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lizacstuff · 4 years ago

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Merhaba friends - SCK episode 35 asks

(Fragman 36 ask at the end)

Apologies to those of you who sent asks for last week’s episode and I didn’t answer them. The week got away from me and then suddenly it was show day, the episode aired, and the asks were no longer relevant. Even if I didn’t answer I appreciate you reaching out!

Anonymous said: I’m dying to know what you thought.

While my ego would like to think that there are a variety of subjects that people might seek out my thoughts on, I’m going to guess you want to know what I thought of episode 35.

I had a mixed reaction. I liked a lot of things, loved a lot of things, there were some things I found disappointing, and a few characters I wanted to strangle. So let’s explore from that perspective.

Liked:

Romcom feel was back. It felt lighter and was easier to watch than a lot of eps in this arc.

Aydan, Ayfer and Seyfi working together to unite the kids. They were actually funny and trying to do the right thing, even if their methods were a bit morally gray.

Serkan and Eda’s photo on outdoor advertising and on the cover of magazines. We’ll ignore how quick the turnaround was to get those photos up, it was just plain fun to watch Serkan see himself on his drive into work and be embarrassed and aggravated by the whole thing, while there was also a little spark of excitement from him in being linked to Eda like that. That was enjoyable.

Melo is always the best bestie and Ayfer didn’t suck as an aunt!

LOVED:

Most every individual Edser scene.

Serkan out-of-his head with worry, planning to jump into the frigid sea, even though he wouldn’t have any shot of saving her that way. That’s my ride-or-die, protective romantic robot!

Serkan making faces as Eda plans her wedding. Excellent work from Kerem here.

Eda buttoning up Serkan’s shirt. That was hot. It was also hot that he just let her.

Sekan buttoning up Eda’s dress (get a room kids and start going the other way... unbuttoning, UNBUTTON) This scene was emotional and the sexual tension!

Serkan clutching his chest. The poor boy was about to have a panic attack right there. Follow through, writers, give him the full fledged panic attack!

The hair caught in the button (There’s that button again!) sequence. it was funny and sexy and made Selin into a foolish, immature third wheel. I’m all for it.

Serkan apologizing to Eda for Selin, that was big because up til now he hasn’t really recognized how awful Selin is in most situations. He has blinders when it comes to her, mostly because he doesn’t pay attention, so it was satisfying to see him acknowledge her bad behavior.

EVERY MOMENT AT THE BOLAT HOUSE. That was a great sequence, and IMO we mostly have Hande and Kerem to thank for it and not the writers. They brought it to life and obviously a lot of it was on them to just figure out what to do in the scene. I loved that Serkan saw Eda amongst the flowers in that painting. Swoon! their conversation about how they were both hungry was hilarious. Every moment with them fixing the sandwiches was gold and then it just got better from there. With him being willing to share food, to the throwback “mesala” conversation to her listening to his heart. All so... so... good.

However, while we definitely deserved those nice, long, funny, heartwarming scenes, I must say the writers didn’t use them to their fullest potential. How did the night end? How did they part? Why was no progress made after spending the night that way? If the writers were even half decent at their job they would have had Serkan confess some feelings while high, but not remember in the morning thus giving us the parallel with episode 11 when he was sick. Eda would have felt defeated when he didn’t remember, again, and it would have made more sense why she thought the fake wedding was her last shot at getting through to him.

Characters I’m mad at:

Ceren knows the whole episode that Deniz loves Eda, she knows he’s being weird about it, she makes up with Eda, and stills says nothing? WTF?

Engin makes it to the wedding, he knows Serkan has his memories back and he doesn’t stop the wedding to let Eda know before she says yes? WTF?

Ferit allegedly has the photos and he thinks the wedding is real, but he doesn’t show Eda the photos so she has a better idea of what she’s getting into? WTF? (though through that whole Ferit/Selin scene I wondered if Ferit was just playing along with Selin, trying to get info out of her and he’s not really the one who has the photos. Time will tell. )

Selin/Deniz- Obvious, psychos, I need them freaking gone. How Deniz can claim to love Eda, but sit there and watch her look devastated and cry her eyes out at the thought of fake marrying him, while knowing he’s about to pull a disgusting trick is unfathomable. He needs to be committed.

Disappointing:

To be clear, I no longer care, but I can’t believe how badly they flubbed this storyline. That? That was the payoff for the hell we’ve been put through for 7 weeks? Wow talk about not worth it and anti-climactic. I’m not going to go on about all the ways they failed, but I could.

While I fully believe that Serkan fell back in love with Eda before he got his memories back (see this post) he should have confessed to Eda before he got them back. That was the whole point of this entire storyline and they carried that the entire time, but then fumbled the ball at the 1 yard line. Good grief, these writers are bad.

Serkan gets his memories back, he knows time is of the essence, and he still is torn and has to think about it? WHAT? Just no. Ridiculous. I realize they did it for maximum suspense, but they shouldn’t have. They really shouldn’t have.

That was their reunion after all we’ve been through? Come on, writers, step it up. I realize we no longer have the writers that gave us his love declaration in 11 or Eda’s and Serkan’s proposals, or their make up scene in 28 or their goodbye scene in 28, but this was lackluster.

So, in summation, there was a lot that I really enjoyed, I thought the episode flowed better than some of the others in this arc, and lots of great individual Edser moments, it’s just the way they flubbed the whole storyline. I’m just so glad the amnesia is over, that thankfully I don't really care.

Anonymous said: when pushed by engin and aydan multiple times in the episode he never denies he ISN'T in love with her and rather skirts around the issue and deflects with "she's marrying deniz!" which should be proof enough he fell in love with her especially considering in 29 he was telling eda that "there was no such thing as love" between them. it was almost reminiscent of eda in 10/11 where she doesn't tell him her feelings bc she believes he wants selin, this time in reverse bc he believes she's moved on.

This came in response to this ask, and yes I agree. I should have hit that point harder, that Engin and Aydan ask him and he never denies it. When this arc started he would have denied it in a flat second.

He fell in love with her again, full stop. It’s just a shame that they didn’t make it the entire crux of his love confession, we deserved to see that. Just one of the many ways the writers dropped the ball with this storyline.

