soucouyant

In A Long Time

2012-01-03T02:36:00.002-05:00

I am totally heartbroken.

I spent xmas alone. and crying.

I spent New Years alone. and crying.

Every once in a while, crying, I get angry. Like, why.

And then I hear a talk show host in my head, giving the strong talk.

you know. be strong. x x x could be so much worse. you don't have it that bad.

and --

who wants to hear your whining. in fact there is a voice of someone in particular i hear

someone I know -- isn't that sad -- sneering at me.

I didn't feel like anyone cared.

And if they did care, I didn't feel they could be comforting.

Until I texted D yesterday. She was kind.

And I talked to S. today who let me cry on the phone with her and told me phenomenal things.

And then Ch. called me. And said she knew what I meant. That she was back in town and to call whenever.

I needed some comforting today.

Like a mom might, if you have a mom like that.

I don't have a mom anymore and I am very sad about that.

I miss.

I miss very much.

Me in Oakland

2008-06-30T09:27:00.003-05:00

I think it will rain. But it's just fog. I think it's fog. But it's just smoke.

What have I done:
--went to my goddaughter's birthday party, she's one -- unbelieveable
--went to the Dyke March in SF
--went to breakfast in Berkeley
--went to temple service at Ile Orunmila Oshun
--at in Emeryville
--went to bed at 7pm PST! UGH!

Trying to relight my pilot.

Teach for Hysteria: The Next Last Poet

2007-06-18T20:28:00.001-05:00

This, from my student, Tianna, on the vicissitudes. printed here with her permission.

Tianna G.

misconceptions of me
in general misconceived thoughts of you
love is detrimental to our health
detriment and animosity go hand in hand
misconceiving thoughts of a childhood well spent.
the intricate molds that loses
laughter is our medicine
us amongst the midst of persuasive,
jokes are our cure
promiscuous, prompting individuals
fastidious amounts to intelligence,
lies are our sickness
intellectuall matters are best
secrets are our disease
left to the dogs
being metacognetive led to being a fool
i might as well do this before i
fools amongst fools is normal
fade completely
fools amongst genius is a riot
who is tianna latrice
every person knows a lonely feeling
we count our
lucky stars to say we did
falling from heights makes me invincible
but holding on made me seen
swinging from dreams means
we are conceited because we
are assured they will hold us

sincerely and forever yours Tianna

ps i decided that my heart is forever going to be art and writing so therefore when i am to old to be tianna i swear to you and myself that i will always write no matter were i am and how i am but something has got to change for better or worse so i am leaving this poem as Tianna's final will and testament because only angels go to heaven the sky is not the limit your mind and imagination is the limit when ever you think of me think of this angel blowing kisses BYE.

2007-06-10T21:24:00.001-05:00

Finally

2006-12-06T02:45:00.000-05:00

I never told my mother

The first fall, a parted mouth,
liver-stained liquid draining
from the corner
of a dead woman’s face.

The churning in the gut
at the proximity
to the hateful sphere.

The way the body echoes mine,
distorted in a house of mirrors,
and then, so smug,
so smug;
we are not yet free of our dancing burden.

Chorus of transcriptions.
Legacy of dandelions
and dendrites,
from each to the other
hormones call,
unlucky in their perseverance of flight.

You’re next, says the agitated crab,
hungry for pulmonary enzymes.
On the delicious lick
of the fingers
when the mitochondria
are distracted.

My hipbone is not so distinct
from the tilt of a chimpanzee
and my closest living relative
no longer shares my chromosomes.
Distinctly, Y’s everywhere are shrinking,
the genes jumping to other chains.

Is this what it means to evolve?
To become parenthesis in a limbo of spiraling heavens —
this new cosmology claims my teeth.

Look, we bear the same
scars.
It took 37 years
for the C-section
to fade back
to smooth flesh —
Could I stretch like you? Yellow
and without marks.

I won’t say your name
to a grave.

I drag small planets along
a curb lined with
shaking cats.

Orion blazes
into a belt of fire.

The chasm
into which
I have dropped
my breath

reverberates
with regret.

Take back the monitor
tick tocking into nothingness.

Come back, my hateful, ugly one.

Take into this night
my terrible cry.

Art Lives!

2005-12-28T17:49:00.000-05:00

Two very amused tourists stood in front of the building next door to mine. They were capitivated by the tiny figurines capering on the first floor windowsill.

"Do you think we can take a picture?" they asked in that indeterminate Northern European-ish accent that sounds like a femme version of the chef from the muppets.

"Yeah," I said, "sure. But this is sort of an installation, it changes every day. So you should come back tomorrow and take another picture." I myself had been seduced by the little plastic dancers who skipped between the rusted bars -- Smurfs, plastic horses, soldiers, my little ponies -- in an ever changing circle of life.

I went by yesterday, and they had been replaced by someone a bit more disarming. I am not sure what this particular incarnation means. But I remember watching this show, and that it taught me a damn good lesson. He is a bad guy. There is some electricity. What do you think?

NYC Foto File: The Secret Life of Benches

2005-12-28T17:38:00.000-05:00

Can you come up with a caption for these Central Park scenes, near the Strangers Gate?

OMG! TRANSIT STRIKE!

2005-12-20T03:24:00.000-05:00

On the city info line the guy practically SCREAMS, "Due to ILLEGAL TRANSIT STRIKE!"

What to do? How is this day gonna unfold?

Miserable for a Few Days is Better than A Lifetime of Regret: A Dream

2005-12-11T08:09:00.000-05:00

I dreamt last night that I was walking down the street with a friend, when we came upon a woman and a postal worker who were looking in a sidewalk plant container. In the container was a small dog that could fit into the palm of your hand. It looked back at me and water came gushing out of its mouth. Then it fell over unconscious. Oh my god, I said, it's dying.

I walked closer. The man picked up the dog, and threw it at the tiny, white metal fence in the center of the plant container. The dog fell short, on its back, and he went to throw it again, I surmised to impale it. Stop, I said, let it die in peace. He looked at me. I thought he was thinking, it's going to die anyway, so what does it matter.

I took the dog in my hands and walked away with it. He followed me. His friend followed, worried. I started to run and he ran behind me. He wanted to get the dog and hurt it. He had a sneer on his face, angry that I had taken away his prey. He walked sort of tilted to the side. I ran up a street and into a post office. I thought it would be safe in there.

I told a postal worker wearing a blue swearter my story. Another one listened behind her. I told her a man was chasing me, and that he was postal worker, and the one in the back went to file a report. The man came in the door, saw us talking, and then walked back out. I hoped he would drop the whole thing when he saw his job might be threatened. I hoped he wouldn't stalk me or anything.

Somehow the post office was also a vet's office. I gave the small, still unconscious dog to the woman, who took her to the back of the office to be cared for. I waited. I saw the first woman, who I had seen with the man earlier, waiting outside. She cared about the dog. She had a look of concern on her face. She was with another man, now, who had on a long, black wool coat. The postal worker came to tell me that the dog was stablilized and she was going to be all right, that she could go home in a few days. I realized I hadn't thought of that. I gave her my number.

My brother came in looking worried. I got stressed when I saw him. He ran his fingers through his hair. I walked past him and went to tell the woman outside about the dog. I ripped off a piece of the paper the postal worker had given me about the dog and wrote my number on it so she could call me and see how she was doing.l I thought she might want to adopt her when she got better.

Then the man in the wool coat came up to us, upset. He had just gotten a call. His mother was really, really sick and he had to go to her. They didn't have a good relationship. He didn't want to go.

I told him: Miserable for a few days is better than a lifetime of regret.

His Name In Lights!

2005-12-10T21:52:00.000-05:00

My friend Jorge is a BRILLIANT playwright. His play was reviewed in the New York Times today! Whoo hoo! Check out the review and go see it, if you can! [I have since updated this link and I think this one works. ]

There is a really smart review from a reader who saw the play who says:
"The pleasure here, if you can manage to hear it, is the ambitious script. If you like your theater light and easy to digest, stay away. On the other hand, if you like Beckett and Pinter, there is much here you will enjoy...There is no magic realism, just a very dark existentialism. The play excavates political violence and seems to suggest our complicity in that violence runs deeper than we often admit. What's impressive, is that the writer has communicated those concerns within a story that is genuinely engaging. Maybe it's just the West Indian in me, but in a season dominated (so far) by white, (more or less) naturalistic comedies, this play stands out."

I couldn't have said it better myself!

Once upon a time, a long long time ago, we were in a poetry workshop together. One day, he deviated into playwriting and never came back (who knows, possibly in his secret journals...). He's won all kinds of awards and fellowships, too, and his writing is beautiful. How he takes the stress of all the other people one has to work with to have plays performed, I'll never know!

winter

2005-12-04T20:19:00.000-05:00

if i stand quoting shadows
all the things i could have done
dismissed beneath this red leaf's
brilliant death
winter breath and stone harmonies
send out subtle:

come and predict the weather, like

we tore the tissue and read it
under the lens
too late to save her

if only i had that one machine
that turns everything back
and if only i had the map
my bleeding palm describes
and if only i could smell
disease like a rat

(but, instead,
how the house smells
like her dresses
and her sighs

how my body
is the map
of her body

the curve of our foot
just so)

this season i stand with palms splayed
forcing encroaching walls apart

the wizard behind a curtain
of regret

Cine File: YOU-KNOW-WHAT

2005-11-19T07:27:00.000-05:00

My work friend, A., a genius on all wordly matters, has turned me on to Fandango. I guess all those hours of seeing those damn commecials did not compute -- I was quite amazed to be printing out my ticket at home.

As I stared at my little paper that said "scan me print me" in Wonderland fashion along the sides, the words of the Church Lady ran through my mind: "How convenient. Who gave you that ticket? HMMMMMM. Was it -- SATAN?!"

Yes, indeed, some people indeed might think Satan put this ticket in my hand. I once had a student who couldn't read the book for religious reasons and I only found out because I used it as a read aloud one day and she was squirming in her seat. I felt so bad. Anyway.

Guess what I am headed?
To see in IMAX?

Don't hate -- Copulate!

Incident, 80 Years Later (a la Cullen)

2005-11-09T19:39:00.000-05:00

Cruising through a rapidly gentrifying Baltimore this past balmy Sunday in the pleasant company of J., we passed through the neighborhood of Hamden. It has some cool shops and antique stores, and J. was taking me on a tour of Baltimore's "cool" neighborhoods.

However, despite the warmth of the day, I felt a chill. Just a feeling. As we turned down a residential street to go downtown towards the Inner Harbor, I turned to J. and asked, "Was this one of those white neighborhoods that, when you were a kid, you just didn't come to?"

"Well, yeah," said J., looking surprised. "I was actually just going to say something like that. But it's not like that anymore. It's changed. It's like one of those cool neighborhoods, but still sort of trashy --"

Just then, we were passing by a house where three white children, two girls and a boy about ten or eleven years old, were playing in the front yard. As we pulled even with them, they looked in the car, and the boy shouted quite clearly,

"NIGGER!"

The girls, laughing, joined in, "NIGGERS!"

J. turned to me, shaking her head. "What are you psychic?"

I shrugged. "Just racial intuition, I guess."

Incident (1925)

Once riding in old Baltimore,
Heart-filled, head-filled with glee,
I saw a Baltimorean
Keep looking straight at me.

Now I was eight and very small,
And he was no whit bigger,
And so I smiled, but he poked out
His tongue, and called me, "Nigger."

I saw the whole of Baltimore
From May until December;
Of all the things that happened there
That's all that I remember.

-- Countee Cullen

Word Whirled: Octavia Butler

2005-10-28T22:29:00.000-05:00

Octavia Estelle Butler

I was fortunate enough to see the magical Octavia Butler at CUNY Graduate Center on Wednesday. Oh Oh Oh. I asked her a question about writing the novel, and her advice totally helped around my problem! I ended up writing furiously in my journal today on the train, hearing voices, seeing places...thank you, oh Sci Fi Goddess of my youth! You can see more the talk here, at a live journal website of her fans. (Warning: Don't look down too far, it contains Fledgling spoilers!) Someone was kind enough to transcribe nearly the entire talk, and include her response to my question about process.

Yes, I already finished Fledgling, today, WAAAH! and the ending hints at a sequel...YEAH!

Word Whirled: Elizabeth Alexander

2005-10-28T21:46:00.000-05:00

I love her. I saw her wonderful self reading tonight at the Center for Book Arts with Mark Nickels. You all must read American Sublime, it is -- well, sublime.

Also in attendance tonight was Thomas Sayers Ellis, who, along with my friend John Keene and fellow Cave Canem and Darkroom Collective pal Tracy K. Smith, won Whiting Awards last night! Yay! Congrats guys!

