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diverse-writing · 5 years ago

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Pt. 1-Hi! I'm a Black woman writing a Fanfiction for an anime series called Food Wars and I'm creating a sister and brother who are half-Lakota (Itazipcola Band) and half-Black American. They're going to a Japanese Culinary High School, the same school their great-uncle (Kiowa) went to when America was in Japan, post-WWII for a few years as his father was in the army. It's a very competitive school with diverse characters and cooking styles/types. They both want to travel and see a new country.

(continued) They live in Sioux Falls, SD after moving from the Cheyenne River Rez years ago. The family owns a Catering company with Native, African, and American Southern food (Mom is from VA) that does Showcasings, Chef Demos, and feeding the people within both communities while mentoring the youth. Annie (Older sis) wants to be a Pastry Chef as Andrew (little bro) does mostly savory, especially BBQ. Annie was on a kid's baking show as Andrew won kid's BBQ competitions. Both siblings want to help their communities by spreading awareness about poverty, suicide, and other stuff. They are active in their Native heritage. I did research in Natives in Japan, and I found that it's a bit mixed. Some people don't know about Natives, or that they do but only through the news and old western films. There's this one guy who went to a tribe to learn about the culture and he went back to Japan to teach his students about how the Natives truly lived. There's a Native jewelry store in Tokyo So some Japanese do know about Natives, I want to write a few small scenes where the Japanese students ask questions that are stereotypical about Natives and Black people, but they learn from the siblings. Annie begins to have a crush on a boy who is mixed indigenous (Ainu/Saami), but isn't connected to those cultures, because of his Ainu dad dying and Saami mom leaving him. He was adopted by a rich Japanese/Danish family. I want him to learn more about his heritage after falling for Annie and begins to heal from his past through learning about the Saami. Before he didn't want to do anything with them due to his mom. Andrew falls for a Japanese girl who does Medicine Cuisine. He's a expert in Nutrition and tries to help his people's health issues. They have a cute relationship. I thought of these characters just like any other person. I'm Black and I don't like seeing stereotypes. Annie and Andrew love music due to their dad formerly being in a band with only one album. They're both crafty with the Arts due to their grandparents on both sides teaching them. Annie is more outgoing, goofy, and blunt than Andrew but she enjoys the simple stuff in life and loves fashion (Vintage 60s/70s and Punk) Andrew is more quiet and shy, but not antisocial. He just likes doing his own thing while teasing his sis on her shortness and crush. He likes comfy, Punk clothing. I was just wondering what is offensive and not. I want to show their food and aspects of culture, like Powwows (I've been watching videos on Lakota Powwows) and I've been wondering if there's a coming of age ceremony. I don't want to show it just mention it. Is this where people get their Lakota name? I don't want to do religious ceremonies since that's sacred and also I'm not really religious, but what if I want to allude about it? Sorry that this was way too long!

Okay, this is a huge question but I’ll do my best to answer it with the GIANT caveat that I’m not indigenous and am only answering to the best of my knowledge. If any indigenous followers--particularly those with experience in Japan/with Japanese culture, though of course all are welcome--have thoughts or feelings, as always feel free to add more information and/or correct me!

A few observations that jump out, based on your description of your narrative framework:

Their food. Okay, while I know absolutely nothing about the food cultures you describe, I’m a huge fan of connecting with your culture through your food (and your stomach!) so I love this framing. That being said, to my knowledge African American food is fairly distinct from African food, with the former more likely to be in their cultural background given your description (obviously, in this situation you’re the expert on Black culture so feel free to totally ignore me here).

Andrew’s food interests. Related to the previous bullet point, based on my understanding Medicine Cuisine and Nutrition would be super interesting focuses for him given his cultural background. It’d be super cool to seem him integrate his various cooking specialties and heritages into nourishing food to support his people.

Knowledge about Native Americans in Japan. I do think it’s likely accurate that unless someone in Japan has personally done research, the average Japanese citizen probably knows very little about indigenous Native Americans in the same way the average American knows very little about Japanese indigenous ethnic groups.

Relatedly, I think it makes sense for their Japanese classmates to ask stereotypical questions, but you should steer clear of just plain offensive questions. As you likely know, answering stereotypical questions about your identity and heritage is exhausting and should be treated as such within the narrative. Your characters are in school to educate themselves, not to educate their classmates, so while the latter may occur sometimes I don’t think it should be their focus. So while the intent of the questioning scene may partially be to help answer readers’ questions about Annie and Andrew’s heritage (and Black and Lakota culture to an extent), remember that the ultimate goal of representation is not to educate others but to help people within those demographics see themselves on the page. And more likely than not, Black and Lakota readers won’t want to see characters representing themselves having to answer the same repetitive questions they face down all the time.

I know you only mentioned him in passing, but I have a lot more thoughts specifically about Annie’s mixed Ainu/Saami crush. I don’t want to tell you *not* to write him but I do think there are several pitfalls you need to carefully avoid moving forward.

His Saami mother. There’s a big stereotype around POC abandoning their children, being absent or flighty parents, or otherwise just failing to properly nuture their children. While I’m unaware of any specific stereotype regarding indigenous parents, I would tentatively say that doesn’t mean those stereotypes don’t exist, so tread carefully. That being said, I do know there’s a stereotype about indigenous people being alcoholics, so you should absolutely avoid characterizing his mother as such because as an outsider, you don’t have the power to subvert that stereotype.

His relationship with his heritage. I would also be very cautious while writing his arc of reconnecting to his heritage. While reconnecting is unfortunately a very real (and very under represented) process for indigenous people, it’s an extremely difficult and personal process that I don’t think outsiders are qualified to write in-depth about. Though I don’t think you should necessarily gloss over his reconnecting process, I do think it should perhaps be a side character arc, rather than his defining character arc. For example, he might mention to Annie that her passion for her heritage has inspired him to research his own family, or else maybe he’s pictured buying a book on the Saami language. (The current discussion around Rick Riordan’s portrayal of Piper’s imperfect reconnection to her Cherokee heritage makes some really good points, so I’d check that out if you’re familiar with his books. I’d be happy to link you if you’re curious.)

His adopted family. I have to admit--as the daughter of a transracial adoptee in a family full of transracial adoptees, this framing makes me very wary. While I know transracial adoption parents likely have only the best intentions, the adopted child themselves often end up hugely disconnected from their birth cultures. It’s often an extremely stressful and traumatic event, especially in cases where the adopted parents don’t learn about their child’s birth culture themselves and/or only teach the child their own cultures (in this case, Japanese and Dutch). Honestly, with all due respect, I have yet to see any fictional narratives that properly address the trauma of transracial adoptions and given everything else going on in your writing, I’m not sure how well you would be able to write about it. More in the next bullet point.

His extremely mixed heritage. While I don’t want to come across as rude, I do have to ask: what’s your intention behind making a single side character with four different cultural backgrounds, especially backgrounds that you the author don’t share? The reality is that, no matter how much research you may do, these four cultures--Ainu, Saami, Japanese, and Dutch--are very rarely found in combination, and I think you’d be hard pressed to find any #ownvoices accounts from similar scenarios that you could hypothetically draw on to write more accurately. As a result, you’d know very little about how these different cultures meld together, and you’d have almost nothing to go on to write about his mixed multicultural background and the tensions that come with it. While I understand you may be attached to his parental setup and his backstory, I would highly advise simplification to avoid straying into territory you neither understand or are qualified to write about. Given your focus on his reconnecting, I would probably recommend keeping his Ainu father alive and cutting his adopted family. That way, you cut the number of unknown cultures in half and you can truly dedicate yourself to writing his Ainu heritage and his reconnecting process well.

With regards to your actual question about Lakota religious ceremonies, as a non-indigenous person I’m definitely not qualified to answer specifics about Lakota coming of age and naming ceremonies. That being said, I know this: Native American ceremonies, rituals, traditions, and lore are often closely guarded and not shared with outsiders. And I don’t just mean outsiders don’t share in the ceremonies themselves--outsiders often can’t even learn about the ceremonies because the knowledge itself is guarded. (This information is secondhand from my Blackfoot professor last year. If I’m wrong or if any indigenous followers have more accurate information, as always I’m open to critiques and suggestions!) As you continue researching this, I’d definitely be mindful of the source; if it comes from an official Lakota or indigenous source, it’s likely okay to share or discuss, but if all you can find about Lakota religious ceremonies is from, like, someone’s blog or Facebook post or something, then that information likely wasn’t approved to share and you shouldn’t write it into your story. Given that this seems to only be a character detail mentioned briefly, you may be able to simply mention the characters’ Lakota names in passing without referencing the ceremony itself.

Sorry for the long response, and I hope at least some of this information helps!

(Also, if you read this post, this is a good example of a really well researched and thought out ISO Sensitivity Reader question. Obviously, I’ve provided what information I can and this individual seems to have done lots of research, but the execution comes down to... well, the actual execution.)