Anonymous said: The whiplash we got going from 26-28 to the drag of 29-35 though. 🤦🏼‍♀️ and you really could cut out that entire storyline and you wouldn’t be missing anything because really nothing happened. They didn’t even have Serkan stopping Eda before he got his memories back to fulfill a basic assumed foreshadowing. Like....huh?

I don’t want to be negative, but it’s crazy to me that they sped through wedding prep at a lightning pace and then went through this painful amnesia storyline at a snail’s pace. They should have had at least 5 episodes of wedding prep, doing just one pre-wedding activity per episode, but kept Babaanne around to create the drama. I wanted at least one episode of them back together, but keeping it secret so they could work against her. We were robbed of that!

Anonymous said: I know we’ve been hating a lot on the new writers but the showrunner still has to sign off on these scenes right? And it’s been the same one this whole time. What has she been thinking? Maybe the writers didn’t do their homework but surely she can tell that scenes being very out of character wouldn’t make sense?

Bold of you to assume there’s a showrunner as we know them on a Hollywood show. I assume you’re talking about Asena, but I always think of her more of a cross between an EP and a network exec. A bit more removed than a showrunner. I have no idea who the guiding light of this show is since Ayse left. The production timelines are so tight, I don’t think there’s time to review scripts and reject them. Sometime I think it’s a wonder anything makes sense at all.

Anonymous said: I see you've giffed some of the edser "questionable positions" bookshelf scene. (Awesome gifs btw). Honestly, that entire scene was really funny, with the rest of the art life crew jumping in. Even Selin made me laugh when she came in there and said "how did her hair get stuck?!" and Serkan very sarcastically replied with something like "I wound it up in there, what do you think??" Not to mention all the very close face talking that was going on!

Great scene! Here’s the gif set you’re referring to. I suppose the writers proved they could do fun, and romantically comedic scenes if they want to. More like this, please.

Anonymous said:

With these past 5 (?) episodes with these last set of writers, I truly believe that they did not go back to watch SCK at all before writing. Any past references were probably given to them on a checklist or something. Like I don't know if they even watched episode 28 with how they ended up doing away with the memory loss. Its kind of astounding how much they dropped the ball. Hopefully the rumors of new writers are true and they get enough episodes to give us a good ending to this story!

This came in right after the episode, but unfortunately, we learned today that we are apparently not getting new writers, at least not for episode 36.I was fully convinced we were since Sefkat (the production company twitter admin) liked Yasin’s post when he said we’d be getting all new writers for 36. Normally I don’t believe anything Yasin says because he has lied so many times that any info he actually has just comes across as a clock being right twice a day. However, when she liked it, I found that convincing. Also the way they cancelled shooting on Saturday and H/K were in for a meeting on Friday. Seemed like it was all adding up. We’ll see, maybe there will be new ones for 37??

As for not watching what came before, it certainly feels like they only skimmed and watched certain scenes and didn’t do a deep dive on the series. Watching all the eps in full should be a requirement before they start the job. I always feel they are just off with Serkan’s characterization, they don’t quite get him and they turn him a bit into a cardboard cutout of early Serkan. It’s like the character sketch outline of Serkan, but with no depth.

Anonymous said: When I saw the character description of the new cast member added to the show I was like "great, another possible screen space filler in regards to Aydan" but after watching the episode, I was actually really intrigued by his character. I know there's a bunch of theories out there that Serkan is actually his son, which I don't really buy into right now, but nevertheless he was a real potential to be a father figure in Serkan's life... and maybe the only guest character to not be a villain lol.

I’ll tell you this, that casting makes it seem like they at least want us to think he’s Serkan’s father. He’s way better looking that Alptekin and he just looks like he could genetically be responsible for the magnificence that is Serkan.

We’ll see what they do. I think it could be interesting, just because until Serkan met Eda he was so invested in being “Serkan Bolat” that having his identity shaken like this would be seismic for him. It could create some really good drama for him in all his relationships without tearing apart Edser. Also, if Alptekin knew it would go along way in explaining that relationship. Alptekin always demanding perfection and the cold way he sent him away to boarding school. It would explain why he could never earn his father’s love or approval, and that knowledge might give him some peace.

In addition, and a big plus, it would mean that his biological father was NOT responsible for the deaths of Eda’s parents.

Anonymous said: 1/ everyone for weeks was waxing poetic and had super detailed headcannons of how serkan would remember in really specific ways when he realized he was in love, something that ayfer kinda poked fun of at the beginning of the ep talking about the fake wedding, but i was genuinely laughing out loud at serkan and engin accidently getting into a fight and him yelling throughout it that he remembers and engin pushing him in front going "can you give him one good hit?!" lmaoo

2/ getting a good hit to the end to unscramble your brain that is already giving you flashbacks is more actually more realistic than the usual fairytale way.. sure, less romantic, but definitely more realistic. the man was already in love with her, super confused on what to do since he genuinely thought she was marrying deniz, and was already having flashes, all he really needed was good hit in the head lol. maybe eda should've kept going when they were boxing 😂

I like your take on it.

Anonymous said: i think they saw the fandom complaining week after week that there was too much heaviness/drama in their romcom and said "so you guys want romcom? here i'll give you full on romcom" which is what i thought this episode was! and i really appreciated such a fun ep overall to watch to bring this otherwise really sad and emotion heavy memory loss plot to an end.

Yes, the episode was a lot more fun than most that had come before it. If only they could have tied it all together.

Anonymous said: Something that just occurred to me that's so crazy in addition to wrapping an episode days before it airs, is that in Turkish television, a series has like 1 permanent director and a small writing team that writes ALL of the episodes. In US TV, that's pretty much unheard of - different writers rotate owning each episode and the same director will shoot maybe 2-3 episodes at most a season. The production turnaround time is so short that it's insane that we don't hear of more last-minute delays

I know, I think about this all the time. It’s crazy to me that there’s only one director. Which is why there’s not a lot of added layers to this show. When a director just has one episode on their plate and they spend a couple of weeks prepping to direct, every shot, every angle, every bit of set dressing can be meaningful. This show doesn’t have that kind of visual depth. On the other hand you do get a director that knows the actors and crew inside and out and they all have a short hand which allows them to get to what they want faster and easier. That can’t be replicated with directors who come in for one episode.