The Tuna Helpers: Because I Loves Them!

2005-10-24T20:20:00.000-05:00

More Tuna Helpers -- I loves them! Especially when I saw them at Mo Pitkins in the East Vill and Adrienne climbed across the table singing Phantom and swinging a ghostie from her helmet...and their constumes are to die for, especially Khattie's expose' suits. Grrrr!

And this is my favorite song by them, Turtle, from I'll Have What She's Having:

its not that we're frightened by you
it's just some things take a hold
like the biggest hug
or the tightest glove
and just to move your fingers
you have to fall in love

a turtle hides in its shell
because it keeps her well
she fits comfortably
she sucks in her feet
and she pulls in her arms
and then her head and her tail
come in to keep away from harm
holding herself until she's safe

I'm not used to being held
even though I have a shell
held is like a blanket
with arms sewn inside of it
I stick out my feet
and I pull out my arms
and then my head and my tail come out
to snuggle in the warmth
holding

Teach for Hysteria: Lesbians Look Like Everybody Else

2005-10-24T10:55:00.000-05:00

Today in advisory, the kids were in one of the very interesting life discussions that I have learned is a trademark of the high school aged person. They are constantly defining and redefining the world around them -- which kids of all ages do, sort of, but for the first time, these guys are sometimes talking about ME. i.e. the pink lesbian in the room.

Today, there was some comment as three girls clustered around the computer, and the Divine Miss M. turns around and says,

"You can't say what lesbians look like, they could look like anything. You never know who could be a lesbian. You can't say just cause someone looks like something they a lesbian. Anyway, if they is, there's nothing wrong with it. My cousin is a lesbian so I know."

Lecture done, she turns back to the computer and her girls.

Another comment I don't hear from the table of boys, and the Divine Miss M turns around again and says calmly, "I ain't calling her out. She don't care who know. And I don't have a problem with my cousin, she don't have a problem and I don't have a problem." She turns around again.

One of the boys tries to tell some joke about it, but no one takes the bait. The conversation turns to the PhD student from Columbia who wants to study teens and video games, and if she'll give them free ones.

Animal Farm: A NEW KITTY FETISH

2005-10-23T14:43:00.000-05:00

I want this kitty. My birthday's coming.

Word Whirled: Charm City Kitty Cabaret Et Moi

2005-10-18T19:24:00.000-05:00

This is where I spent a total blast of a weekend performing, thanks to my ex-13 times removed, Jay. Who knew Baltimore housed so many cool, cute folks? In truth, the refugees from DC gentrifuckation have been telling me about it for years, but I couldn't quite believe them. I mean come on -- The Corner, Homicide: Life on the Streets -- for god's sake -- The Wire! (Sonia Sohn -- yum).

We put on this great show at the theater two nights in a row, banjo, dancing, puppet show, tranny slides, meat coma rock-out, celebrity Queer Factor, and me. Afterwards, we went out and closed down the bars. It was totally fun. I laughed so hard my cheeks hurt. I wish we could have done it for a week!

Oh, and check out my new favorite band, The Tuna Helpers. Delicious!

Teach for Hysteria: Back on the Block

2005-10-18T19:18:00.000-05:00

YES! Back to teaching. Well, really I have been back teaching for about a month and a half now, at lovely La La High School, where I actually like going. Where my classes have no more than fifteen students. Where I don't cringe every time I have to walk by an administrator, or take alternate stairways to avoid the office. SIGH.

Oh but nothin's ever easy in this wide wide world. For one, I haven't received a paycheck since...ummm...let's see...August 30th. Oh wait, that was the much less money cuz I was out for a month summer paycheck. Let me start again.

I'm teaching at this dreamy place, and I HAVE BEEN DOING IT FOR FREE. So far.

Oh yes, gentle readers. Our friends at Psycho Man Middle School were at it again. They threw a wrench that wasn't hard to throw since the DOE was already wrenching me and my life's been wrenched since my mom died. I will tell you the details in horror stories to follow, but I just wanted to let you know that more adventures in adolescence and bureacratic ineptitude will be forthcoming. So stay tuned!

Homophile: Gideon Ferebee, 1951-2005

2005-10-13T08:46:00.000-05:00

I'm pulling out my hair with regret since I have been thinking steadily of Gideon for two years, googling him, thinking I need to find him...hesitated because I didn't want someone to give me this news. Wish I had not been so afraid. This is from The Washington Blade.

Gideon Ferebee, poet and activist, dies at 54

By KATHERINE VOLIN
Oct. 07, 2005

Gideon Ferebee, Jr., a longtime central figure in the local black gay arts scene, died Sept. 24 of pancreatic cancer at his Washington, D.C. home. He was 54.

Ferebee, a poet, actor and activist, will be long remembered for considering the plight of the black gay male long before such discussions were more common, said Ron Simmons, his longtime friend.

“He was an openly gay man, black gay man who really thought about that,” Simmons said. “There might have been plenty of black gay men who were out, but they didn’t talk about what that was like in the world, but I could talk to him about that. It wasn’t just about fashion and who had who, but it was really going into something meaningful.”

Collaborating with other artists and black gay men and lesbians marked Ferebee’s life. Simmons said some of his best memories with Ferebee came through their involvement with a group of artistic friends. The group included Essex Hemphill, an African-American gay poet, and Sharon Farmer, an African-American lesbian photographer who served as White House photographer for former president Bill Clinton.

“There was a group of us who were black gay and lesbian artists,” Simmons said. “We would just hang out and chat, we would eat together, we would have fun together. I really can’t describe what it was like, because it doesn’t exist anymore. A lot of the members have passed from HIV. Every week, there was something to see. There was somebody’s house to go to, there was something to do. I can’t describe it. You just had to have been there. It was incredible.”

Role in Us Helping Us

Ferebee was an early member of Us Helping Us, a community-based AIDS service organization focused on reducing HIV infection among African Americans. Simmons, executive director of Us Helping Us, said that Ferebee was essential in determining the course the organization would follow.

In 1992, when Us Helping Us founder Kwabena “Rainey” Cheeks asked Simmons to be the organization’s executive director, Ferebee, Simmons and Cheeks sat down to map out the direction they wanted Us Helping Us to take, Simmons said.

Ferebee was diagnosed with HIV in 1989. His partner of 16 years, Leroy H. Sutton, Jr., died of complications due to AIDS in 2000.

As Ferebee got older, he became increasingly concerned about predicaments facing gay African Americans, longtime friend Greg Ford said.

“He became more accepting of himself and more open about his homosexuality,” Ford said. “And not just more open about being gay, but more open about the validity of the black gay community.”

Ferebee’s poetry and writing also contributed to his work within the black gay community. He wrote three books, “Searching for the Boy,” and “Reflections of,” both poetry collections, and “Out! To Lead,” a self-published compilation of 15 essays that called African-American gays and lesbians to engage in leadership roles.

“They were insightful because nobody was writing about that stuff,” Simmons said. “You could count the number of books that talked about the black gay experience probably on one hand during those days.”

Ferebee started writing poetry at age 16 while attending Bronx High School of Science in New York, according to a biography published with one of his books.

The youngest of 10 children, Ferebee was the first in his family to graduate from college when he completed his studies in theater arts and political science at Indiana’s Valparaiso University in 1972, his sister Ellen Ferebee said.

“Gideon was an independent thinker and very analytical,” Ellen Ferebee said.

Ferebee moved to Washington, D.C. in the early 1970s, and quickly made the arts scene his home. He parlayed his love of theater into the now-defunct D.C. Black Repertory Company, the Minority Arts Ensemble and Station to Station, a collective of black poets he helped found in 1980.

Funeral services were held at Frazier Funeral Home on Saturday, Oct. 1. A memorial service will be offered at 6 p.m. on Oct.29 at the Washington Ethical Society 7750 15th St., NW.

Muse: Name That Group

2005-10-08T14:13:00.000-05:00

te busque debajo del colchon
y en el polvo de la habitacion
te busque con un ordenador
y con la antena del televisor

te busque por toda la ciudad
y en el pozo de la soledad
te busque en los ojos del dolor
y en los ojos de la diversion

te busque en el oro y el placer
y en el cuerpo de alguna mujer
te busque en las drogas y el alcohol
y en los vicios y en la corrupcion

te busque en los templos de oracion
y en los libros que hablan del amor
te busque por toda la ciudad
y en el pozo de la soledad

te busque en el corazon
y alli estabas por un rincon
te busque en el corazon
y en silencio
oi tu voz....

The other night I dreamt...

2005-10-08T09:59:00.000-05:00

The other night I dreamt of a colored boy with a lion’s tail, curled on the ground and wearing a white shirt, sucking his thumb, smiling just a little bit.

Last September...

2005-10-05T18:06:00.000-05:00

The View of the Ocean
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

My friend Renton drowned there.
He was pretty, black and gay.
He was a skater, an actor, a Trini.

There were lots of pretty black gay people

2005-10-05T17:56:00.000-05:00

View of the Party House from the Beach
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

dancing, eating, laughing.

I swam in the pool.

I Went to Fire Island

2005-10-05T17:54:00.000-05:00

The Neighbors
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

for the first time in September.

South Africa: Sala Kahle!

2005-10-05T17:47:00.000-05:00

Well, folks, enkosi for checking out the adventures of Soucouyant down under. It was a long and mind expanding trip. And here we conclude our account.

If you have any questions or comments, please click comment and let me know. Unless you absolutely don't want me or anyone else to know who you are, just put your name or initials under your anonymous sign ins. It's just nice to know who's here.

Stay tuned for more about the ongoing sagas.

Oh, and a shameless plug for my friends from New Orleans, the singing group Mothertongue. Their album is now available from Amazon. If you hate Amazon too much, contact them directly at the link above. They are playing these days in the subway, and have a show this Friday in DC.

South Africa: African Penguins at Boulders

2005-10-05T17:25:00.000-05:00

African Penguins at Boulders
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

After being so clever about them at uShaka Marine World, I finally got to see my darling penguins! Boy were they cute! And boy do they smell! This one is being fed by its parent.

Along the beach, some brave and bizarre souls swam with the penguins in the icy water.

View of Cape Town from the Rhodes Memorial

2005-10-05T17:23:00.000-05:00

View from the Rhodes Memorial
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

Bad, bad Cecil Rhodes. Sort of like a cross between Andrew Jackson and Robert Moses.

There is this huge, hideous monument to him on the side of Table Mountain. You can have lunch up there. We just had hot chocolate -- it was COLD.

Cape Town Street Scene

2005-10-05T17:19:00.000-05:00

Cape Town Street Scene
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

Oh! Back home at last! Oh, the streets of Cape Town with your crowded taxis and grungy hippies, hip hop colored boys who claim themselves black, and graffitti galore.

Contrary to what we were often asked, we did not "go out" in Cape Town, which is apparently famous for its night life. Maybe if you are young and white it's great fun, but I had the most fun hanging out with Naomi's friends,South Africans black and colored, other Fullbrighters who weren't annoying, and her friends from Kenya and Zambia.

We hung out in Observatory, made dinner for people, (and sometime breakfast and lunch), went sightseeing, went to a very interesting Future of Hip Hop Conference...

The panel was organized by an African American woman who was studying at the University of the Western Cape, Cape Town area's black university, and this other local colored hip hop dude. There were a bunch of American women there, her friends, also studying at UWC.

It was a weird moment where a lot of the South African's commments and ridicule of earnest Americans, black and white, attempts to "help" them but who ended up helping themselves instead, either by research or a line on a resume, that read, 'Organized Hip Hop Conference in South Africa.' Or there are the feel gooders people look at with a cynical eye, who build a school, help some kids, and then go back to their comfortble lives.

Cape Town has a hip hop scene whose roots remind me of the growth of hip hop in California -- far from the center of its birth, slightly behind the NY scene, but not too far and with its very own flavor. The first big rap artists in South Africa were colored guys from the Cape Flats, the colored townships, and hip hop is still mostly popular there. Not surprising really. African Americans and "colored" people have similar histories...

Another embarrassing moment in Americans in South Africa was the poetry show that happens every year when US spoken word people go to South Africa. The show opens with a local poet or two, then the Americans. This year it was Carl Hancock Rux, the Last Poets, and Beau Sia. They were fine, though problematic (except for Baba Oyewole). The moment I'm talking about was the year before.

You know who goes to shows like that, where politically you're preaching to the choir. Apparently last year, the reports went, Jessica Care Moore forgot, and proceeded to call colored people political sell outs who were fucked up and self-hating...apparently it went on for a while. One of N's friends was like, "There she is, talking to the most politically progressive people in Cape Town, insulting everyone and their families who came to that show, generalizing in the most remedial way." He shook his head. "Americans!"

