Big You, Little Me: A True Story.

So...this post could land me in a lot of trouble, but by the time you finish reading it, you'll probably understand why I just don't care.

Having recently read Junot Diaz's mesmerizing The Brief and Wonderous Life of Oscar Wao and feeling that I had way too much in common with Oscar for my comfort, I think it would be fair to say, at this point in my life, that I'm notoriously unfortunate when it comes to the realm of love and romance. As in, neither of the two happen. Confusion, disappointment, heartbreak, and rejection? A dime a dozen. A BF? No, not really.

This is not to say that I'm not attracting anyone. The truth of the matter, however, is that if a man wants me, it's because he's: married or in a relationship (I really don't want to call anyone out on the Internet..so don't ask about it); homeless; misogynistic; more emotionally damaged than me (which is a problem); potentially or actually abusive; proudly related to drug dealers (again, don't ask); or otherwise worthy of the labels "miscreant," "useless," and/or "disgusting."

I mean, seriously, if I didn't have two law degrees and a lucrative job, I would begin to wonder if I were related to Precious or something, since I'm so clearly incapable of attracting a normal man. Alas, here we are. I have the degrees, the job, a great apartment (shoddy landlord), a gym membership that I actually use the hell out of and a fairly unoffensive visage...and am still incapable.

The point of this post is not to bemoan my love woes, but rather to share with you an experience I had with a "normal" man. Normal is perhaps quite an understatement. By normal, I mean "not an ex-con/not a teenage father"--i.e., somehow "extraordinary" in our horribly mediocre society. I'm talking about someone who did his homework and went to college...someone who bathes and opens the door for women. You know...a demi-god, basically.

Right. So, anyway, I kinda had a crush on this normal guy. A big one. I didn't think he was perfect in any way, but I chose to recognize his personal fabulousness and appreciate that he was contributing to society and not half-bad looking, either. However, I didn't really know him at all, aside from the fact that we had mutual friends and he called on occasion, "just to see how the weekend went." I chose to overlook some things, too, but that's really neither here nor there. And so, one day we met up...

I decided to have green tea, to calm my nerves while I finally got to know this nice, normal guy a little bit...perhaps enough to verify the good things I'd heard about him and to firmly disqualify the bad. It began easily enough: I asked him about himself, and he informed me that he'd done his "research" on me. Interesting. Then, he began fidgeting, and getting nervous. "So...let me ask you a question..."

"Yes?"

More fidgeting. "So, this is kinda awkward...but, I've been wanting to tell you this..."

I take a definitive swig of calming green tea. "What could you have to say to me that would be so serious? We don't even know each other."

More fidgeting and man-giggling, too, now.

Then:

"YO, I'M REALLY HAPPY FOR YOU, AND I'MMA LET YOU FINISH...BUT I'M ONE OF THE GREATEST MEN OF ALL TIME, AND I DON'T WANT PEOPLE TO THINK THAT THERE IS ANYTHING GOING ON BETWEEN US, AND THEY MIGHT, SO I NEED YOU TO DO A HUGE FAVOR FOR ME. CAN YOU, UH...WELL I KNOW YOU DON'T KNOW ME BUT I JUST NEED TO LET YOU KNOW IN ADVANCE THAT I DON'T LIKE YOU AND IF I LIKED YOU I WOULD TELL YOU I LIKED YOU SO LET'S JUST BE FRIENDS. YOU HAVE TO DO THIS FOR ME. HUGE. QUICKLY. BYE."

"Wait...wait...wow..." I pour the rest of my boiling hot cup of green tea into my mouth, scalding my tongue, throat, and chest, and presumably my instantaneously crushed ego and heart as well.

"What?"


"Um," I stammer, grinning on the outside but not on the inside, "did you just break up with me? I feel like you just gave me the 'let's just be friends' speech when we're not even friends yet."


"No, we're totally friends. I definitely want to be your friend."


"Um...okay. Okay--"


"--I just have to have a disclaimer, you know? I don't want drama. And it's lose-lose, because then I look like I assume that you would like me..."

"Who? Me? Think that about you? Of course not! I totally understand where you're coming from..." I'm now sipping my tea, even though there is no tea left, and biting on the cup, wishing I could fit inside of it and be thrown into the trash.

"So..." he takes my hands, which are holding onto the little cup for dear life. "You're okay with just being friends, right?"

"Um, yeah. I'll live," as I actually die inside. "I promise. I'll also try not to tell people that you proposed."

"Good." Wide smile. Plus a chuckle.

