Feed Your Mind...

I don't have a television.  Partly by design and partly because I just don't have the money to buy even a used one from Craigslist.  I also can't imagine scraping together money for basic cable which would be the only way to get any reception of television stations at all...

When I returned to the Chi from Paris via Seattle, I had made the decision to jump into freelancing head first and not get a television.  I planned to get myself back into reading and particularly fiction.  And so I've done both, although, the first part of the plan has been difficult. The second part has been surprisingly difficult too.  Anyway, here are the books I've read since September:

1.  Leni - Steven Bach

2.  Mouth Wide Open - John Thorne

3.  Snow - Orhan Pahmuk

4.  The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao - Junot Diaz

5.  The Known World - Edward P. Jones (in progress)*

I'm a little ashamed that the list only consists of five, particularly because I had to read John Thorne's book for a review I wrote that will be published in Gastronomica, but at least I can proudly declare that nothing by Zane or even Iyanla Van Zant is part of it.  I suppose life, survival, etc. has kept me busy.  My head has not always in a good place for reading.  

Next up for me, however:

1.  The Portrait of a Lady - Henry James

2.  The Master Butcher's Singing Club - Louise Erdrich

3.  Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy

4.  A Handmade's Tale - Margaret Atwood

5.  Parable of the Sower - Octavia Butler

(...the next few I started long ago (we're talking years here)  and I finally plan to finish them)

6.  The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse - Louise Erdrich

7.  Love in the Time of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

8.  A Death in Brazil - Peter Robb

9.  Invisible Man - Ralph Ellison 

10.  Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky

I am deeply ashamed at never having finished 6, 7, 9, and 10, but I will before spring ends.  

Overall I'm happy with life without television.  Sometimes I long for it, but really, $60+ each month to watch really shitty things is not worth it.  Now, with the end of The Wire and the fact that I can catch Boondocks episodes online, there's no real motivation.  Maybe when those elusive siblings economic/career stability decide to grace me with their collective presence, I can contemplate such a purchase.  Until then, if, in fact that day does arrive, I'll continue working my way through the stacks of unopened tomes that call my bookshelves home and giving my library card a much needed workout.

*Update

I finished The Known World last night.  It is quite an astounding book because it felt like a family history, like Edward P. Jones was actually there, as though he was channeling the ancestors.  I don't know what to say.

El Negro Calde...

While I am rarely moved by celebrities, or anyone for that matter, I have to admit that occasionally I become fixated on people. I am willing to admit to an irrational obssession with Snoop Dogg that lasted from the time he first emerged on the scene on the Deep Cover soundtrack until 2005 when he released Drop It Like It's Hot. Great song, but I was horrified by the video in which, as many of you know, he featured his children along with shots of scantily clad booty girls, shots of him doing the crip walk, and shots of him getting his toke on. Up until that time, he'd put me through many changes as I tried to stick with him through the No Limit Soldier years, through the ridiculous MTV shows and those pigtails he seems so fond of, and even through the -izzle schtick he continued (excuse me, continues) to ply even after he heard countless white people co-opting. 

God knows, I tried. I tried, Snoop. 

But after the babies and the weed and the booties and the crip walk all together on film, I realized it was not to be. I had to let him go.

Anyway, now I've found someone new, but I feel much better about him, it's Tego Calderon.  I'm not ashamed to go into a store and proudly place his CD on the counter and say "Yes, I'm ready, ring me up, please."  I only felt that way once about Snoop, when I bought a replacement copy of Doggystyle, years after I'd purchased the original. 

So, o.k., this man makes me tingly all over. I don't know what it is exactly. There's something incredibly sexy about him. I once read him described as being "perpetually craggy" it fits, at least aesthetically. I could go on to describe why I find him handsome, but I'll spare you dear reader; my tastes often lean toward the unconventional. I just have to say that he has the most beautiful skin color. Amazing. You just don't find that tone among Black Americans, even with the many lovely hues you do find among us, it has to have something to do with the Spanish rather than English (or Scottish, rather) part of the mix.