#long post for ts #ISO Sensitivity Reader #writing about race #writing indigenous characters #this is a whole essay question with an essay response whoops #bullet point tw #one of these days I will write about the multigenerational harms of transracial adoption but today is not that day

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sacannes · 6 years ago

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Day 3

Before jumping into some Day 3 talks, I have prioritized two that I attended at the very end of Day 2 because they were absolutely insightful and I needed to reflect on them. Day 3 was hard because I felt like the Palais theater talks were becoming drawn out and I wanted more intimate experiences like 1 and 2 on this list. I want to curate the best of the best seminars on this blog so you all can savor these experience with me and find them equally as thrilling!

1. Make Yourself Uncomfortable —Hosted by Pippa Seichrist (Miami Ad School)

I had the opportunity to talk to Ms. Seichrist earlier in the day when she approached me and my friends to ask us a few questions. She was so nice and gave us flyers for the Miami Ad School (which were so cool and had amazing grad programs) and explained more about herself and what she does. After talking for a bit she told us to come to her talk at the Terrace later, and I am so glad I did because I had no idea this seminar would be so great.

This was a more intimate session and it took place outside on the terrace. As a woman of color I wanted to see how people would react to what was said as well as be able to see if I had any of the same feelings. I always thought that there were barely any Indian women in this industry as well because of the poor representation we have in media and how it lacks authenticity.

- We demand diversity to cater to the growing multicultural population and there is no room for messing up

- More minorities are needed in the communications industry to better the work. Like the Miami Ad School flyer says, when people who don’t get it create the ads, it shows. Having representation benefits everyone and provides authentic perspective.

- That being said, people can see through the fake. Only a person of color can tell to a person of color’s experience, period. Awareness = growth.

- Often minorities do not even know about the industry to even think if it interests them. This is a cultural thing because it is rarely discussed in those households sometimes nor is there enough money to fund education as well. So how do we solve this? FUND, MENTOR, and HIRE minorities and support their work.

2. A Conversation about Manhood —Hosted by Justin Baldoni

OMG. Justin Baldoni is one of the cutest actors I can think of and I have been watching Jane the Virgin since it came out. He’s talking about toxic masculinity? Count me in! And guess what? I EVEN GOT TO MEET HIM AND TALK TO HIM AFTERWARDS. HE ANSWERED MY QUESTIONS AND I MET HIS WIFE. AND I GOT PICTURES WITH HIM. Major fangirl moment. His talk was incredible though, and here are a few of my takeaways:

- Why is being called a girl such an insult to men? We are programmed at a young age to “be a man” and accept more traditional gender roles, otherwise we have failed and are not enough

- Physical appearance is important. You need to look a certain way to be mainly: be tall, have facial hair, have a good build/be strong, even the way you walk. Being called a girl repeatedly can build up resentment against women.

- For the privileged, equality can feel like oppression. Which is why some men get really mad when women just want basic rights. “THIS IS A WAR ON MEN!!”

- Media and advertising is also to blame in how they depict gender roles, subliminally and upfront. For example the #MeToo movement and the Gillete ad that had everyone up in arms about just saying its ok to not be a stereotypical “man” and to treat women with respect. Why are they so mad?

- How do we call men in instead of calling them out?

3. Junktion: The Dynamic Intersection of Advertising & Entertainment —Hosted by Kenya Barris, Netflix, and FALKON

I am a huge Black-ish fan and have watched that show religiously with my family every week. I always see Kenya Barris come up in the beginning credits, so when I saw his name on the list of talks, I had to go.

In summary, Barris was explaining how footwear, specifically sneakers, say a lot about a person and is a way of self expression. On Black-ish, Dre, the father on the show, always has a new pair of kicks on which somehow represent his mood perfectly for each episode. The way someone is dressed in a show or in culture not only is a way to define them, but is also a way for us to connect ourselves to fiction.

Essentially Barris believes that advertising will no longer be during commercial breaks, rather, product placement will become the future. We have all seen it: why does this movie keep showing Coca Cola bottles whenever they get the chance? Or, does everyone in this show drive an Audi? It's because its a strategic move by advertisers- make your product seem real and attainable, while also emphasizing how it is relevant to these fictional characters' persona. I think it is a good way to associate advertising with something positive, like your favorite characters’ shoes, rather than a burden you just want to skip so you can get back to the program.

4. Young Lions Meet Up: You CAN sit here —Hosted by Emily Hinks and Dayoung Yun

This was such a fun networking experience because it was centered around diversity and how most of the work in the communications industry tends to be homogenous. Like what I learned from Pippa Seichrist’s talk, minority influence is incredibly important to innovation.

Promoting diversity from “every angle” was the center of this seminar: whether it be race, sexual orientation, income level, or gender. I met a few amazing people (and we ended up following each other on social media) that were in their early 20s who actually felt alienated at some point due to one of their identities.

They shared how they embraced who they are and that was when the magic happened, both in their personal lives and career. I remember when I was younger and grew up mainly around white people, it was easy for me to think there was something wrong with me. As time went on and I was exposed to all the beauty and diversity there is in the world, I began to celebrate who I am and be thankful for it everyday.

5. Make Advertising Great Again —Hosted by WARC and Rory Sutherland

Ah, the title of this talk was a very effective tactic. Of course I had to go check this out, a name like that is sure to draw attention in the politically charged environment we live in. Furthermore, Rory Sutherland is the vice president of Ogilvy, a very reputable and esteemed advertising company. This was going to be good.

Investing in creativity is something many people look beyond. Sutherland emphasizes how it makes all the difference in advertising. Media, and advertising, when done correctly, makes all the change in the world. It transforms culture and makes a lasting impact. It defines history. So why is it so hard for people to shell out the cash to get the best of the best? - Because people do not take “creatives” seriously sometimes. In reality, being a creative is not like being a struggling artist in a shack, living alone (some people want to make it seem like that). Tech is creativity. Innovation is creativity. Emotion is creativity. Expression is creativity. We need to MAKE ADVERTISING GREAT AGAIN but reminding everyone how powerful it really is and “restore confidence to the advertising business.”

#day3 #log

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creativitytoexplore · 5 years ago

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Forward: March by Mike Lee https://ift.tt/3flTpur Mike Lee tells the story of two American political refugees in the South American country of Antanzia, with a complicated personal history; by Mike Lee.

"How exhausting all this was. In fact, if only people knew how madly tiresome it is to be a criminal!"

- Hermann Hesse, Klein and Wagner

The question was resolved with an answer I steadfastly refused to accept. My hands became putty in this memory of a profoundly painful aspect of my past. That is, doing something that seemed a good idea at the time, but really never was to begin with. This fact was laid out before me while with my old camp mate Stefan at a table at the beach in Antanzia City. We sat under a fuchsia umbrella chatting over some business regarding his novel and likely temporary employment writing copy for a public relations firm I had an excellent connection with. I am his literary agent; managing his often-difficult navigation through the publishing trade in the country we now call our home. As refugees coming to grips with the truth that we may never return home, Stefan and I carve out our own palos in this new garden in South America, channeling our lives in a manner where we have a sense that we no longer have to look over our shoulders in the street, or listen for the baleful knock on the door by the national police. Having said that, living in Antanzia is a struggle, and today's business meeting was no exception. Being in a new land, though with us having now spent three years for me, and coming up on one for Stefan, has its issues once you get over the relief of escaping a dictatorship and finding room to breathe and hopefully thrive. After that sense of relief passes, one is confronted with the difficulties of being accepted. Antanzians are outwardly welcoming, but we certainly have collectively been grating on their nerves since the United Nations negotiated for political refugees to come to this country. The Antanzians tire of being a dumping ground while we weary of being treated like shit by our hosts. This creates an impasse that is an abyss to traverse in what can best be described as a politely passive-aggressive manner. Yet for some reason that none of us could quite put our hands on, they were indifferent to our plight, and often angry. We were an inconvenient presence, often ghettoized in Briklin, the slums in the inner part of Antanzia City, or sent off to the mountains, or worse yet working in the steel mills and iron ore mines in the northern border areas around the city of Bataille. It was sometimes hell. Shopkeepers threw change at us at the markets, and landlords overcharged for rent. Employment services usually shifted Americans into construction, and contractors consistently violated the labor codes regarding wages and work conditions. We took it, though, because in these transactions both parties knew we had no power to complain. We could not go back, unless you saved enough money and moved on to Brazil and Argentina, which treated us a little better. Not by much, but there were better opportunities and a modicum of respect that was lacking in our hosts. But I was a literary agent for non-citizen writers, namely my fellow Americans, and a subeditor for a refugee journal and website. I had a visa and permanent work permit, and citizenship was on the horizon. My Portuguese was good, and I got respect from my indigenous peers. Stefan was a dreamer. Isolated in a house in the far mountains of the O'Doul Range, writing his novel, and churning out book reviews and literary essays for print and online journals catering to our growing community. I thought of him as a man trying to erase memory. This was reflected in his writing: scribing dreamy parables influenced heavily by Hermann Hesse and Ernst Junger that I believed had more appeal for the locals than it did for exiles. We liked words that tasted of the whips we endured. Fiction that threw us against the wall, sentences that burned like the cattle prods. Shoved face down in toilet seats, sitting hungry in isolation cells, martyrdom with a bullet was what appealed to us, because it was all we knew. In America, political conflict eventually was settled by the crack of gunfire and people dragged into darkness at four in the morning. That's our game. In this country, you can spot one of us by the look of past incarceration. We have a post-traumatic stare. We do not look at you, but through. Looking at Stefan I saw something lacking in his expression. He was direct and steady. He was not one of us. It was becoming apparent during the conversation, I made a mistake befriending this man. I did not trust him. I long ago learned not to.

