I had an earlier post about my interest in the Aborigine culture, and meeting an orginal Aboriginal.
I think I had a close encounter with one, one night on my motorbike, I passed the movie theater and he was crossing the street. But like most of my interesting finds, they go as quick as they come while I whiz by on my two-wheeler.
Well, I was able to get a slight taste of Aboriginal culture through the show "Living Black" on the Australian network. Like most disadvantaged indigenous cultures, Aborigines are suffering from alcoholism, low employment rate and second rate education. The show also touched on the gang violence that arose recently. In Chicago Puerto Ricans and Mexicans got beef, in Darwin Aboriginal boys don't like African young boys. . . Can't we all just get along!?
On a positive note, Aborigines do excel in sports and dance. . . sound familiar? Ben Barba is doing well on the national rugby team, and Damian Smith has received acclaim as one of the world's premier ballet dancers. The Aboriginal culture is also great at artistry creating beautiful paintings and crafts. But it seems to me that little effort has been made over hundreds of years to incorporate this indigenous culture into modern Australian society. 'Course it may be hard with the language barrier, and stark cultural differences. To stay up to date on what's going on with Black folk "down under" check out: Living Black. And keep checking into the blog as I continue my search for an original Aboriginal.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
its a rainin' men, hallelujah, its a rainin' men. . .
I wish! It is raining like cats and dogs though.
I don't understand how a perfectly beautiful day, clear blue skies, not a cloud to be seen for miles can turn into this horrible mess of ugly gray mass. I've gone through 2 ponchos in the six months I've been here, ruined shoes and soiled the end of jean from this rainy season. I need a super heavy industrial automatic rain cover to hover over me while I'm driving.
And don't let there be a traffic jam. I don't know what's worse, being stuck in a traffic jam from O'Hare to downtown in the middle of winter with 4 feet of snow around me, or riding in the rain on a motorbike drenched, wind and rain in my eyes, dirty water spraying up in my face from the bike in front of me, going 1 cm every 20 minutes.
I don't understand how a perfectly beautiful day, clear blue skies, not a cloud to be seen for miles can turn into this horrible mess of ugly gray mass. I've gone through 2 ponchos in the six months I've been here, ruined shoes and soiled the end of jean from this rainy season. I need a super heavy industrial automatic rain cover to hover over me while I'm driving.
And don't let there be a traffic jam. I don't know what's worse, being stuck in a traffic jam from O'Hare to downtown in the middle of winter with 4 feet of snow around me, or riding in the rain on a motorbike drenched, wind and rain in my eyes, dirty water spraying up in my face from the bike in front of me, going 1 cm every 20 minutes.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
What up niggah!
I would like to discuss a word, I have heard, in use since I have been on the other side of the world. Yes, I know, I know. I've been asking my self the same question. Why would Vietnamese have use for a phrase like, "nigga please."
Well, they don't, and, they won't, unless they are reciting somebody's lyrics. It has been my Français amis, who used this 'dis. My suspicion tells me French African rappers frequent the "n" word in their music, I don't listen so I do not know for sure. What is true indeed is the use of the word from American rappers and the effect it has on those across the globe who "love" hip hop culture. I hung out with my French friends the other day. We were sitting in Tuan's apartment when Bobby walks through the door and greets Tuan with, "What up niggah!" matter of factly.
Of course we all laugh. And though I was slightly disturbed that this French-born Vietnamese knew the use of such a word would bring about humor, I said nothing. It was later in the evening when I became more disturbed.
Would I get the same response if I walked through the door addressing my girl Linh with,
"Whaddup chink!",
Maybe, if my name was Dave Chapelle.
Hmmm, what do you think?
Well, they don't, and, they won't, unless they are reciting somebody's lyrics. It has been my Français amis, who used this 'dis. My suspicion tells me French African rappers frequent the "n" word in their music, I don't listen so I do not know for sure. What is true indeed is the use of the word from American rappers and the effect it has on those across the globe who "love" hip hop culture. I hung out with my French friends the other day. We were sitting in Tuan's apartment when Bobby walks through the door and greets Tuan with, "What up niggah!" matter of factly.
Of course we all laugh. And though I was slightly disturbed that this French-born Vietnamese knew the use of such a word would bring about humor, I said nothing. It was later in the evening when I became more disturbed.