Incident in a Gas Station on the Road to the Cape

2005-10-05T16:42:00.000-05:00

Into Cape Town
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

As we got into the Western Cape and down into Cape Town through these awesome beatutiful mountains, where the weather became more Cape wintery -- overcast and rainy.

The Eastern and Northern Cape Provinces are mostly colored. Colored people are descended from Khoisan, Xhosa, West Africans, Indonesians (I think mostly from Bali and Java) and Europeans. They are mostly Afrikaans speaking and in Cape Town, many are Muslim.

There are some black/colored "issues"(use your imagination)and relations can be bad. In fact, Naomi had already had some rude treatment from colored people in Cape Town. Though we are both the same color as lots of colored people, we don't otherwise look like them. In fact, people are constantly talking to Naomi in Xhosa or Zulu.

So, given all of this, it was not really all that surprising as we stood in line at the Shell station fast food line to get some fries and drinks that, in a line that was otherwise all white people, the colored woman behind the counter skipped us entirely and went on to serve the white woman behind us.

I was lost in the sauce, staring at a sign and didn't even notice, but Naomi did. "Did you see that?" she asked and I peeped it immediately. "That's it!" She stalked away out the door.

When they noticed we noticed, there were some words exchanged in Afrikaans, and another colored woman came to take our order. When I asked her why her friend skipped us, she said she didn't know. "Yes, you do," I said. "Don't you?" She nodded. "You know that's not right."

"I know," she said quietly, "I'll take your order now."

"That's okay," I said. "Can you get the manager for me, please?"

On the way, she told her friend what happened in Afrikaans. The manager, a white man, of course, came out and said he saw everything on the closed circuit camera and that the women behind us had been there before us, and the woman had been helping her before...

"I'm not stupid, and she was here AFTER us. You should be ashamed of yourself. This is how you treat people? I'll be sure to notify the proper authorities and organizations." He blanched, just a bit.

"Come," he said, "I'll take your order."

"That won't be necessary," I said. "There is no way I'll be spending my money here, ever. This is ridiculous and you should be ashamed of yourselves. Disgusting." And I joined Naomi outside.

We were thirsty for the next two hundred miles, but it was a good and bitter thirst. Assholes.

The Great Karoo

2005-10-05T16:20:00.000-05:00

The Great Karoo
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

It's just beautiful.

So many fences, though. Guess who owns the land? Remember the Voortrekker story?

A voluntary redistribution of land by the government is underway, in an attempt to avoid, as we heard many South Africans of all races say, another Zimbabwe.

(Zimbabwe was in the news the whole time. Weird to be back here and not to have heard anything at all about it.)

After we left Pretoria, our furthest point north in central South Africa, we turned due South, headed for Bloemfontein, SA's third official capitol. We had a bite to eat there, and then continued on through the Karoo.

We pushed on and chose a place to spend the night -- Colesville. And it WAS cold! FREEZING.

We drove through a tiny township into the tinier town at around 6 in the evening. The place was deserted, but we were spotted by some young entrepreneurs who raced to catch us to get some "spare change." We pulled in the gate and went and saw the inevitable old white lady who ran the place.

The first thing Naomi wanted to know about was the heat. The temperature outside and inside were the same, testament to this being the enormous winter coat and thick wool scarf our older white friend had on as she sat in the livingroom.

Lady: Oh, yes, darling, there's heat, of course, a nice pad in the bed.

Naomi: What about when we get OUT of bed?

Lady: Oh, yes, darling, don't worry, you'll be quite warm.

Naomi: We'll be warm all right. IN BED!!

I gently guided her by the elbow before our older white friend's face was in too much danger of being slapped. "What is wrong with these people?" hissed Naomi.

Indeed, that mattress heating pad was rather toasty, but only IN BED. It was too cold to even brush our teeth in the morning. We peed, grabbed our stuff and ran ahead to the car and its blessed out-of-bed heating system, narrowly missing the entrepreneurs as we high-tailed it out of town.

More About Pretoria

2005-10-05T16:04:00.000-05:00

Pretoria
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

So, we were in Pretoria.

Some nice things about Pretoria: after Jo'burg it was really really nice and quiet; it's pretty; and we met a beautiful public health officer from Malawi who cracked us up with stories all during breakfast. We loved her! She showed us pictures of her gorgeous twin daughters and regaled us with stories about huge storms on the lake (she's actually from the island in the center of the Lake Malawi) and the oppressive regime cutting her brother's afro in the airport when he came home for a visit.

Bad things about Pretoria: it's the home of apartheid, the National Party, and one of the most infamous prisons in South Africa, that is notorious still for its mistreatment of prisoners.

Neither I nor our chirpy little ole white lady hostess could understand why, but Naomi was determined to go to the VOORTREKKERS Monument. Something about staring into the face of evil.

"Why do you want to go there for?" LOWL asked with a dismissive wave. "Garbage it is, that whole thing."

Since my job is to love her and take her where she want to go, we drove around the back of town, up a dry and dusty huge hill and saw the forbidding thing looking out over the plain. Naomi's got those pictures. Ick.

*The VOORTREKKERS MONUEMENT commemorates the "Great Trek" the Afrikaaners made when the British chased them into the interior -- and further into Xhosa, Sotho, Khoi, and Zulu lands. It is a real source of "Oh Pioneers" pride and the National Party used to have all these events celebrating it, their bravery, tenacity etc, where you see all these women wearing those terrible bonnets and they reenact the wagon trips.

Pretoria

2005-10-05T15:47:00.000-05:00

Pretoria
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

The lovely guesthouse where we stayed in Pretoria.

Soweto: The Hector Pietersen Museum

2005-10-05T15:46:00.000-05:00

hector pietersen museum
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

Hector Pietersen was the first child, though not the last, killed in the Soweto children's uprising, gunned down by a policeman in the street as the children assembled in a peaceful demonstration against the apartheid educational policies.

The museum focuses on the history of Soweto, actually founded by a black man who negotiated with the white politicians in the city to create an organized settlement for blacks in the area who had left the countryside find work.

There were all these things the early white governments did to decrease the Africans' ability to sustain themselves on their lands, from taxes to forced and brutal land removals. There is a Masada-like story of how one group of people refused to pay taxes, and held out, starving, on the top of some hills.

In the museum are tons of video monitors with people of all perspectives talking -- from children, elders, police officers, city officials -- about the uprising and further actions up to the elections. It is full of photographs and posters. The one thing I noticed is that the museums, though they are English heavy, are accessible to people of all literacy levels.

Soweto

2005-10-05T15:28:00.000-05:00

Soweto
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

That same day, we went to Soweto. We scrounged around for maps and asked the black staff people at the guesthouse, but it was still really hard to figure out the place, since the signage is a little random. We wanted to make it to this neighborhood that has these music clubs and restaurants and stores, but after some wandering we couldn't find it. Still, we made out way to the Hector Pietersen Museum, saw Nelson Mandela and Bishop Tutu's houses, and drove around a little bit. I still don't have the words to describe being in that legendary place of such bravery and cruelty, to stand where children died fighting for freedom.

On the way in, you see the power stations, that fed the white neighborhoods, whereas Soweto residents had no electricity for years.

An interesting tidbit I didn't know: SOWETO sounds like an African word, but it's not. It is just an acronym for SOUTH WEST TOWNSHIP.

Another interesting and oft-quoted tidbit about Soweto? It contains the largest concentration of millionaires in South Africa.

Solitary Confinement Cell at the Apartheid Museum

2005-10-05T14:52:00.000-05:00

solitary confinement cell at the apartheid museum
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

A model of the cells where prisoners were put in solitary. Daylight and air come from a tiny vent in the ceiling.

"Native Identity Card" -- Apartheid Museum

2005-10-05T14:49:00.000-05:00

"Native Identity Card"
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

One of the identity cards used to classify and control the population during the apartheid era.

Later, people were allowed to appeal their designations, and some successfully switched their "race."

Entrance to Museum -- I was Non White

2005-10-05T14:41:00.000-05:00

Entrance to Museum -- I was Non White
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

When you get your ticket, you are given a card that says "White" or "Non-White." Then you go through a separate entrance, and see a separate exhibit for the first few yards. From my side, I could peek through the mesh at the "Whites" but I couldn't see exactly what they saw.

Yebo!

2005-10-05T14:00:00.000-05:00

Apartheid Museum in Jo'Burg
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

We finally, finally got to Johannesburg, or Egoli, "City of Gold." It's a gold rush city, built in the middle of the mines, and remains the economic, entertainment and political powerhouse of South Africa.

For the first time, on the turn offs from the highway, we saw townships ("locations") that ranged from the small shanties, to actual houses of one to three storeys. Johannesburg is also the only city we saw with a vibrant, black downtown. Finally, it felt like Africa.

We stayed in a cute hippy neighborhood in a little B&B that catered mostly to business guests. The neighborhood was also pretty unsegregated, with both black and white employees and customers.

The major drawback of Jo'burg is that is it really really dangerous. It is the one place where, when people talked about car jackings, rapes, murders or robberies to be careful of, they were often speaking from PERSONAL experience. So many people, black and white and colored, before during and after our time there, warned and warned us, that we actually put our NY skepticism aside and were super careful. That means, for example, not stopping at red lights (the cops won't ticket you apparently, and none did anything to us) and not going anywhere downtown at night, or walking far even in daylight. It was hella stressful.

My one regret was that I didn't get to the Stoned Cherrie store, or any of the other stores of the new black designers. I did get a Stoned Cherrie t-shirt at Woolworth's though.

Last thing about Jo'burg, the tv there was really good! They have these evening soaps with multi-ethnic casts, where the characters speak in mostly Zulu and English. The news is on for like three hours,as the different channels play the news in most of the eleven official languages. We watched it in Sesotho just for fun.

Then we saw the sights. We went to the apartheid museum in Jo'Burg, a stark building with the history of the rise and fall of the apartheid era, that begins with the known history of humans in Southern Africa -- in other words, from almost the beginning of our human origins.

Across the street from the Apartheid Museum? The rollercoasters of Gold Rush City Amusement Park, Jo'burg's answer to Great Adventure.

South Africa: RRRROAR!

2005-10-05T13:38:00.000-05:00

Lioness Prowls Close
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

Okay, she mostly huffed, but she passed so close to the rover at Schotia, that Naomi almost crawled over me to get away from those huge paws. (For some reason I couldn't get this photo up before)

Xhosa House in the Eastern Cape

2005-10-05T13:26:00.000-05:00

Xhosa House
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

These are what houses look like, usually in a compound of several buildings, some square, usually this color or a pastel pink. The peak has a tire on the top, with colored glass set inside. The bricks are made from the earth, the squares cut out and dried in the sun.

A View of the Eastern Cape: Driving North from Smeary

2005-10-05T13:15:00.000-05:00

driving through the eastern cape
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

Beautiful, but there is so little fresh water. The Indian Ocean beckons.

uShaka Marine World

2005-10-05T12:28:00.000-05:00

uShaka Marine World!
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

We went with Jen to the newly opened uShaka Marine World ("u" is a proper name marker) and Water Park. All sorts of Durban-ites were there, which was a relief, mostly parents watching their kids float around the artificial river in inner tubes. There was a shark feeding and penguin show. We tried to watch the seal show but it was a bizarre play we couldn't quite understand.

At the penguin show, the presenter guy asked the audience questions about penguins. I couldn't help myself.

Penguin Guy: Which are the largest penguins in the world?

S: (chirping in from the back when no one answers -- IDIOTS!) Emperor!

(Jen and Naomi who were sitting down in front look back at me and shake their heads laughing.)

PG: Very good! Now, why don't polar bears eat penguins?

(S. sits quietly, not wanting to dominate.)

IDIOTS in CROWD: They're afraid of them?

PG: No, no.

IDIOTS: The bears live on the ice and the penguins live in the sea?

PG: (laughing) No, no!

IDIOTS: They don't like the way they taste?

S: (about to burst wondering how people know so little about their own country's wildlife but whispering nonetheless) They don't live in the same place.

IDIOTS: (staring)...

PG: What do you mean?

S: They don't live in the same place. (Looking around, gathering momentum, increasing teacher's voice.) Polar bears don't eat penguins because polar bears are only in the NORTH POLE. Penguins are only in the SOUTHERN HERMISPHERE. They each don't even know the other exists! (triumphant)

(Later)
IDIOT MAN: Where are you from, dear?

S: New York City.

IDIOT MAN: Ah ha.

S:...