Anyway, I haven't seen him speak or be interviewed, although back when I was plugged in I had VH1 Soul (the one thing I miss) and saw him in Bling'd touring Africa to learn about blood diamonds. I have only one of his albums (do the kids still say that these days?), the first, El Abayarde and it is really a piece of art. I'd had it over a year and I'd listened, but about a month ago, I really listened. It's quite masterful and so hip hop. Reggaeton, for all intents and purposes, I find wack. That's just my personal opinion, that was strengthened when I learned that artists like Ivy Queen, Daddy Yankee, and Don Omar were clowning at the Latin Grammy Awards a few months ago when Calle 13 won album or artist of the year, I don't remember which one it was. Who knew they served haterade at awards shows? They actually walked out in protest and then made it worse by speaking on it in interviews!!

For real? It's like that? So not hip-hop.

It was astounding because Calle 13 is really, really good. Really interesting and creative. Perhaps I don't understand the world of Reggaeton and if that is any indication, I don't want to. I also understand that right now I could be sounding like white people debating the issue of why a group like Arrested Development represents ground-breaking hip-hop while slamming say, Grand Puba or X-Clan.  However, I do know that hating--even though we all do it from time to time--is not cute.  Especially not on live television.

Anyway, Mr. Calderon, did not walk out. He is actually the model for a character in a book I am writing. I'd love to interview him someday, that is if I didn't get too tingly. 

He has great sensibilities, at least as conveyed through his music. Really innovative.  Did I mention he has a lisp and it sounds cool.  He's not the first MC with a lisp, but...anyway, enough...

I'm no longer conflicted.

Changes...

These days I am going through (or should I say, continue to be going through) some changes. Since 2004 really when I sold my belongings, donated my car to a charity and then headed to Paris with the intent of expatriating, my life has been moving on and on and on...

Still.

It has not stopped. Now I am in the throes of trying to make a career as a writer. Now, I call myself a writer. Now I am a writer. I have written some beautiful things several, including one of the most beautiful, was even published. I have the makings of a novel in my sacred notebook and in my sacred MacBook. I am doing just about everything I ever wanted, you know: writing, cooking, traveling, even living with abandon pretty consistently these days...the only thing that's missing is loving. But that's not what I plan to delve into here. No.

Now I live in poverty. In the past three months, I made $80 from my writing. Since I decided to make a go of it full-time, I no longer have money or time for the things I once did. I have gone through my savings, borrowed, begged, but not yet stolen, although I have been there too since I started on this path in 2004, and I've learned that no one anywhere should ever say "Never!" Never does not exist when you're really living. Sometimes you have to get that hustle going any way you can (well, within reason) This is not meant to sound high-handed or uppity. I'm no uppity negro (at least not about things like this). Anyway, to the point...

I am living in poverty. Proof: I'm on welfare now. I currently have a Link Card. Which, for those not from the great state of Illinois, means I'm on food stamps. Funny, like a drug, I am on food stamps and I have to admit that I might be hooked. When you take your card and swipe it and it pays without drawing money from your coffers, you feel as though you've been given a gift of some sort, especially when you head through the line at Whole Foods. Something exhilarating about food stamps at Whole Foods, I'm not gonna lie. The looks on the faces of the wealthy white folks...that's another post, another day, another commentary. Anyway, I'll miss my Link Card when this stage of life passes! The truth is, this Link Card, it's my right and I've been contributing to the fund for years so I have no qualms about making a withdrawal as piddling as my $160 a month.

In other areas of my life, I have had to seek rental assistance from the city's Department of Human Services. Who knew that there was rental assistance that didn't involve folding sweaters at the Gap on evenings and weekends after you finished your real day job?

Please don't get me wrong. Don't think I'm making light of poverty and what it does to people, on the contrary. Don't think that this is fun, this poverty stuff, as a great many of our brethren can attest to, is not for suckers. It's hard and I'm not even REALLY poor. In a sense I am doing this by choice, because with my Master's degree and my French fluency and the rest, I could go get a job and stack some paper, just like I was before I decided to let art rule my heart and thus, my life. But yes, it's tough, not only because you have to constantly be thinking about what's what, what will be, what might be, and what isn't, in a way that you don't when your bank account is padded, but because at every turn you have to prove that you are in need and what you say you are: POOR.