Anonymous said: Over the past month or so, I’ve been seeing so many people cancel Serkan and wanting Eda to leave him forever and move away, but she really never gave up on him and she might finally get him back this week 😭 in fact, Eda and Melo are the only people we’ve seen who have tried to help get his memories back! Everyone who has been friendly to Selin can disinvite themselves to the Edser wedding

I’m glad I didn’t see a bunch of this nonsense myself. But, honestly, anyone who wants Eda to leave and not end up with Serkan... why are they watching this show to begin with? Did they take a wrong turn somewhere? How did they last this long watching it? We’re 35 episode in and this entire show is their love story, beyond that story and it being a vehicle to showcase Hande and Kerem’s awesome chemistry, it really doesn’t offer many other reasons to watch.

And yes to jettisoning anyone who was friendly with Selin. PIRIL I’M LOOKING AT YOU. I sure hope Piril finds out exactly how low Selin will sink. She needs to feel ashamed for welcoming her back without question.

Anonymous said: That fragman for ep 36...part of me wants to hope that it will all be solved pretty soon, since we got edser separated for so long we deserved them together now. But part of me also knows these writers suck so I’m expecting the worst. I just wanted edser together again 😭

I know. When I saw the full fragman my initial reaction was to yell “WHY CAN’T WE HAVE NICE THINGS!!!!!!!” But I’ve calmed down now.

It seems to me that we have Serkan and Eda together and working together to figure this mess out, which is good. we have romantic walks on the pier, and Eda spending the night at his place and a sweet breakfast setting with Eda in jammies. All good.

But then we also have Selin and Deniz refusing to quit. Selin comes up with the plan that if Deniz doesn’t sign the papers in time, then they will have to get a divorce which means Eda can’t marry for 300 days. So then, what? Deniz steals Serkan’s car and goes on the run?

What they hope to accomplish with this, I don’t know. Because even if they succeed and Serkan and Eda can’t get married right away, it’s not like they’ll just magically decide that they want to be with those two psychos instead. I can see Selin doing it just for revenge so she can make them miserable, but what’s Deniz’ motivation? The further psycho he goes, the worse Eda will think of him. Bizarre.

As for the pregnancy thing. It sounds like Eda must hear that from someone. My money is on Deniz. That’s his Hail Mary to try and drive a wedge between Serkan and Eda. Because seemingly when Eda brings it up, Selin asks where did you hear that. Also, phew, Eda says right away that if its true that Sekan deserves to know, which hopefully will clear things up (because the writers showed us over and over and over again that they weren’t sleeping in the same bed) and it will show Serkan just what kind of crazy he’s dealing with.

Anonymous said: I was pretty excited after watching the fragman, but surprised when I went on twitter and saw that almost everyone was really upset by it. I’m sure most people know Selin isn’t actually pregnant, but they all still somehow hate the storyline (possibly bc they think it’ll drive edser apart?) idk am I crazy for thinking that we’ll still get good edser moments and them staying together and fighting together? I guess the show needs drama to continue but I’m not mad because I think good edser will outweigh bad/miscommunication edser.

I’m sure we’ll get good Edser moments, but I can’t really fault anyone for being extremely annoyed by this fragman. I think this little plot point will end up not being a big deal at all, however, I can see how it feels like a kick in the face after what we’ve been through the last 7 episodes. It’s like can we get one happy episode? Just one?

Also it’s just very uncomfortable. I’m in the camp that currently thinks it’s impossible for her to be pregnant because they haven’t slept together. He was too fragile and injured before they came back to Istanbul (sleeping on the couch with his PTSD) and after he was too confused and consumed by Eda and just uninterested in Selin. I have to believe they kept showing us them not spending the night in the same place for a reason.

However, if they were to have had sex, it’s very unsettling because it’s a little too close to him not being able to give consent. It’s Rape by Deception. He had a brain injury, amnesia, was suffering a myriad of traumas and was not in his right mind. He did not have the full set of facts on where their relationship stood, but she did (she knew he wanted nothing to do with her and told her he never loved her and didn’t even want to be friends) and instead of being honest she abused him. She lied to him. She didn’t tell him the truth about what had happened. She isolated him from anyone who could tell him the truth and manipulated him into thinking that she was the only person in the world he could trust and the person he loved and trusted most was untrustworthy and an enemy.

However, as the audience we know the things she’d done in the past to abuse his trust, and we know for certain if he remembered, he would never consent to sleep with her. Never. So even beyond the cheating and the romance it would rob us of if they did have sex, it’s ICKY and GROSS and none of us want to even think of it. I don’t expect TV writers in Turkey to be on the forefront of thought when it comes to issues of consent, so I’d rather this door just not be opened at all.

But here we are, they opened it. Now all we can do it hope that it is a device to hear Serkan say that it isn’t impossible and for Selin to be fully exposed as completely unbalanced and a lying, manipulator.

Anonymous said: the fandom by use of sheer will forced this selin plot line into existence LOL. i swear since the beginning of the memory plot in 29, the "selin will lie to eda she's pregnant" rumor has been constantly making rounds, and i guess it's time to cash in. i will say that i've seen ppl thinking know that somehow serkan and her were intimate even though she's clearly lying.. guys, if there was even a POSSIBILITY she would've used this way back before now and would have told everyone, including serkan.

I agree with this. If this was a card she could play with Serkan, she’d play it. She’s been getting more and more desperate. And in the fragman there she is coming up with ways for Deniz to run away so he can’t sign the papers. If there was something she could hold over Serkan, she would, She’s not because then the con would be up, we’ll just have to wait and see how big of a lie she’s willing to tell.

Anonymous said: I wonder if Selin was a spy when she was younger! That woman is always watching everything from her car! Even in the new trailer.

Ha! Let’s hope that in the end she’s not a very good spy and they finally get one over on her. Oh please oh please oh please let the stable boy be the one who has the photos and let him have more on her. I want there to be tons of photos of her in her car spying on them. That would be so humiliating for her.