Urban Durban looks like Coral Gables, Fla

2005-10-05T12:14:00.000-05:00

Urban Durban looks like Coral Gables, Fla
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

We knew we were close to Durban when the townships began. It was chilly, and the smoke from the wood fires hung over the metal roofs like low-lying clouds.

A law student friend of mine was working in a legal clinic there, and we stayed with her for a few days in a cottage apartment behind this huge house on the top of a hill.

It was a relief to finally stay with a friend, to be around Americans, and, frankly, since my friend and her roommate were white, to not have to approach going out with trepidation. We'd already had one yucky encounter with non-service in Plettenberg Bay and weren't looking forward to the next one.

We went with my friend to a gay bar, where a baby dyke tried to pick her up, though she was only straight person in the place. A white fag was chatting us up as we were leaving, crying, "Shame!" as we insisted it was late and we had to go. To encourage us, he went to put his arm around Naomi, but caught himself and put it quickly back down.

Durban is pretty, slightly safer than Cape Town and Jo'burg, and there are lots of Indian people there. It was also where we got our introduction to SA mall culture. In Durban and beyond, people were constantly encouraging us to go to the mall -- in this case the largest mall in Southern Africa, Umhlanga (pron. oom-shlanga). Instead, we went to the new aquarium, named after Zulu King Shaka.

South Africa: "The Blahk Stahff Have Lost My Keys!"

2005-10-05T11:06:00.000-05:00

Okay, so we made it past the children and mildly curious adults as it got darker and darker. From the direction of the sun, I knew we were angled toward the coast. But when was this road going to end?

Several bone jarring, crater-like potholes later, we reached the top of a hill with a magnificent view of the Indian Ocean gleaming in the sunset and saw a sign for "Hole in the Wall." A small village sat at the bottom near the beach. As we got to the bottom of the hill, we saw a huge white wall and a huge gate with barbed wire on top -- our vacation village destination. The car in front of us pulled in, and a small man approached us, barely concealing his surprise when he saw who was in the car. He asked us for our names, Naomi signed his clipboard, and we were in.

A half moon of dingy attached bungalows surrounded a central area of worn grass. A few weary looking white women and men shooed children into the cabins and cooked their dinners on the brai (bbq) while chatting in Afrikaans.

I volunteered to go get the keys and make the payment, which was just fine by Naomi. At this point we just wanted the night to be over so we could get out of this place. I entered the lobby, passed the dry and dusty fountain in the center and went up to the receptionist, a blond haired woman whose raised eyebrows and smile accented her sky blue eyeshadow and blurry red lipstick. As she completed the paperwork, I looked over the extensive list of rules. My eyes stopped on a confounding sentence: Due to questions of thefts, there are NO GILLIES ALLOWED. We regret any inconvenience this may cause.

As my mind struggled with this new lexical item, the receptionist let out a mew of frustration. I looked up to see her smeary red mouth downturned into a pout. "OH!" Smeary whined. "I am ever so sorry. But it looks as if the BLAHK STAHFF have lost my keys!" Just then another woman came in.

"You lost the keys, Deidre?" she said harshly. "Well, you better find them!" With that she turned her prodigious ass around and left. Smeary's face fell. She whined and huffed. I waited.

A group of women in maid's aprons walked in laughing and talking in Xhosa. "Bertha!" called Smeary, "Bertha!" The women stopped talking, looked at Smeary, said something else in Xhosa and laughed. "Bertha" went behind the receptionist desk and calmly handed Smeary a set of keys hidden in plain sight on a nail behind the desk, and then took off for parts unknown with her colleagues.

As Smeary sheepishly let an increasingly grumpy Naomi and me into our bungalow, I barely registered her and Naomi's discussion about the inspection and the fact that there still was no key she could give us to our room. All that kept echoing in my mind the rest of the night, as the hours dragged on ("You mean we've had dinner, showered, had sex and it's STILL only eight o'clock?"), as we snuggled under the zebra print sheets and our leopard print fuzzy comforter, as the paintings of lions stared at us staring at each other, was BLAHK STAHF BLAHK STAHF BLAHK STAHF... When Naomi asked later why I had taken so long with Smeary, and what exactly was the deal with the keys, I just said, "Smeary's slow." I'd tell her the story another day.

We woke up the next morning at like six, loaded the car, and Naomi was kind enough to let me see Smeary one more time to check out. She was chatty, seemed awed that I was from New York, and informed me delightedly, "I found the keys!" She encouraged me to go to the beach. I had already been to the "beach" -- a couple Indian kids vacationing showed me it was just beyond reception. I'd peeked through the bars that separated the vacation village from the thatched roof houses on the shore and saw more small children waiting there to ask the tourists for "spare change." When I'd approached, they'd gotten up and pressed their faces against the bars, asking the security guard posted there something in Xhosa while pointing at me. The beach? As she prattled on, Smeary neglected to mention I'd have to walk through several villagers' back yards to get there. "Uh, no, we don't have time," I lied.

When I passed the beach gate on the way out of reception, it was lined with little kids, boys and girls, jostling each other to get a glimpse of ME. When I passed, they chattered excitedly. For the first time, I was glad I didn't know what they were saying. I smiled, and beelined it to the car. Inside, Naomi was semi-fuming. "What took so long THIS time?"

"Well, baby," I began...

(Oh, and by now I am sure you can guess what a gillie is.)

South Africa: Driving While Black

2005-10-05T10:39:00.000-05:00

One of the more uncomfortable aspects of traveling along our route was our clear status as honorary whites. South Africa has a great infrastructure by which European tourists can access and enjoy its natural beauties. There are lots of "backpackers" -- hostels and B&B's of various grades-- places to stay and sights to see. The roads are mostly AMAZING with lots of gas stations at regular intervals with perfectly clean bathrooms. The Shell Petrol station bathrooms had MARBLE sinks, no less. Of course, in every bathroom was a Xhosa or Zulu woman constantly cleaning it, handing you toilet paper, etc, for tips.

Most of the places we stayed, while extremely reasonable for us, were out of the price range for most South Africans. While at most places, our hosts treated us with kindness and respect, we suspected it was because we were Americans, with an assumed ability to pay and not totally being thought of as "like our Blacks" (a direct quote from Naomi's fellow airplace passenger).

I know that our comfort level diminished with each stop in an all-white backpacker after having passed black people walking en masse from work back to the small townships outside of the tiny towns. Every evening as we went to our sleeping place, we saw these large groups of walking commuters.

Pre-Durban, we were the only black people in those places, with an occasional colored family. As we got closer to Durban and Jo'burg, our relief was palpable as were became just another car of black girls driving along.

Most disturbing to me was the children on the side of the road on the way to this "highly recommended" place called Hole in the Wall, on the coast. When we first turned down the road, the kids stopped and watched the car, waved at us, and so did some adults. But as we got closer down the nineteen mile aisle of dusty bumpiness, the kids realized where we were going, since at this point, if you lived there, you'd be home by now, nahmean? and for the last three miles, all the little kids who spotted us ran alongside the car crying "Spare change! Spare change!"-- left hands under the elbow of the outstretched right arm, the position in which you accept things from other people.

Naomi and I looked at each other and repeated our mantra for fucked up situations: "We can do anything for just one night." Right?

Ngungi Cattle by the side of the road, Xhosa village

2005-10-05T10:34:00.000-05:00

Ngungi Cattle by the side of the road, Xhosa village
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

Undaunted by our racist German companions, we drove on through the Eastern Cape. The infamous Trankei was one of the notorious homelands under apartheid, and where activists were exiled to die. It is also one of the places were Xhosa society is still strong. Along the road we saw a group of boys whose bodies were covered in the white powder of a rites of passage ritual and women wearing the skirts with classic Xhosa geometrical designs.

The land of the villages is held in common, and unlike other towns we had seen, there were few fences. The beloved Ngungi cattle were everywhere grazing freely, and they had the right of way. I quickly learned that if one cow bounded across the road in front of the car, the rest of its herd was sure ot follow, moving more quickly than their sedate appearance would lead you to expect.

The roads were not that different than the southern roads, and as we got closer to the north, we saw another rarity in the south: black people actually driving cars.

White Rhino at Schotia

2005-10-05T10:26:00.000-05:00

White Rhino at Schotia
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

Further on down the coast, we went to Addo, and checked out the wild things at the Schotia Game Reserve. After driving around lots of windy dirt roads that our guide, Brandon, navigated with the ease of a migratory bird, we pulled up to the lion gate. As we rounded the corner, we saw HER. SHE was a big as the range rover. Her head was like four feet long. SHE gazed at us through tiny beady eyes. As the silence and the tension grew, Brandon, whispered, "Time to go, now," and we slowly slowly pulled away before SHE decided to charge us.

Other people we spotted: ostriches, warthogs, lots of different antelope, giraffes, hippos (really dangerous!)and five lions, including two cubs. The lions huge enclosure was LITTERED with antelope skeletons.

At dinner, the German tourists we were with warned us against going to Umtata or Durban, and against driving through the Eastern Cape altogether(they still called it the Afrikaans name, Transkei). Enormous holes in the roads, cattle and people wandering suddenly and dangerously, and across the road, and, we later surmised, too many Africans and Indians. SIGH. Brandon was kind of quiet, he's from the Durban they were trashing, and loves it and the Transkei country.

Misc: A Blip and Technological Advance

2005-10-02T21:26:00.000-05:00

Well! I am so very very happy to inform you good people who continue to check my ridiculously UN-updated blog that I have finally been able to download Firefox (don't ask why I wasn't able to do it before I have no idea why) and so now I will no longer be frustrated by my inability to do simple things like bolding and italics and adding images without twisting my brain with HTML codes. I will be happily playing with this in the future. Yeah! Good times! There is lots to say about a lot of things, most importantly the ever-popular and continously unfolding saga of my escape from the citadel and the clutches of Psycho Man. And my amazing friends from New Orleans are here on the East Coast, getting their lives together as best they can. More on that, too.

South Africa: Baboons at the Toll Gate

2005-08-20T06:57:00.000-05:00

Baboons at the Toll Gate
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

One of the pictures I wish I'd had but the visual was so common I forgot to take it: the "Don't Feed the Baboons" street signs. This troop was hanging out near the toll gate on the Western Cape. It was cool to see them, especially when they yawn and you get to see those huge canines. But their big red butts are really gross! Apparently, some people regard them as racoon-like pests, though they are more dangerous (duh). Not only can they mess up your garbage but they will kill cats and dogs who are in the way. I'd get all excited about seeing them, and everyone would look at me in much the same way we would look at someone in New York who was excited about seeing a squirrel. "Yeah, okay." Baboon-- squirrel? Still blows my mind.

"Informal Settlement"

2005-08-19T09:57:00.000-05:00

shantytown
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

A nice word for shantytown. The postcard says that these have "sprung up around South African cities since the ending of apartheid." These don't look much different than a lot of the townships or "locations" that we drove by that are outside of every single town and city that predate the ending of apartheid.

According to people we spoke with, the populations of the townships, both black and colored, around Cape Town far outnumber the non-township population. And there is no knowing how many people really live in the locations, especially since the ending of apartheid there are many immigrants from other parts of Africa, such as the war torn Congo areas and Nigeria who have come to South Africa looking for work.

Is it?

2005-08-17T22:16:00.000-05:00

That's South African English for, "Oh really?" Whenever I heard people say that, I got very distracted. I don't know why. Try this little dialogue on for size. Practice out loud with a friend and see how it feels.

You: Here is the first installment of the pictures.

Friend: Is it?

You: YEAH, but I am going to breathe and stop now.

Friend: Is it?

You: Yeah, but I'll be back. I'm looking forward to your comments.

Friend: Is it?

Flight of the Ibis

2005-08-17T22:15:00.000-05:00

Flight of the Ibis
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

Everywhere -- and I mean everywhere, are these huge, shimmering ibis. They stick their beaks in the ground and vibrate them to simulate the falling of rain; when the worms come up out of the ground, which I guess is something worms all over the world do when it rains, they eat them, yum. They also make a terrible cawing sound and everyone I met complained about their ugly squawking. They obviously did not share the Egyptian-like reverence for the bird that Trinis have. Ours is scarlet and much smaller, and I have never heard them make a sound, but I was insulted. That's the big sister of my national bird, dude. IBIS ROCK!

Hiking in Robberg Marine Reserve

2005-08-17T22:06:00.000-05:00

Hiking in Robberg Marine Reserve
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

We really did up Plet. After our trek to see the animals, we decided to take a hike. We went to the Robberg Marine Reserve and walke along cliffs and deserted beaches and peeked into caves. It was so stunningly beautiful, it just about erased the bad taste of BAD RACIAL INCIDENT NUMBER 1. More on that later, I am just trying to get the pictures up!

A MEERKAT!