Would I get the same response if I walked through the door addressing my girl Linh with,
"Whaddup chink!",
Maybe, if my name was Dave Chapelle.
Hmmm, what do you think?
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Saturday, September 11, 2010
speaking of cats. . .
Mèo, mèo, mèo, mèo, mèo!!
After coming home from having a delicious French dinner with my friends from work, I open the front door of the house so I can put my bike away. As I start to move my bike forward, one of the many cats in heat in my alley decides to run into the the car port. Though, this one was just a kitten so probably not too hot just yet.
Mèo, mèo, mèo! . . . mèo, mèo, mèo!!! The Vietnamese lady across the street decides to tell me what I already see. And may I add it is 12 AM. WHY are you on a balcony at 12 AM washing clothes???
Well, sometimes nosy neighbors really do come in handy. I'm sure she will inform my host family about her exciting night.
After coming home from having a delicious French dinner with my friends from work, I open the front door of the house so I can put my bike away. As I start to move my bike forward, one of the many cats in heat in my alley decides to run into the the car port. Though, this one was just a kitten so probably not too hot just yet.
Mèo, mèo, mèo! . . . mèo, mèo, mèo!!! The Vietnamese lady across the street decides to tell me what I already see. And may I add it is 12 AM. WHY are you on a balcony at 12 AM washing clothes???
Well, sometimes nosy neighbors really do come in handy. I'm sure she will inform my host family about her exciting night.
Friday, September 10, 2010
"curiosity killed the cat"
It was a rainy evening in Saigon, last night. I was tired from teaching these non-designing designers how to design, and still getting over a cold. All I wanted to do was sleep. But my girl had invited me out to dance at the "studio" she attends weekly to practice her hip hop moves. Sounds like great exercise, I thought. So after my nap, and the thunder storms calmed down I took a cab to the dance hall.
The cab started to slow down, and pulled into the drive way of this large shopping complex, and in the middle was a dance hall full of Vietnamese doing the tango. Behind the building were open fields for soccer, but at this time of night, the Karate kids were out practicing, actually they were probably doing Vietnamese Martial Arts called "Vo Vi Nam." On the second floor up the stair case, was ball room dancing, and down the hall from that right above the tango session was the room designated for hip hoppers. I assumed I was going to a dance lesson, or at list a freestyle session of some sort, but in a real dance studio with mirrors. I would watch my friend's moves, and practice in the mirror just like I did at Dance 411 in ATL. It was a long day of teaching, so I was looking forward to the work out. I was assuming the role of the student, not teacher, performer, or Black spokesperson. . .
Poppers, Breakers, and Hip Hoppers
Upon entering the room I was stunned by the blaring of the Gap Band, or maybe it was Cameo, no, it was Roger and Zapp, by the dance instructor, while a perfectly aligned row of Vietnamese youth practice their "popping" moves. It was a sea of robots coming to life by remote control, actually a bit scary. Wow, they have to practice popping? Cold calculated moves from left to right, rigid short staccato jerks of the neck and limbs. Quite the scene.
Moving further into the dance hall, (which by the way was more like an old high school auditorium, not a real dance studio) were the breakers. They were off to the left side of the space, twisting and turning on these blue mats that they brought from who knows where. Keep in mind none of this is a formal paid lesson. These kids just want to have fun.
Lastly were the hip hoppers practicing their choreographed moves. My friend introduced me to one of the young girls who comes to the dance session regularly.
"So what kind of dance do you do?"
My friend, "She knows Beyonce's dance."
Ummm, correction, I do not know Beyonce's dance moves. I learned them once while taking my Go Go Stiletto dance class, but without her music playing, or the "single ladies" video in front of me, I could not tell you anything. I don't dance on que. I am not a robot.
"Sorry without the music I can't teach you much."
"Can you show me some of your moves?"
*Sigh* Look kid, this isn't beat street, and/or "Save the Last Dance", I didn't come here to teach you anything, I came to exercise.
"How long have you been dancing?"
At this point I'm highly annoyed that I'm not in a formal dance studio, but mostly that I'm being pushed into this "teach your culture" session. So here's your Black history lesson of the day. Most Black folks don't have to study dance moves, or practice calculated steps, we just listen to music and feel it. Besides, I couldn't dance in the studio space if I wanted to, because all 3 groups had their own music blaring soo loud on cheap speakers, it was a cacophony of mess. As far as how long? I've been dancing to the beat of life. Music is always played in my household. I can't remember a time when we didn't listen to music, dance at parties, or sit around the TV with popcorn waiting for the "world premiere" of the new Micheal Jackson video to begin.