Seriously, though, who knows what happened to Selin to make her the way she is. Frankly, I don’t think my assessment of her has really changed (most of my old posts on her are tagged with “anti Selin”) She’s just a spoiled, selfish, entitled brat who thinks she should get anything and everything she wants. If she wants Serkan, she should have him, doesn’t matter what he wants or who she hurts, she’ll do whatever she has to do to make that happen. She was probably never told no as a child. So when she’s thwarted she thinks she’s entitled to whatever reaction she wants to have, if that’s ruining other people’s lives, so be it. No one can be happy if she’s not.

#Sen Çal Kapımı #Sen Cal Kapimi #Edser #sck episode discussion #sck speculation #sckask #asklizac #sck 1x35 #sck 1x36 #anonymous

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nancygduarteus · 6 years ago

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How a Stroke Turned a 63-Year-Old Into a Rap Legend

Dr. Sherman Hershfield woke up one morning and was surprised to find himself behind the wheel of his car. Somewhere between his Beverly Hills apartment and his practice in the San Fernando Valley, the silver-haired physician had blacked out. Somehow, he’d avoided a crash, but this wasn’t the first time. “I didn’t know what was going on,” he admitted.

Apart from his frequent blackouts, Hershfield was in fine health for a man in his 50s. He was tall and lean, ran six miles a day, and was a strict vegetarian. “I believe a physician should provide exemplary motivation to patients,” he once wrote. “I don’t smoke and have cut out all alcohol.” Hershfield specialized in physical medicine and rehabilitation, and for decades had helped patients with brain injuries learn to walk again and rebuild their lives. Even with his experience, Hershfield didn’t know what was wrong inside his own head.

Perhaps the mystery blackouts were caused by stress, he wondered. Hershfield was the medical director of the rehab center at the San Bernardino Community Hospital, but he also ran a private practice 76 miles away in Winnetka, offering non-surgical spinal treatments. “Sometimes I worked from 6 a.m. to 3 a.m.,” he recalled, adding that the pressures had cost him his first marriage. At the hospital, Hershfield often slept in the doctor’s lounge, where colleagues nicknamed him “Dr. Columbo” after the disheveled television detective.

Not long after the blackouts started, Hershfield suffered a grand mal seizure—the type most people imagine when they think about seizures. He was driven to the emergency room, thrashing and writhing like a 6-feet-4-inch fish pulled out of the water. Concerned doctors at the UCLA Medical Center rushed him into an MRI machine, and, this being the late 1980s, wondered whether he might have pricked himself with a needle, and contracted AIDS. Instead, the scan revealed that his blackouts where actually a swarm of small strokes, and his illness was diagnosed as antiphospholipid syndrome. Hershfield’s immune system was mistakenly creating antibodies that made his blood more likely to clot. Those clots, if they entered his bloodstream and brain, could kill him at any moment.

Doctors prescribed blood-thinning medication and forced Hershfield to quit driving, but he was still fit to practice medicine. Like many survivors of stroke, his speech became slurred and he sometimes stuttered. His personality also seemed to change. He suddenly became obsessed with reading and writing poetry. Soon, Hershfield’s friends noticed another unusual side effect: He couldn’t stop speaking in rhyme. He finished everyday sentences with rhyming couplets, like “Now I have to ride the bus, it’s enough to make me cuss.” And curiously, whenever he rhymed, his speech impediments disappeared.

A STROKE or “brain attack” can happen to any of us at any time. One occurs every 40 seconds in the United States, and they can lead to permanent disability and extraordinary side effects. Some patients become hypersexual or compulsive gamblers. Others have even woken up speaking in a fake Chinese accent. “There was a famous guy in Italy who had what they called ‘Pinocchio syndrome,’” said Dr. Alice Flaherty, a joint associate professor of neurology and psychiatry at Harvard Medical School. “When he told a lie he would have a seizure. He was crippled as a businessman.”

One of Dr. Flaherty’s most famous cases was Tommy McHugh, a 51-year-old British man who suffered a subarachnoid hemorrhage—a stroke caused by bleeding around the brain. Once a grizzled ex-con, McHugh’s stroke changed his entire personality. He became deeply philosophical, and spent 19 hours a day reading poetry, speaking in rhyme, painting, and drawing. He’d never been inside an art gallery before, he joked, “except to maybe steal something.”

For Hershfield, a love of poetry was also completely out of keeping with anything in his past. He was born in Winnipeg, Canada, in 1936, and while his mother was a concert pianist, he followed his father into medical school, graduating in 1960. In Flin Flon, a Canadian mining city, he mended the heads of injured hockey players, then became a resident at the University of Minnesota, before serving in the U.S. Army Medical Corps. In 1973, he arrived in Southern California and set up his practice, where he had little time for reading anything but medical journals.

His problems started during the medical malpractice crisis in the 1970s. Lawsuits against doctors became popular, and the cost of Hershfield’s liability insurance rose from $864 to $3,420. In protest, he quit working all but emergency cases, and took a job frying fish at Thousand Oaks Fish and Chips for $2 an hour. Newspapers across America wrote about the doctor who fried fish while wearing hospital scrubs, adding that Hershfield “looked like he was about to have four cod fillets wheeled into surgery.” He explained: “I’ve always been a person of high moral values. I’ve thought, what the hell do I want out of life? And it comes out, I want to be happy.”

Hershfield did return to medicine, but things went from bad to worse when his business partner and best friend started to abuse drugs. “He was an excellent surgeon, a handsome man who had everything going for him ... but he was unable to control his fears and constant bouts of withdrawal and depression, and he tried five times to take his life,” he recalled. Hershfield was there when his friend’s heart finally stopped, after six days on a respirator.

By 1987 he’d filed for bankruptcy. A year later he became the medical director at the rehab center, where he butted heads with management over his “odd” ideas, like opening a hospice where pets could stay with their dying owners. That was around the time the blackouts started.