I'm learning that the prevailing sentiment is that poor people are criminals. That somehow they want to be poor. Now, of course, some of them are criminals let's just get that out there, because I have a few in the fam who stand out in my mind as shining examples, however, as trifling as they are, I don't think even they aspire to poverty. But overall, I know well in this three-year journey from young urban professional to artist that poverty causes crime in most circles, but again, another post, another day, another commentary.

I have had to produce documents detailing my poverty, I have had to get official documentation from friends and employers substantiating my plight and hope that someone somewhere sitting in an office would believe me when I said that I only had $5.37 in my checking account until God knows when, and "could you please help me out so I can by some soy milk?"  

I have had people treat me terribly. First those who assumed that I am just another lazy Black Woman. Probably with a few kids--someone actually checked the yes box on a form and then asked me "How many?" without even looking up.  Another case worker told me that she would pass me on for someone to deal with me.  Yet another fat-punk-ass-hot-ass-breath-having security guard (oooh, sorry, it got personal for a minute) at a social service agency spoke to me in Spanish thinking first that I was Puerto Rican.  When he found out I was not, he was extremely rude and refused to help me. I know this because while my spoken Spanish is rusty, I understand it like it was my own tongue.  When speaking with my downtrodden Latin brethren, he was the picture of courtesy.  Of course, I had to check them all.  I had to tell them all: 'have some respect, show some respect, I am human and I am struggling, just like you are/have/may be one day.'

But none of that mattered.

It was only when they learned that I am a writer with degrees and travels under my belt and shit, speaking foreign languages and shit. It was only then that they showed a modicum of respect. Only when I wasn't just a trifling, po', black ass hood rat (what they assume of every Black Woman who walks in the door) that they began to look at my face. Even my beauty, my big butt, my smile, none of it mattered, at least not that I could tell. It's been an education for real. I don't want to end on a corny note saying things like: "it's all part of the journey..." or "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger..." or "I'll look back on all of this and laugh..." because the truth is, it shouldn't have to be, that's not always true, and I probably won't.

So I'll say, we should stop treating poor people like criminals, because when you are constantly worried you can't possibly be your best self or raise babies who grow up doing the same; we should support the arts so people who try to create beauty and truth don't have to struggle the way that they do; all black people are not trifling, uneducated lay abouts looking for a hand out; that security guard with all of his sin-verguenceria (how's that for Puerto Rican, security guard Garcia?) better be glad the homiez I could have called before moving to France are either on lockdown or dead, or he would be in a world of trouble. Maybe I'll just write a scathing letter to the editor and send it to the Chicago Tribune. How 'bout that, Garcia?

Que Dios Te Bendiga...

I have been inspired to return to blogging after reading a few excellent blogs from a few writer/scholar/hip hop heads out of NYC. It actually feels like a good decision to me after having left the fray a few years ago feeling that blogging was a mite too self-indulgent, and frankly, it is, but putting pen to paper or in this case, fingers to keyboard is therapeutic and I need an outlet these days.

So here I go...

Today I decided to do some work in a coffee shop in Humboldt Park that sells great Puerto Rican coffee (had a cortadito) and even better guava cake (took a pass on that as my bottom seems to be spreading at an alarming rate challenging even my own appreciation for bootyliciousness!). On my way, I passed a botanica that I've passed hundreds of times before without stopping. Today was different. I was drawn to the place, perhaps because I've been immersing myself quite deeply in the cultures of people of African descent in the Carribbean and American diasporas, I stopped in. I actually wanted to see if they had John the Conqueror floor wash, because times are hard up in the cut lately and I was feeling suddenly that a little hoodoo couldn't hurt. I ended up buying candles or novenas, whichever you prefer. This is not new for me, but it's been a minute. At one time, you couldn't enter my place without finding the Seven African Powers on a shelf, table, or mantle somewhere, but a move around the world and back disrupted my little ritual. But today, I remembered, so I picked up the SAP candle and two others for good measure: John the Conqueror (got him, although they didn't have floor wash) and a Fast Luck candle. Now I know that anyone reading this might be thinking overkill, but like I said, times are real hard in the cut! Anyway, for the first time, I had someone fix my candles, the woman had me write my name in the wax and then she brushed one of them with oils. She prayed over it and blessed me and then took the others to add the appropriate oils and herbs, after I explained my situation. She returned and once again prayed over them and blessed me. "...que Dios te bendiga..." she said, as she asked the spirits to protect my health and grant me peace, wealth, and much luck in love, among other things. I have them home burning, it's funny that I feel a bit of comfort now.