2005-08-17T22:03:00.000-05:00

A MEERKAT!
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

I don't know about you, but I think these animals are really cool. I was really psyched to see one!

Holding hands with olifants at the sanctuary

2005-08-17T22:02:00.000-05:00

holding hands with olifants at the sanctuary
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

Then we went to the Elephant Sanctuary and got up close and personal withe the young elephants, who were waiting to be sent to a nature reserve. They had big beautiful eyes and were really dusty. When we walked out, I walked with the elephant. She scoopped my hand in her trunk, just like she would hold the tail of an elephant who was in front of her.

Tamarind Monkeys

2005-08-17T22:00:00.000-05:00

tamarind monkeys
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

These guys were in cages because if they weren't, the other monkeys would eat them. Who knew? All the monkeys in Monkeyland were rescues from people who had kept them as pets.

The guide said they weren't gay

2005-08-17T21:56:00.000-05:00

the guide said they weren't gay
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

While in Plet, we went to Monkeyland, a very fun place. Our Congolese guide took us through the forest pointing out monkeys, including these two males who proceeded to get busy. But, said the guide, they weren't gay. We walked away and found lots of other monkeys involved in non sexual activities, but these guys were my favorites.

Cape Vineyards

2005-08-17T21:52:00.000-05:00

cape vineyards
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

We started our road trip post- Table Mountain, destination Durban. We drove up the eastern coast and stayed in Plettenberg Bay, Addo, and Hole in the Wall before we got to Durban.

On the way out of Cape Town we passed the famous/infamous internationally renowned vineyards. In SA, there's a whole lot of drinking going on -- and not just wine. There is also this "beer" that is gray and really strong, that some vineyards use to pay their employees instead of cash.

View of the Cape Peninsula from Table Mountain

2005-08-17T21:48:00.000-05:00

view of the cape peninsula
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

The gorgeous sweep of the cape. At the end of my trip, we ended up driving around to the east and coming back up this western side. That part of the Cannes of Cape Town, apparently all these US stars vacation in these way out enormous sea front condos. The condos are up in the hills and along the cliffs overlooking the sea. Between the promontories, under the trees, are the tiny shanties of the people who work for the people in the hugantic condos, who have no electricity or running water. At twilight the kids were gathered in a field playing soccer between the drainage ditches.

Oh to live on/Table Mountain

2005-08-17T21:43:00.000-05:00

clouds over table mountain
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

Several ear popping hair pin turns later, we were on top of the world, above the clouds. Some hike it, but we took the very smooth running cable car up up up. It had a rotating floor and we were well-accompanied by lots of folks who were, like us, going up to see the sun set. Then we took a walk in the clouds. It was pretty cold, like late fall.

You Can't Get Lost in Cape Town

2005-08-17T21:37:00.000-05:00

road to table mountain, cape town
Originally uploaded by soucouyant.

Mostly because there is this huge mountain which you can see from just about everywhere.

I took a red eye from JFK to Heathrow, spent a quiet Sunday in London enjoying the Queen's parks. I sat for a while in some striped green and white lawn chairs -- how civilized, I thought, to have lawn chairs in a public park. Except a man came by trying to make me pay for the seat. I got up.

That night I took another red eye to Cape Town and was greeted at the airport by Naomi and our car rental guy. Except I had somehow forgotten my drivers license in New York! I got my aunt to fax a copy of it, Shane told us not to get in any accidents, and we drove home. I slept.

When I woke up, I was driving up to Table Mountain.

MOLO, FAMILY!

2005-07-25T12:50:00.000-05:00

Molo means Jambo in Xhosa. Yes, that X at the beginning means you are supposed to make a sound somewhere between a suck teeth and a chicken cluck.

For those of you who might not know, for the past three weeks, I have been in South Africa. Yes, the crying beloved country, the rainbow nation, the place that inspired our college shanty towns and sit ins, gave Paul Simon's career a big boost, hosted the UN racism conference, etcetera etcetera. It is also the land of Americans with big platitudes, none of which I will try to transfer unto you, my gentle readers. At least, not yet.

Unfortunately, perhaps due to combusting sexual activity, our home internet access is on the blink. So much for the pics I was going to simulpost to you all. And the update, which you will note, stopped sometime after my sex life started up again in June. So, I sit in an internet cafe called African Access, where our friend Terri from Kenya works, listening so some afro-Portuguese tunes, while the music booms from the bars in the neighborhood called Observatory which everyone says is a "Hippie" neighborhood.

So this is the intro, so I will post some links first and then a few short comments. Look for more later, kay?

I miss you guys, but this has been good for me. And not just the sex.

First of all, check out website of this film, uCarmen eKhayelitsha, Carmen in Xhosa in a Cape Town township. We just saw it today (Naomi for the second time) and it is SOO amazing. They won the big prize at Berlin. Here is the site: Hopefully it will come to New York and everyone can see this stunning production. Shot in Khayelitsha (Ki- yuh-lee-shuh)with lots of cool adaptations and backstory.

Second here is the Cape Town official website, if you want to know where I am:. Yeah it's the official story but it'll tell you some background.
Okay that's the intro for now. More later.

The Answer Is Peeing in the Wind

2005-06-04T12:26:00.000-05:00

Was talking with some friends this morning about the Newsweek thing. Then I see the AP is reporting on the official investigation which just came out -- what perfect timing! It contains the following information as to how urine got on a detainee's Koran:

"In the March incident, as described in the report, the guard had left his observation post to go outside to urinate. The wind blew his urine through an air vent into the cell block. The guard's supervisor reprimanded him and assigned him to gate guard duty, where he had no contact with detainees, for the rest of his assignment at Guantanamo Bay."

OOOOHHHH! I see now. It was all an ACCIDENT. I'm not clear on one point though -- was he reprimanded for leaving his post, or for pissing in the wind?

And Now for A Word from Our Sponsor: B&W

2005-05-22T16:42:00.000-05:00

sagebw
Originally uploaded by trinirita.

Sage sleeps and dreams. Her ears are soft in your mouth. Her feet smell of crushed berries. Really.

Things You Find on a Manhattan Street: Veggie

2005-05-22T16:32:00.000-05:00

jroneck
Originally uploaded by trinirita.

If you are lucky, you, too, might be treated to the sight of J Ro's nape at a Manhattan Street fair.

Things You Find on a Manhattan Street: Non Veggie

2005-05-22T16:29:00.000-05:00

turkeylegs
Originally uploaded by trinirita.

The sun shines bright upon the turkey legs at a Manhattan street fair.

Politicking: The United States of Canada

2005-05-21T06:04:00.000-05:00

newmapBG
Originally uploaded by trinirita.

Okay, I missed all the post election mapping. I think I was too busy weeping and wailing and gnashing my teeth. I found this on a weird gay website, but it's everywhere -- from liberal and conservative blogs to the Guardian UK and the Washington Times (ya know, Rev Moon's paper?), just search "United States of Canada." I've seen it attributed to Dave Ruderman.

I also found some proportional maps, or cartograms, by Michael Gastner, Cosma Shalizi, and Mark Newman of the University of Michigan that are lovely and interesting and for real, but I can't figure out how to put them here. You can visit them at www-personal.umich.edu/~mejn/election to check those out. (I can't link right now, sorry -- wrong browser).

More Randomness: What is your personality type?

2005-05-06T19:09:00.000-05:00

I confess -- I love these things. I think I first started being into them because they were cheaper than therapy and somehow I felt understood. Lemme know what you think. Is it accurate? Try your own.

Your #1 Match: ENFP

The Inspirer

You love being around people, and you are deeply committed to your friends.
You are also unconventional, irreverant, and unimpressed by authority and rules.
Incredibly perceptive, you can usually sense if someone has hidden motives.
You use lots of colorful language and expressions. You're qutie the storyteller!

You would make an excellent entrepreneur, politician, or journalist.

Your #2 Match: ESFP

The Performer

You are a natural performer and happiest when you're entertaining others.
A great friend, you are generous, fun-loving and optimistic.
You love to laugh - and you like almost all people equally.
You accept life as it is, and you do your best to make each day fantastic.

You would make a good actor, designer, or counselor.

Your #3 Match: INFP

The Idealist

You are creative with a great imagination, living in your own inner world.
Open minded and accepting, you strive for harmony in your important relationships.
It takes a long time for people to get to know you. You are hesitant to let people get close.
But once you care for someone, you do everything you can to help them grow and develop.

You would make an excellent writer, psychologist, or artist.

Your #4 Match: ISFP

The Artist

You are a gifted artist or musician (though your talents may be dormant right now).
You enjoy spending your free time in nature, and you are good with animals and children.
Simply put, you enjoy bueaty in all its forms and live for the simple pleasures in life.
Gentle, sensitive, and compassionate - you are good at recognizing people's unspoken needs.

You would make a good veterinarian, pediatrician, or composer.

Your #5 Match: ENTP

The Visionary

You are charming, outgoing, friendly. You make a good first impression.
You possess good negotiating skills and can convince anyone of anything.
Happy to be the center of attention, you love to tell stories and show off.
You're very clever, but not disciplined enough to do well in structured environments.

You would make a great entrpreneur, marketing executive, or actor.

What's Your Personality Type?

Random Findings: What kind of American English do you speak?

2005-05-06T18:38:00.000-05:00

I was kind of bummed that there was dixie in there. But then again, some people I really dig are from Dixie -- Keith and Mendi, for my favorite examples. Okay. I'll live. I wonder what triggered it??? Lemme know what you think. I'm trying to snaz up the place.

Your Linguistic Profile:

45% General American English

40% Yankee

15% Dixie

0% Midwestern

0% Upper Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

Dyke Philes: The L Word Spoilers Season 2: Part 3

2005-05-05T20:31:00.000-05:00

Okay, I have been really really remiss. And since Shelagh is back watching the L word with us, I have been lazy lazy lazy. Plus, I saw that there are tons of sites that do L Word Spoilers (though none, dear Shelagh maintains, with quite my flair) so I felt less urgent about the whole thing. Even the Trini girls are watching it. But let me recap things as I see them:

The background of this one is Pride. A little early, but the show ends before June. Wait, they just had Pride in Noho. Happy Pride, ladies.

Bette and Tina look like they are getting back together. Bette's dad is dying in the hospital, and he was acting shitty to her about being a dyke and was nasty to Tina when she came to visit. But at the end of the last episode he was holding both his daughter's hands. The good news is, he started being all nice to Kit (whom he calls Katie, weird), maybe cuz she seems to be getting her life together and she was dating ole boy, who by the way, turned out to be married. Kit finally kicked him to the curb though her dad encouraged her to pursue it. Whatever. Sad to see Ossie go though.

Tina and Helena are still kicking it, though Helena broke it down to Tina that they were not "exclusive." Well Tina jumped right on the bandwagon, and went right up to Bette -- "We're not exclusive." A little of the steam is going out of this relationship -- Tina constantly talks about Bette this and Bette that, prompting Helena to brazenly flirt with another chick who's recently ex-ed in the club. Tina doesn't really care though and leaves. I care so little about Tina that I dont remember where she went -- to meet Bette? Anyone who cares want to fill us in?

Alice and Dana are being very cute and goofy and and still in love. Dana's little brother shows up for pride weekend, the girls thinks it's a drag, of course he turns out to be gay rubbing up on some black man in the Planet. When he taunted Dana last season about being a dyke he was just being a jerk head little bro. Alice rides with Shane on the Dykes on Bikes contingent and Dana is on The Center's float that proclaims Freedom to Marry all about. (Sammy was happy about that one, we are sure.) The girls almost go into a dungeon but run out.

Which leads us to the most annoying character on television, you know who. She ends up in the dungeon crying cuz she can't have a normal fun time. Her clothes are some better but she still looks like my first girlfriend from the 80's. (Love you, Tati!) She wants to be TORTURED! Turns out she's was probably gang raped by some asshole boy children, hence the circus scenes she is constantly imagining. She runs out of the dungeon.

Earlier, she told off man-boy skanky videographer who was whining around begging for forgiveness. (In case you missed it, Jenny and Shane took in skank boy roomate, who proceeded to put hidden cameras in the house to make a reality porn tape. He falls in love with Shane as an aside and in an annoying scene saves her from some bashers as she is turning tricks for her two minute oxytocin habit. The girls find out what he's done and get mad at him.) He even took off his clothes to her. "Is this what you want?" he whines. UGH. Can y'all just have him and Jenny run away together off the set forever? PLEASE? but apparently the producer is in love with little miss black tights so we'll continue to see altogether too much of her.