In the 10 years following his stroke, Hershfield dedicated his free time to a Buddhist organization called Soka Gakkai International, where he loved to chant for hours. He had met his second wife there, Michiko, a beautiful Japanese divorcée who he impressed with his intellect, and his three medical certificates. Michiko told me that her husband “changed a lot,” following his stroke. “He used to like Japanese haiku poems, you know, five, seven, five.”

[Read: Can music be used as medicine?]

Hershfield also embraced his Jewish heritage, and volunteered at the Simon Wiesenthal Center, a Jewish global human rights organization. “I did the Holocaust in rhyme,” he recalled of the educational poem he’d perform on the bus. The city now sounded like a swinging rhythm section: Brakes hissed. Horns honked. Passengers rang the bell. As Hershfield recited his rhymes alone, he had become just another crazy person talking to himself on public transport. Then, one afternoon, as he waited at a bus stop in Hollywood, a man selling jewelry overheard him and suggested that he take his lyrics to Leimert Park.

“Where is Leimert Park?’” Hershfield asked. He had never been there.

Intrigued, he rode a bus headed into South Central, past Crenshaw’s Magic Johnson theater, the neighborhood’s megachurches, and liquor stores. At the foot of Baldwin Hills he found it—an area with one of the largest African-American populations in the western United States. If Leimert Park was 100 people, just one was white.

Since the 1960s, Leimert Park had been the center of African-American culture in Los Angeles—Duke Ellington, Ella Fitzgerald, Miles Davis, Ray Charles, and Richard Pryor had all lived within five miles of the place. To outsiders, it was known only as a hotspot during the Los Angeles riots in 1992. The jazz poet Kamau Daoud told me that locals still refer to the riot as “the rebellion.” The village would not quickly forget the four white police officers who beat the black motorist Rodney King half to death.

It was the very late 1990s when Hershfield stepped off the bus, dressed like a doctor who lived in Beverly Hills. He walked in polished shoes to the beat of the drum circle that gathered in the park, past the row of Afrocentric bookstores and shops selling colorful fabrics, where saxophone music leaked from every door and window. At 43rd and Leimert, he found a crowd of teenagers surrounding a community arts center called the “KAOS Network.” This had to be it: Spontaneous rap battles were breaking out, and dancers writhed on the sidewalk, seizurelike. At the entrance, a young man sized him up.

“Would you like to hear something?” Hershfield asked politely.

“Sure, what’s your name?” the man asked.

Hershfield looked at him.

“My name is Dr. Rapp.”

ESTABLISHED IN 1984 as a media-production center, KAOS Network was famous for “Project Blowed,” an open-mic workshop for up-and-coming rappers. Since 1995, the project had turned the dance floor into a living Venn diagram of performers from various gang-controlled neighborhoods, mostly African-American teenagers wearing baggy pants, Timberland boots, and caps pulled down just above the eyes.

“It was underground, powerful, strong, and scary for people if they weren’t ready, because it was really volatile,” explained the proprietor, Ben Caldwell, a 73-year-old African-American filmmaker with a tidy, graying beard. “I would have to take a deep breath every time, because it was a bunch of alpha males.” The project was a tough breeding ground for rappers, who hoped to “blow up,” like the underground performer Aceyalone, or more mainstream stars like Jurassic 5. But Hershfield knew nothing about any of this.

“He said he wanted to do a rhyme on the Holocaust,” Caldwell remembered. “I thought that was really insightful. I thought that it would be something good for the kids to hear.” This was unusual, but not against “da mutha f**ckin rulz” pinned to the door, that began: “PROJECT BLOWED IS PRESENTED FOR THE LOVE OF HIP-HOP ENTIRELY FOR BLACK PEOPLE.” The sign continued: “DO NOT GET VIOLENT BECAUSE THIS IS A BLACK-OWNED, BLACK-OPERATED BUSINESS.”

The entrance fee was $2 to perform, $4 to watch, and rappers were expected to “perform a polished piece of music,” wrote Jooyoung Lee in Blowin’ Up, a history of the club, adding: “The open mic is a lot like peer review.” Emcees with the skill to rap spontaneously—“freestyling”—enjoy the greatest respect. But when a rapper forgets his lines, stutters, or shows up unprepared, the crowd forces them offstage with a devastating chant:

“Please pass the mic!”

The DJ demanded Hershfield’s backing music. He handed over a cassette tape of Chopin. Piano music filled the room. Regulars in the audience, known as “Blowdians,” looked at each other.

“They all were going, ‘Uh hunh, uh hunh,’” Hershfield recalled, but they quickly tired of the classical music.

“Okay,” someone said. “Get rid of that music and let’s hear you rap.”

Alone on the stage, Hershfield gripped the mic, and began:

“God, this is a tough thing to write

The feeling I got in my heart tonight

Just to think of the Holocaust

So deep and sadly blue

And still so many people

Don’t think it’s true.”

The crowd was silent. Here was an old man, reading a poem.

“The first time he was up there, he wasn’t that successful,” Caldwell said. But out of respect, the audience didn’t chant him off. Project Blowed calls itself the longest-running open-mic session in the world, and they’d never seen anyone like Hershfield on stage. “First of all, he’s Caucasian around all these people of color,” said one regular, called Babu. “I thought he was some kind of spy.” Hershfield was also the oldest person in the room: “If you up in your mid-thirties and still ain’t got it,” a Blowdian called Trenseta would say, “Leave hip-hop alone, and go get you a little job at International House of Pancakes or some shit!” Hershfield was now 63, a dinosaur in rap years.

Clarence Williams / LA Times

As he emerged into the hot South Central night, Hershfield heard a voice from Fifth Street Dicks, the neighboring coffee shop: “If you can’t keep up with those kids, then you’d better do something else,” shouted Richard Fulton, a large man with graying dreadlocks. Fulton’s jazz cafe was a hotbed of African-American writers and artists, and he’d seen many beat poets try their luck in Leimert Park—none of them from 90210, America’s ritziest zip code. “At that time I thought I was rapping,” Hershfield later recalled. “I wasn’t rapping, I was just reading poetry. It didn’t have any beat. When you’re on rap street, you gotta have that beat.”