The truth is that it makes lots of sense to me. I want to learn more, maybe there's an article in it somewhere or a place for her in the book I'm currently working on. In the meantime, I will keep my candles burning and respectfully continue to ask Yemaya, Oshun, Obatala, Ogun, Elegua, Ogun, Shango, Orula, and Babaluaye to intercede on my behalf.

I don't like saffron. I made the Persian dish yesterday with a hint of saffron and it was the only thing I could taste. I kept thinking how delicious it would have been had I left it out. I've just never liked it. I don't like the smell or the taste of it, I don't understand why it's so prized. I mean, I do yet I don't. I have a full bottle of saffron syrup in my refrigerator that cost close to $20. I've had it almost a year and I really want to like it but it's not going down like that. I don't know why I bought it in the first place. Actually, of course I know why. SAFFRON SYRUP. Sounds incredibly intriguing. I'll have to try and find a good home for it soon...

Today I prepared a recipe from a cookbook I bought recently. It comes from Claudia Roden's The New Book of Middle Eastern Food. The dish is what I would call a Persian casserole made with basmati rice, dates, lentils, and chicken, beef, or lamb. It is flavored with cinnamon, nutmeg, and saffron. I made it with chicken, as I am trying to eat lighter these days. It was delicious. Not being entirely familiar with Persian cuisine outside of my frequent trips to restaurants in my old city, I'm not sure if it looks as it should, but I suppose I can worry about that the next time I try it. I really love Middle Eastern food. Research for some recent work I've done has gotten me interested in the cuisine. I can now count it as one of my favorites along with Mexican, Italian, and Southern cooking.

I have tried many of the recipes in Claudia Roden's book and I recommend it to anyone. One of the great things about the book --and there are many-- is that it offers recipes from countries throughout the Middle East. Many also have notes that instruct the cook on how to make a particular version of a recipe, meaning, you may be provided an Egyptian or Turkish recipe and Ms. Roden's notes let you know how you might make the Moroccan or Lebanese version of it. It's sure to make you a convert, if you don't already adore Middle Eastern food.

something delicious

Today I prepared a recipe from a cookbook I bought recently. It comes from Claudia Roden's The New Book of Middle Eastern Food. The dish is what I would call a Persian casserole made with basmati rice, dates, lentils, and chicken, beef, or lamb. It is flavored with cinnamon, nutmeg, and saffron. I made it with chicken, as I am trying to eat lighter these days. It was delicious. Not being entirely familiar with Persian cuisine outside of my frequent trips to restaurants in my old city, I'm not sure if it looks as it should, but I suppose I can worry about that the next time I try it. I really love Middle Eastern food. Research for some recent work I've done has gotten me interested in the cuisine. I can now count it as one of my favorites along with Mexican, Italian, and Southern cooking.

I have tried many of the recipes in Claudia Roden's book and I recommend it to anyone. One of the great things about the book --and there are many-- is that it offers recipes from countries throughout the Middle East. Many also have notes that instruct the cook on how to make a particular version of a recipe, meaning, you may be provided an Egyptian or Turkish recipe and Ms. Roden's notes let you know how you might make the Moroccan or Lebanese version of it. It's sure to make you a convert, if you don't already adore Middle Eastern food.

The end of a long hiatus?

So, I'm back. I don't know how long. So much has happened but right now I won't go into all of that. I need this spot right now because I am stumped. I have a writing assignment, a profile on someone in my class and OH MY GOD, is this woman boring. I have notes and I'm trying to make it work but...Maybe I've peaked and I just can't churn it out like I've been able to in the past. A big part of it is that I just don't write enough anymore. It's not part of my everyday. It's on my mind everyday, but I don't make it happen.

