I wanted to make this a longer post, but I am kind of lazy/busy!, so I'll just bullet point issues I considered/reflected upon while watching the inauguration on campus last Tuesday.
1. Rick Warren's convocation was silly. His tone was overly righteous to the point he appeared a caricature of himself. And his beginning prayer to "Oh, Israel" seemed political. I don't care if Christians and Jews share a God; there are scriptures galore in that Bible. But, whatever.
2. Black pastors have always spoken the truth politically. (Aside from the important issue of gays of course. Which makes me not all that happy with black ministry in general, but that's another post.)
3. Elizabeth Alexander's occasional poem was so disappointing to me. Here was a chance to bring the oft neglected art of poetry to the national stage! and it was a great big dud. Not that I think the poem sucked, because upon reading it later online, I liked it a lot. It just failed to rise to the occasion. Damn.
But in actuality, this shouldn't really be a list, because what I really want to talk about is Obama's presidency.
It's a strange thing to admit, because for every possible reason I should have been really proud, elated, moved by Obama's Inaugural address.
But, honestly, I wasn't. And it has something to do with the fact I haven't really been moved during the course of this campaign.
As much as I am pleased with the change of events, the immense ramifications for what an Obama presidency means for this nation, at the same time I have been so piqued by the kind of rhetoric that has surrounded the entire campaign.
Over at Papermagazine, my former editor Rebecca, a black woman and I believe the only black editor at the magazine, expressed what I had been feeling this entire time, but felt guilty/strange about putting into words. It's worth a read:
rebecca's blog
What she talks about is this near mystification of the Obamas, something that surpasses mere praise/admiration. As a member of the black community, this very long-time coming recognition of black intellectual potential is commendable, and very much a relief. But, there is a dangerous attempt to laud it to the point that one makes an exception out of it. Or at least in overpraise seems to assume that the case is exceptional beyond its true parameters. While the Obamas' success is admirable and very much to be admired, I can't be comfortable with the fact that some of the showering of praise seems to stem from the fact of their blackness WHILE successful rather than simply their success. To me, and apparently Rebecca as well, this was evident following discussion of Michelle O's speech.
I wasn't moved by Obama's speech. Perhaps I am just jaded. But for me, rhetoric, unless it is truly "amazing" can never rouse me. And his wasn't. It has been strange to me all along that simple words like "HOPE" and "CHANGE" can finally compel a country to awake from stupor, when words such as "GENOCIDE" and "HABEAS CORPUS" cannot. That's disconcerting, as this nation seems only to understand its potential through a couple of catch phrases.
But, I am excited by Obama.
His smartness while black doesn't surprise me. His rhetorical keenness doesn't either. His love of his wife and his two "angelic" daughters does nothing of the sort.
But, I am excited by a man who understands both what needs to be said in order for America to actually listen, even if I personally find it disturbing that this is the American political "way." And I am excited by a man who has committed to the closure of Guantanamo Bay, a reversal of the "mexico city policy," and the allowance for stricter state emissions standards in his first week in office. These are changes I can believe in. The actual policy that changes and not the linguistic type.
It will be important in the coming months and years to translate that kind of enthusiasm the nation brought to Obama's election into a political pressure that will force this government to actually enact the real changes that will improve this nation. But here's to a smart president! One whose blackness is just icing on the cake.
So on Tuesday I stood on Columbia's campus pissed at Rick Warren, amused by Aretha Franklin, unimpressed by Obama's speech, but really freaking happy to witness the end of an atrocious American era.
Oh, yeah. And particularly elated to be standing next to Milk hottie James Franco while watching it all go down.
AMERRRRICA!
Monday, January 26, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
With Ah! Bright Wings (Poesy Edukation #1)
So, here's the thing: As much as I hate one Zooey Deschanel, I have a complete, and utter love for/obsession with the art of poetics. I love all things words, and even as some might claim that fine art is the highest of art forms, I would have to disagree. For me, there is nothing comparable to a poem; not a Rembrant nor a Raphael can equal a sentiment properly conceived, ordered, and spelled such as a poem is! (or is purposely chosen not to be, another discussion...)
But, for some reason, while I'm busy somewhere worshiping Keats, there are others (friends, I guess one might call them) who either fail to appreciate the glory of poetry or might even say they hate it! I forgot who said there's no use reasoning with the unreasonable, but I'm going to go ahead and cite such person, then proceed to ignore his/her warnings.
Poetry is for all! If you don't like it, or claim you don't it's because you've just yet to realize you do. Let us begin with one of my favorite poems (so far) and why you haven't realized it's one of your favorites, too. It's from where I stole the title of this blog.
God's Grandeur
THE world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs --
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
It's by Gerald Manley Hopkins, a mid to late 19th century Jesuit, whom as you can tell by reading the poem, loved Jesus. For him, everything in the world was the product of something higher, God, which was certainly something to be marveled at.
But, there's no reason God's Grandeur can't affect the everyday atheist! Aside from the lyrical beauty of the actual poem, just simply how gorgeous it sounds, the idea expressed is a universal one.