Undeterred, Hershfield put aside his Tchaikovsky records and listened to NWA and Run-DMC. He played rap music in the bath, Michiko told me. When she found out he was preparing for rap battles in South Central, she told him: “You’re crazy!” But she couldn’t stop him returning to Project Blowed every week, sometimes making the six-and-a-half mile journey from Beverly Hills on foot.

“Sherman’s leaving at 10 o’clock at night and going to Crenshaw,” she told her son, Scott. “He’s hanging out with kids and rapping.” Scott, who had transitioned from a teenaged professional skateboarder into a hip-hop DJ, was now in his 20s and was scoring regular gigs at Hollywood’s celebrity-filled clubs. When he saw his stepfather rapping at home, he felt embarrassed.

“Sherman, you’re kinda just rhyming, putting words together, but you know so many Latin words, you should rap about neurology, really get into the science of it ... that would be amazing,” he said. Scott encouraged his stepfather to be more like the hip-hop rappers he admired. “Even though I’m from the West Coast, most of the stuff I really liked was East Coast 90s hip-hop ... I was into KRS-One.”

In the mid-1980s, KRS-One had emerged from the Bronx as the emcee of Boogie Down Productions, with the seminal album Criminal Minded. As a solo artist he’d created one of hip-hop’s most enduring records, Sound of Da Police, and was now a leading rap scholar and lecturer. One evening in October 1999, Hershfield heard that KRS-One was speaking about rap history at an event for hip-hoppers in Hollywood, and decided to swing by. “Try to imagine a hip-hop gathering,” KRS-One told me, late last year. “You know, emcees from the hood, breakers, DJs, music is blasting. I’m giving you permission to stereotype. Then in walks this dude.” It was like Larry David had wandered into a Snoop Dogg music video.

During the Q&A, Hershfield grabbed the mic and started to tell his story.

He explained that he was getting his language back together after a stroke by listening to rap records. “One of which was one of my songs,” KRS-One recalled.

Hershfield couldn’t stop himself.

“I started to have a stroke,” he rapped. “Went broke.”

The room fell silent.

“I started to think and speak in rhyme. I can do it all the time. And I want to get to do the rap, and I won’t take any more of this crap.”

The crowd erupted.

When Hershfield rapped about his struggles, not history lessons, he inspired the audience.

“He got a standing ovation,” recalled KRS-One. He gave the doctor his telephone number and suggested they hang out.

[Read: The revenge of autobiographical rap]

“I didn’t know anything about him,” Hershfield recalled. “I just knew that he was in the same category as Tupac Shakur.” When Hershfield told his stepson about his new friend, Scott was stunned. “You know, you should really listen to his music and listen to his lyrics,” he told his stepfather. But inside, Scott was thinking: Let’s see how long this lasts. KRS-One?

A few days later, the rap icon arrived at Hershfield’s office. KRS-One gave the doctor a signed copy of his book, The Science of Rap. He too was fascinated with neurology, he said: “I was already talking about the concept of how rapping synthesizes those two hemispheres of the brain,” KRS-One told me. He asked Hershfield if he’d like to be part of an experiment, and offered him rap lessons.

“When you’re trying to teach someone to rap, you ask them to sing along with a song they might have heard,” KRS-One told me. He hit play on Rapper’s Delight by the Sugar Hill Gang. The song began:

“I said a hip-hop / Hippie to the hippie / The hip, hip a hop, and you don’t stop ...”

Then he pressed rewind and encouraged Hershfield to give it a try.

“He nailed it,” said KRS-One.

“He had the cadences and the rhythms,” he added. But the doctor needed to work on his delivery, breath control, and enunciation. And so an unlikely friendship blossomed between the Blastmaster and the Buddhist. They were both interested in spirituality: The rapper’s name, ‘KRS,’ came from the Hare Krishna volunteers he befriended in a youth spent on the streets of the Bronx. And just as Hershfield had lost his business partner to suicide, KRS-One had lost his right-hand man, DJ Scott La Rock, who was shot in 1987. The loss was life-changing for the rapper: his lyrics became more political and philosophical; he launched a movement called Stop the Violence.

To KRS-One, Hershfield was a pioneer of rap theory. “He was talking about neuroplasticity before I heard about it on PBS,” KRS-One recalled.

KRS-One suggested they write a book together, or record an album in New York.

He told the doctor: “I visualize you as revolutionizing hip-hop.”

HERSHFIELD RETURNED to Project Blowed, where he vowed to win over the crowd. The elder statesmen of Leimert Park took Hershfield under their wing, making sure he got time on the mic, and that he got home safe. “People respected him and he could work on his chops, work on his brain,” Caldwell told me. “It was interesting to see how well we all accepted him.” Caldwell encouraged Hershfield to experiment. “He wanted to do Jewish chants,” he recalled. “And I was like ‘That is so fucking tight.’”

The younger members of Project Blowed were also drawn to Hershfield. Up-and-coming rappers in South Central suffered from an “existential urgency,” Lee wrote in Blowin’ Up. Theirs was a race to “make it” in hip-hop, before their life was derailed by gang violence. Like them, Hershfield was rapping against the clock, unsure when the next seizure might strike.

Richard Fulton, the coffee shop owner, became especially close with Hershfield. Fulton was a cancer survivor and former drug addict, who had once pushed a shopping cart along Skid Row’s 5th Street. That was before he found God—and jazz. Against all odds, a reborn Fulton launched his coffee-and-music operation. His caffeine was strong and the jazz loud. Like Hershfield, Fulton’s second life was dominated by a love for music. His catchphrase was “Turn the music up.”

Hershfield and Fulton were kindred spirits, said Erin Kaplan, a journalist who frequented Leimert Park. Both men were enjoying “second chances,” she explained, and living “on borrowed time.” Hanging out at Dick’s, Hershfield brushed shoulders with beat poets, rappers, chess players, and jazz musicians. It was there he fell into the rhythm of Leimert Park.

Every week for two or three years, Hershfield climbed onstage at Project Blowed and gave his everything, sweat on his brow, steam on his glasses, fists pumping. Sometimes he electrified the crowd, other times: “Please pass the mic!” He learned to self-promote and name-check “Dr. Rapp” in his lyrics just like the pros; he wore customized T-shirts and learned to freestyle. He performed on the stage and in impromptu “ciphers” under street lamps, until the sun came up.