Though I appreciate the pure curiosity of the Vietnamese youth, I will admit I am a person who gets a bit offended when I'm put in the spotlight to "perform". "It's all positive, all coming from positive vibes," my friend assures. Yes, yes I know, but for one day can I not be reminded of how foreign I am?
Anyways, check out the little rascals practice their moves, notice, nobody is dancing with the beat. . .
The cab started to slow down, and pulled into the drive way of this large shopping complex, and in the middle was a dance hall full of Vietnamese doing the tango. Behind the building were open fields for soccer, but at this time of night, the Karate kids were out practicing, actually they were probably doing Vietnamese Martial Arts called "Vo Vi Nam." On the second floor up the stair case, was ball room dancing, and down the hall from that right above the tango session was the room designated for hip hoppers. I assumed I was going to a dance lesson, or at list a freestyle session of some sort, but in a real dance studio with mirrors. I would watch my friend's moves, and practice in the mirror just like I did at Dance 411 in ATL. It was a long day of teaching, so I was looking forward to the work out. I was assuming the role of the student, not teacher, performer, or Black spokesperson. . .
Poppers, Breakers, and Hip Hoppers
Upon entering the room I was stunned by the blaring of the Gap Band, or maybe it was Cameo, no, it was Roger and Zapp, by the dance instructor, while a perfectly aligned row of Vietnamese youth practice their "popping" moves. It was a sea of robots coming to life by remote control, actually a bit scary. Wow, they have to practice popping? Cold calculated moves from left to right, rigid short staccato jerks of the neck and limbs. Quite the scene.
Moving further into the dance hall, (which by the way was more like an old high school auditorium, not a real dance studio) were the breakers. They were off to the left side of the space, twisting and turning on these blue mats that they brought from who knows where. Keep in mind none of this is a formal paid lesson. These kids just want to have fun.
Lastly were the hip hoppers practicing their choreographed moves. My friend introduced me to one of the young girls who comes to the dance session regularly.
"So what kind of dance do you do?"
My friend, "She knows Beyonce's dance."
Ummm, correction, I do not know Beyonce's dance moves. I learned them once while taking my Go Go Stiletto dance class, but without her music playing, or the "single ladies" video in front of me, I could not tell you anything. I don't dance on que. I am not a robot.
"Sorry without the music I can't teach you much."
"Can you show me some of your moves?"
*Sigh* Look kid, this isn't beat street, and/or "Save the Last Dance", I didn't come here to teach you anything, I came to exercise.
"How long have you been dancing?"
At this point I'm highly annoyed that I'm not in a formal dance studio, but mostly that I'm being pushed into this "teach your culture" session. So here's your Black history lesson of the day. Most Black folks don't have to study dance moves, or practice calculated steps, we just listen to music and feel it. Besides, I couldn't dance in the studio space if I wanted to, because all 3 groups had their own music blaring soo loud on cheap speakers, it was a cacophony of mess. As far as how long? I've been dancing to the beat of life. Music is always played in my household. I can't remember a time when we didn't listen to music, dance at parties, or sit around the TV with popcorn waiting for the "world premiere" of the new Micheal Jackson video to begin.
Though I appreciate the pure curiosity of the Vietnamese youth, I will admit I am a person who gets a bit offended when I'm put in the spotlight to "perform". "It's all positive, all coming from positive vibes," my friend assures. Yes, yes I know, but for one day can I not be reminded of how foreign I am?
Anyways, check out the little rascals practice their moves, notice, nobody is dancing with the beat. . .
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
somethin i've never ate before
So I just had dinner at the house again. What was on the menu. . . . ?
Rice.
Fish.
Soup.
That's pretty much how it goes. And usually there are some leafy green vegetables to balance it out. The soup usually comes last, to cleanse the palette. It also will contain some leafy green veggie and a protein, sometimes crab, or pork. The rice sits on the table in the rice cooker, unplugged, the fish in a serving bowl, the veggies on a plate, nasty fish sauce in a small dipping bowl, and the soup in a larger serving bowl. Fortunately tonight's soup contained shrimps and my favorite vegetable! . . .can you sense the sarcasm. . . that's right, the Bitter Melon. Yuummmm. And it tastes exactly how it sounds. It actually has a bitter, unflavored, no sugar, extra-watered-down-boiled-coffee after taste to it. Doesn't that sound delightful?
