Words to Live By

"Lift yourselves, men, take yourselves out of the mire and hitch your hopes to the stars; yes, rise as high as the very stars themselves. Let no man pull you down, let no man destroy your ambition, because man is but your companion, your equal; man is your brother; he is not your lord; he is not your sovereign master."

Quick history lesson:
Marcus Garvey grew up in Jamaica, and was forced to quit school in his early teen years to help support his family. While living in Kingston and Costa Rica, the disparity between blacks and whites he witnessed moved him to action. Eventually he would become a litmus test for where one stood on the race problem. Garvey's solution to the race problem in the 1920's was for every black man, woman, and child from America, South and Central America, and the West Indies, to move "Back to Africa."

Garvey gained popularity through a group he founded called the Universal Negro Improvement Association (UNIA), with a mission of "general uplift of the Negro peoples of the world." Garvey's initial intent was to build schools modeled after the Tuskegee Institute. To raise funds for this goal, Garvey moved to Harlem and became polarizingly influential. It was in Harlem where he began to mobilize UNIA. His downfall was a pet project called Black Star Line. It was a shipping company meant for the employment of blacks, relocation of blacks to Africa, and be profitable. From the root, Black Star Line was not profitable, causing Garvey to attempt to raise money through a mail campaign which resulted in his conviction of federal mail fraud. He served three of his five year sentence before being deported back to his native Jamaica. In 1940, ironically, Garvey died before ever having set foot on African soil.

His position was well reasoned and supported by some American statesmen. A German statesman agreed that this solution would be beneficial for Europe as well, it "might enable France and Great Britain to discharge thier duties to the United States and simultaneously ease the burden of German reparations which is paralyzing economic life" (Dr. Heinrich Schnee, former Governor of German East Africa from 1912 to 1918). Garvey argued that it was appropriate and necessary for blacks to return to Africa: Asians controlled Asia, Europeans (whites) controlled Europe and the Americas, Africans should control Africa.


I am on the fence as to whether or not "Africa by/for Africans" would have solved the race problem. By the 1920's, American, West Indian, South and Central American born blacks had been raised in dramatically different cultures for a minimum of 300 years or ten generations. In addition to the length of time away from the motherland, the geography is drastically dissimilar. Not least to be mentioned, what of the people already living in Africa? What would have been done with them? Were they warmly welcoming of this idea? What then, would the race problem evolve into? Nation against nation? Continent versus continent? Or would racial repose exsist?

The words at the beginning are from Marcus Garvey. In context they are meant for the oppressed blacks everywhere as a call to hold our heads high. I prefer them out of context, where anyone can read them and derive strength.

I sat at the edge of the back porch, simultaneously cursing and defending my need to smoke one last cigarette before I went to bed officially. Service Included's dialogue ran through my head. A cross between down-home cooking style service, and "would you prefer a seasoned glass or fresh?" This is my life.

I had already polished off a half bottle of Cinnabar, Mercury Rising, with the help of my [possibly?]reluctant foodie boyfriend. After the wine was finished, which I felt was a requirement after today's dismal shifts at both my "fine dining" restaurants, we decided to retire to the basement to finish off the last bowl, and for me, a final Bushmill's on the rocks. Whiskey and wine after a long day make the muscles relax better than any massage.

I've come to a tepid understanding that the first (and most recent) wine bar I am leaving has spoiled me. I find myself craving a nice, spicy, earthy/tannic wine at the end of the day, and thanks to my new close proximity--a beautifully spiced, heavenly aromatic dish from the Indian restaurant I just joined (which desperately needs some of my organization). These two things have brought equal amounts of stress and joy to my life. My new opportunities have made me want simpler things. Perhaps not "americanized" simple things, but items of a cultural nature. Breads made from scratch, french press coffee from direct-trade farmers. Creamy butter. Fresh spices, organic ingredients. No meat. What a wonderful predicament I find myself in.

This eve

This eve, I sit in the basement. This, sitting (comfortably, I might add) in the basement is, in and of itself a feat. The basement has been reformed. Before I moved in, the basement was two years of storage (I use the word storage here to mean, a GODDAMN MESS) with a path to the computer (circa 1993) and the laundry room (room, here, meaning pile of dirty and clean clothes).

