this face, it has begun.
After emerging from the Union Square station I did not keep the parade in mind. The whole Avenue was blocked off for cross overs. I approached an officer to ask how to get to the other side. And he said, "You're going to have to wait until the parade is over." Me: "Do you know when it's over?" Officer: "11" It being 10:30-ish I did not feel like waiting the extra minutes, so I commenced to walk alongside the blockade, attempting to find an opening some where. I walked two blocks up, found a crack, squeezed through, and crossed over while avoiding the marchers.
Three blocks further and there I was, at the party of my dear French friend G. (I met G in Paris at a subway entrance whiles I was lost. And now she is here.) The party was fun. The folks there were primarily French, but for the most part spoke English. The one French exception was Joao, the Brazilian. I cannot tell you how rare it is to meet a Brazilian man in New York. They are hiding away some where. Of course Joao and I spoke for some time. We compared notes on Brazilian thoughts. He spoke Portuguese to me, and I responded brokenly back.
When the party died down Joao, G, more friends, and I went for a bite. Somehow G was able to eat two burgers and an order of fries. I am still impressed. As you read, can you tell that it's one of those pleasant nights? The worries of silly situations were sent off somewhere to a far away summer camp where they got beaten up for not being chipper enough.
At the apt. I decided to go home. (I was staying at a friend's apt.) It was 3:30 something, but going seemed like a good idea, so I gathered my things. Before I left I decided to check my voicemail since I had missed a few calls. And what is it that I heard?
"Hi Jane. Can you please stop texting my boyfriend cuz it's making me really mad. Please -- don't be a home wrecker. Thanks."
Now this made me laugh very much, because I specifically told H that we could be friends, and that I wanted no part of his complicated complications. It's true we were texting, but I did not say anything out of line. I did tell H he was stupid, but it's true, he is stupid.
After this minuscule episode I drove home at 4 a.m. while listening to Ray Charles, "Georgia O Georgia." I arrived home in under 30 minutes. This was nice. Before sleep I silenced my phone, as I always do, interrupted dreams are no good.
When I awoke, when I saw my phone, there were eight missed calls from H's phone. When I dialed voicemail, I heard:
"Hi, I'm sooo glad I called to leave you this voicemail. I'm just like so happy that I could leave you this fucking voicemail. Want -- to -- suck -- it? Actually I'm not the idiot that left that voicemail to you. So watch your fucking tone! Watch what you say! Watch it bitch cuz I'm going to fucking come and scratch your fucking face off! I'm going to stick my pussy up...(I couldn't hear what she said at this point, but) I'm going to come and fucking give it to you. It's gone too far bitch."
To who ever reads these words, I apologize for this language. I thought persons from Connecticut were more reserved than this? Dear, if you stumble upon this, I may have entertained the thought of dating this person for a moment, but when I learned of you, I really did not want any part of it. And my goodness. No boy is worth that much energy, get yourself together.
She may have gotten upset about the text message I sent after her initial voicemail which went, "Tell your girlfriend that I will allow her to keep you." But that's what you get for provoking the cat. Haha.
When I was readied in my 20s Lady get up (I know not very inventive.) I headed to Chelsea. On route a pack of ninjas did a dance party around me to bumping music that blared from a nearby car, and I thought with a smile across this face, it has begun.
After emerging from the Union Square station I did not keep the parade in mind. The whole Avenue was blocked off for cross overs. I approached an officer to ask how to get to the other side. And he said, "You're going to have to wait until the parade is over." Me: "Do you know when it's over?" Officer: "11" It being 10:30-ish I did not feel like waiting the extra minutes, so I commenced to walk alongside the blockade, attempting to find an opening some where. I walked two blocks up, found a crack, squeezed through, and crossed over while avoiding the marchers.
Three blocks further and there I was, at the party of my dear French friend G. (I met G in Paris at a subway entrance whiles I was lost. And now she is here.) The party was fun. The folks there were primarily French, but for the most part spoke English. The one French exception was Joao, the Brazilian. I cannot tell you how rare it is to meet a Brazilian man in New York. They are hiding away some where. Of course Joao and I spoke for some time. We compared notes on Brazilian thoughts. He spoke Portuguese to me, and I responded brokenly back.
When the party died down Joao, G, more friends, and I went for a bite. Somehow G was able to eat two burgers and an order of fries. I am still impressed. As you read, can you tell that it's one of those pleasant nights? The worries of silly situations were sent off somewhere to a far away summer camp where they got beaten up for not being chipper enough.
At the apt. I decided to go home. (I was staying at a friend's apt.) It was 3:30 something, but going seemed like a good idea, so I gathered my things. Before I left I decided to check my voicemail since I had missed a few calls. And what is it that I heard?
"Hi Jane. Can you please stop texting my boyfriend cuz it's making me really mad. Please -- don't be a home wrecker. Thanks."
Now this made me laugh very much, because I specifically told H that we could be friends, and that I wanted no part of his complicated complications. It's true we were texting, but I did not say anything out of line. I did tell H he was stupid, but it's true, he is stupid.
After this minuscule episode I drove home at 4 a.m. while listening to Ray Charles, "Georgia O Georgia." I arrived home in under 30 minutes. This was nice. Before sleep I silenced my phone, as I always do, interrupted dreams are no good.
When I awoke, when I saw my phone, there were eight missed calls from H's phone. When I dialed voicemail, I heard:
"Hi, I'm sooo glad I called to leave you this voicemail. I'm just like so happy that I could leave you this fucking voicemail. Want -- to -- suck -- it? Actually I'm not the idiot that left that voicemail to you. So watch your fucking tone! Watch what you say! Watch it bitch cuz I'm going to fucking come and scratch your fucking face off! I'm going to stick my pussy up...(I couldn't hear what she said at this point, but) I'm going to come and fucking give it to you. It's gone too far bitch."
To who ever reads these words, I apologize for this language. I thought persons from Connecticut were more reserved than this? Dear, if you stumble upon this, I may have entertained the thought of dating this person for a moment, but when I learned of you, I really did not want any part of it. And my goodness. No boy is worth that much energy, get yourself together.
She may have gotten upset about the text message I sent after her initial voicemail which went, "Tell your girlfriend that I will allow her to keep you." But that's what you get for provoking the cat. Haha.
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