Today is a Thursday late morning in March, the end of the Antanzian summer. I am older now, and I like fitting in so I dress my age, and try to look local in my tan linen suit and black oxfords. I began sporting a wide-brimmed straw hat, my vanity too much to show my receding hairline. Fitting in is something I didn't do well back home, but here I found it easy - to a point. As I sat across from Stefan my nascent disdain began to slowly percolate. Dear Stefan in his blazer and ill-fitting slacks. He needed to dress better, and I know he could, so I decided to keep our encounter on the beach, but intended to tell him to dress better when I took him to the editorial meeting. The work I had for him was simple enough. After countless delays, the RSA had planned the first human mission to Mars. The Gagarin mission was cobbled together under Russian/Indian leadership, using whatever resources were left in the now-collapsed European Union, and American technicians who no longer had a country willing to engage in anything other than staring at their navels. The international crew was mainly Russian, and Stefan minored in Russian in college, so it was a fit - somewhat - mainly because he spoke the language and knew Soviet history. But there were no Soviets, only Russians again, and the lot of them seemed to be blissfully unaware that being the last nation of any technological might left standing after a political and economic collapse does not leadership make. But, they did enough to launch for Mars, with grandiose plans to planet hop through the solar system and on to the stars. Considering the Antanzians had the tracking station in the northern mountains near the border, it was planned to boost their national pride by playing up their role in the Gagarin mission. So he was tasked to find someone who could write something for the local papers. Who better than an American? Why not us? We kicked the whole thing off with a few dreamers such as Goddard, a few weirdoes like Jack Parsons, and a slew of Nazis to work on releasing humanity from the taut bounds of Earth. We were the dreamers, with the means and spirit to get it done. We were Americans, and after World War II ruled - well, half the world. But we had a competitor with a knack to beat us. They got a satellite up first, shipped up a dog, a man, then a woman in space, did the first walk outside of a space capsule. Then we got serious, using the improved rocket design developed by our Germans using the fuel that Parsons invented, and set out for the big prize: the Moon. The other half withered and eventually crumbled, canceling their planned missions. Eventually we worked on a joint project, and then the other side totally collapsed, unable to keep up economically. The vastness of space before us was an American opportunity. At that moment, we were the only ones. The problem was, we lost our faith, distracted by events and an innate ability to stare at our navel and question ourselves endlessly. Dreams soon ceased to be. Sure, we managed to send out and land various craft, and launch exploratory vehicles which kissed the planets and several moons of our Solar System, but when it came to human exploration, as we had done with the Moon decades ago, we stayed with both feet on the ground. Then, due to events unforeseen, the balance of power shifted. One empire that had collapsed regenerated while the other - ours - crumbled into tertiary status. So, who better than an American? We still loved our country, though neither of us at this table liked it for what it had become, and America hated us to the point where we had become landless individuals cast out to at a table under an umbrella on the shore, under azure southern skies, marking time with all the other exiles, dreaming of a home that no longer was. So I did not trust this man. Not in the least. But I needed someone for the job.

The camp was situated in the desert outside of Las Vegas, Nevada. The stark, treeless mountains framed our landscape beyond the wire fence. I found out after my arrival that communications to the camp headquarters was by landline telephone only and all radio and wireless communications were jammed by satellites. This was complete isolation, but we made do with the Saturday visits from relatives who drove on the single two-lane blacktop leading to the main gate. We furtively did our work there. Our resistance was to the banal, and our enemies were in the main rather boring. They dumped us in camps, fed us the three square meals consisting of aging meat and stale potatoes, and when in the mood occasionally kicked the shit out us, usually without warning. In that regard, their neglect gave us an internal freedom that quite often at times gave us a false sense of fearlessness. We could talk amongst ourselves, and communicate messages to our loved ones visiting us at wire beside the front gate. That went on for a year. Then things suddenly transmogrified into horror. It began when the camp commander issued orders to forbid the visits. The posting was announced at morning roll call as we watched a detachment of reserve units guarding the fence perimeter. They also announced that the road to the camp was ordered as a secure military zone with shoot-to-kill orders for any nonmilitary personnel. Mail and packages were now to be confiscated. Guards ransacked our huts while we stood in the high desert heat. That night came the first raids. Units of five soldiers each entered at both entrances and their commanding officer ran off names from a computer printout. Sometimes only two or three were taken from a particular hut; other times far more. Most were members of the camp resistance. The others known personalities from the old days, former elected officials, military, writers, professors. Anyone who had been in a position of power before the onset of the current regime. They were loaded on buses and taken out of the camp. We only heard the trucks move out because we were ordered to stay in our bunks. Two soldiers stood at the doors, their guns pointed in our general direction. The raids continued nightly for a week, until the entire active membership of the resistance was removed. Those who remained were the cursed lucky, the noninvolved and suspected informers. Stefan, of course, was one who remained. Before the camp lockdown and the raids, I never paid much attention to him. I do remember that because of his journalism background he was approached by the resistance to do occasional writing. He wrote a few minor efforts that were passed through the fence, but as far I knew was not involved more than that. Stefan usually sat at a bench, reading his novels. He liked Hermann Hesse, which made sense because before the camp he taught German literature in a university. At first, I thought he was lucky like me. I was into the resistance a bit deeper, certainly enough to be taken away into the night to unknown destinations. I kept caution from the wind and figuratively burrowed further underground. The remaining members of the resistance did the same, exchanging furtive glances in the yard, in our huts, and during muster, like gangsters in a French film noir. We did not know which from whom anymore. All of us were innocent, or a traitor. Or a bit of both. One cannot separate in these stressful conditions. We passed each other as the dead to one another. The triumph of the regime over us was clear to all. Take a few of us, and leave the remainder to quietly question their worthless place in our universe, was the message we received. Paranoid, and remaining silent while waiting out our lonely days and nights in the desert camp. I did talk to Stefan during this time. Nothing much in common except for a shared interest in academia. I was a journalist and found him an interesting companion regarding book recommendations. I kept the conversation to that, and the miserable desert heat in spring and summer, and equally wretched cold in winter. I thought those conversations were unrevealing. Sometime I lay awake at night trying to remember everything we said. My memory of those days is still shot. All I can recall is fragments of mid-century European literature and the desperate need for shade from May to October. But like in Melville's Army of Shadows, there would be a reckoning once we put together another resistance unit in the camp to find the traitor. That never happened, unfortunately. A second early morning raid followed, and this time I was unlucky. Yet in torture I gave no one up. This last time was a week in a basement, somewhere. My knees ache in the wet winters, and the burn scars from the cattle prods still mark my back and upper thighs. I also came close to a heart attack in the experience. At the conclusion I learned who ratted me out. It was a phrase I overheard at the end, while lying on the concrete floor. The man in the blue serge suit, looking for all the world like a dandy, oversaw my interrogation. He had clean, well-manicured hands, and as he stood over my prone body, he told the brute with the cattle prod that there was nothing else to get from me. The man in the suit was a big chief. He told the guy to quit, and ordered over his cell phone for medical personnel to collect me. As I was loaded on the gurney, I heard the suit say, "Yet again, the scribbler is more wrong than right. This one is of no use to us." He looked at me, grimacing, and I detected a mere smidgen of mercy. "Yes, that man is a Klein, not a Wagner," he said, sighing. "Well, enough of him. He's got his walking papers and out of our hair." I immediately recognized the reference. That was the book Stefan read. I had read it, too. Klein and Wagner was a novella in Hermann Hesse's Klingsor's Last Summer. This was the only book I read completely through while imprisoned at the camp. I knew it was Stefan who betrayed us. All of us.