This eve, I sit comfortably on the futon, computer in lap, beer resting precariously near my knee, and write to tell you of the feeling of home. The fact that there is a basement to sit and relax in is due largely in part to my refusal to allow a space I lived in to go unused. It's taken about four months of sporadic cleaning. It's been annoying, refreshing, maddening, cathartic. Home, my friends, is becoming a nice little nest.

This eve, the din of the Tigers game, laughter and shit-talking coming from the foosball table before me, settle comfortably into my awareness. Even the dogs are comfortable. Miss South Carolina (See note) is laying in her typical chalk-outline/presenting fashion, in the middle of the floor, and Old Man River is on the back of the couch, looking at me like, "Mom, I'm really tired, can we go to bed yet?"

I'm not ready for bed quite yet, but I am comfortable (lazy) enough to cheekily request that someone else go pee for me, and while they're in there, will they please take my contacts out?

If you're volunteering to take my contacts out, thank you, and if you're not, well, I say Good Day to you.

n.





Miss South Carolina is a reference to a rather unfortunate video of a pageant contestant stumbling through an incoherent answer to the all-important Pageant Question. This video describes the personality of one of our dogs. She really pretty and she's REALLY dumb. I mean no disrespect to the actual Miss South Carolina that this video refers to, but she did go on a comedy show making exactly that point, so I guess you could say I'm plagarizing. (credits to youtube and tosh.0) (I can't afford to get sued over the nickname of my dog.)

Dinner for 30!

Boyfriend turned 30 today. HOORAY!

Homemade dinner was a must. His favorite is Chicken Tikka Masala with rice, so that's what I made. As a vegetarian, dicing the chicken was probably the hardest part of the eve. 

I drove myself to the local Meijer, purchased some basmati rice, chicken tenderloins, and tikka masala sauce. To go with that, I went to the World Market and bought some Ommegang (Belgian beer) and of course, our favorite, Jameson and gingerale. Pre-dinner cocktails, you know.

I prepared the chicken (diced) and sauteed it to slightly brown. Then it went into a pan to simmer with tikka masala sauce for 35 minutes, for the sauce to seep into the chicken.

I also prepared tomato/tofu curry for myself because I'll be damned if I'm gonna eat an animal.

I chose Naya super firm pre-diced tofu, drying it out before tossing it in a pan of simmering diced tomatoes and Patak's curry paste, with a touch of organic olive oil. 

I cooked the basmati in organic vegetable broth, for a little added flavor.

Dinner turned out well. Dessert was next. Blueberry pie.

I've never made a pie before and allrecipes.com is my go-to for questionable foods to prepare. I picked an easy 3-2-1 recipe, and so far so good. I sprinkled some cinnamon in with fresh blueberries, along with cornstarch so the pie with hold when it's done. We have a pizza stone which was recommended (for thorough cooking) so we are waiting on that in the oven. With fingers crossed, this pie will turn out. If not, well...we've got a few blueberries to snack on. 

My camera is in need of a new flash battery so I don't have pics to share, but I did get Boyfriend some Primal tattoos to wear as a memento of his 30th. Next weekend we'll be having friends over for a barbeque to celebrate in grandeur. By then I'll have my camera fixed and food pics will be available for your drooling pleasure. 

Until then,

n.   

From Death springs Life

Today is another difficult day. Today was better than most days. We played with the kids from the neighborhood in the street. Wiffle ball. Who says plastic can't be good for you?

Gobi and I went kayaking yesterday. I needed it. I needed her. Being in nature makes me realize that no matter how much depression hurts, life keeps going. We saw a tree on the river shore that had been completely uprooted and had fallen over. The tree was broken, dry, barren. Dead. And from that dead tree, new plant life was growing.

I heard on NPR a quote from a Danish geologist. To paraphrase:

The shift in plate tectonics caused the massive tsunami in Thailand and neighboring countries reeking havoc on life there. It killed thousands of people. Everyone thinks this is a tragedy, and it is. But we also forget that shifts in plate tectonics create life as well. Where do you think the land that we live on came from?

This reminds me of something Kurt Vonnegut once wrote about time. We seem to forget that in the grand scheme of time, don't even equate as a drop in the bucket. We're more like a drop in the ocean. I should remember that this too shall pass. It always does. It always will.

In other news, I have forgotten to work on my list of books to read. I plan on starting that tomorrow. I need to give myself something to accomplish. Books are easy.