Smile. No chuckle.


To everyone who reads this entry, there is a high probability that you know me, so... IF I AM REPULSIVE OR GROSS OR SHOULD KILL MYSELF, PLEASE LET ME KNOW, BECAUSE THE MESSAGE THE NICE, NORMAL GUY SENT ME WASN'T LOUD OR CLEAR ENOUGH, AND I MIGHT STILL THINK TOO HIGHLY OF MYSELF.

Could you just do that for me? Huge. Quickly. Bye.

In the meanwhile, I'll just continue to be dazed and confused. And humiliated. But only just a little.

Music Spotlight: Sade, "Soldier of Love"

I'm at the borderline of my faith
I'm at the hinterland of my devotion
In the frontline
of this battle of mine
But I'm still alive...

I'm a soldier of love
Everyday am I
I'm a soldier of love
All the days of my life

I've been torn up inside
I've been left behind
So I ride...
I have the will to survive
In the wild, wild west
Tryin' my hardest...doin' my best
To stay alive..."~S. Adu, "Soldier of Love"

There is no need for elegant prose. Sade's back, and music is alive again.

After almost 10 years, the physically/musically timeless songstress is set to release her new album in February 2010. I wish she'd push that release date up, so maybe Chris Brown/Taylor Swift/screechy teenager #847 would sit down and STHU. Alas, here we are, and Ms. Adu has blessed us with a taste of what's to come. Her new single, "Soldier of Love" is PHENOMENAL! It's rock, it's jazz, it's real, it's ethereal, it's sweet, it's raw, it's healing, it's addicting, it's classic, it's vanguard...it's perfect. I've personally had it on repeat all day at work, and at home now, the cat and I are vibing out to musical perfection.

As an added and very personal bonus, the song speaks directly to some things I've been going through lately, both lyrically and melodically. As some of you will read later, "still waitin' for love to come...and turn it all around..."

Check the track out here, on Sade's website.

Jaded in the City

From my mother's Halloween visit to the Big Apple last weekend, at 125th Street 2/3 train stop:

Me: "Heehee. Mommy, look at the mouse on the tracks."
Mom: "*SCREAMS* Mouse?! That rat is the size of a WHOLE RABBIT!!!"
Me: "Haha, are you kidding me? That's hardly a rat."
Mom: "This city has destroyed your soul."

Truth to Power, SubAltern to Mainstream: Monday Morning Inspiration

This has been circulating on my Facebook newsfeed for a few days, courtesy of some of my most intellectual friends...and for good reason. I thought I would share it with you. Upon listening, you'll definitely find yourself experiencing a Hot Chocolate Moment--a need to curl up with a hot cup of something while you let the knowledge flow into your head.


Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, one of my favorite writers, speaking on stories and power, at a TED conference this month:



Truth, served on a plate of Brilliance and Elegance: What's not to adore?

Haute Culture: Yinka Shonibare, MBE, at the Brooklyn Museum

The original plan for my last summer of freedom, before I plunge myself into the corporate world, was for me to do a whirlwind tour of North America (Miami, Vegas, Cali, D.C., Atlanta, Toronto, Montreal, Boston, Philly, etc) but instead I've actually just been getting to know New York a little bit better. It's something I've learned to accept.

So far, the rendez-vous has been lovely: My latest encounter, for instance, with high-brow culture was the dazzling Yinka Shonibare exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum, described as a "major midcareer survey" of his work. The UK-based Shonibare is known primarily for his use of mannequins dressed in Dutch wax (the beautiful "African" cloth that is actually printed by European companies who refuse to hire African workers) that he purchases from Brixton Market in London to comment on African identity and colonialism (and neo-colonialism). He also uses photography and videography in his exhibits, and his work reminded me very much of a 3-D version of Kara Walker's work, because of its thinly veiled anger and critique, the homage it pays to the Victorian and its twisted notions of respectability, and the usage of inanimate human figurines (mannequins in Shonibare's case, and silhouettes in Walker's case). While Walker's work is based in the American slave and antebellum experience, Shonibare's is markedly international, and universal.

Walker's work has the added sensitivity that can only come from a black woman's voice; in the Shonibare installations present at the Brooklyn museum, black women were rendered nearly invisible. Indeed, in Shonibare's world, the black man is finding his way in the world, fighting against white male forces, and always in the love/hate/mate struggle with white women. White women square off against each other, and in one instance, white women interact with black women (in a piece on beauty...obviously). Presumably, most of the black women are at home cooking or nursing someone else's babies, but certainly not competing for attention with the black man, who inevitably represents the race, Africa, and struggle all by himself.