My erstwhile betrayer asked for another coffee, for which I had to pay. I do not have a problem with covering his expenses, viewing it as a means to fatten the cow, gaining his trust. Stefan also needed me to provide him a job. I willingly - happily - complied. I motioned for the waiter and ordered two American coffees. As we sat in our seats under the fuchsia umbrella, we concluded our plans, relaxing quietly before taking our leave for the appointment. I had already called ahead. Goltz, the senior assistant public relations director at the firm, was expecting us. During the coffee I studied Stefan's face as we conversed. It was light speak. He talked about his girlfriend, a photographer he knew in the years before the regime, and of his writing cabin in the mountains. He was deep in the forest, and it dawned on me that this made perfect sense. I suspected he assumed we would be looking for him if we got to Antanzia. But what surprised me is he searched me out for work. I wondered if he was mad, clueless, a sadist. Innocent never entered my mind. He was guilty as hell. We spoke of writing. I dared to mention Herman Hesse. Without registering a reaction Stefan talked about the Hesse novels, from Peter Camenzind to The Glass Bead Game. I mentioned I particularly enjoyed the novella collection he produced relatively early in his career. "My favorite is Klein and Wagner. I love the story of a normal family man, who commits a crime and flees to Venice under an assumed identity. Eventually one identity takes over another and this dooms the character." Stefan paused before responding. "I don't think that was the motive for Klein's suicide. I believe guilt did him in. Hesse was going through a marriage breakup at the time, and his feelings of guilt were worked through on the pages of that story." That got him. I already figured out what his code name was. I fantasised of that man in the blue serge suit, sitting behind his desk looking at Stefan's file, and probably laughing his ass off. "Yes," I said. "In the end, the truth will tell." "What do you mean by that?" "Just that the truth wins out over all the subterfuge." I sipped my coffee. "We had those hopes in the camp that the truth wins out. In a manner, it happened. We exist. We live." I swung my arm across this beach. "We have all this beauty that surrounds us. Sure, this isn't home, but we are safe." "Yes," Stefan's gaze was a little glazed. He shifted nervously in his seat. "We are safe." Stefan straightened up and refocused his attention. I believed he knew what I implied. "I love my mountains, and the forest passage I walk in the morning with Patricia." "Yes, I understand," I said, wanting to reach out and strangle him. I sucked in a breath. "How is she doing with finding work? I read in NdM that she will be exhibiting at the Refugee Center in May." Patricia wasn't one of us, having been fortunately stuck on assignment in Australia when the regime came down on us all like sleep in the night. She had the reputation, though, to be seen as not one of us. I noticed her upcoming gallery show at the center was about us refugees. There was a certain irony to that. Engineers digging ditches, doctors as restaurant doormen, professors working behind the counter at gas stations. We, like everyone else in similar circumstances throughout the world, were exiled to a country that doesn't like us, begrudgingly accepted with sneering caveats, and starting again from the bottom up. Yeah, isn't this ironic? Goltz and I were among the lucky ones. Or clever - pick one, or take both. As for Stefan, he had his house with the artist girlfriend deep in the woods, yet so desperate for cash he relied on people he'd sold out for a passport out. That's the way I saw it. Maybe he saw it, too, and in his desperation he was taking this risk with me. He had to know one of us figured his game out. This was only a matter of time and I didn't understand it. For now, I think several motives were running through his mind. I settled on sadism: being represented by the guy who spent a week being beaten, his head shoved in ice water, and struck with a cattle prod. Getting a problem resolved by someone who nearly had a heart attack while writhing on a cold, damp concrete cellar floor. And here we were talking about Klein and Wagner. The character of Klein could no longer live with his guilt and the person he became. So he got in a rowboat, paddled out and drowned himself. Klein could no longer bear to be Wagner, and it killed him. Stefan kept his name, and was the same erudite, quiet and distant man he was at the camp. I paid for the lunch, and the coffee. I was getting him a job. He sat there across from me, enjoying the scene, hopeful for a potentially big payday, a favor from an old camp comrade. When the waiter looked in my direction, I raised my index finger. "A conta, por favor." Nodding, the waiter moved toward the wait station to fetch our bill.

The auditorium was in the Neuenschwander, built in the style of neo-Brutalism architecture favored by the Antanzians. The eggshell-white concrete windowless skyscraper loomed over the northern part of the central city, casting its shadow over the Bricklin neighborhood. We took a cab from the taxi stand by the beach and avoided the old neighborhood. While the driver took the fabled short cut around the Cathedral Plaza to avoid the congested main avenue, I pondered what I intended to do with Stefan once I had the chance. The problem with murder in Antanzia is that it gets the death penalty, and a crime of revenge doesn't cut it around here. The justice system in this country views these acts as a personal insult to their hospitality. In tandem with the driver, I instinctively cross myself as we pass the National Cathedral. I say a silent prayer for guidance. This never works, but I never give up trying. A higher power will eventually hear me, or at least give me a nudge. Stefan stared out the window, his hands carefully folded across his lap. I stared out the window of the taxi and looked for familiar landmarks. We were skirting the edges of Bricklin. I see the American-style diner where I used to take breakfast before starting my first job at the newsstand, standing behind a counter selling cigarettes and beer, watching his neighbors reading the newspapers instead of buying them - with few exceptions. He tolerated it, because back then everyone arrived broke and out-of-work while waiting for their permits. Beyond the scraps provided by Catholic Charities and the Refugee Center, we received nothing in terms of support. A work permit - a permiso - was what you received if you kept your nose clean and didn't scare the locals too often. Some had to wait months to receive one, depending on the waiting list. In the meantime, you existed on rice and beans and the housing was predicated on the kindness of strangers. It was a hard life. Stefan arrived and received a cottage gifted by one the leaders of the resistance, who was his friend and admired his writing. He was the one who insisted I take him as a client, citing loyalty to the cause and the brotherhood of experience in the camps. In that conversation, I never mentioned Klein and Wagner. Instead, I said yes. I didn't have a choice. After the meeting, I felt betrayed again, this time by myself. Stefan and I sat in the darkened auditorium and listened to the lecture. The main speaker was one of the cosmonauts returning from the first mission to the Mars colony. He was the chief engineer of the mission, and spent a year at the colony working mostly in near-isolation in the pod that provided access to the computers that kept the colony going. I could identify with the solitude he described in relating his experiences. I'd been alone for many years, now. Stefan sat in rapt attention, taking notes on his electronic pad, filling the screen, scribbling. He took to this with the intensity that only an artist of words could. Yes, he did write very well. I recall the polemics he wrote that later were smuggled through the fence. Yes, messages of hope and defiance. Pretty little words that eventually landed us all here. On Mars, I suppose. The speaker was familiar. He was one of the two mission participants from the Western Hemisphere. The cosmonaut was from Trinidad, and talked about his childhood, raising horses with his family. Talked rather wistfully of riding a pony along the surf. While listening, I smiled, thinking of ponies on Mars. The cosmonaut talked of the dust storms that blew from the mountain range into the deep valley where the colony was situated; describing the dangers the colonists faced as the high winds buffeted the small, hardened pods that dotted the valley. They had been spread out in distance far enough for a quick walk in full gear in the thin Martian atmosphere. He explained this helped lessen the wind speed associated with a tunnel effect found in urban areas during storms. A good-sized piece of titanium used in the unsecured heavy equipment at the colony could pierce the pod walls. Even with the sophisticated weather gauging instruments at his command, it was often too soon to see a windstorm before they were able to move all the equipment into the hangers. As he talked, I continued to feel sympathy for his loneliness in performing his duties. He told that at times he was alone in the engineering pod for as much as a week, checking on life support, energy and above all, the weather. His only contact was with his commander, who remained at the colony. He spoke of her with a certain longing. I could tell by the change of tone in his voice. It was softer, poetically heartbreaking as he described their intense relationship during times of crisis, and the languid longer-than-Earth hours when there was little to do. He obviously loved her. I was moved by his words. Yet, this cosmonaut had to be the one to return. The commander was due to leave in six months. I wished their future well.

After the question time, where the gathered reporters asked the cosmonaut dumb questions about sustainability, terraforming and the like, I motioned for Stefan to follow me. The interview with Goltz was in a conference room at the end of the corridor behind the auditorium. Goltz waited at the door as various individuals, including the cosmonaut, passed through. After I introduced Stefan, Goltz took Stefan gently by the shoulder and led him through the door. Goltz turned to me before the guard closed the double doors. "I already got the call from upstairs. He's got the job." I shrugged. "Cool. So how long is this?" "He should be done in two hours. If it is longer, I will call." "Okay then, I will wander. Good luck." I wandered through the park near the Cathedral, brooding about the choices I made. I made my way to a bench far from the granite fountain, a gift from the French Third Republic dating from 1880, honoring the 50th anniversary of Antanzian independence, citing its commitment to the principles of liberty. I read the inscription often when I stop in the park. I do not do it as much anymore. The words are written in four languages, and reading them helped me learn two of them, and the third a little better. Carved on the granite is a quote by Jose de San Martin. A military leader, he played the decisive role in the liberation of Argentina, Chile and Peru. Late in life, San Martin assisted the Antanzians in negotiating their own freedom, using words as his saber in a complicated series of negotiations with the Argentines, Brazilians and the British. If not for that, I would not be here, and so I look at those words a little differently on this day. This line always struck me as apropos, particularly more so in the moment I am living in: "The conscience is the best and most impartial judge that a righteous man has." A few blocks away sits a cosmonaut waiting for a woman on Mars, while being interviewed by a man who betrayed me. Caused me pain. Destroyed others. Yes, he is being protected, and I believe I will never know why. This is a terrible piece of judgment, but people above my rank made a decision. My conscience is torn between choosing whether I will be Klein, or be Wagner. Both drowned. I would rather not be either. Stefan likely faces the same contradiction from the decisions he made. Perhaps he isn't mad, sadistic or stupid. There is something else at play in that man's mind. It struck me then that there is the possibility he is capable of feeling guilt. That will do. I can accept that. I have a life I do not want to lose. When I was told to help Stefan out and be his agent, I am left with no choice. I did not like the decision I struggled to reach, finding it personally immoral, but wisdom prevailed. I stare up. As I scan the sky I try to find Mars. I cannot see it, but the planet is there, behind the cumulus formed at the left. I will pick Stefan from the Neuenschwander, give him an advance check for the project and drop him off at the train station. He returns to his house in the woods to his Patricia, either as Klein or Wagner. Whoever Stefan comes home as matters nothing to me, because I will collect my fee. Goltz is quick with the paperwork. I'll get the check by the end of the week. I return to my home with my conscience intact.

