Dear Dana Dane,
Since the old days, rap now sucks. Please make it better.
Sincerely,
Charity Thomas
P.S. Please tell Big Daddy Kane that he can still come over
my house anytime he wants because he’s The B- I- G D- A- double D- Y givin’ good and plenty….
18 Feb 2014
Decadent, obscene, NYC in the 90’s. That’s the NYC I knew. I wasn’t into coke, but I was on my way to being a drunk by then and the drinks just kept flowing. I didn’t have drug-crazed orgies, but I didn’t need an excess of drugs to express myself. I was in hip-hop land and its excesses mirrored the economic sector in that they were comrades.
The film’s soundtrack is full of songs that epitomized the era, while still being the whitewashed commercial versions of them. Glittery pounding hip hop beats that celebrate having a lot of showy, flashy expensive things to prove to the world that you’re smarter, better, stronger than everyone else. I saw an old Friends the other day that had a whole thing about a baby loving the song “Baby Got Back”. It’s ubiquitous in today’s society. And I watched that in the UK. In England I’ve seen commercials with Snoop selling something or another, that part had been more difficult here. Watching how much America’s cultural imperialism is spreading a subtle racism globally…but that’s for another day.
Back to the film. Tons of coke, tons of narcissistic, immature, insecure behavior. Perfect American film. And Patsy was in it as the matriarch character. Perfect. Pats. Looking lovely Joanna Lumley. And that terrifying moment I think I’m going to see a sex scene between Leo and Pats.
He cheated a lot of people, he was a total jackass. He lost, kinda. Three hours later, the end. Because the reality of what happened is that it happened to real people who suffered real consequences http://www.laweekly.com/informer/2013/12/26/an-open-letter-to-the-makers-of-the-wolf-of-wall-street-and-the-wolf-himself?showFullText=true
In this space, the realities of the inequities become crystal clear. The idea that his little dude got to make all this money on nothing is truly the American Dream. To work kinda hard for a lot of material things that have no bearing on, or to obfuscate, one’s true humanity.
It’s strange posting this as a married lady, but this girl exists in here too…
Soft like an easy chair-
my ass.
It’s just the mood I’m in right now, I guess.
I don’t write about love-
don’t want to write about it because it makes
me feel like a romantic fool.
There’s no room for romantic notions
in a hyper technologized world of IM.
The time to develop the intensity of feelings
and bonds of trust have become truncated into
smiley faces and empty and
quick “I love you emails” and text messages.
I say it so much that the feelings I used to have
when I felt it is gone.
The heat and swelling in my chest.
The flush of my cheeks.
My hands going numb.
Ears throbbing and mind made blank by an emotion
so intensely overwhelming there was, as
the alcoholics would say, the magnificence of God.
But I say it back to everybody that says it to me and
when I think about how much I don’t mean it-
it only adds to the emptiness I feel
about my everyday existence.
When I don’t think about it but feel how empty it is
All I want to do is drink.
Booze is no muse though.
It only magnifies the desperation of being surrounded by
I love you’s and not feeling loved.
It does, however, temporarily hide the fact that all of
this means nothing.
Nihilism is on short order after a bottle or two of montepulciano.
And whisky knocks it down that much better.
So love-
I’m writing about love and it’s new status as an apparition.
A ghost of what was and what everybody hopes to attain
Without knowing its true nature.
With no experience base of its highs and lows.
Because sans this understanding of the heart and mind
that relegated it to the dream realm,
the nether regions,
we all believe in reality TV’s version of love.
And that’s some real bullshit.
28 Jan 14 we went to the Liverpool/Everton Derby (pronounced darby because…the British) and just when I think American sports took the fan out of fanatic, I always remember that the British do it better.
Ben & I had driven up from Letchworth. It’s our honeymoon.
Notes from the game:
Clapclapclapclapclap
Oooooooooh
Liverpool is up 4 to 0. My husband’s on his feet. Whistles. Heys.
Suarez is playing his ass off
Songs I don’t know the words to
A crowd that knows all of them singing in unison. Big sounds. Estatiscism. Excitement.
Clapping. Cheering. Real cheering.
Cheers of fans who’ve been here for years who love and follow every moment of this team.
Come on Liverpool. Come on make it count. Ya little bastards.
They did. We woke up late, His hand is bruised. He had mud all over the back of his jeans and jacket. My shoes were mud covered. I was mad at him. We had our first fight of the trip. We worked it out during the 4h drive. I like us together very much.
Sochi 2014
I’m boycotting the Sochi Winter Olympics. I can’t abide their social policies and the amount of graft and corruption used to build the stadiums in the warmest part of Russia. & DUH! There are TONS of gays there! People don’t have clean water as a nation but they spent a shit ton of money, how much is still up for debate, but it was a lot.
The problem is, I’m watching the Olympics. I LOVE THE OLYMPICS. I’ve watched them for almost 40 years now, and although the summer ones are my favorite, I love the humanity of them all. Sure the winter ones are full of rich kids who can afford to spend enough time snowboarding & skiing to make it to the world stage of sport, but watching skiers fall makes me laugh. I know it’s not right, but it does. & speed skaters thighs…whoo!
So I’m sneaking and watching them here in Liverpool with my groom and laughing. I’m cheating on my own boycott. The thing that makes me go back to the strength of my convictions: curling.
The “Now What?” Months are here! In 2014, we’ll be bringing you advice from authors who published their NaNo-novels, editors, agents, and more to help you polish November’s first draft until it gleams. Author Melissa Landers provides a blueprint for laying the structure for your final draft:
Greetings, fellow Wrimos! I’m Melissa Landers, and I understand your post-November angst. Four years ago, I had just come down from the high of finishing my very first novel. The elation had faded a bit, but I still felt like a rock star… until I read my manuscript and realized what a hot mess it was.
I had faith that there was a great story buried beneath those 50,000 hastily-written words, but I didn’t know how to unearth it. No one had ever taught me to write fiction, let alone edit it. So I spent the next year and a half in a constant state of revision, gleaning what I could from self-editing texts and critique partners. I rewrote—not revised, but actually rewrote—Alienated five times before it sold. But in the sage words of Sweet Brown, “Ain’t nobody got time for that.”
To save you a heap of suffering, here are the editing steps I wish I’d taken:
I’m re-watching SoA from the beginning with my husband in the UK and knowing what I know (I’m current) is enlightening. You have been so respectful of your audience. You didn’t go all Heroes on us and act like every week was a brand new series with a new set of rules and characters.
There’s a line in “Giving Back” after Gemma asks Clay a favor and tells him she loves him and he said that loves going to kill him. Even writing this now I don’t want to give too much away for those still watching because it’s so rich an experience it should be savored and respected. I just wanted to tell you thanks for taking the time and fighting so hard to keep your vision. I know it’s been tough. I’m always checking for you on the internet and I must say that as much as I love Mad Men, you’ve been jerked around. But Mad Men doesn’t use the word pussy, which makes your show touch my inner city heart more.
Your character arcs have been true to and beautiful and I really appreciate your voice.
Thanks again,
Charity
Working Class Sha(wo)man 