That's why I need this spot. I think of it a bit like warming your car on a winter morning. Revving it up, you know, so that things run smoothly. In the end, this is a good way of taking care of my writing, so to speak. It's gone down the toilette, I feel. But that is also another story. Now, the topic at hand is this boring woman. If I were good, wouldn't I just be able to churn this out, dazzling the masses in the process, one might ask? I don't know, she's pretty boring. And since, I've talked to her a total of about 50 minutes my entire life, the material I'm working from is pretty thin. Three pages of notes about how supportive and wonderful her husband and family are. Her current dilemma, not so much a dilemma as a heartwarming story to share with the grand babies later in life. Help. I wonder if she dots her I's with hearts? Her name isn't Candy or Tami or anything. But you know, too bad, that would make a great profile. Years of emotional abuse and neglect as a child have me convinced that healthy personal relationships are suspect. That might be overstating it a bit, certainly emotional stability and support can make for good writing (and reading). We'll see what I come up with. Maybe I'm just jealous.

I'm also feeling sorry for myself and that takes focus. Redirecting the considerable energy required for self-pity is no small feat. But I must. Maybe I'll make some popcorn. N0, no snacking. Procrastination is a sneaky whore isn't she?


Oh, yes, it's due tomorrow. I better raise up and get to work, y'all.

Peace in the Middle East.

deliciousness

I recently returned from a three-week trip to Paris where I spent my time in a mini-internship learning to make my beloved Algerian pastries. It was a short stint, but enough to clarify my desires, bringing the desire to bake in line with the desire to write, neither of which I have been particularly committed to in the last year. Yes, I've finished an article about my pastries soon to be published in a major food journal, but I haven't been writing or reading and I can feel it here as in every other attempt to sit and create at a keyboard for the last oh, 6-8 months. Words do not come as easily, creativity seems to have waned, even in nonfiction writing. Yes, I have been a lazy lump...there is not much else to say about it.

Now, however, after my petit sejour in Paris, a have a renewed sense of getting things done despite being anchored in this city for the next year. Mine is a future of written words and baked delices if I could just stopped getting sidetracked by the occasional Yahoo game. UGH!

There I go...

So here I am. The last post, maybe forever, maybe just for awhile. I don't know. I don't know anything, haven't for quite some time.

But I'm going to keep on moving. I feel as though this is a momentous occasion, some sort of watershed in my life, although I know it is not. But it really feels like this is closing a chapter of my life. Much has changed since I started this and as usual, they were all the things that I secretly hoped wouldn't, or would never have expected to. But that "is the life"...That's what a French friend of mine used to say, he would always add the extra article. He also always translated the french word for neighborhood (quartier) as quarters no matter how many times I told him otherwise. That was annoying, but he was a great kisser, but that's another story...

Anyway, here I go. I still think of the boy whenever it's quiet and still or I'm alone with my thoughts, but maybe I always will, it really was that kind of love, at least for me...But I'm settling into Seattle. I even got a promotion and a raise recently and I've only been on the job a month. So now, while I still sometimes feel like a doe on shaky legs trying to balance myself and stand on my own in this new life of mine, I do think that I may finally have the ganas to make it happen...

Here I go...

this is it, what...let's get rich, what...*

I have made the decision. This will be my last week of posting to this blog. It's time to end this and move on to what I really need to be doing. This blog has helped me immensely since I began last April, but I am starting to see that it has diverted my energies from what I need to be doing. It is a time waster for me. A way of saying that I'm writing regularly without really writing. It's just not the real deal and I have to move on...

Straight from the cask said that writing is "the most beautiful and meaningful activity one can adopt." He's French, he knows these things...

I have to be about the business of writing, for real now.


*everyone knows, it's from the song "Luchini aka This Is It", Camp Lo ("Uptown Saturday Night" Profile Records, 1999), don't they?

