Ebony Online | African American Magazine
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Sunday, September 25, 2011
Good Eats
It is play, not properness, that is the central artery, the core,
the brain stem of creative life. The impulse to play is an instinct. No play, no creative life. Be good, no creative life. Sit still, no creative life. Speak, think, act only demurely, little creative juice. Any group, society, institution, or organization that encourages women to revile the eccentric; to be suspicious of the new and unusual; to avoid the fervent, the vital, the innovative; to impersonalize the personal, is asking for a culture of dead women (251)
this quote is woven deeply into the blood that keeps me honest.
back on The Roof
Everything about Mariah Carey's The Roof changed my thinking.
a transformative collision at the very least.
its lyrics changed the way I thought about writing, about poetry. It reshifted my love imagination, the way I prepared to dream.
fantastical. And its whimsical dark mien changed the way I approached fashion,
and the way I heard hip hop.
It nudged me, pushing me to dream. It told me it was okay to close my eyes and indulge;
ignore the advisory from others against frivolity. Whispering just listen, just daydream.
I painted my fingernails and toenails the color of burgundy and bought my imitation Sergio Valente jeans. . . I flipped my fluffy, relaxed hair in the mirror and sang each chord with a Rita Dove-like conviction, swaying like a blind pianist caught in a tune...
ignore the advisory from others against frivolity. Whispering just listen, just daydream.
I painted my fingernails and toenails the color of burgundy and bought my imitation Sergio Valente jeans. . . I flipped my fluffy, relaxed hair in the mirror and sang each chord with a Rita Dove-like conviction, swaying like a blind pianist caught in a tune...
Vitamin Water
ruts often come with their fair share of moans, groans, and grunts. I've decided to pull myself out of my own with a little writing, music, and art.
today I am a little scatterbrained. After cleaning the apartment from top to bottom, walking around the city in my brand new boots, and dipping and diving into bookmarked books, I am here.
books i'm currently reading: The Memory of Love, and The Story of Beautiful Girl. I'm excited because it's been a while since I've had a good snuggle buddy.
this month's (October) Ebony Magazine also has me feeling inspired.
I am in love with its new look and new energy. With rousing style focus, informative political topics, and relevant recommendations from books to new documentaries on Dark Girls and skin tone discrimination, its makeover is invigorating. While I do not care for the cover, the meat proves worthwhile.
Lastly, who doesn't need a little JJ every once in a while? I love the aesthetic of this video, especially accompanied with the vintage vibe of joni mitchell.
Ciao
today I am a little scatterbrained. After cleaning the apartment from top to bottom, walking around the city in my brand new boots, and dipping and diving into bookmarked books, I am here.
books i'm currently reading: The Memory of Love, and The Story of Beautiful Girl. I'm excited because it's been a while since I've had a good snuggle buddy.
I am in love with its new look and new energy. With rousing style focus, informative political topics, and relevant recommendations from books to new documentaries on Dark Girls and skin tone discrimination, its makeover is invigorating. While I do not care for the cover, the meat proves worthwhile.
Lastly, who doesn't need a little JJ every once in a while? I love the aesthetic of this video, especially accompanied with the vintage vibe of joni mitchell.
Ciao
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Nostalgia Shop of Stuff
I often brag about the hoarder status of my childhood home, the house in which my parents still live.
no, it's not tv show material; we don't hoard to the point of rat infestation or psychological intervention. And, it's hardly necessary for any type of sanitation truck to get involved. But, it is, at many times, necessary to devise strategy on how to get from one room to the other, past the towering boxes, the upright piano, the lamps, the old televisions, and books. And if you have bags, you are taking several trips.
Our house is a victim of hoarding, i'd argue, because of a mixture of my mother's stubborn refusal to throw away anything (i once found the tooth fairy's collection of baby teeth, as an adult) and my parents' competitive frugality. sales, coupons, and cars in which to take it all home are the enablers. i've sat many a time through epic stories on the greatest deals: the handmade chess board from a woodworker in Istanbul for a fraction of the cost and then ultimately paid for with winnings from a casino trip the day before, the luxury office chairs for next-to-nothing from an accumulation of Staples coupons and points, and the free refridgerator?. And if you know my dad, you know him for many things, but one of these things is his many pair of $200+ sneakers that cost him $9.99, and sometimes less.
we often joke about my mother's inability to part with things.
school-made Halloween decorations dated as far back as the 1980s, yellowed English papers from the 60s, and 8-track players are commonplace in our home.