You know I'm saving the best for last -- Shhhhhaaaaannnneeee. Mmmm. She is so delicious on me. Even since she kicked her two minute oxytocin habit, she has not been sleeping around. (It seems as though she is no longer working for Miss Bitch, brilliantly played by Camron Manheim.) She took the video tapes old boy made of her and Carmen and watches them over and over again and cries. Her cold hard heart is melting. She loves Carmen. She goes up to Carmen, who is spinning at the gay pride party at the planet and tells her about her life -- her deadbeat mother and shitty childhood -- in a heartfelt blurt. Carmen looks at her tenderly -- and walks away. NOOOO!

Not to diss on the gestators among us, but why is the pregnant lady the only one getting all the action?
Can we please see Bette get it on with SOMEONE? Carmen and Shane maybe? Sheesh.
Why is Kit such a damn mess? Why they do Pam Grier so dirty? Ugh.
Guys, Tina looks really pregnant to me! Is she?
Can we please please see less of Jenny and ole boy? GET RID OF HIM ALREADY! Don't waste our time. (A flimaker I know suggested that he was there with his cameras so they would have different ways of showing the girls having sex. Where she saw camera angles I saw explicit male gaze.)

ONLY TWO MORE EPISODES LEFT!!!!

And Six Feet Under doesn't come on til June! Shit!

Teach for Hysteria: How to Apply for a Job Without Really Trying or Is That a Noodle in Your Ass? Part 2

2005-05-05T20:00:00.000-05:00

Well, guess what?

I went on some interviews with some lovely people at some lovely schools. One social justice school, which really stole my heart, had students on their hiring committee and lots of evidence of great teaching. Another alternative school with tiny tiny classes (YES!) and well-recommended by my ed school profs was particularly quick on their feet, and I went for an interview and did a demo lesson fairly quickly. It was one of the best interviews I've ever had, where we actually talked about pedagogy, team work, advisory, adolescent psychology, lesson study, and standard and alternative assessment. Where I had a rich and realistic conversation with other teachers. Huh? Where am I?

I did a demo lesson that I felt really good about for a humanities class of ninth graders. I was really nervous about just going in and teaching something to a class that I didn't know, but I asked about what they were doing -- research projects on different countries -- and created a culminating lesson on countries that I nicknamed "Countries -- Why?" We had a discussion on what they thought countries were for, given their research so far, and they did some cooperative group work on how and why borders change, what the earth really looks like and how frontiers are imaginary, and the united nations. I gave them pictures of the earth from space, maps of changing borders in europe and the caribbean (esp. Hispaniola), and the Declaration of the Rights of the Child. I had materials for all levels, so the lower performing readers were able to have documents that were accessible to them -- modifications, baby, synthesis! It was pretty interesting.

After the lesson, the kids all shook my hand and a couple of the girls whispered, "You were really good, I hope they hire you!" One girl thanked me and gave me a big hug. And throughout, I was charmed to the sweet calls of my first name, which takes me back to my hippy teacher art school days. Aaaah.

A few days after I got back from vacation I got this letter:

Ms. S:

We are happy to inform you that the Personnel Committee of La La High School has decided to offer you a SBO personnel position with our school in the coming school year.It was wonderful to have the opportunity to meet with you and discuss you educational vision. In spite of the large number of candidates, your deep respect for students and educational expertise greatly impressed us and the rest of the committee. In summary, you exceeeded our criteria for hiring...

Sincerely,

Nice Person #1 and Nice Person #2

YAY!! I made it out alive!

Of course, now I have all this anxiety that some terrible tragedy will befall me and derail my teaching career. Like, God forbid, one of the Wild Children will fall out at window on my watch, much as I try to discourage such shenanigans. Also, I catch myself feeling guilty for "abandoning" this shitty school, and then I remember, wait -- they are closing it anyway! Oops! So technically, I stayed til the bitter end.

And wait! I actually have to turn down job offers! I feel so terrible doing it, I met some really nice people that I came to respect through the process. But frankly, I like this place, I loved the kids, they are really laid back, easy to get to, and it happened fast. Part of me feels like I should go through it with other schools, and then choose. But I am so exhausted I can't do anymore. I'm done. For now. With the Citadel? Forever.

Hey Pscyho Man! How ya like me now?

Trini: Manzanilla Beach

2005-05-04T23:21:00.000-05:00

manzanilla
Originally uploaded by trinirita.

Yet another gorgeous beach. This one is teeming with life -- little fish that swim with their heads above water, sand dollars galore, and tons of plant debris in the water. Apparently, over 20 pilot whales beached themselves there a few years before, and sometime sea turtles com up there, though they are very likely to end up in someone's pot if they do. Uh, yeah, I didn't spend much time in the -- umm -- busy -- waters there. Much nicer to look at the 14 miles of palm-lined sands.

Trini 2 De Bone: Whiteman Lane

2005-05-04T23:17:00.000-05:00

whitemanlane
Originally uploaded by trinirita.

An actual street in Curepe. Wonder what the story is behind it -- and you know there is one.

Teach for Hysteria: "We're The Mob"

2005-05-04T16:55:00.000-05:00

Third day after vacation, and I get to cover the wild children. After a few days of floating on my back in the sea on a Caribbean island, I was rested and ready. NOT.

Lemme splain. For some reason, it seems as though all the children, including the angels in my homeroom, have ingested high doses of crack cocaine with their breakfast Doritos. This results in unusually high incidences of screaming, randomly running around the room, putting chalk dust on each other, throwing the eraser, throwing books, banging out beats on desks, and higher volumes of the usual potty mouth language. Strangely, the wildest kids seem to be writing the most interesting poems, regardless, and the angels have managed to write some halfway decent sonnets and are constantly quoting "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" Ah well.

So I go to cover the Wild Children first period this morning. I started a poetry lesson, got the attendance list going (for some reason knowing that I have a list of their names calms them down somewhat) and started the rounds to ask them to take out their binders, because of course they're just sitting there like they're in a lounge. At one point, one of the boys, N., says, "Miss, why are you asking us for this stuff? We're the mob."

Ms. S: What do you mean by that exactly?

N.: The Mob. We don't do no work.

Ms. S.: What about your education?

N.: We don't have a teacher.

Ms. S.: I'm your teacher.

N.: (looking at me like I'm bullshitting him, which I sort of am) Miss. Please.

I wish I could say that I gave him some enlightening, inspirational speech, but I just sighed and walked away. I was tired. And I didn't feel like fighting. SO I worked with the ten people out of twenty-six who were doing the work, they wrote some good poems, and I left when the bell rang. They were happy to see me go, because although they like me, I push them to work, and ever since they stopped running like crazy people around the room, they realized that that is all most coverage teachers want -- for them to stay in their seats. So for most days, they stay in their seats for an hour and a half each day, chill with their friends, draw, write notes, and talk about the adolescent drama of their lives.

Basically these kids have had no English teacher all year. And they're not going to get one, because, rumor has it, the district will not send any more teachers to our school for Psycho Man to chew up and spit out. So, since they have no homeroom or English teacher they have just been adrift all year. With their other subject teachers they just run around and act crazy, no matter how many teachers are in the room -- two, three, doesn't matter.

Has anyone else seen anything like this? A class adrfit with a permanent vacancy? Kids who just learn nothing all year long? Where are their parents I wonder? Do they know what is going on? And of course, I wonder what I should have done about it, but just thinking about it makes me so tired.

I am so burnt out from this job and this place -- at the end of the day, which ends with my wilder class, I am exhausted. There is so much that needs to be done, but at the end of the day, I just want to go home to my other life.

And Now For A Word From Our Sponsor

2005-05-04T16:39:00.000-05:00

Sage and Popo
Originally uploaded by trinirita.

It is all about the plotthound. Here is my dog, Sage (l), seated, reluctantly, next to a pernicious Yorkie named Popo. By the way, Sage is a rescue from North Carolina, where, despite her status as state dog (really, look it up) she was slated for death. My lover at the time, A., who wasn't really into dogs, but indulging me, picked Sage out from the bunch at North Shore Animal League because she was cowering away from the poop she had just made in the cage she was sharing with another dog. "See," said A. "Get that one. She's clean and plays well with others." Well, she tortured us for a few months with her separation anxiety and inability to housetrain easily, but two years later, she's adjusted and living large, mostly in my bed. Occasionally she and I go upstate to visit her pal, Popo and Popo's cat sister, Loli.

House Gecko Up Close and Personal

2005-05-04T05:51:00.000-05:00

House Gecko Up Close and Personal
Originally uploaded by trinirita.

My cousin was horrified that I would take a picture of an animal she regarded as a nuisance, but I appreciate the gecko for its cuteness and habit of eating yucky bugs. Here it poses on a garbage bag, frozen in terror, I am sure, after I chased it around the house for half an hour taking pictures of it experimenting with the macro closeup on my new camera.

Salybia Bay at Toco

2005-05-04T05:47:00.000-05:00

Salybia Bay at Toco
Originally uploaded by trinirita.

This is the beach in Toco, on the far northeastern corner, where we went before seeing the turtles. And where the car broke down. And where we were saved by the Maxi taxi driver. Yay! it has a very strong current that drags you down the beach, so when you float, you go from one end to the other. It also has all these shale rock formations, showing the pressure of the tectonic plates that run alon either side of Trinidad, which is how it broke off from the South American mainland. Very cool. Ouchy on the feet to walk on though. ( I climbed out to the rocks at the far end of the beach.)

Maracas Bay Beach

2005-05-04T05:41:00.000-05:00

Maracas Bay Beach
Originally uploaded by trinirita.

The View Above Maracas and Las Cuevas

2005-05-04T05:38:00.000-05:00

The View Above Maracas and Las Cuevas
Originally uploaded by trinirita.

This is the view from the mountain road going down towards the most popular beach in Trinidad, Maracas. The bay on the farther side is Las Cuevas, which is just a lovely and less busy. Maracas is where I would have my delicious shark and bake lunch, garnished with mayonnaise, tamarind, lettuce and pineappple. I would wash it all down with a cool bottle of mauby, sit and write and then go back in the water. Maraas has lots of waves, but in Las Cuevas, which is a really calm bay, I would just float on my back looking up at the blue blue sky.

Trini 2 De Bone: Body Pittin'

2005-04-29T16:35:00.000-05:00

I was just going to go to the beach up Maracas way on the the Northwest Coast of Trinidad, or maybe back to Las Cuevas, which is prettier and calmer and where I spent most of Tuesday floating on my back looking up into a criminally blue sky. But my sister proposed we go instead to Toco, along the rugged Northeast coast, the point of which juts out to separate the Caribbean side of Trinidad from the Atlantic side. I had been to the cliffs of Toco, but never to the beach, so away we went on an adventure.

The ride up took us through some bustling towns,, and but soon we were on cool rain forest roads, passing through sleepy villages and windy roads, and over bridges built with planks. It's the dry season, so there aren't many biting bugs, and the yellows flowers of the poui trees are in full bloom. My sister regaled me with stories of our family and past adventures, and she mentioned that it was sea turtle nesting season in that region, asn so we started planning a night to go before I left. YAY!

So we get to Toco, after driving along these dramatic cliffs that lead to the sea on this part of the island, and it's jsut diyllic, with a few people and plenty coco palms, which we parked far away from. (You now why don't you, dear reader?) I bathed in the sea for a few hours, and my sister sort of napped in the car (don't ask, she's weird) and played the radio.

I got out about 6, and since it was so late, we decided to just make a night of it and stay out and go down the coast to Grande Riviere to see the turtles. YAY! Except, there were a few problems.

1) The car wouldn't start cuz the battery was dead. (see radio playing above)
2) Everyone at the beach (with whom I spoke as I scounted for jumper cables)swore up and down that the nearest gas station (at Cumana) was already closed for the night, and we had less than half a tank of gas. Not enough to get to Grande Riviere and back to civilization.
3) We had less than $100 TT between us (less than twenty buck US) and we somehow had to pay for the permits, the guide, gas, and maybe some food (I was starving. My sister proposed I eat smoe Crix -- nasty crackers that taste like very bad communion host.

But guess what dear reader??? All problems were solved, with the help of a very sweet Maxi Taxi driver, we found jumper cables, then we ate dinner in a nice restaurant near the beach of the turtles that took my Visa card, and they even gave me some extra cash. The Cumana gas station was open, and we got gas. So we got to see the turtles!

It is indecribable, really. Our guide, Gavin, took us onto the beach in the dark, as he only used his flashlight very infrequently, so as not to disturb them too much. Enormous leatherback sea turtles, like 800 to 1200 pounds, dragged themselves from the sea onto the beach and started flapping their fins in a circular motion that Gavin said was called body pittin' -- creating a secure space to make the nest.