“He was tight,” the rapper Myka 9 told me, while he smoked in an alleyway before a performance in Culver City. “He had a little bit of an angular approach. He had flows, he had good lines that were thought out, I remember a couple punchlines that came off pretty cool.” Myka 9 recalled socializing with Hershfield at house parties in South Central, and described him as “a cult personality in his own right.”

At home, the doctor’s wife was worried. “I don’t understand why he goes to that area,” Michiko told me. Her husband was too generous and trusting, she added. “I bought him nice clothes, Italian-made suits, a couple times he came back with dirty clothes, he’d given the nice suit to somebody else.” With his designer threads and prescription pad, Hershfield was a mugger’s dream.

“I keep telling him it’s dangerous,” Michiko told me.

Hershfield insisted he was safe. These people were his friends, he said.

NOT EVERYONE IN the world of hip-hop was enthused by Hershfield. A letter arrived from a lawyer representing a different Dr. Rap, who advised him to find a new name or face legal action. Hershfield, who actually had a doctoral degree, rebranded to Dr. Flow, but it was too late. His reputation was spreading.

In early 2000, Hershfield attended a talk about violence and rap music at the California State University at Los Angeles. Sitting on the panel was one of Gangsta Rap’s pioneers, Ice-T, who argued that violence was an unavoidable part of rap culture. “I’m a person who deals with violence always in my music,” he told the audience. “Masculinity runs this world. The person who’s violent gets control. Peace gets nothing.”

Hershfield was infuriated.

“You can’t live by hate!” he yelled out, before trading comments with Ice-T in an ugly scene that required the moderator’s intervention.

Hershfield was appalled by gang violence and its needless killings. Internally, he was struggling with the fragility of his existence: He had survived a deadly stroke, and life was a precious gift.

No one was more devastated than Hershfield when Fifth Street Dick’s cancer returned. Hershfield was one of the many Leimert Park regulars who surrounded Fulton’s bedside. He found his friend unable to speak, the tumor in his throat so large that his tongue protruded from his mouth. Fulton could only communicate by writing notes, and knew his life was ebbing away. But Hershfield couldn’t accept it.

“If I can just get him to chant, he’ll recover,” Hershfield said, as decades of medical experience were drowned out by denial.

He started his Buddhist chant:

“Nam-myoho-renge-kyo.”

Friends urged Hershfield to stop, but he wouldn’t listen. Fulton, 56, could barely breathe, let alone speak.

“We’re going to tap into his life force,” Hershfield insisted.

But on March 18, 2000, jazz filled Fulton’s room as he declined a final morphine shot, and instead told nurses in a note: “Turn the music up.”

Back at Project Blowed, Hershfield intensified his efforts to dominate the mic. But his double life soon became strained, as his two worlds splintered. “His friends in Beverly Hills did not approve of this at all,” said Kaplan, Hershfield’s journalist friend. “They were so shocked. Let’s just say none of his friends showed up at open-mic night.” By choosing rap nights instead of night shifts, Hershfield soon fell into another financial crisis. “I think he was more obsessed with rapping than he was going to work,” his stepson Scott told me. Sometimes, Michiko told me, the guys from Leimert Park would lend Hershfield money for the bus.

Soon, Hershfield’s voice became hoarse from shouting rhymes over African drums, and staying out all night. Then, during one particularly hot evening, everything went black. “Dr. Rapp had a seizure,” recalled Tasha Wiggins, who worked for KAOS Network. “Other rappers caught him. Everybody stopped what they were doing, trying to nurture Dr. Rapp.” As Hershfield lay unconscious on the floor, the crowd started chanting his name.

THOSE WHO HAVE been struck by the strange side effects of brain injuries often speak of their gratitude. Just before he died of cancer, Tommy McHugh, the British convict who became an artist, said his strokes were “the most wonderful thing that happened.” He added that they gave him “11 years of a magnificent adventure that nobody could have expected.” Dr. Flaherty described McHugh’s hemorrhage as “a crack that let the light in.” McHugh and Hershfield both experienced symptoms of what the physician and author Oliver Sacks called “sudden musicophilia,” an eruption of creativity following a brain injury or stroke. But for Hershfield, rhyming was no longer a symptom, but a cure.

It was as if one side of Hershfield’s brain that held the rhymes healed the broken side that had short-circuited. Brain scans on rappers carried out by the National Institute on Deafness and Other Communication Disorders (NIDCD) discovered that during freestyle rapping, brain activity increased in the brain areas that engage motivation, language, mood, and action. Hershfield said rapping kept his seizures under control, and even after he collapsed that night in Leimert Park, he used hip-hop to regain his speech and return to the stage.

[Read: Mapping creativity in the brain]

Soon, Dr. Rapp’s notices at Project Blowed started improving.

“His name was on the lips of the multitudes,” recalled Ed Boyer, a Los Angeles Times journalist who first heard rumors about South Central’s rapping doctor in April of 2000. Boyer tracked down Hershfield to his office, and visited Project Blowed to hear him perform. “I’ve seen Dr. Rapp rock the whole house,” Tasha Wiggins told Boyer, as Hershfield climbed onto the stage. Another Project Blowed member, Gabriela Orozco, said, “Oh, I think I’m going to cry. I mean ... he’s doing it.”

As Dr. Rapp stepped into the spotlight and the DJ’s needle found the groove, he became lost in his rhymes:

“Me, I’m just a beginning medical intern of rap

Trying to express and open my trap ... ”

Hershfield’s stepson, Scott, remembers the morning he opened the Times and saw a photograph of Dr. Rapp, wearing an Adidas tracksuit, mid-flow, on the paper’s Metro pages. “The whole thing was so bizarre,” he said.

Dr. Rapp had finally “blown up.”