Of course like most old people, the maid proceeds to tell me how "good" it is for me.
"Es gud for yuu. Make yuu smalla."
Umm, what you trying to say granny? Let me note, this was after she slaps me on the behind for using my own plastic dish to eat my food—my Vietnamese mother, lol. (Did we forget roaches come out at night in the kitchen. . . yeah, Tiana will use her own dish, thank you very much.) So after she dumps my rice into a new bowl (giving her more dishes to do, but whatever, the woman lives to clean) she plops the tail end of the fish on my rice. Now, normally we would think, oh great, tail end, not enough meat. Wrong. I don't know WHAT type of crazy super fatty organically-grown-from-the-terential-rain-shower-fish this is that we eat in this house, but it definitely ain't lacking in bone structure. A whole fillet could satisfy even the biggest appetite. (Cory, Craig, Brother, my Dad) So my tail end had lots of fatty fishy goodness all drenched in yellow curry sauce, mmm mmmmm. The fish we eat is sooo thick, it will trick you into thinking you had chicken.
Since the bitter melon, also known as khổ qua, is soo good for me, the maid proceeded to pile a few pieces of that on top of the fish as well. Okay, okay, I'll eat it like it's medicine for the soul, I don't like it, but it'll do me some good. Well, come to find out Bitter Melon could do some Black Folks A LOT of good. Bitter Melon has been known to treat diabetes, malaria, help with digestion, and help with the side effects of HIV! Shoot forget the apple, "khổ qua a day keeps the doctor away!"
Here are more foods that tickle my taste buds:
Durian
Jackfruit
Dragonfruit
Custard Apple
Baby Bananas
Mangosteen
Water Spinach
Boiled Chrysanthemum Bulbs
Rice.
Fish.
Soup.
That's pretty much how it goes. And usually there are some leafy green vegetables to balance it out. The soup usually comes last, to cleanse the palette. It also will contain some leafy green veggie and a protein, sometimes crab, or pork. The rice sits on the table in the rice cooker, unplugged, the fish in a serving bowl, the veggies on a plate, nasty fish sauce in a small dipping bowl, and the soup in a larger serving bowl. Fortunately tonight's soup contained shrimps and my favorite vegetable! . . .can you sense the sarcasm. . . that's right, the Bitter Melon. Yuummmm. And it tastes exactly how it sounds. It actually has a bitter, unflavored, no sugar, extra-watered-down-boiled-coffee after taste to it. Doesn't that sound delightful?
Of course like most old people, the maid proceeds to tell me how "good" it is for me.
"Es gud for yuu. Make yuu smalla."
Umm, what you trying to say granny? Let me note, this was after she slaps me on the behind for using my own plastic dish to eat my food—my Vietnamese mother, lol. (Did we forget roaches come out at night in the kitchen. . . yeah, Tiana will use her own dish, thank you very much.) So after she dumps my rice into a new bowl (giving her more dishes to do, but whatever, the woman lives to clean) she plops the tail end of the fish on my rice. Now, normally we would think, oh great, tail end, not enough meat. Wrong. I don't know WHAT type of crazy super fatty organically-grown-from-the-terential-rain-shower-fish this is that we eat in this house, but it definitely ain't lacking in bone structure. A whole fillet could satisfy even the biggest appetite. (Cory, Craig, Brother, my Dad) So my tail end had lots of fatty fishy goodness all drenched in yellow curry sauce, mmm mmmmm. The fish we eat is sooo thick, it will trick you into thinking you had chicken.
Since the bitter melon, also known as khổ qua, is soo good for me, the maid proceeded to pile a few pieces of that on top of the fish as well. Okay, okay, I'll eat it like it's medicine for the soul, I don't like it, but it'll do me some good. Well, come to find out Bitter Melon could do some Black Folks A LOT of good. Bitter Melon has been known to treat diabetes, malaria, help with digestion, and help with the side effects of HIV! Shoot forget the apple, "khổ qua a day keeps the doctor away!"
Here are more foods that tickle my taste buds:
Durian
Jackfruit
Dragonfruit
Custard Apple
Baby Bananas
Mangosteen
Water Spinach
Boiled Chrysanthemum Bulbs
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