Then the turtle carefully curls its back fins and scoops out -- left, right, left, right, finfuls of sand to make a hole two to three feet deep, and lays its eggs. When it lays its eggs it goes into a "trance" where they don't notice anything and you can touch them. So I petted her!!

Okay, my internet time is up. More later. I home tomorrow! Waaah!

Trini 2 De Bone: God Don't Sleep

2005-04-29T16:19:00.000-05:00

The above statement keeps coming up in these conversations and stories I am hearing and it's sort of about karma. Like you think that God may be sleeping, but GOD DON'T. So you will have a karmic payback for your bad behavior.

But I must have been very good. Because, as my oldest sister says, "I am too blessed to be stressed." She claims that this comes about from hanging with her (limin' in Trini). Okay. This is entirely possible, because I have been having some magical moments spinning around the country with her.

On Wednesday, I went to her Montessori school and was taken in by the five year olds who were having lunch, but when I sat down with two of them, the other five came over. I asked them if they had had lessons, and they told me that they wrote their names and counted, and read me everything that was on the walls of the schoolroom. A little boy named Kyle came by. I remembered Kyle from last years graduation ceremony; even though he wasn't graduating as he was only four, he was one of the best performers (my sister has them sing, do recitation, act in a play, do traditional Creole dances, and play recorder at the ceremony).

Ms S: Hey Kyle! Good to see you!

Kyle: ...

Other Chirren: Kyle vex becau' he get licks today!

Kyle: (lookin vex in trut') I ent get no licks!

Chirren: (nodding, eyes wide) But he was cryin'!

Kyle: I was cryin', but I ent get no licks!

Chirren: (whispering to me as Kyle walks away) He get licks! He get licks!

Kyle gets disgusted and walks outside.

Then they brought me outside to play with them and ran around as I sat out of the sun under the house with the other adults and the wimpy children and they totally mobbed me over the digital camera. I read them the Berenstein Bears Lose Their Manners and told them the story of Rikki Tikki Tembo.

At one point Daniela pointed out, "De babies cyaan see!" So they all made a space for the three years olds in the front. When I left with my sister to go to the beach in Toco, they waved goodbye and asked me if I was coming back. Tomorrow, I said, tomorrow.

Trini 2 De Bone: So said, so done

2005-04-25T17:31:00.000-05:00

Well, how all yuh goin? I reach safe here in Port of Spain, and ah staying up de road in Mount Lambert (pron. LAMB - BUTT), just down de road from meh brudduh and meh sistah, an apparently, all de lesbians they put on dis beautiful island fuh me to meet. Ah happy fuh so! It making real hot, so I just had to go to de beach today. yeah, it was real obligation and responsibility!

First day I reach, I went straight to de auto rental and hire a car. De fella had a kine a mush mout when he talking, but he was nice nice fella. In front a we in de line was a black american woman de fella confide was a "mad, mad lady!" Well, she look so too. I rent this car, and why I do dis, I doh know why, but I offer mehself and meh cyaar to tek meh auntie and me cousin who a big soca artist (pron. ART-EES) to Point Fortin, quite in South, caw she ha some show in a club down dey she doin fuh borough day 25th anniversary.

So if you see we pack up in dis cyaar and you know I so so tired from de flight in the middle of night I just take, but we driving driving, past Sando, true rousillac, la brea (pron. LAH BRAY), and some town name start wit a v and end wit a y, til we get quite to point.

In de club now, the music pumpin so loud it look like de window bout to break. And den meh auntie, who style she self de daughter manager, go upstairs to check it out. she come back, say, It scanty. De place big, but it scanty. Bout ten fifteen people in the place.

You know we all tinkin, Oh god, you tell me we drive half de country for 15 people? but nobody sayin nuttin.

De fella from Chavonne video come, and de DJs from de radio station come and it start to feel like a real vip section out in de car park. Meh auntie tekking pictures and finally we go inside roun 1:45.

When we get in, we see de place scanty in truth. But what you gon do? We dey, we cyaan go nowhey.

Chavonne get on de stage start to do she show. Oh god! And not four words later, de place pack up with people!

But whey dese people come from? ask meh auntie. De place was so scanty!

Yeh, I say. Look like someone run true de village bawling, All yuh come! All yuh come! And now look de place. Pack with people!

If yuh see people! And dey still comin! When Chavonne get to de popular tune, "Bump!" de men does like it becaw it have a move when she back she bumpsy fast fast. Well, de song turn into a contest to see which man could bump he bumpsy as good as Chavonne. People callin frens to go up and bunks with she. De DJ go on. A fella name Gootie go on. A big fella name a Simon go on and put all a dey to shame.

After de show, roun 3 am, we get back in de car and drive back to town. Eh, eh say meh auntie. But dat was a good show! Dese people in south real know how to fete! Dey say it would be worth de trip. So said, so done!

Trini 2 de Bone: Me nuh want agouti, give me de ham

2005-04-22T22:05:00.000-05:00

Well folks, I am leaving on a jet plane tonight to Trini. I will attempt to keep you posted from there, as I satisfy my internet addiction. I am so psyched! and loaded down with gifteses. Talk soon!

Neruda Again: Sonnet XCIV

2005-04-17T18:43:00.000-05:00

If I die, survive me with such sheer force
that you waken the furies of the pallid and the cold,
from south to south lift your indelible eyes,
from sun to sun dream through your singing mouth.
I don't want your laughter or your steps to waver,
I don't want my heritage of joy to die.
Don't call up my person. I am absent.
Live in my absence as if in a house.
Absence is a house so vast
that inside you will pass through its walls
and hang pictures on the air
Absence is a house so transparent
that I, lifeless, will see you, living,
and if you suffer, my love, I will die again.

- Pablo Neruda

When I Hear My Sister's Voice

2005-04-17T18:34:00.000-05:00

When I hear my sister's voice, crackling, fading in and out of reception, talking to other people in the car, overlapping and echoing my words in the way that we talk, bawling how she has been trying to reach me, her voice careening along the side of the road along the hills above Port of Spain, dashing around maxi taxis, her satellite voice in my ear, when I hear my sister's voice, I float in our never never land home, where we drift among lilies and laugh at the stars.

Word Whirled: I Obsess

2005-04-16T21:08:00.000-05:00

Okay, okay, I can't stop thinking, NYFA NYFA NYFA. So I tracked down what I sent them. Well, I found the list of poems and my artist's statement. Did I really write this? I sound so clever. I need to thank Mendi for helping me with the titles of the poems and Arisa for helping me with the artist statement.

Artist’s Statement

I explore language/s, the time/space continuum, and how the shift of a moment can lead to revelation or implosion. In my work, I engage moments where both personal and public history (time) meet the body and matter (space). In proxy, unrequited love consumes the landscape from North Africa to the Americas and language burns away to its most essential, dense elements. The repetition of the p mimics "pi", infinitely expanding finite circumference and circumstance.

Word Whirled: I'm Going to Disney World!

2005-04-15T18:47:00.000-05:00

Well, my friends, you are officially reading the website of a 2005 NYFA Poetry Fellow! YAY! Me's so HAPPEH!

And I had another interview today with some more lovely people from the small schools movement. I am really nervous, as I have to do a demo lesson next week. Any suggestions?

Plus I just want to say that it has been completely reinvigorating to meet educators who are working in these amazing schools, and still teaching the same population of regular NYC school kids. It gives one hope.

All right, I am now catching up on the L Word at Sammy's while I wait for her to come home, a la Ricky. Umm, doesn't Tina look like she is really pregnant? Is she?

Ciao.

Teach for Hysteria: Quick Job Update

2005-04-14T00:40:00.000-05:00

Well, kids, it looks like I've gotten three job offers! Yay! I will post more later, I really must go to sleep. Thanks for all your support and encouragement. MWAH!

Out on the Town: Rebel Devil

2005-04-14T00:33:00.000-05:00

Oh yum. Thanks to Janelle, I went to a most spectacular show tonight at Irving Plaza. Bass playing like you've never, I mean never ever seen it before. Victor Wooten. Amazing black rock system. And crazy white college boy fans. Oh, wait, and fine ass Divinity, kick ass bass player, MC and singer in a mini skirt and those boxing boot shoes. Go to her site, dear reader, you will not be disappointed.

Te Conozco Bien, Estas Arrepentida

2005-04-14T00:16:00.000-05:00

Dale duro, papi
Dale mas duro...

Just randomly typing what I hear here on the radio at Janelle's. At any rate, I am in a better mood. She has a pc, made for the more complicated functions here, so though it is way past my bedtime, I will make some posts I have been thinking of.

How did I end up here you might ask? Welllll, tonight I had my first novel writing class. I bogarted my way into the advanced class, past the cerberi at Gotham, and I so love my supersmart instructor, Sandra Newman, already. Class was full of gems I probably won't be able to relate with the same impact they had in class. Wait -- which was filled with cool, interesting people. And not all of them were white! And not all of them were straight! And not all of them were women! Who knows, later I may be on here doing another Fine Whine, but for now, I'se so happy wif my class!

Okay, okay, here's a quote.

"The danger with the novel is that it can stop meaning something to you. How do you keep the love in this marriage? The key is to know what you're doing while you're writing. It might change, but while you're writing you've got to know. You're writing against a form that exists. The whole time you're writing you need to be aware of the form you're writing against."

-and-

"Don't give it a haircut if you're going to cut it's head off." (on unnecessary scenes)

I'll publish more later.

Del Laberinto de la Soledad: Los Versos Mas Tristes

2005-04-08T22:30:00.000-05:00

I'm really sad. So I went to Pablo. Gloss loss.

LOS VERSOS MAS TRISTES - PABLO NERUDA

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Escribir, por ejemplo: "La noche está estrellada,
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos."
El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso.
En las noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos.
La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.
Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería.
Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.
Oir la noche inmensa, más inmensa sin ella.
Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.
Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla.
La noche está estrellada y ella no está conmigo.
Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.
Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.
Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.
La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos árboles.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.
Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto la quise.
Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído.
De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos.
Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.
Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.
Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.
Porque en noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos,
mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.
Aunque éste sea el último dolor que ella me causa,
y éstos sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo.

Fine Whine

2005-04-07T07:15:00.000-05:00

Okay, I'm gonna take a teeny tiny whine. And I don mean like a macajuel in de party.

I'M SOOOOOOOO SICK! WAAAAAAAH! So far this school year, the only thing I had was a touch of stomach virus, but no nagging colds or flu. I'm so frustrated!

I've been home all week so far. It started on Saturday and I had no voice until Tuesday -- none. I was just whispering or would try to talk and people would say, "What? I can't understand you." or "You know what? I'm gonna go, because you shouldn't be talking." Then I had massive coughing fits not controlled by any medicine or cough drop. Yes, I still dragged myself out of the house to go to the job fair, because I figured a few hours won't kill me. Well, I have to confess it almost did. I was so unbelieveably tired -- even after doing nothing all day -- that I yawned constantly and almost fell asleep at the wheel several times. I am writing this so I will not do that again! Very BAD! But I made it there and home okay.

So this morning I am getting ready for work, because even though I was up half the night coughing my lungs out I was going to go to work, dammit, and then I catch a glimpse of my itchy eyes in the mirror -- fiery red.

For me that only means one thing, the last big sick symptom -- eye infection! UGH! So I called in again.

I had to convince myself repeatedly that going in to work with children with a highly contagious eye infection was not the best thing to do. I feel so guilty, and of course, I am going to get IN TROUBLE by the MAN and his lackeys. Shit.

I actually used to go to work sick. But the last time I did that, I got massive infections -- eyes, ears, sinuses, lungs, strep -- all at the SAME TIME and the doctor forbade me to got work for two weeks. So I stopped doing that. I'm too old for this.

I remember the days when I used to eat donuts and chocolate and smoke all the time and stay up all night and drink massive amounts of coffee and not get sick or even feel tired. Not that any of those habits are commendable. But I have lost some of my superpowers for sure.

And I just sit here getting really depressed, thinking about my parents, and sleeping, and getting up and feeling guilty and taking medicine and worrying and thinking about what I could do to be productive and sleeping again.

Sometimes I wish I had a normal job like I used to, where I could go on in a little sick and just try not to touch anything. But, like Mr. Babylon said, in teaching, Mama is always on stage. (See Arrested Development for the reference) No matter how shitty you feel, you gotta be on. It actually brings me up when I am down, but there is no low-keying it. At least I dont feel so bad about today because it is my lightest teaching day. But still.

WAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!

The good thing is, I can blog/blab more. That always cheers me up. Thanks, dear readers.

You're the meaning in my life
You're my inspiration... hey while we're at it, why not go all the way -- DJ?

Cue up the synthesizers of your mind, folks! (Where's Kasey Kasem when you need him?)