RADIO AND TELEVISION crews from Canada and England soon descended on Leimert Park looking for Hershfield. Ben Caldwell showed me footage from a Japanese television station, who filmed Hershfield waiting to take the mic. He looked like a retiree standing in line for an early bird dinner special. Then he laid down his rhymes, as the crowd bobbed their heads in appreciation. Afterwards Hershfield took a nap on a couch. “He did that quite regularly,” Caldwell sighed. “Everybody liked the doctor, right, even the hardcore gangster types,” he added. “They liked him for his chutzpah.”

Hershfield told reporters that Leimert Park had opened his eyes to a whole new world. “There are lots of misconceptions by white people about the area,” he said. “It’s very cultural with a lot of interesting places.” Project Blowed was “the Harvard of rap,” he said. “This is my foundation. I find it very beneficial.”

Though he never recorded an album with KRS-One, Hershfield owed his underground rap career to the Blastmaster. KRS-One, who now lives in Topanga Canyon, California, told me: “He mentioned one of my songs brought him back. He was in a coma, they were playing music for him to try and wake him up.” He added: “I’ve met a lot of people, but a few people I will never forget. [Hershfield] saying rap healed him ... that just stayed with me ... It’s part of my confidence in hip-hop.”

Instead of embarking on a world tour, Dr. Rapp continued to pay his dues at Project Blowed every week. Like a true underground star, he shunned mainstream success. He did appear in a documentary about Leimert Park, not as a novelty act, but as a regular member of the crew. “I can’t clearly tell you whether [rap] helped him,” said Michiko, “but I can tell you he was happy when he was doing rap music.” Hershfield represented Project Blowed until ill health forced him to quit both music and medicine. He died from cancer in Los Angeles, on March 29, 2013, aged 76.

Today, Project Blowed lives on, every third Tuesday at KAOS Network in Leimert Park. The area remains the “hippest corner in Los Angeles”—according to the recording on the club’s answering machine. But Leimert Park is now fighting a new battle, against soaring property prices and gentrification. The reason Hershfield was accepted at Project Blowed, said Caldwell, was that he arrived with an open mind, and he listened and learned. “That’s one wonderful thing I like most about black American communities,” he said. “As long as you don’t try to tell them how to do their own culture, you’re good.” Ever since Dr. Rapp’s days, performers from all races and backgrounds have jumped onstage, added Caldwell. But the moment they stutter or slur, it’s always the same:

“Please pass the mic.”

from Health News And Updates https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2019/01/doctor-rapp/579634/?utm_source=feed

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ionecoffman · 6 years ago

Text

How a Stroke Turned a 63-Year-Old Into a Rap Legend

[Read: Can music be used as medicine?]

“Where is Leimert Park?’” Hershfield asked. He had never been there.

“Would you like to hear something?” Hershfield asked politely.

“Sure, what’s your name?” the man asked.

Hershfield looked at him.

“My name is Dr. Rapp.”

“Please pass the mic!”

The DJ demanded Hershfield’s backing music. He handed over a cassette tape of Chopin. Piano music filled the room. Regulars in the audience, known as “Blowdians,” looked at each other.

“They all were going, ‘Uh hunh, uh hunh,’” Hershfield recalled, but they quickly tired of the classical music.

“Okay,” someone said. “Get rid of that music and let’s hear you rap.”

Alone on the stage, Hershfield gripped the mic, and began:

“God, this is a tough thing to write

The feeling I got in my heart tonight

Just to think of the Holocaust

So deep and sadly blue

And still so many people

Don’t think it’s true.”

The crowd was silent. Here was an old man, reading a poem.

Clarence Williams / LA Times

During the Q&A, Hershfield grabbed the mic and started to tell his story.

He explained that he was getting his language back together after a stroke by listening to rap records. “One of which was one of my songs,” KRS-One recalled.

Hershfield couldn’t stop himself.

“I started to have a stroke,” he rapped. “Went broke.”

The room fell silent.

“I started to think and speak in rhyme. I can do it all the time. And I want to get to do the rap, and I won’t take any more of this crap.”

The crowd erupted.

When Hershfield rapped about his struggles, not history lessons, he inspired the audience.

“He got a standing ovation,” recalled KRS-One. He gave the doctor his telephone number and suggested they hang out.

[Read: The revenge of autobiographical rap]

“I said a hip-hop / Hippie to the hippie / The hip, hip a hop, and you don’t stop ...”

Then he pressed rewind and encouraged Hershfield to give it a try.

“He nailed it,” said KRS-One.

To KRS-One, Hershfield was a pioneer of rap theory. “He was talking about neuroplasticity before I heard about it on PBS,” KRS-One recalled.

KRS-One suggested they write a book together, or record an album in New York.

He told the doctor: “I visualize you as revolutionizing hip-hop.”

“I keep telling him it’s dangerous,” Michiko told me.

Hershfield insisted he was safe. These people were his friends, he said.

Hershfield was infuriated.

“You can’t live by hate!” he yelled out, before trading comments with Ice-T in an ugly scene that required the moderator’s intervention.

Hershfield was appalled by gang violence and its needless killings. Internally, he was struggling with the fragility of his existence: He had survived a deadly stroke, and life was a precious gift.

“If I can just get him to chant, he’ll recover,” Hershfield said, as decades of medical experience were drowned out by denial.

He started his Buddhist chant:

“Nam-myoho-renge-kyo.”

Friends urged Hershfield to stop, but he wouldn’t listen. Fulton, 56, could barely breathe, let alone speak.

“We’re going to tap into his life force,” Hershfield insisted.

But on March 18, 2000, jazz filled Fulton’s room as he declined a final morphine shot, and instead told nurses in a note: “Turn the music up.”

[Read: Mapping creativity in the brain]

Soon, Dr. Rapp’s notices at Project Blowed started improving.

As Dr. Rapp stepped into the spotlight and the DJ’s needle found the groove, he became lost in his rhymes:

“Me, I’m just a beginning medical intern of rap

Trying to express and open my trap ... ”

Dr. Rapp had finally “blown up.”

“Please pass the mic.”

Article source here:The Atlantic

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julianledet4439-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Pompous Video game 3.

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The buyer, which had spent the last 4 hrs with Leo appeared him in the eye and also announced what does it cost? he adored the product and told Leo that he was actually the greatest salesperson he had viewed in a very long time.

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