While I found much to criticize from a feminist point of view, there is no denying the progressive nature of Shonibare's work. He brilliantly deconstructs questions of identity, and manages to narrate an entire history of colonialism and today's neocolonialism using the aesthetic medium of cloth, and the impact could not be more powerful. He critiques frivolity, guilt, assimilation and social status (most notably via his Dorian Gray/Oga-Big Boy series), ever playfully, but always delivering the message with a swift jab right hook to the chest. Quite simply put, he is genius. Apparently, the British "empire" agrees, because in what is perhaps the ultimate irony, he has been granted a knighthood, and made a Member of the British Empire (MBE) for his work.


Photographs I took of the exhibit below:

Scramble for Africa










Mother and Father Worked Hard So I Can Play (featuring Yinka Shonibare):

I won't lie; I'd love to see that chaise in my apt, sans the hologrammed football players

a critique of assimilation/exploitation of workers/big-boy mentality...




a critique of Victorian "civilization"...the grand tours...

yeah....no pun intended, but he went all the way IN...

The Sleep Of Reason:











Dorian Gray (featuring Yinka Shonibare):








More:

video

The painful truth about Dutch wax (I had no idea myself until this summer, when a couple of African friends broke it to me, slowly):








The exhibit is now closed, but another Shonibare installation, entitled Party Time—Re-Imagine America: A Centennial Commission by Yinka Shonibare MBE, is showing at the Newark Museum until January 3, 2010. I plan to go sometime before the installation closes, not only because Shonibare work is among the best I have EVER encountered, but because I honestly can't think of a better reason to go to Newark...

More on the Brooklyn Museum exhibit here

More on Mr. Shonibare here

You

One day alone, sometimes it suits me.
When that day is through, I'm hoping you'll walk in.
I just miss you.
I'll be ok, but it's better when we're two...
my patient love
ever enduring...oh, you...
~ "You" (Goapele ft. Dwele)

"J'ai mal...sans toi..."
~"Le Remede" (Thayna)

"When the heartache is over/I know I won't be missing you/Won't look over my shoulder/I know that I can live without you..." ~Amanda Wilson/Freemasons

I wouldn't say I'm love, but I would say that I have a problem. This fact went from obvious to painfully so when my good friend N asked the very pertinent "Um, why do you even like him?" and I couldn't present an acceptable answer. The truth is that I don't know, I know I shouldn't, and I don't want to. But as I told N, "alas, here we are"

My life has somehow become a zouk song, featuring a chanteuse who is inevitably heartbroken, wanton, and/or scorned...a neo-soul solo...a black-and-white r&b video...all on repeat, and dedicated to someone who can't hear any of it.

This unrequited love/like thing a classic and horrible problem, one that I've dealt with (never gracefully) before. However, on his occasion it's particularly frustrating because I want no parts of it. I also simply don't understand it. How is it that I can be trapped like this, in my own web of emotions, for someone who is totally indifferent? How is it possible for me to feel such a sense of powerlessness because of another person whom I don't believe I even know that well?

I've been telling myself that it's just desperation--the result of living in a city where all the eligible guys are caught up in hustle and the appearances of being an alpha male. Women like me catch a raw deal: we've all seen the harrowing statistics concerning the ability of educated black women to attract similarly situated black guys (assuming that one wants to limit herself to so narrow a pool). Also, in New York, I'm not uber-glamourous. I'm 5'4", not skinny, and currently not in a position to buy my looks...we're keeping it real here. Therefore, I've reasoned with myself, all I really need is for someone else to come along and distract me for my attentions to shift completely.

Problem is, I think that while the aforementioned scenario has validity, it isn't wholly accurate. Yeah, I'm not Chanel Iman, but I don't need to be. As hard as I am on myself, I do have a decent number of guys banging down my metaphorical door. However, regardless of how eligible/respectable/qualified they are/ are not, they have the inexorable, impossible problem of not being You. You see, I'm not just looking for a winter side piece, as I earlier suspected. It's not a matter of loneliness, or boredom. On the whole, and in general, I'm actually just not that interested, except as it pertains to one person.

Since when do I indulge in this sort of errant foolishness? I set my heart on ice years ago, and never gave it any permission to thaw. If anything about me has changed over the last couple of yeas, I've become less naive, and more in control of my emotions. Supposedly, my skin is thicker: my feelings don't get hurt, I don't become fazed, and I bounce back from rejection. I don't have time for games, unspoken words, or any of the passive-aggressivity that I loathe but so freely employ with you.