You know our love was meant to be
The kind of love that lasts forever
And I need you here with me
From tonight until the end of time

You should know, everywhere I go
You're always on my mind,
in my heart In my soul

You're the meaning in my life
You're the inspiration
You bring feeling to my life
You're the inspiration
Wanna have you near me
I wanna have you hear me sayin'
No one needs you more than I need you

And I know, (yes I know) that it's plain to see
We're so in love when we're together
And I know that I need you here with me
From tonight until the end of time

You should know, everywhere I go
You're always on my mind,
in my heart In my soul

You're the meaning in my life
You're the inspiration
You bring feeling to my life
You're the inspiration
Wanna have you near me
I wanna have you hear me sayin'
No one needs you more than I neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed you!

Waaa haaa! Thank you very much! (see Dionne Ferris for reference)

Teach for Hysteria: Tunnel. Light. Go.

2005-04-06T22:16:00.000-05:00

Well, I somehow sent out all my SBO transfers, and I went to the New Visions Schools job fair tonight. (Note: if you send an SBO transfer in, it gets priority over other applicants. They look at you _first_.)

This whole job search has really triggered a lot of my insecurities. Working at the Citadel has poisoned my confidence. I am miserable, feel like a failure, and am constantly subjected to more daily drama from Psychotic Man.

The other day, during a two hour harangue, PM told the math coach who works with my academy that 'Ms S. is the protector of that academy.' The math coach told my math partner, who of course told me. The math coach said, 'Ms S. protects the other teachers from criticism. Someone there needs to tell the people who are doing badly to get their acts together. Someone needs to come down on them.'

"I think," says my lovely partner, "that she was telling me since you were protecting everyone, I had to be the bitch. WTF?"

"Yeah," I replied, "except neither you nor I believe that yelling and harassing people is going to make them into better teachers."

I thought this was interesting. I guess I don't let the administrators come in and target people for criticism (that's putting it gently) when they invade our team meetings. I back my peeps unconditionally, and give suggestions and advice privately and respectfully. PM and dem always want to know who who who -- who leaves the rooms messy? Whose classes are most out of control? Who? Who? Who? Public shaming is their main management tool. So I redirect it, and reiterate that everyone is trying really hard, and yes some suggestions would be helpful, but picking on people would not.

The other day I told the math coach, who was sent as PM lackey, "Look, I am really sick of people coming in here and telling us what is wrong, wrong, wrong. We are all busting out asses to try to get these kids together (the Wild Children, of course). We call parents, we call psychologists, we give detention, we give incentives, we write referrrals, we have parents in, we meet with them after school, we talk to them privately, we talk to their counselors,we team teach during our preps, we give each other advice. What else do you suggest we do? Because we don't know." Of course, there was no reply to this.

Whatever. So that place has really cut my confidence in half. I have felt like a sucky, awful teacher. It is hard to explain to people exactly what is going on. But let me tell you this: just for kicks, I looked up "abusive workplace" online. And the symptoms fit our school exactly. I love the kids so much, but when I am away from that place, and their little brown/green/blue eyes aren't looking at me, I never want to go back.

So tonight I went to the New Vision Schools Job Fair. People were actually impressed by me! One woman said, "You have a great background. Lots of people are going to want to hire you." (She was cute too -- was she picking me up? LOL) I asked good questions and shared ideas! I was intellectually stimulated by people who were actually talking about education! I even had a conversation about Maxine Green with the Lincoln Center Intiative person! People were friendly! Someone offered me a job on the spot! (And I might take it -- we'll see what the visit is like!) I shared my teaching ideas and people thought they were interesting and that I might be a good teacher! I said I came from a terrible environment and people nodded knowingly!

Tunnel. Light. Go.

Now, I await the responses...

Talking Bout My Generation: LL Cool J Looks Good in Silver Lame'

2005-04-06T21:57:00.000-05:00

Okay, I am researching some of the schools I talked to at the New Visions School Job Fair and I am in front of the tv watching HBO. To my delight, the Chris Rock show comes on right after the Zone plays Ciara and Missy Elliot's new video -- very very hot, btw. Anyhoo, who should come as Chris' musical guest, but LL Cool J!

Me and Ll Cool J and Salt N Pepa and Run DMC and Russell Simmons n dem, we all from the same hood, same generation. The Fat Boys, too, but they died choking on a chicken bone in jail -- at least that's what everybody said. So everytime I see one of them, I heave a contented sigh of nostalgia for what the 80's produced in Hip Hop's most diverse heyday. Anybody remember PM Dawn? Hip Hop to meditate by? Remember when they played Tracey Chapman and Madonna on the black radio stations?

Well, tonight LL Cool J was splendid in white short overalls with a (I kid you not) silver lame t shirt underneath, and, I think, sort of silvery shoes. He looked real crazy. I loved it! He also had some sun glasses on top of his head and was wearing what looked like a silver shower cap. Gorgeous!

Sigh.

Teach for Hysteria: Mouth of Babes II

2005-04-05T13:27:00.000-05:00

Okay more fabulous things the kids have said to me lately:

I'm walking around the room helping people with their short stories. Tongue Ring Girl grabs my arm as I walk by.

Ms S: Yes?

TRG: MISS! (shouting, her only volume) WHERE IS YOUR UTERUS?

Hmm... I think. My uterus? Or one's uterus? As I ponder this, TRG gapes her blue eyes at me and ticks the metal rod against her upper teeth in a nerve-grating fashion.

Great. Once again I am having a moment. I try to remember my Doctor Spock, my Adolescent Psychology and my Sex Ed class from high school. I draw a blank. Thankfully, I am saved by her friend, Joan (so named for her resemblance to and shared last name of a 70's folk singer ) who touches TRG's arm and successfully externally palpates her own womb.

Joan: Here, here, dummy!

TRG: Your stomach?

Ms S & Joan: No!

TRG: Donde crecen los bebes? (where babies grow)

Joan: Yeah! (reaches over and palpates TRG under ber belly button, which sends them both into a fit of giggles.)

Ms S: Yeah, there. Right there. (exit stage left)

**

In my class there is a student who speaks softly and has a softer afro which he compulsively grooms with one of those 70s Power Fist Picks. He is one of those boys who hasn't grown yet, so he still looks like a little kid. I will call him Gentle Afro Man. Once upon a time, Gentle Afro Man had a speech impediment, but now it is gone, and all that is left is a tender volume and the ability to whisper insults up to fifty feet away, much to the chagrin of the other students, whose loud responses to his whisper torture get them in trouble and leave him unscathed.

Gentle Afro Man often comes to me with rhetorical Current Events commentary like: "Miss. Why did Michael Jackson come to court late and with his pajamas on? Why did he do that?" Or,

"But everyone hates the President. How did he get reelected?" Or,

"Where is Osama Bin Laden? Aren't they looking for him?"

I also have a tender spot in my heart for him because he often calls me "Mommy" instead of "Miss."

The other day, I suppose Gentle Afro Man couldn't take it anymore and he came up to me.

GAM: Ma- I mean Miss.

Ms. S: Yes?

GAM: Miss, I really think you should change your hairstyle.

Ms S: Really?

GAM: Yeah.

Ms S:...

GAM:...

Ms S: So are you saying you don't think my hair looks good like this? (a lopsided slightly frizzy slightly curly flopped over fro)

GAM: (shakes his head) Nah, Miss. You should change it.

Ms S: Thanks for your concern.

GAM: You're welcome. (softly walks away)

Actually, Gentle Afro Man is not the only one who has offered to help me with my hair. The other day, El Payaso offered me his pick after I told him to put it away, and his buddy offered to hook me up with his aunt who runs a beauty salon. I was tempted. For a moment. The boy who is glad I am not white, said that I should blow it out.

Ms S: I wish you guys would be as concerned about literacy.

The Guys: ...

Ms S: ...

The Guys:...

Ms S: ... (exit stage left)

Teach for Hysteria: How to Apply for Job Without Really Trying or Is That A Noodle in Your Ass?

2005-04-05T12:58:00.000-05:00

Ach, I just put that last part in to make sure you all were still awake out there.

Okay, let me describe to you how teachers can take advantage of the one Get Out Of Jail Free Card afforded them a year.

As I mentioned before, if you want to leave your school and go to another, you have to get permission from your principal. They call that "releasing." In his dried up little heart, my principal likes to call it, "squeal like a pig, bitch, for I release no one from my realm!" There are loopholes of course. The biggest loophole is the School Based Option Transfer, or SBO. But, like many loopholes, this one will make you sweat.

There is a tiny window in the Spring when this happens. You have to keep checking the DOE website for the notice. No one announces it beforehand. Then one day, miracle or miracles, the list appears! Ta dum. The race is on. You have 13 days (or less, depending on when you find out about it) to find a new job.

One seven page memo and three forms later, you realize you have to look through a list of schools to see where you can transfer to. Click on the link and you see that the list is SEVENTY PAGES LONG.

I kid you not. The first thing I did was go through and highlight all the English secondary positions and take out the Staten Island pages (no offense, but really). I was down to fifty pages.

I have decided that I am not going to work in the Bronx again, it is too fucking far from where I want to be. So I took out those pages (sorry Bronx, it has been nice getting to know you though). Thirty-five pages.

See? Just like I teach the kids -- when you don't know what to do, process of elimination will help you every time.

Phew. Then what I did was go to Inside Schools.org, "the independent guide to NYC Public Schools" and look up the schools that were left, which was a lot. But, if you ever want the inside scoop/hint about any public school, check there. They are my saviors. If there was any indication of rigid atmosphere, military presence (i.e. Junior ROTC), few kids of color, mean principals, low morale, violent environment, or large class sizes, out they went.

Last but not least, I cross-referenced the school addresses to check their neighborhoods for convenience and being where I might possibly want to live.

I was left with a tidy list of about twenty schools, and I dropped off my transfer forms and cover letters at two of them yesterday afternoon after I came from the doctor. The word on the street is that for schools you really want you should hand deliver. All others need to be faxed.

Yes, you read that right. No regular mail for these things. You need to fax them or hand deliver them by 1pm on a Wednesday. Since no teacher I know can do anything once school starts, that actually means you have to have everything in by Tuesday. And, I learned that when you hand deliver them, you might actually get a mini interview on the spot! Hmmm...

Oh and last but not least, let me say it again, the entire process listed above has exactly 13 days in which to happen. That's right -- thirteen days to go through the list, cross check, prepare, and fax or deliver the forms. No wonder so many despondent people I talked to in the past were like, "Yeah, I missed the SBO. Now I am stuck here."

But people, I filled out my cards. Let's hope I get out of jail!

Teach for Hysteria: We Wear the Mask Update

2005-04-05T12:43:00.000-05:00

Okay, so I've been so busy doing it I haven't had time to write about it. Yes, that's right teaching. I did rededicate myself, and guess what? After you all weighed in on what I should do in my meeting with Psychotic Man, the principal -- oh wait a minute, a brain fart is emerging...

Get this-- Do you know this man actually says to kids, randomly, " Do you know how you remember to spell principal? The principal is my PAL." They kids look at him wide-eyed and scurry away. They know the real deal. PM is a madman.

Anyway, I get a call from one of his lackeys, who has actually been very nice to me this year, and she says he is cancelling my meeting, but will reschedule. Well, I know what that means. We won't never ever meet! (Double negative fully intended) YAY! And yes, I had decided to follow the advice of my gentle readers and lie, or be diplomatic or whatever, to cover my ass.

In the meantime, I am pursuing other job opportunities. I really hope to work with some nice, progressive people of color. I talked to some yesterday in Brooklyn, so let' s keep our fingers crossed. And, of course, if you know any, let me know!

Dykephiles: Wanda Alston, In Memoriam

2005-04-05T12:24:00.000-05:00

Wanda Alston was my friend. She came to my parties, supported my writing, hit on my girlfriends, and encouraged all of us to participate more fully in the political process, always with a wry smile. I am really skeptical, but Wanda was always proving me wrong, going to China, hanging out with Patricia Ireland, influencing the mayor. She was part of mainstream politics and policy in way that many people couldn't or wouldn't or didn't want to be. She was our ghost in the machine. And she made a difference. She was a fierce out proud black dyke. She was one of us and she was killed in her own home. She died fighting, but she died! It is so fucking unfair and sick. I am so furious about it that I couldn't write about it and I still don't like talking about it. It clogged up my blog and my mind. This hate crime perpetuated against humanity by some asshole who stole her precious life and left a community and a partner bereft. My thoughts are so much with her closest friends and family and Stacey during this nightmare time. I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.

This site, though it has a morbid name, has a well-linked tribute to Wanda. Check it out.

Rest in peace, girl. We love you and are grateful to have known you!