No matter who created it, millions (including you, probably) sat in awe watching that one television special Planet Earth. Seeing those aerial shots off the coast of New Zealand or whatever, having your breath nearly taken away. That's the feeling of "with ah! bright wings."
Or how snow is not such a great thing now, but when you were young and you grabbed your sled to go, that's what "with ah! bright wings" means.
And even you jaded New Yorkers. When you saw 150 people huddled on either side of an aircraft in the middle of the Hudson, don't tell me you weren't affected by this sublime sight. I'm sure the passengers certainly were. "with ah! bright wings" indeed.
Hopkins put ink to a feeling we've all been inclined to in our lives. But now instead of just knowing it, a poet's touch lets you touch it.
But, for some reason, while I'm busy somewhere worshiping Keats, there are others (friends, I guess one might call them) who either fail to appreciate the glory of poetry or might even say they hate it! I forgot who said there's no use reasoning with the unreasonable, but I'm going to go ahead and cite such person, then proceed to ignore his/her warnings.
Poetry is for all! If you don't like it, or claim you don't it's because you've just yet to realize you do. Let us begin with one of my favorite poems (so far) and why you haven't realized it's one of your favorites, too. It's from where I stole the title of this blog.
God's Grandeur
THE world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs --
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
It's by Gerald Manley Hopkins, a mid to late 19th century Jesuit, whom as you can tell by reading the poem, loved Jesus. For him, everything in the world was the product of something higher, God, which was certainly something to be marveled at.
But, there's no reason God's Grandeur can't affect the everyday atheist! Aside from the lyrical beauty of the actual poem, just simply how gorgeous it sounds, the idea expressed is a universal one.
No matter who created it, millions (including you, probably) sat in awe watching that one television special Planet Earth. Seeing those aerial shots off the coast of New Zealand or whatever, having your breath nearly taken away. That's the feeling of "with ah! bright wings."
Or how snow is not such a great thing now, but when you were young and you grabbed your sled to go, that's what "with ah! bright wings" means.
And even you jaded New Yorkers. When you saw 150 people huddled on either side of an aircraft in the middle of the Hudson, don't tell me you weren't affected by this sublime sight. I'm sure the passengers certainly were. "with ah! bright wings" indeed.
Hopkins put ink to a feeling we've all been inclined to in our lives. But now instead of just knowing it, a poet's touch lets you touch it.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Why I Hate Zooey Deschanel and Love Anthem Magazine for the Aforementioned
Often, I get this feeling inside of me. It consumes my thoughts, energy, and sometimes even sleep, it's that overwhelming. All I do is think about it, and think about it, and think about it like maybe an hour more. I eat it for breakfast, I have it along with my afternoon scone, I prefer it over my M2M burgers, even, it's that much on my mind.
This feeling is animosity. And for a good four months, this intense hatred was directed at one Miss Zooey Deschanel, indie starlet du jour.
She was all over the magazine covers, with headers like "Why We Adore Zooey Deschanel," or "Zooey Deschanel Will Charm The Pants Off You," or "Zooey Deschanel is Cuter than Knut," or something as equally unduly laudatory. And I studied these pictures, noting the baby doll dresses paired with bows and black tights, her cute little outfits all indie and adorable and quirky.
But for all the dressing up, all I could see was some girl in my sixth grade class whose name I couldn't remember, always mixing her up with that other girl in the class whose name I couldn't remember. I just kept thinking it was Sally or Jennifer. I just couldn't remember.
Which is how I think of Zooey. Her name, I can certainly remember, she's at least got that originality factor down. But as far as the rest of her goes, she just looked so plain to me. Yet, I was supposed to be endeared, "charmed," by this girl?
Reaching oversaturated superstar status is annoying enough. But at least if you get to that level for singing well, or even shaking your ass fast or something, it's an expression of some kind of talent. (ALL MY SINGLE LADIES!!!) For this I would have no reason to hate. But, when there is absolutely no warrant for the hype, then guess who is here to express her deep dissatisfaction with the current proceedings? Me. With more and more attention being attended to Miss Boring 2000, I knew I had to face misguided Zooey lovers around the world.
I started locally--with one Alexander Fu, friend and Deschanel devotee. I told him: "Alex, are you kidding me? Bitch is boring!" or something of the like, and he responded to me yet, "No. She's adorable. You're just a hater." Ok. Then, perhaps I was just a hater. Perhaps I was just missing this adorableness that made Zooey so damn irresistible. If everyone thinks shes so kool, then I'll give her a chance. I decided to read those articles which were supposed to charm my pants off, expecting that it could potentially make up for where her face failed me.
Then, I read Nylon. And my bland-girl theory was all but declared scientific fact. Gems of the article: "It was a fun challenge to try to emulate different people. You really learn how to convey different emotions by using your voice in different ways." Ohhh, is that what acting is, Zooey? And my fave: "Maybe someday I could even make a movie where I do the music and direct it and write it and star in it...like a one-man band!"
No more chances, Zooey. No more. I really tried.