Supposedly.


Supposedly, I can see a jerk coming from a mile away, and I can spot a guy who might be good at core, but not serious about me/his life/anything, and compartmentalize accordingly. Supposedly, I can recognize that mutual feelings are not enough to create a sustainable relationship. Supposedly, I also just don't give a damn, and am not trying to be caught up with anyone anyway...good, bad, or otherwise.

Supposedly. But I think someone lied to me...probably me. I know this/it is all about You, but I can't help wondering what the hell happened to me!

I've been sitting on this problem for longer than I care to even admit. Due to my so-called newfound maturity, I've been an expert at squashing it, putting it away, killing it, suppressing it, ignoring it, deflecting, denying, distracting, but my emotional immune system is down now, and the disease has taken complete hold over me. How do I get rid of You? I've already tried giving you up, cigarette style, and thing is, you probably didn't even notice because You are just not than into me (thank you, Greg Behrehdnt). It didn't work, anyway. Not that it matters, because it's not like you've ever asked me to get over You...even if you've noticed my teeny weeny ginormous crush, I've never had the chance nor the courage to tell you about You and how I really feel.

One day, maybe. Hopefully, one day soon. Not that it will change anything, but I'm really tired of You. Don't take offense. No, seriously, nothing personal, but I wish I'd never met You. Since I have, and get can't do anything about it, however, I'm really hoping that one of us will give me the ability to move on. That can be the one thing we do together. But since I can never tell You, because there is no point, and because I have no courage, no grip on reality, and apparently, no dignity...I might as well continue to sing my song for You in my head, where no one else has to hear it.

Comfort Food...From South Africa to New York, With Love: Madiba

As I previously alluded, I went through some things this past week. I'm still going through, but I trust that multiple blog posts in one day + hours at the gym (2.75 today)+ lots of reading and Food Network will help me cope (again, more on that later).

Sunday the 13th was the day that the sky fell on top of my family. The sister and I decided to console ourselves with the use of the gift certificates I'd scored for 90% off the day before, on Restaurant.com (check it out...crazy sales...the recession is good for SOMETHING). Since we attend church in Brooklyn, we decided to begin our bargain eating in Fort Greene, at a restaurant named Madiba that we'd heard about earlier on in the summer. Madiba (Nelson Mandela's nickname, and the honorary title given to elders of his clan in SA) is a South African restaurant, and the sister and I are Afrophiles (with heavy emphasis on "and I"), so we were into it. And then, Madiba's food was, quite literally, into us.

We could not have made a better choice for a place in which we could eat away sorrow. As soon as you walk in the door, you are literally transported to a faraway land...namely, South Africa. While the restaurant was designed to be reminiscent of a South African shebeen (basically a chop hall, as I understand it), it is somehow gorgeous and posh, and rustic and humble all at the same time. The music alternated between gospel, kwaito and reggae, just loud enough so that you could hear it over the patrons' lively chatter and still sing along/sway in your seat/vibe. We chose to sit indoors, despite the lovely weather on that day, so that we could take in the fascinating decor as well, which included newsclippings, subway signs, South African ad campaigns, a super large poster of the African continent, and a large painting of Fela Kuti. The restaurant doubles as a store, where one can get rare South African/British goodies (like Ceres juice and Digestives and South African wine!)

Madiba, Fort Greene, Brooklyn

The bar

I love the atmosphere of the restaurant, and I'm into cowskin (weird for a vegetarian, I know...don't judge me!)

But, the food...oh, the food. Okay, so I opted for the seafood roti, in order to compare it with my beloved West Indian roti, and had Nelson Mandela's favorite dish, samp ( a savory corn and bean stew) as a side dish. The sister did the same--her roti and curry was filled with chicken, while mine was filled with shrimp, lobster, squid and salmon. Pray and eat. *Insert magnificent chorus of angels here*. The roti and curry were totally different from their West Indian counterparts, but different--more of the emphasis on Indian instead of West. Whatever the emphasis, however, it was one of the most delicious and satisfying experiences I've had in the city since I first moved in 2006, right up there with my faves Spice Market and Negril Village. I will most certainly be back, as often as the Lord allows, hopefully to try the Durban Samosas and the Kalk Bay Fish Parcel. Hopefully, I'll also have room to try dessert on the next occasion, but I won't count on it. I have a $25 dollar gift certificate and a $50 gift certificate to Madiba, so if anyone wants to come with on my next excursion, just shout!