During Christmas or any gift-giving occassion, you can count on seeing this in full blown capacity. my mother will save any wrapping that came with the gift. This includes: the box or bag in which it came, the paper in which it was wrapped, the tape (if unwrapped neatly enough), any ribbons, paper stuffings, Styrofoam peanuts, and/ or any plastic casing (bubble wraps included). while everyone else is frantically trying on or playing with their new toys, her Christmas gifts sit under the tree, unwrapped, but neatly re-wrapped for preservation. if you got her a gift, you can count on it standing the test of time.
my mother is able to further this art of saving of everything, by washing anything and everything that can be washed: aluminum foil, ziploc bags, plastic-wear from take out, straws, cups from the movies (these are a huge commodity)...
The black Stouffer's macaroni and cheese containers have become staples in the Morgan household- good to hold anything from cheeze-itz to paper clips. and if you get caught throwing away anything that falls into the "can be washed and reused" category, you will get cussed out.
our home is a place of veritble inventory.
you need it, we got it. you need toothpaste? crest? total? aim? or aquafresh? we got tubes for years. spaghetti sauce? to last you months. plastic bags? oh, i'd say enough to last a decade, easy.you need a sony walkman circa 1992? i can probably find you three, dusty as hell, but all in working condition.
with new company, i used to be somewhat ashamed of this eccentricity. i would feel the propensity to explain away the organized hodgepodge of collected items throughout our home, chalking it up to redecorating or extensive work for charity, never willing to admit that we actually stuffed most of the junk away in a room for their visit.
... i remember it took 7 years to clean out our garage, and I never found my bike; although we found helmets and wheels as evidence of its existence.
my parents' latest project, now that we are all grown (and almost all out of the house) has been sorting through the years. my dad has hired my 14 year old nephew to clean through the attic. there are boxes and bags of our history everywhere. it's almost as if we have created a nostalgia store throughout the house. i've found the perfectly worn books i used to read as a child- the very books that made me fall in love with reading. i've found enough to fill my classroom library. we've found tiny snowsuits, tattered soccer balls, and sketch books frozen in time.
And it's odd, the feeling it brings. i now feel empathy with the mother who was so reluctant to throw away those baby teeth. i'm grateful for the time machine, for this capsule of nostalgia. i'm grateful to see my life in this capacity.
As i sit in my childhood home among the towers and stacks of things that shaped my existence today, I'm in love with the way sites of memory hold this power; this power to pull us back while simultaneously propelling us forward.
no, it's not tv show material; we don't hoard to the point of rat infestation or psychological intervention. And, it's hardly necessary for any type of sanitation truck to get involved. But, it is, at many times, necessary to devise strategy on how to get from one room to the other, past the towering boxes, the upright piano, the lamps, the old televisions, and books. And if you have bags, you are taking several trips.
Our house is a victim of hoarding, i'd argue, because of a mixture of my mother's stubborn refusal to throw away anything (i once found the tooth fairy's collection of baby teeth, as an adult) and my parents' competitive frugality. sales, coupons, and cars in which to take it all home are the enablers. i've sat many a time through epic stories on the greatest deals: the handmade chess board from a woodworker in Istanbul for a fraction of the cost and then ultimately paid for with winnings from a casino trip the day before, the luxury office chairs for next-to-nothing from an accumulation of Staples coupons and points, and the free refridgerator?. And if you know my dad, you know him for many things, but one of these things is his many pair of $200+ sneakers that cost him $9.99, and sometimes less.
we often joke about my mother's inability to part with things.
school-made Halloween decorations dated as far back as the 1980s, yellowed English papers from the 60s, and 8-track players are commonplace in our home.