Loneliness and Louise Erdrich

Why do I feel so terrible? I don't know. I'm in such a stinky mood lately andI'm not sure if it's the weather change -it's finally drizzly and gray for the long haul here in Seattle- or if it's because my friend will be visiting soon, or if what's going on my life is just gross. In the past this might have been a time for a little retail therapy, but I am too poor now to commit to the intensive therapy that would facilitate any true, lasting healing...

I was walking to work yesterday and I realized that my life has begun to return to what I don't want it to be. That everyday drudgery, that go-to-work- come-home cycle. I know that it is only temporary, but I'm not helping myself because I'm not doing the things that I need to do for my future, ie, writing, and for my soul, ie, writing. Why? Because I am alone here and feeling fairly lonely. I am feeling sorry for myself because the adjustment to this place has been difficult, as some of you know, and I seem to have once again taken up my most familiar past time of wallowing in my loneliness. It might be fairly accurate to say that I just know that I am a lonely person, but I guess I have to admit that I wallow in it sometimes too. Yes, I know that this is not productive and I know that the intensity of the way I am feeling is only temporary too. The fact is, I have always been keenly aware, since I was a child, actually, that I am lonely. There have only been a few times in my life when I was not.

I don't really know what to do about that, I just live with it, I guess loneliness is my companion in a sense.

Wow, does this sound pathetic or what?

I don't mean it to, it's just that I know ultimately what I need to make it go away and that's not something I can necessarily make happen on my own.

See, I am not lacking in the self-esteem department, or too shy or afraid to make friends. I am not a weirdo -at least not in a disturbing sort of way- I am not one of those people who needs constant validation from others. BUT, I am one of those people who is really strong, independent, no nonsense, and even at times, enchanting. Yes, I said it, so shut up. It's true though and I forgot one thing, I'm not arrogant or exclusive. I am sure of myself and accepting of others at the same time and I am very honest.

You would think that I might have hordes of people flocking to me. But I don't, I've realized some things in evolving into the person I describe above and am fiercely proud of, and that is a lot of people don't like those things. This is starting to sound like I ripped a few pages from the martyr handbook and posted them here, but that is my intention. I suppose I'll just have to find away to abate the loneliness. I go through these periods, kind of like phases, when I realize that I am alone. Now more than ever, because so much has changed this year and I still don't know how to reach my destination and there's no one to really help me or even accompany me on the journey, as I thought there might be a few months ago.

Anyway, I feel okay about it and I know that my own behavior, ie, not writing, is a huge cause of this. I'm postponing the thing that makes me whole. Why? No complex answer, I am being lazy, I am a procrastinator, and at times I've been feeling sorry for myself. I wonder if Toni Morrison or Louise Erdrich ever went through these things.

By the way, I went to see Louis Erdrich read passages from her new book, The Painted Drum, last night at Elliot Bay Books. God, I want to be like her. This is big, because I don't want to be like anyone, ever. Her writing is so moving, so like a painting in muted colors that captures your attention through the subtlety of its expression. Like Toni Morrison, her writing, really touches you, moves you in ways you didn't know possible.

Could I be like that? Could I touch people, move them in ways they didn't know possible? Something in me tells me that I could.

I better get on that.

By the way, stop by and say hello to Sharon. She is home now and sounds like she is doing well, which makes me feel a little less lonely...

*my favorite book by Louise Erdrich is the Antelope Wife.
**Elliot Bay Books along with 57th Street Books in Chicago have to be the most amazing independent bookstores I've been to.
***my favorite book by Toni Morrison is Song of Solomon. Oh, and the newest, Love is quite amazing too.

The topic at hand...

This has been a week filled with disappointments.

Well, only three really, but I guess that's a lot for the period in which they sprang up. Three days by the way, that's when all of these things occurred. I am alright though, I don't feel emotionally bruised or battered, I guess these disappointments weren't so serious but they were definitely unexpected.

That's life, I suppose. I wish it didn't have to be. I wish that everyone was given one day when they would be granted their heart's desire. You would decide when you wanted that day, but that would be it, one day, and after that things would go back to normal. You couldn't wish for anything mean or spiteful, like the death of your ex-boyfriend or girlfriend for breaking up with you, or a lifelong curse on the woman in the minivan in the grocery store parking lot who slid into that space in front of you when she knew... Of course, some people would use their day by the time they were six years old, or at least by the time they were 25. Only the most sage among us would hold on until at least our mid-thirties, when you finally begin to understand a little bit about life and what it means.