Quote I heard today from a male acquaintance of mine:

"Female-female porn doesn't really do anything for me. I like couples porn. I watch couple-porn because there is a dick for me to inhabit."

Words that came out of my mouth:

"I don't know if I could ever be in a relationship with someone who wanted me to do things to them like pee on them or poo on them. Okay...I'd prolly drop a deuce on someone then be like..."I'm out--don't call."

I rode my bike to work the other day, like I planned. I'm always proud of myself when I say I'm going to do something and then actually do it, well...let's just say, It makes me feel good about myself. Who doesn't like that?

Until next time,
n.

I lack intellectual stimulation in my current environment. Most discussions turn into a competition. I intend on changing that. I intend on creating  a dialogue between us that is open to interpretation. There are such things as hypotheticals. 

Also, I'm starting my list tonight. I'll be reading selected works of Zora Neale Hurston. She's an author from the Norton Anthology I told you about. Tomorrow, I will get up and either go for a quick run or jump rope in my backyard for at least 10 minutes. If I opt to wake up late, I will ride my bike to work tomorrow. 

(And, Virgili needs a walk...he's getting portly for those little legs...)

Le Sommelier took me home from work tonight. We saw a man sleeping on the steps of the church on Pearl and Division. We both agreed that it was poetic. ...Sad. But poetic.

I find myself (again) on the brink of an existential crisis. I find myself torn between two cities; between a man I love and a city I've found a home in. Between two places to live.

On my walk to the bus stop this morning, I pondered at the irony of having to choose between two homes and seeing a man with no home, sleeping on the steps of a church.

I should feel grateful, but I am so consumed by the magnitude of this "crisis" that I feel almost nothing save anxiety. I should be ashamed. I am not.

The strength in me says that a true gypsy would find the courage to embrace a new path. I find it hard to believe that voice. But I can. And I will.

written 16.May.2009. I have since moved to my new city and daily, find myself longing for my home. This is not home yet. Obstacles appear in many forms and I have not fully nested. But I will. I always do.

My English 201 professor made us read a book called Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg it was very campy and a little too granola for me at the time. I was taking 12 credits of text-based classes that each required an average of 1.78 papers per class per week, working 40 hours and traveling an hour by bus to visit my boyfriend. I had no car at the time.

The point is, I didn't want to hear this granola writer telling me to "write anywhere" or "Elktown, MN" I don't even know where Elktown is.

But now. Now I give in to those dangerous thoughts. What if Goldberg was right? What if I'm narcissistic enough to actually give in to my inner monologue and write about the mundane things around me? At least then I could say that all that work this past semester may have been worth it. Goldberg said that you can't be afraid to write. Not every entry is going to be good. This one sure isn't. But if you're afraid to write, because it's boring or you don't have enough time or your hand hurts or you can't find any paper or a pen that's not out of ink (why are all the pens in this house always out of ink?) or you have to pee or! Or! OR! then you'll never be great.

And I intend to be great.

So I can't be afraid. And I'm going to be honest. Brutally honest. If your feelings are hurt, I'm not going to apologize. Honesty often hurts. And my post aren't going to be politically correct. I make that promise to myself NOW. I will however, change the names of those involved for their own safety. And probably my own. For now, I'd like to share a few things I've written in recent months.

Start Fresh.

First Post

The first post is always boring. Unless you have a fury of words constantly flowing as some sort of inner monologue. Wait.

There seems to be some need to justify why I blog or post on Facebook or Myspace (guilty) but I never feel the need to justify why I write. So this is going to be unjustified. If you read it, great. If I'm the only one who know this exisits, great. I don't really care one way or another. So it goes, a great writer once said.

I've got a list of books I want to read over the summer, along with an even longer list of things I want to accomplish over the summer. Never fails. So many projects...so ADD. My life is made of lists. There's no shame in it. It gives me a sense of control and accomplishment over my life. Subconciously I'm sure there's a reason why I need to have that sense of control, but that has yet to come to the surface, so why force it?

Here's a sample of my lists:
1. Read five books from the Pulitzer Prize list
2. Read five books from the Top 100 Banned Books
3. Read five authors from the Norton Anthology of African American Literature
4. Install shelves in the master bedroom closet
5. Organize the laundry room

Okay, that's not a sample, that's an excerpt. There it is.

welcome.