So her face sucks and she's also really dumb. But, I was still alone on this. I surveyed friends about their interest in the girl, thinking of the right time to bring it up for fear I would sound obsessive. I'd start with something else, like "Oh, have you seen Elf. Looove Will Ferrel." (which I do.) Then move into it, like "Hey, so do you like Zooey Deschanel, she's popular these days, huh?" Then, their response which, if a girl "YEAH! She's so cute, I wish I could look that cute." Dude: "She's so cute and hot, I would bang her."
Inside me: "THE FUCK?!!" But, my actual spoken response so as not to relate my actual crazy: "Yeah, she doesn't do it for me." Response to my response: "Ashley, you're a bitch."
So, while explorin' the internets one day, this bitch came across a blog that was her own little personal ray of light. Being a hater is hard, you get a lot of flak for calling out fakes and lame things in general. What little confirmation you get in your haterdom is always helpful to get through the days.
A good man, Scott Indrisek, over at Anthemmagazine posted what was one of the most precise little pieces of hater-prose I've yet the opportunity to read, entitled: "On Zooey Deschanel."
On Zooey Deschanel
Chronicling a fair number of Miss Zoey's insights, my faith was restored in what I knew was fair and just in this world---all things Anti-Zooey. After reading the article and all Deschanel's stupid little saying, it was hard for me to even remember that cute little name.
With this new armor, I sent it in on over to Sir Fu, expecting a surrender on all accounts Zooey.
His white flag response:
"Ha. She's cute."
This feeling is animosity. And for a good four months, this intense hatred was directed at one Miss Zooey Deschanel, indie starlet du jour.
She was all over the magazine covers, with headers like "Why We Adore Zooey Deschanel," or "Zooey Deschanel Will Charm The Pants Off You," or "Zooey Deschanel is Cuter than Knut," or something as equally unduly laudatory. And I studied these pictures, noting the baby doll dresses paired with bows and black tights, her cute little outfits all indie and adorable and quirky.
But for all the dressing up, all I could see was some girl in my sixth grade class whose name I couldn't remember, always mixing her up with that other girl in the class whose name I couldn't remember. I just kept thinking it was Sally or Jennifer. I just couldn't remember.
Which is how I think of Zooey. Her name, I can certainly remember, she's at least got that originality factor down. But as far as the rest of her goes, she just looked so plain to me. Yet, I was supposed to be endeared, "charmed," by this girl?
Reaching oversaturated superstar status is annoying enough. But at least if you get to that level for singing well, or even shaking your ass fast or something, it's an expression of some kind of talent. (ALL MY SINGLE LADIES!!!) For this I would have no reason to hate. But, when there is absolutely no warrant for the hype, then guess who is here to express her deep dissatisfaction with the current proceedings? Me. With more and more attention being attended to Miss Boring 2000, I knew I had to face misguided Zooey lovers around the world.
I started locally--with one Alexander Fu, friend and Deschanel devotee. I told him: "Alex, are you kidding me? Bitch is boring!" or something of the like, and he responded to me yet, "No. She's adorable. You're just a hater." Ok. Then, perhaps I was just a hater. Perhaps I was just missing this adorableness that made Zooey so damn irresistible. If everyone thinks shes so kool, then I'll give her a chance. I decided to read those articles which were supposed to charm my pants off, expecting that it could potentially make up for where her face failed me.
Then, I read Nylon. And my bland-girl theory was all but declared scientific fact. Gems of the article: "It was a fun challenge to try to emulate different people. You really learn how to convey different emotions by using your voice in different ways." Ohhh, is that what acting is, Zooey? And my fave: "Maybe someday I could even make a movie where I do the music and direct it and write it and star in it...like a one-man band!"
No more chances, Zooey. No more. I really tried.
So her face sucks and she's also really dumb. But, I was still alone on this. I surveyed friends about their interest in the girl, thinking of the right time to bring it up for fear I would sound obsessive. I'd start with something else, like "Oh, have you seen Elf. Looove Will Ferrel." (which I do.) Then move into it, like "Hey, so do you like Zooey Deschanel, she's popular these days, huh?" Then, their response which, if a girl "YEAH! She's so cute, I wish I could look that cute." Dude: "She's so cute and hot, I would bang her."
Inside me: "THE FUCK?!!" But, my actual spoken response so as not to relate my actual crazy: "Yeah, she doesn't do it for me." Response to my response: "Ashley, you're a bitch."
So, while explorin' the internets one day, this bitch came across a blog that was her own little personal ray of light. Being a hater is hard, you get a lot of flak for calling out fakes and lame things in general. What little confirmation you get in your haterdom is always helpful to get through the days.
A good man, Scott Indrisek, over at Anthemmagazine posted what was one of the most precise little pieces of hater-prose I've yet the opportunity to read, entitled: "On Zooey Deschanel."
On Zooey Deschanel
Chronicling a fair number of Miss Zoey's insights, my faith was restored in what I knew was fair and just in this world---all things Anti-Zooey. After reading the article and all Deschanel's stupid little saying, it was hard for me to even remember that cute little name.
With this new armor, I sent it in on over to Sir Fu, expecting a surrender on all accounts Zooey.
His white flag response:
"Ha. She's cute."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)