#FICTION on the WEB short stories

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lucids · 5 years ago

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The Free Black Women’s Library Celebrates Black Authors and Readers

December 26, 2019 by We Need Diverse Books

The Free Black Women's Library Celebrates Black Authors and Readers We need Diverse Books - Ola Ronke Akinmowo

Bonding Over Bell Hooks, Beyoncé, and Black Womanhood — The Sisterhood of Traveling Books

THROUGH THE FREE BLACK WOMEN’S LIBRARY, OLA RONKE AKINMOWO HOPES TO NOT ONLY CELEBRATE BLACK WOMEN WRITERS BUT ALSO NURTURE A WELCOMING COMMUNITY SPACE By Asha Sridhar

Between finding a home for her expanding library, teaching yoga and bagging fellowships, Ola Ronke Akinmowo, the Brooklyn-based founder of the Free Black Women’s Library has been busy forging a positive narrative about black women. Her traveling library of 2000-odd books, all written by black women, tell stories of love, hope, trauma and most importantly, resilience.

In a freewheeling conversation over a cup of tea, she discusses the origins of her library, her childhood reading experiences and the importance of diversity in books.

“I wanted to do something that felt nourishing, healing, and interesting, something that different people could connect to and plug into, and I wanted black women and black girls to be the focus,” she says. More often than not, the conversation around the lives of black women, she feels, tends to have a tragic or pathological element to it, framing them as victims or a problem that needs to be fixed. “I wanted to do something that will shift that narrative and shift that idea to something more positive and encouraging.��

OUR STORY, OUR VOICE Be it in films, on television or the Internet, black women characters are often portrayed as struggling or being abused or criminalized, she points out. “And, all of these things are true, but I wanted to do something that shifted that idea. There is something very specific that happens when we are controlling the story and we get to frame the narrative and tell the story from our point of view in our own voice. That already puts us in a position of power.”

HOW IT ALL STARTED Her two passions—literature and celebrating black womanhood—culminated in her first installation in 2015. She laid out around 100 books on a brownstone stoop in the Bedford-Stuyvesant neighborhood in Brooklyn, eager and unsure of how people would react to it. She’s not looked back since.

Her initial set of books came from her personal collection as well as friends whom she e-mailed, telling them about her new project. “People just started sending me books, and people have been sending me books ever since,” she says. “That was almost five years ago and I get multiple books in the mail every week, from publishers, writers, teachers, strangers from all over the world who found out about the library on Instagram or Facebook, or an article.”

The pop-up library is set up once every month at a new venue. At first, the idea of her library seems deceptively simple—you can take a book from the library by trading it for another one written by a black woman. Talk to Akinmowo and she’ll tell you how it’s not as easy as it sounds. Even people who claim to be bibliophiles are often stumped when they have to bring in books written by black women.

SHIFTING YOUR VANTAGE POINT One day, Akinmowo, opened the pages of Alice Walker’s The Color Purple. As a black woman, black girl, she remembers identifying with it immediately. The very first page of the book spoke to her, quite unlike the works of authors she had read previously—Chaucer, Hemingway, Melville or even Sylvia Plath. “I feel like it just turns on a different part of your brain, and once that part of you is turned on, it can’t be turned off.”

What started as a personal discovery of books by incredible black women such as Toni Morrison, Zora Neale Hurston, Audre Lorde, and Bell Hooks among many others, is now a flourishing literary art project, spawning others of its kind around the country. “I want to amplify the voices of these writings so that more people know and understand that there’s all this intelligence out here, all this creativity out here.”

The library, she notes, gives people access to books and writers they may have never heard of. “It also helps people understand that it’s important to expand your worldview and one of the easiest ways to do that is to read books by different types of people. If you are only reading one thing, you are only going to get one perspective.”

People, she senses, are receptive to that idea. “I think people want more diversity. People want change. They want things to be mixed up. People don’t want to see status quo anymore. People are hungry for something different.”

TO MARKET, TO MARKET African-American women, she asserts, spend a lot of money on books. “Statistics show that we are a huge market when it comes to literature,” she says, adding that once publishing companies figure that out, it will be to their benefit. They are already playing a more active role in catering and marketing to them, she says, creating books and imprints specifically for them.

For black women, reading books written by them, for them and with them in mind, can also be an act of resistance. “There are different aspects of reading,” she explains. There’s the politics of reading: Making a conscious choice to read specific books by specific people. And, there’s the pleasure of reading. “I feel like black women as readers are coming from both those points. We are being politicized and we are also choosing books for political reasons. But, also there’s the pleasure of reading a book and seeing yourself in the story. And, because this is a capitalist economy, I think the publishing industry is just going to take advantage of that by giving us more.”

STARTING YOUNG Her visitors include not just women, but also young girls. Having hardly encountered diverse characters herself as a young reader, she observes how there are many more options now. “Right now, there are so many amazing books out there for children of color,” she notes. With a little research, she says, you should be able to find books written by black authors and authors of color for children of every age group. That, however, does not mean there is enough. “I also think you can have more. I don’t think we can ever have too much. But there’s definitely a lot out there.” Though she’s not counted, she estimates having between 500-600 children’s and young adult books in her library.

“It’s exciting for a little brown girl to see a book where there’s a little brown girl in it, maybe riding the subway or making lunch for her mom.” When the young girl realizes that the book has been written by someone like her, it’s really affirming, she points out. Other than fiction, creative non-fiction as a genre can be both engaging and empowering, she feels. Complete with illustrations, children learn about the lives of powerful historical figures such as Harriet Tubman or Sojourner Truth in a way that doesn’t feel like a lecture, she says.

“Not only do they get to see themselves as writers and creators, they [also] get to see that there’s a large diversity of interest. They learn about the fact that their blackness is not just about one thing. Blackness is not a monolith. There are different ways to be black, and there’s different ways to express your black culture and be proud of your black selves. You can do it through music, sport, fashion, activism, art, performance, science. They’re getting to see all those different layers, and they can plug into wherever their interest lies,” she explains.

It shatters the idea that black people don’t do this or that. Talking about how it opens up opportunities for black children and children of color, she says it shows children how someone did it in the past. “You can do it like that too or maybe you’ll come up with your own way.”

LOVE, LABOR, AND LEGACY As she works to secure a grant to set up a permanent location for her library, and maybe even get a bookmobile, her idea has now snowballed into a movement, with Free Black Women’s Libraries cropping up in cities such as Los Angeles and Detroit among other places.

She credits iconic African-American librarians such as Dorothy B. Porter and Mayme Agnew Clayton for inspiring her and says she is only continuing their legacy. “There’s a long list of black women librarians that I look up to, who have done what I’m doing right now. But, for them, it was even more significant because when they were doing it, there was no social media, no Internet. They were just digging through. Part of what I hope is that I’m making my ancestors proud by doing this work,” she says.

“When I think about the sweat and the labor of moving the books from one place to another, I think about them,” she says, “doing this at a time when blackness was seen as something that was ignorant and illiterate, and reading and writing was illegal or not allowed or considered wrong, just wrong. Black librarians are amazing.”

* * * * * *

Ola Ronke Akinmowo’s recommendations for young readers:

Piecing Me Together by Renee Watson

My Life as an Ice-Cream Sandwich by Ibi Zoboi

Pet by Akwaeke Emezi

The Poet X by Elizabeth Acevedo

One Crazy Summer by Rita Williams-Garcia

* * * * * *

Asha Sridhar is a freelance writer based out of Jersey City. She loves wandering through old historic buildings, bustling streets and anything that closely resembles a bookshop.

Source: https://diversebooks.org/the-free-black-womens-library-celebrates-black-authors-and-readers

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johnboothus · 5 years ago

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A Power Ranking of Cosmopolitans from Sex and the City

In the final moments of the 2008 “Sex and the City” movie, the HBO hit show’s four lead characters — Carrie Bradshaw, Miranda Hobbs, Samantha Jones, and Charlotte York — enjoy a nostalgic reunion with an old friend, Cosmo.