More (mouth-watering) pictures below!

The samp

The sis and her chicken curry. She said it was excellent.

South African roti....nothing like the abundant, doughy, flaky, and dusty West Indian roti to which I'm accustomed, but delicious all the same. It was very reminiscent of a cross between a pancake and the crust on an extra flaky pie.

My incredible seafood curry...isn't it gorgeous? Look at the ginormous chunk of lobster! The entire dish was only $14.00.

Check it out!
Madiba Restaurant
195 DeKalb Avenue
Brooklyn, NY 11205
718-855-9190

The Best the British Have to Offer: More Funky House Music

I will continue to stand by my word without apology: The only thing I miss about London is the music. I LOVE HOUSE MUSIC, and am particularly obsessed with funky house which is basically a combination of all my favorite types of music--house, dancehall, r&b, hip-hop, and ambient. It is truly a thing of beauty. When I go back for graduation in the winter, I seriously need to stock up. Anyone interested in raving should hit me up!

Have a listen to what's currently blowing my sub-woofers out, courtesy of duo Fr3e):




Yes, the video is 3 parts hot (slightly-racist) mess, and 1 part hilarious...and the track is HAWT.


Oh...and if you'd like to know how to DO the tribal skank...



Slightly reminiscent of the Soulja Boy instructional video of 2008...but awesome because of the accents, naturally. Enjoy!

New York's Answer to Argo Tea? Amanzi Tea, Tribeca

People who know me--I mean, really know me, know that I'm in love with Chicago, and in love with Argo Tea. I mean, I'm obsessed with tea, just as a general rule, and as a result of growing up with a Jamaican father who loves his British traditions. I would love for Argo Tea to come to New York, and have even requested that they do so, but so far, to no avail.

It was to my great delight, then, yesterday afternoon when as I was on my way to visit a friend in Jersey after church, I ran into a friendly woman offering samples of a "Mojitea Teaser" outside of a shop on Chambers Street. My favorite drink from Argo is their Mojitea (I wonder if someone copied someone...just saying...). I definitely went into the shop, named Amanzi Tea, with my meager bank account and bought one...delicious! Not as delicious as Argo, but delicious nonetheless.

The inside of Amanzi Tea, at 166 Chambers Street, in Tribeca. The lovely baristas were nice enough to allow me to take a couple of photos.

New York has it's fair share of trendy tea spots, but I wonder if this one will eventually expand and become New York's Argo Tea. At this point, Amanzi only has one New York location, a location in New Jersey, and a location in South Carolina, but one can hope...


More tea in New York:

Uptown: Settepani has a lovely selection of house teas, but is not a tea bar like Amanzi or Argo. Delicious brunch and gelato, yes. Mojitea and Hisbiscus coolers, no.

Union Square: The well-known and uber-chic Tavalon/Tea Bar New York also has extra delicious tea, and a deejay too boot, but it feels more like Pinkberry than my warm and fuzzy Argo Tea...

Music Spotlight: I'm from the city in the midwest/best city in the whole wide wide world... Snippets from the Lupe Concert

"...I feel like murder, but hip hop has saved my life..."

The Lord works in mysterious ways. The last week has been, well...something else. More on that later. However, in between tears and confusion, God gave me friends, including the lovely TKY who blessed me with tickets to see Lupe Fiasco in concert for my birthday.

The concert began really late, because Lupe is a practicing Muslim, and needed to wait until sunset to break his fast. The opening act, 88 Keys (of Kanye's "Stay Up" semi-pseudo fame), was a hot mess, so the sister and I were a bit worried. However, once Mr. Wasalu Jaco hit the stage, it was all good on Governor's Island. He was nerdy, sexy, energetic, and all that good stuff that Lupe fans need and want in their lives, and the crowd gobbled it up and swallowed it whole.

Pics below; I'm having issues uploading video:

View of the water taxi from "The Beach" at Governor's Island, where the concert was held

Lower Manhattan

Starring...The "beach", featuring downtown Manhattan in the background

The stage

*Update*

After spending all day uploading video to YouTube, the videos have come out really badly, so
I'm resorting to posting other people's videos of the concert. Enjoy--the upside, is that now you don't have to hear my sister and I singing in the background!

Performing "Shining Down"


"Dumb it Down"--during the encore, after the jacket came off



I'm still working on uploading my videos for "Hip Hop Saved My Life" and "Daydreaming" just because the performances were so amazing to watch, so come back and check it out when you get a chance...