During Christmas or any gift-giving occassion, you can count on seeing this in full blown capacity. my mother will save any wrapping that came with the gift. This includes: the box or bag in which it came, the paper in which it was wrapped, the tape (if unwrapped neatly enough), any ribbons, paper stuffings, Styrofoam peanuts, and/ or any plastic casing (bubble wraps included). while everyone else is frantically trying on or playing with their new toys, her Christmas gifts sit under the tree, unwrapped, but neatly re-wrapped for preservation. if you got her a gift, you can count on it standing the test of time.
my mother is able to further this art of saving of everything, by washing anything and everything that can be washed: aluminum foil, ziploc bags, plastic-wear from take out, straws, cups from the movies (these are a huge commodity)...
The black Stouffer's macaroni and cheese containers have become staples in the Morgan household- good to hold anything from cheeze-itz to paper clips. and if you get caught throwing away anything that falls into the "can be washed and reused" category, you will get cussed out.
our home is a place of veritble inventory.
you need it, we got it. you need toothpaste? crest? total? aim? or aquafresh? we got tubes for years. spaghetti sauce? to last you months. plastic bags? oh, i'd say enough to last a decade, easy.you need a sony walkman circa 1992? i can probably find you three, dusty as hell, but all in working condition.
with new company, i used to be somewhat ashamed of this eccentricity. i would feel the propensity to explain away the organized hodgepodge of collected items throughout our home, chalking it up to redecorating or extensive work for charity, never willing to admit that we actually stuffed most of the junk away in a room for their visit.
... i remember it took 7 years to clean out our garage, and I never found my bike; although we found helmets and wheels as evidence of its existence.
my parents' latest project, now that we are all grown (and almost all out of the house) has been sorting through the years. my dad has hired my 14 year old nephew to clean through the attic. there are boxes and bags of our history everywhere. it's almost as if we have created a nostalgia store throughout the house. i've found the perfectly worn books i used to read as a child- the very books that made me fall in love with reading. i've found enough to fill my classroom library. we've found tiny snowsuits, tattered soccer balls, and sketch books frozen in time.
And it's odd, the feeling it brings. i now feel empathy with the mother who was so reluctant to throw away those baby teeth. i'm grateful for the time machine, for this capsule of nostalgia. i'm grateful to see my life in this capacity.
As i sit in my childhood home among the towers and stacks of things that shaped my existence today, I'm in love with the way sites of memory hold this power; this power to pull us back while simultaneously propelling us forward.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
watching the throne
got in my headphones. listening to watch the throne. the night is rainy, thundery, and warm.
i'm filled with the fuzzy nostalgia of sony headphones on my bedroom floor, back pressed against the carpet, soles of my feet planted, attached to thumping toes. i'm 15 again drinking in lyrical content as i would any other text. i remember listening to nas tell stories, rewriting the histories i had just learned in mr. fisher's class. i remember pausing cd's, writing lyrics, then clicking the replay button on jay's meet the parents to feel the aha moment again.
tonight, i'm grateful for artists who take their craft seriously and nod their heads to the same beats i do.
Just Google It?
More recently, i've been trying to incorporate concepts of memory into my curriculum for students, and also to inform my pedagogy. (progress is a slow process.) I'm interested in the matter of memory. i'm fascinated by the human brain and its ability to stump its own owners. i'm captivated by memory's relationship to time, space, and our sense of reality and identity. my notes are building and I am eager to tease through them. but, another time for that.
On the first day of class, before reading any articles or texts, I talked briefly about technology and social networks and its inevitable impact on memory and the ways in which we think about it. i remember blubbering about how facebook and youtube are changing it in really interesting ways. professor moss, smiling and tilting her head, paused for a moment after my comments. i felt a duh moment coming, but instead she asked, "how?" i admitted i didn't know, but was eager to see how.
Tonight while half watching hulu.com, half planning for the school year, I stumbled across a recent study on the ways the internet is affecting memory and subsequently the way we learn, giving educators groundwork to think of new ways to inform pedagogy.
check er out:
Betsy Sparrow talks about her research, which examines the changing nature of human memory. (3:08)
here's the link to the article on Sparrow's work:
Memory Work in the Age of Google
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