“This is delicious!” Charlotte exclaims, as she sips a shimmering pink Cosmopolitan cocktail from an oversized Martini glass. “Why did we ever stop drinking these?” Miranda wonders. In turn, Carrie quips, “Because everyone else started!”

Their conversation is loaded with intentional irony. Many people did, in fact, start drinking Cosmopolitans (or Cosmos) during the late ‘90s, arguably because of the drink’s association with the show and its sex-column-writing protagonist, Carrie Bradshaw. Whether or not the Cosmo is, as Charlotte says, a “delicious” drink, is historically and hotly debated.

Before “Sex and the City” (SATC) first hit the small screen in 1998, the bright pink cocktail had already amassed an impressive following among New York socialites and celebrities in the late 1980s. Bartender Toby Cecchini is widely credited with introducing the drink to high-profile regulars at TriBeCa brasserie The Odeon, where he worked at the time.

Cecchini, who now owns Long Island Bar in Brooklyn, has often recounted how he “adapted” the recipe from another pink cocktail called the Cosmopolitan, which was doing the rounds in San Francisco gay bars. Cecchini learned of that drink from a colleague, who was introduced to it by friends visiting from the West Coast.

“It was gross, but it looked pretty,” Cecchini told Punch in a 2017 interview. “I went about reconstructing it.” He upgraded the drink’s ingredients, swapping out rail vodka and store-bought lime juice with new-on-the-market Absolut Citron, a lemon-flavored vodka, and freshly squeezed citrus. In place of grenadine, Cecchini used cranberry juice to give the drink its signature hue, and added triple sec (Cointreau, by many accounts) for sweet balance.

Ironically, the ingredients hardly mattered. What shot the drink into popularity was its instantly recognizable pink hue. “It was always made wrong, and you could tell, because it looked like a Negroni,” Cecchini said. “Nobody was doing the proper amount of lime juice. … There was too much cranberry. And still, to this day, people never get it right.”

The Cosmopolitan’s hit-or-miss ubiquity, and the countless overly sweet, artificial-looking recreations, sadly led to its downfall. But at its core, the Cosmo belongs to the “sour” family of cocktails, and is a sibling of other hugely popular drinks such as the Margarita and Daiquiri. In capable hands, and by avoiding gimmicky tools and ingredients, both can be crafted into stunning drinks. So is the Cosmo, too, worthy of a second chance?

VinePair decided to find out. To do so, we thought it would only be fitting to give the drink another go at the major New York bars and restaurants that featured in “Sex and the City.” After all, this was the show that helped make the drink famous.

Helping this writer on the Cosmo-fueled bar crawl was VinePair’s director of marketing, Jeff Licciardello, a late-to-the-game “Sex and the City” fan who regularly watches reruns of the show. VinePair columnist and cocktail enthusiast Aaron Goldfarb was also on hand to share his knowledge and palate (Goldfarb has been a regular fixture on previous VinePair bar crawls).

And making a special-guest appearance was Melissa Stokoski, an actor and comedian who leads guided “Sex and the City” tours two to three times a week for On Tour Locations.

To set the stage, our tasting began at the Cosmo’s original NYC home, The Odeon.

Our judging process was simple: If the establishment featured a Cosmo on its menu, we’d order that. If it didn’t, we would ask for one to be prepared according to the house specifications. Each taster scored each drink on preparation, presentation, ingredients, balance of flavors, and value for money. Scores were then averaged to determine our final ranking.

Setting the Standard: The Odeon

The NYC home of the Cosmo never featured in SATC, but it feels like the type of restaurant where the bougie leading characters would start the night. The TriBeCa institution captures a traditional French brasserie’s comfort and sophistication, while a long, incredibly well-lit art deco bar dazzles. (It also reportedly cost close to 10 percent of the restaurant’s opening budget when it debuted in 1980.)

The tasting team told our bartender about the Cosmo crawl, and he reacted excitedly, recounting the drink’s ties to the restaurant and detailing its popularity — he prepares 20 to 30 per shift, on average.

The perfectly pink Cosmos he served arrived in sturdy Martini glasses. In other, more modern establishments, the thickness of the glass would have felt tacky; but in this nostalgic setting, they were perfect. While our bartender free-poured the ingredients, the drinks were remarkably well balanced: tart, fruity, and acidic, with just the right amount of sweetness. Average score: 21.75/25

6. Cipriani

In SATC Season 3, Episode 3, “Attack of the Five Foot Ten Woman,” the girls brunch in SoHo’s Italian eatery, Cipriani. Flicking through The New York Times wedding section, they learn that Carrie’s ex, John James “Mr. Big” Preston, has married his girlfriend of five months, Natasha Naginsky.

Credit: Cipriani / Facebook.com

Drinking a Cosmo at Cipriani in 2020 proves to be a similar assault. The service is elitist, and the experience resembles an awkward first date you really want to end and will pay any price to get out of. In this case, that was $22. In return, we received a tiny, foamy Cosmo, served in the type of thick, stemmed water glasses designed for large-volume catered events and not expensive New York restaurants.

Cipriani’s bartender opted not to shake our drinks, but instead mixed them using a milkshake frother. The result was undeniably attractive, but not a classic Cosmo preparation by any parameters. It contained (unflavored) Stolichnaya vodka, tasted like pink lemonade seasoned with sour mix, and arrived with a clumsy lime-wedge garnish. While the Cosmopolitan has come to embody free-spirited fun, drinking this frothy concoction at Cipriani feels anything but. Average score: 8/25

5. Cafeteria

Chelsea’s Cafeteria restaurant, known for its 24/7 service, is also the location for numerous brunch scenes throughout the SATC series. Nearly two decades since the show finished, Cafeteria’s ambience evokes that late-30s friend who, rather than settling down like many of their contemporaries, is trying to keep the party going for as long as possible. The music, a compilation of Ibiza dance hits from the early 2000s, blares multiple decibels too loud, and the after-dark lighting is inappropriately low for any restaurant — even one that never closes.

As for its Cosmo: a modern interpretation that deserves some acknowledgement for effort, but the delivery, much like the bar/restaurant in general, is off. Served in a Nick & Nora glass, this Cosmo smelled like Starburst-infused vodka and tasted like an overly sweet passionfruit-spiked Sex on the Beach. Bearing as much resemblance to a classic Cosmopolitan as an Appletini does to a Martini, this is an accomplished Sandals resort cocktail at best. Average score: 12.25/25

4. Grand Bar & Lounge at the Soho Grand Hotel

Featured in Episode 15 of Season 4 (“Change of a Dress”), this hotel bar and lounge played host to a charity event put on by (fictional) hotel magnate Richard Wright, Samantha’s soon-to-be ex-boyfriend. During the formal “Black and White” party, Samantha learns Richard is seeing other women, and is shocked to discover how much it bothers her. “I think I have monogamy,” she tells her friends. “I caught it from you people.”

IRL, the Soho Grand delivers an authentic, glamorous SATC experience. The decor seasons stripped-back regal fittings with sleek 21st-century details. Both the bar and lounge feel expensive without being stuffy, and the staff provides remarkably friendly service.

Credit: Soho Grand Hotel / Facebook.com

If it’s Cosmos you’re looking for, you’ll need to order off-menu and there’s no Absolut Citron on the bar. The cocktails arrived in a stiletto-thin, oversized coupe glasses, garnished with a large orange twist. The sweet citrus fruit garnish ultimately hijacked the drink, and the mixture lacked boozy punch. As this Cosmo’s beauty is only skin-deep, it’s acceptable for a one-time fling but definitely not worthy of long-term commitment. Average score: 13/25

3. Onieal’s Bar and Restaurant

The most-recognizable bar from the show (On Tour Locations finishes its tours here), Onieal’s is better known to SATC fans as Scout, the bar co-owned by Steve Brady, Miranda’s husband, and Aidan Shaw, Carrie’s two-time boyfriend and one-time fiancé.

The main appeal of this Nolita bar today is its familiarity from the show. But past that, it’s hard to pin down exactly what the space serves as. “Is it a pub, lounge, or a dive bar?” we wondered. It’s dimly lit, has TV screens behind the bar, and is furnished with a mismatch of multicolored faux-velvet booths.

Sipping a Cosmo at Onieal’s is an obvious must for SATC fans, but for cocktail enthusiasts, the experience doesn’t deliver the same appeal. Served in a robust Martini glass (read: chunky), the cocktail had a vivid red hue, leading us to question whether there was too much cranberry juice in the mixture, or perhaps even an illicit splash of Rose’s Grenadine. Either way, the drink lacked tartness and acidity, and arrived with undesirable hints of Luden’s cough drops. Average score: 13/25

2. Buddakan

Featured in the 2008 “Sex and the City” movie, Carrie and fiancé Mr. Big choose Buddakan as the location for their wedding rehearsal dinner. During the course of the evening, Miranda accidentally plants seeds of doubt in Big’s mind, paving the way for numerous plot twists throughout the movie.