I'm pretty sure I'd be stuck in there somewhere among the 6-25 year old set.

I'm slowly learning what it means to be an adult and I'm keenly aware of that. This week made me see...You have to accept your disappointments and move on, even though a little bit of each one we experience sticks with us. If we're lucky, it sticks in the form of experience that we draw on and use to navigate the rest of our lives in a positive manner. If we're not so lucky the vestiges of those disappointments stay with us in the form of a big, sticky mass that lingers and turns into something we can't seem to shake no matter how hard we try. Something may happen that allows us to clean it all up and free ourselves from that sticky mess, like a big bottle of Goo Gone or something. Unfortunately many people don't open up that proverbial bottle. Even more unfortunate, sometimes people don't recognize that big bottle of Goo Gone for what it is and there's usually no one to tell us, at least no one we're apt to listen to.

This is a little corny, but you get my drift, I hope.

Signs and stuff...

I talked to someone the other day who told me the story of a woman who is engaged to a man who she is not sure she likes, but she's staying with him, sticking it out, apparently, because there are signs that seem to point to the fact that this man is who she should be with. So the person I was talking to asked me if I believed in that kind of thing.

"What kind of thing?" I asked.
"In signs. You know like, do you believe that things happen for a reason, or that certain people are put into your life for very specific reasons?"
"Of course." I replied.

So today I am thinking, well, not just today, but often I think about this. Especially this year, forgive me if this is sounding trite.

Anyway, I look for signs in life. Sometimes, I think I try too hard to find them. I don't really do this because my life has no meaning, or because I'm necessarily looking for something, but I really believe that life is full of signs, in fact Sharon wrote something along these lines not so very long ago.

Today I met a man who is going to help me make Algerian pastries. A chef. He described himself to me as tall and dark-skinned with glasses. When I met him today, he was with another man, who was actually tall and darker-skinned than he was, he also happened to be wearing glasses. I assumed it was my guy, but no. Not a sign, but kind of a funny thing today. When this man described himself to me, I was tempted to ask, "Do you mean tall by Algerian standards or American ones?" Because those are two very different standards. After meeting him, it's clear to me that he meant Algerian ones. He talked lots to me about food and how Algerian men misrepresent themselves to women when the leave Algerie and immigrate. He kept saying Algerie, instead of Algeria and Alger instead of Algiers. "I have a little experience..." was my reply.

Very interesting...

Sorry, this will be for those French-speakers out there. Those of you with a few years of French under your belt should be straight too...

click here

The gist, a magazine in Morocco published an article about immigrants coming in to the country from Sub-Saharan Africa. The article was titled "Les criquets noirs envahissent le nord du Maroc" or "Black crickets invade northern Morocco".

YIKES!!

The King of Morocco issued a statement saying essentially that he condemns the paper's publishing and stance saying that 'the Kingdom of Morocco does not advocate any sort of discrimination against anyone based gender (perhaps this includes sexual orientation too, but I'm not sure if it would), religion, race, or color (probably skin tone, for those of you of lighter hue, not in the know about these things), because, to do so, would go against sacred principles of Islam and international law.' This is a loose (but fairly accurate) translation...I know we (black people) do this to each other all over the world, but it's interesting to see it playing out on the continent... I also have to point out that this sort of paints a slightly different picture of Islam and Muslim attitudes. I don't know tons, but I know that on paper (and even historically), it really seems to be the fairest, most inclusive of all world religions. Oooh I better watch it before I make it on to some Homeland Security watchlist, but I guess it's too late for that....

I couldn't find the site or a link to the article itself, but here are some reactions from message boards and the French web portal & search engine Wanadoo...Sorry non-French speakers....


Lord, let my people go!!