Situated in a nondescript (from the outside) industrial warehouse in the Meatpacking District, the cavernous bar and restaurant epitomizes everything you want from a SATC experience. There’s sushi Lounge music, courtesy of a live DJ who’s tucked away beside the bar; the kitchen serves Asian fusion dishes, like edamame dumplings, while the bar area, which overlooks the vast dining room below, seems custom-designed for bottle service.

Credit: Buddakan / Facebook.com

Of all the locations we visited, this was the only bar where we weren’t the only ones drinking Cosmos. We surely weren’t alone in enjoying them, either. A booze-forward cocktail, Buddakan’s Cosmo is rose pink, suggesting just the right proportion of cranberry juice (a notion that was backed up by its slightly astringent flavor profile). Tasters docked points for insufficient lime juice, but we doubted this would have been a major problem for Carrie and co. Average score: 16.5/25

1. Balthazar

“The most powerful woman in New York is not Tina Brown, or Diane Sawyer, or even Rosie O’Donnell,” Carrie says during the opening narration of Season 1, Episode 5 (“The Power of Female Sex”). “It’s the hostess at Balzac, which had overnight become the only restaurant that mattered.”

“Balzac,”the fictional French restaurant, proves too exclusive for even Carrie and Samantha to get a seat, so they opt to leave and eat elsewhere. The scene’s external shots are of bona fide Soho brasserie Balthazar.The restaurant also has interesting ties to the Cosmopolitan: Its owner, restaurateur Keith McNally, also founded The Odeon — he opened Balthazar in 1997 after selling his stake in The Odeon.

The brasserie shares similar DNA to The Odeon in both its decor and ambiance. But the energy is livelier and you can easily imagine the girls spending Friday night here, animatedly discussing the past week over a few rounds of Cosmos.

While the drink doesn’t feature on the menu, our bartender, Willis, informed us he had all the ingredients to whip up authentic Cosmos, including Absolut Citron. Within no time, he served a picture-perfect round of cocktails that accurately recreated The Odeon’s version, down to the bubblegum-pink hue and slightly dated, but not-out-of-place, Martini glasses. Refreshing, balanced, and sweet, without tasting cloying, these were amazing Cosmos. While The Odeon’s version was sharp around the edges, Balthazar’s slightly sweeter version was well rounded and perfectly balanced.

Sitting there with our perfect Cosmos in hand, we couldn’t help but wonder: Was this not only the best Cosmopolitan of our “Sex and the City” crawl, or does Balthazar offer the finest version of the drink in Manhattan, period? Either way, the jury was out: The Cosmopolitan is a delicious cocktail, after all. Average score: 22.5/25

The article A Power Ranking of Cosmopolitans from ‘Sex and the City’ appeared first on VinePair.

Via https://vinepair.com/articles/cosmopolitan-sex-city-ranking/

source https://vinology1.weebly.com/blog/a-power-ranking-of-cosmopolitans-from-sex-and-the-city

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isaiahrippinus · 5 years ago

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A Power Ranking of Cosmopolitans from ‘Sex and the City’

And making a special-guest appearance was Melissa Stokoski, an actor and comedian who leads guided “Sex and the City” tours two to three times a week for On Tour Locations.

To set the stage, our tasting began at the Cosmo’s original NYC home, The Odeon.

Setting the Standard: The Odeon

6. Cipriani

Credit: Cipriani / Facebook.com

5. Cafeteria

4. Grand Bar & Lounge at the Soho Grand Hotel

Credit: Soho Grand Hotel / Facebook.com

3. Onieal’s Bar and Restaurant

2. Buddakan

Credit: Buddakan / Facebook.com

1. Balthazar

The article A Power Ranking of Cosmopolitans from ‘Sex and the City’ appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/cosmopolitan-sex-city-ranking/ source https://vinology1.tumblr.com/post/190771709709

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fashiontrendin-blog · 7 years ago

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TV's first Queer hijab wearing woman, Nikohl Boosheri, reveals what it was like going down on another woman on the small screen

http://fashion-trendin.com/tvs-first-queer-hijab-wearing-woman-nikohl-boosheri-reveals-what-it-was-like-going-down-on-another-woman-on-the-small-screen/

TV's first Queer hijab wearing woman, Nikohl Boosheri, reveals what it was like going down on another woman on the small screen

There is probably no better way to ignite your career by not only playing the first Queer hijab wearing woman on American TV – Adena El-Amin in The Bold Type – but filming one of the most liberating sex scenes in years.

In a controversial move (for some), the show, which is based around the relationships and inter-workings of a fictional fashion magazine, showcased Adena, played by Nikohl Boosheri, performing oral sex with her on-screen lesbian lover.

Thanks to her tactful treatment of the character, the scene has quickly led to her becoming one of the break-out young actresses of the moment. As she calls me, the day before jetting off to South Africa for a month of filming, Nikohl is staring at “three massive suitcases on my floor right. I am just trying to figure out this packing jigsaw puzzle. It’s giving me massive anxiety!” There can be no better illustration of just how thirsty Hollywood is for this thirty-year-old RN.

Here, we talk about treading new water in television and why sometimes the trickiest roles can be the most liberating…

Being a Middle Eastern person myself – I’m Persian and have a Muslim family – I didn’t want Adena to feel like a stereotype in any way…

If we were going to use pansexually and Islam and merge them together, it needed to feel real. There is definitely a pressure in being the first – you really want to do right by everyone. With a character like this, you are going to offend some people, you are going to ruffle some feathers and I can only do my best to tell this one story. You just hope that it encourages other creators that there is a market and that people want to see characters that don’t fit in a certain box and are considered untraditional. I just hope that she doesn’t remain the only exception to the rule.

We don’t have enough sex scenes on TV about the needs of a woman…

When we were filming, I didn’t even think about the reaction the sex scene would have. I really just focused on my own vain concerns. As an actor, you have your own reservations, you are bashful, you are shy, and you ask, ‘are we really gonna go there?’. When I was reading the script, I just found it really refreshing to hear women talking about their needs and desires – period! There has been a huge void there as well and we don’t often see women in media discussing our needs and desires. They are often considered shameful or made to think it is something to be embarrassed about and something we can’t talk openly about – they are so taboo. The joyous reaction and the shock over a woman going down on another woman was insane. How crazy that we are doing it on Freeform, on ABC, on Disney and I think ‘bravo’ to Freeform for not being afraid to go there.

Instagram became a source of inspiration for my character:

Instagram is such a great resource. I was able to find so many great people. There was a real community of queer Muslim women who really helped feed and encourage me to go there with Adena. They showed me that it’s OK to make her a very bold, unapologetic character and know that that was based in truth and there are people like that. The first film I did was a film called Circumstance, which was a film about queer love in Iran so I met a lot of people shooting that film, a lot of artists, a lot of people in Beirut, Lebanon, where we shot it. But I was actually shocked. We went to a gay club in Beirut and I was absolutely shocked that it even existed and was allowed. These underground places were a huge learning experience for me, I was very young at the time and the world was still quite small to me. So, when I read for the role of Adena, I did have a picture someone in my mind – she made sense to me – it wasn’t so out of left field for me personally because of the people I have come into contact with.

“I can’t speak my mind because I’m a black transgender woman,” says Munroe Bergdorf in her most candid interview ever

I hear actresses say all the time that they very rarely get to be in a scene with a woman where both women get to converse…

I have been so lucky in my career in that I have actually more often than not worked with female directors on sets and on stories that are centred around female friendships and female love. It isn’t necessarily a unique experience for me being on a female dominated set and I think that I have a nice balance of both. I don’t think it makes a major difference at the end of the day as making a television show and making a movie is very time consuming – it’s a machine. You can either get on, keep up or you can’t and there shouldn’t be anything remarkable about the fact that, yeah, women can do it too and they can do it really well. I don’t think in terms of equal opportunities that women can always do it better, either. Of course, when you are telling stories about women, it’s great to have a female perspective in the writing room and in directing but I think we have fantastic male writers on the show, too, and fantastic male directors. I think that’s really unique, but it shouldn’t even be an issue. Everyone has something to bring to the table and I think that’s how it should be.

This is exactly what it means to be a millennial feminist

Adena uses the things that traditionally marginalise her to empower her and it’s so inspiring… Adena is so calm and very unapologetic about who she is. I think my favourite part about her is that the things about her that could lead to her being marginalised: the fact she is a lesbian, she’s Muslim, she wears a hijab, she’s a feminist, are the things that she uses to empower her. I think that is so inspiring and I hope that whatever happens with Adena, I hope that I can take some of that with me.

The format of drama is evolving so much… When I was growing up, aside from The OC, which I watched obsessively, there wasn’t anything specifically catering to the millennial generation. The Bold Type shows that you can be really entertaining, have fun and add some fashion whilst dealing with hard-hitting issues and the current issues today that feel very real. You don’t have to pick one or the other, you can have both working at the same time. There is so much bad news right now, so it’s nice to have a show which isn’t necessarily escapist, but you show and deal with the realities of the world in a really optimistic way.

The Bold Type is on Amazon Prime now

Here are 13 of the best tv shows that changed everything for LGBTQ+ representation

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mariacorley · 8 years ago

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How to be Black

My original reason for self-publishing a novel was to allow my protagonists, Langston and Cecile, the light of day. I started with the notion that if only a handful of people read my book, my beloved creations would still have lived and breathed somewhere other than on my computer. Publishers who cater to people like me used to be called vanity presses; there's some truth to that. It didn't take long before I began to dream of a larger audience, watching YouTube videos and absorbing blog posts that purported to show indie authors how to achieve unimaginable success. One of the most important parts of the plan seemed to be reviews, and so, emboldened by three 5 star reviews from total strangers, I asked everyone I could who had read my book if they would mind posting their opinions about it on Amazon. Some did, but many didn't, so I took it to the next level, paying to join a database that allowed me to contact random people who had demonstrated an interest in writing and sharing reviews.

I sent out numerous requests, but so far only a couple of those people have followed through. One of them is the inspiration for this post. Dr. Jacques Coulardeau sent me his review—two pages so full of inaccuracies and negative extrapolation that I was shocked that he gave me 4 stars—on Martin Luther King Day, a coincidence that I find ironic. Examples of his misleading statements include his portrayal of Cecile as “one who makes love with any boy available that is rather good looking,” for whom “pre-marital intercourse is a basic principle,” even though she has sex with exactly two men in the book, the first a one night stand during which she loses her virginity, the second her eventual husband. Coulardeau then glosses over the character's considerable internal conflict between her religious background and her sexual relationship with the “love of her life” by saying, “She does not realize her contradiction.” Um...not true. When Langston and Cecile meet, the reviewer says that Cecile “of course gives herself as if it were a question of life or death,” even though their relationship unfolds long distance. He even rebuts his own statement by adding “Cecile in a way makes the relation kind of satirical, humorous, un-serious.” Dr. Coulardeau states that Langston's decision to open a West Indian restaurant is simply because the cuisine is trendy. Um...nope. He also mentions that Langston's friends-with-benefits relationship, while in college, with the daughter of his Italian boss is doomed because of her father's disapproval, implying that Langston and Marietta aren't both aware, from day one, that their contact is a dalliance, and failing to mention an even more intense disapproval from Langston's Jamaican grandmother. And so on.

I won't dispute every incorrect statement, but—call me Donald Trump—I can't leave his final conclusion about my protagonists alone: “They definitely tricked their life-treks and they ended lost in some kind of tasteless, heartless, mindless deculturated wasteland.” His evidence? The characters are neither black nor West Indian enough for him. They eat West Indian food, but they don't speak the way he thinks they should (he is apparently a linguist; I'm merely someone who grew up as a Canadian West Indian). Further evidence of lost cultural identity includes Langston's decision to cook a jerked turkey with mango salsa at Thanksgiving. I forgot to mention that the expert on what West Indians are supposed to be is an elderly Jewish man, who also took time out to pass judgments on Cecile's Christian journey in ways that my devoutly Christian readers did not. Huh?

These days, it's rare that a white person is overtly paternalistic enough to publicly claim knowledge of who black people should be, which is pretty much the same thing as informing us of our proper “place.” For obvious reasons, these kinds of statements are not nearly so uncommon in the black community. For example, the inability to “code-switch” is seen by some melanated people as proof of being an oreo: black on the outside, white on the inside. What does that mean, though?

Being an immigrant changes things, whether your relocation is voluntary or involuntary. Isn't it both natural and human to exert and receive influence as a result? When Dr. Coulardeau rails against the evils of multiculturalism, I think he may mean that distinct ethnic groups shouldn't lose touch with their cultural heritage. I support this idea, however, what does that include and exclude? Am I allowed to like only a particular kind of music, or cook a particular kind of food? If I am allowed to like things that aren't native to my ethnic group, a concept that has become hopelessly tangled, in most cases, by intermarriage (and here I mean even Jamaicans marrying Nigerians), how much should we like those things? How often can we indulge in them? What if we understand some of our ancestral language or dialect, but aren't fluent? Do we all need to repatriate to a country of cultural origin? Can we live in the suburbs? Or should our entire lives become a kind of performance art?

Coulardeau noted that “Canada is the best representative of multiculturalism and New York (where Cecile attends Juilliard) is one of the most diverse melting pot or salad bowl in the world,” calling the references to the various cultures there “anecdotal.” First, Canada is a vast nation, and I can assure you that most of it isn't particularly multicultural, although Toronto, where Langston lives (in Little Jamaica!), certainly consists of distinct ethnic enclaves. My main focus in writing the book, however, had to do with issues of personal growth that people can confront regardless of their race. Nevertheless, one reviewer said, “The issue of race is an important sub-stratum of the story and adds to its depth.” Another take: “How refreshing to encounter complex people who deal with racism and nonetheless dream beyond the limits of what's realistic. Unlike a lot of prime time television, Letting Go's characters defy stereotypes and earn your trust as a reader.” This reviewer, who is an African American female activist, also said of Cecile, “She's confident in her blackness and even when she's down, she's not out.”

Enough self-defense. I am more drawn to people's internal lives, so people who are looking for detailed discussions of place may be disappointed; my references to setting have a tendency to be secondary. That said, my book is semi-autobiographical (SEMI!), and I certainly could have included more of my own experiences with race and culture, including the very self-conscious efforts made by me and my black friends to reject as much as possible that wasn't considered “black,” whether it was by claiming to hate most of the music on the radio in our overwhelmingly white town, or never wanting to say a white person was attractive, because black beauty was so undervalued that it seemed wrong to add to the problem by endorsing the prevailing notions, even slightly. Some of my other formative experiences with my culture included learning about slavery and segregation, both in America and the West Indies, being sent to classes in West Indian dance, joining the Junior Afro-Canadian society consisting of my siblings and friends (to mirror the Afro-Canadian society my parents had joined), annual visits to Bermuda with my mom, and learning Jamaican folk songs from my dad. I also felt especially proud of hall of fame quarterback Warren Moon and the similarly storied hockey goalie, Grant Fuhr. Then again, was it “black” to even be aware of hockey? Or was that, too, the result of losing touch with my roots? Was it breaking down a barrier or assimilation when Arthur Mitchell founded the Dance Theater of Harlem? And if ballet is okay for black people, should Misty Copeland have ended up in a predominantly white company?

To be fair, I suspect Dr. Coulardeau might have been okay with Cecile's focus on classical music if the book had followed up a conversation about the need to incorporate music by black composers into her repertoire— something I endorse and have put into practice—with concrete examples. I admit to dropping the ball on that one; I was more interested in her character's awakening as a self-confident woman, just as I was interested in Langston's need to confront the fears that kept him bound, but although the book is already 500 pages long, a few sentences here or there would have made my novel richer. Them again, why should any black person, real or imaginary, have to define him or herself by someone else's cultural standards, which are higher, in this regard, than the bar most white people need to reach? One answer is that everything about black people has been denigrated so much that we need to affirm our identity. The thing is, we're still human, which means we're not monolithic. Will black people ever earn the right to just be, in all of our complex variations and manifestations? Or should all books feature black protagonists who speak mainly the vernacular, ideally in the inner city, during slavery or the Civil Rights era? Will melanated people always have to earn their “black card,” even if they're fictional?

Coulardeau sarcastically refers to Langston “so black...that his first girl friend is a white woman.” I put that relationship in my book is because seeing a black man with a white woman still produces a twinge in my gut, even though I realize that the importance of race has been inflated by a history of hate. If I'm honest, I must confess that I have some litmus tests of black authenticity: Clarence Thomas doesn't pass, for example, because his Supreme Court rulings and other statements have shown what looks to me like evidence of self-hatred. Still, I don't think it's reasonable to assume that every black man who gets involved with a white woman has fallen for the false notion that their pale skin makes them the biggest trophy of all. I want black men and black women to heal the deep wounds inflicted by injustice, set down the resulting baggage, and truly embrace each other. Still, it is my firm belief that we can love ourselves without climbing into a box. At least, I hope so, because the opposite of multicultural is homogeneous. Even if it were possible to retreat behind impenetrable racial and cultural fences, is that advisable? Can't I be black and still cook a damned turkey? Especially in Canada, where Thanksgiving isn't connected to its ancestral sins against aboriginal people (which certainly exist), but rather the thought that having a day off to sit down with your family and express some gratitude sounded like a good idea?

People have mentioned finishing my book and wondering what the characters did after it ended. Despite everything I just said, if I do write a sequel, I may just go into more detail regarding culture, which is something I don't always analyze deeply unless affronted. So even though I find Coulardeau's comments presumptuous, misleading, and at times completely inaccurate, they did make me think.

#blackness #book review #west indian #canadian #mutliculturalism

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