The First Step

Today I finally sent out a query letter to a magazine. This was a letter I wrote about three weeks ago and have had saved on my computer since. I would look at it periodically, read it, sometimes change the wording and then, close it without sending. But today, I did it. I don't know why I didn't send it before. Maybe I was (am) scared. But, of what? Rejection? I'm not sure that's possible, I've had enough experience with that to be able to handle it. Besides, that's not normally the kind of thing I fear. Actually, I don't know what I fear. Being scared, if I haven't mentioned it, is sort of new for me, it's something I first experienced --or maybe let myself experience-- in France last year. I just let myself go and be paralyzed with fear. So much so, that I couldn't make decisions without second guessing myself, or really even make any sort of move. Hence, the phrase paralyzed with fear, I guess...

I think that experience was good for me, because much like the complete and utter failure that I also experienced last year, I learned that there is nothing to fear in fear, if that makes any sense. Sure, there is uncertainty, pain, and sometimes even despair, but it's not the end of the world and going through it, makes you realize in the end that you can do anything, or what your limitations are, whatever the case may be. This is a very good thing. I've said before, failure is liberating. I should perhaps restate that and say failure and fear are liberating.

Another thing I'm afraid of: there is a boy who is interested in me. A tattoo artist. He seems very nice and clearly he likes me. I ran into him today and made him giggle. Picture a big, muscular man with long hair and biceps covered with tattoos, giggling. That may be hard and sounds kind of weird, but I often have that effect on men, I make them giggle, what does that say about me? What does that say about them? He practically ran out of the shop to catch up with me as I walked by today. I shouldn't be scared, I realize, but this is new. He seems different, nice. He treats me like he has a crush. He could be a freak, yes, I realize this, but maybe not. I sense that he is, gulp, perhaps kind of normal. I'm scared. How will I act, if he is nice, if he is normal? What will I do? I've never known that before...

Morocco or bust...

The past couple of weeks have been hard for me. I am missing France, I am missing the way of life and outlook that I know so well back east. I am generally not feeling Seattle right now, but I guess this is what happens when you move somewhere new. It did happen in Paris at first, but, I don't know, things made so much more sense there than here.

I saw a flight to Morocco advertised in the paper. Not too expensive and you know, I was so tempted to call and reserve. In fact, I did and held it for a day, but then I called and canceled because I realized that if I did actually buy it:

a. I'd have no money for food here until I left, or there once I arrived

and

b. I'd just be running away from the pain of the past few months. It would be like a really expensive drinking binge, but of course, way more fun.

Anyway, I tend to do that when I am sad, I want to travel and explore, because it takes my mind off of things. I think it's a pretty harmless escape mechanism, but just like anything else, alcohol, crack, heroin, chocolate cake, when it's all over your pain is still there. But this is a different kind of pain that maybe a jaunt to Morocco would clear right up. I don't know. I'm still debating. Do I really need to eat or ride the bus when the alternative is Casablanca, or Fez, or the Sahara? Eating is overrated, isn't it? Besides, I'm cute, I could swing a meal or two once I got there. Makrout, chorba, bastilla. I can work it for all that.

Okay back to reality. Reality can be so unfortunate sometimes...

You go, Mexico!!

¡ORALE!

2 Septembre

Now here I am, back where I started when I arrived in April. Same internet cafe, same computer. So much more has happened but strangely, I feel as though I am the same as before. I know that's not true. Today I thought, for the first time in life, that I wish I could go back and change some things. If I could, I'd go back to May and I'd make it so I'd never have to experience the yuckiest parts of the summer, but, even those were good for me, or at least I can see that they will be in the long run. Except Gregory, I'm not sure I can ever accept the loss of Gregory. I'll never see the sense in that.

Hmmmm.

I am thinking of the people on the Gulf Coast and how the dark skin of so many of them has sealed their collective fate. I am thinking of how I was struck suddenly after seeing the front page photo of today's New York Times, by the realization of how undervalued Black people are in this country, it's something I've always known. It's something every Black person in this country grows up knowing; it's just a part of life here for us. I have cried today. And I am feeling again today, that I just have to pick myself up, write more, read more, go out into it, and take the next step.

Haiku (almost)

Tonight, an orange moon

glows.

"Come here. Look." He would say.