Monday, November 9, 2009

noblesse obligé

Kreativ american black chick in europe is dope. her contributions to discussions i've begun on my blog have been informative and much appreciated. then she goes and gives me a kreativ blogger award!! as if i didn't love her enough!!

as with all honors, this one comes with responsibilities. (hence the title of the post). i'm supposed to tell you seven things you don't already know about me, choose 7 other blogs to receive this award, leave a comment on each of the blogs i've nominated, and thank the person who gave me the award. let's go!

SEVEN THINGS:
1. i watched 'girls just wanna have fun' every day as a kid and i know every single word of it like i wrote the screenplay. it's sarah jessica parker's best work.
2. in my high school yearbook, i was voted most likely to appear in a janet jackson video.
3. if you want to make me vomit, scramble me an egg. my worst nightmare is an egg.
4. whenever i'm feeling down, i watch this video.
5. for 5 months in '07, i lived (and was in love) with a billionaire.
6. i interned at the united nations from '99-'00. i was in the plenary session where it was argued that NATO's bombing of serbia would be illegal according to international conventions.
7. my serb looks fearsome on film. and it's a total turn on. (warning: this pic from the american film he's shooting now is kinda bloody and gross.)

as for MY kreativ blog picks?? the winners are:

my life in havaianas
i sang Loquina Guachinha's praises in this post. she doesn't allow comments on her blog, so i'll just say here: love your spirit and your cojones and when i had to pick 7, i knew you'd be the first... adelante!!
nyc/caribbean ragazza
i love ragazza's snapshots of life in italy, and i can't wait to see how her writing come to life on the big screen. also, i'm totally jealous of her EU passport. that's some next level expat-ness right there.
wish i could reach you in belgrade
maria in brazil doesn't post much, but it's always a trip when she does. we share a love of the balkans-- she hosts the biggest balkan-themed events, probably in all of brazil. and she's just a very cool chick.
babesmcphee
there's a cute, serendipitous story about how i cyber-met this "perky, prolific" playwright who lives in cali. i'll tell it another time. but when she's not having her tweets quoted in time magazine, or writing her blog series, '30 lessons from la-la land', she's sending me long ass emails about boys. love her. y'all will, too.
black girl on mars
i don't [cyber-] know leslie. i guess i'll meet her now. but i find her writing soulful and deliberate. and on top of it, she's an expat.
guyana gyal
every single time i win a blog award, i will bestow one upon GG. lightness, effortlessness and quirk belie the truth and profundity in her writing, reminding me of fables. she's like aesop with a caribbean accent. she really does inspire me.
my american melting pot
LT's kind of BEYOND blog awards--novelist, journalist, professor and all-- but i'm giving one to her anyway.

HUGS and THANK YOU's to ABCE!!

Friday, November 6, 2009

expat dating: it's all about momentum



last week, i went on a date. no, the serb and i are nowhere near breaking up. yes, i've been a little bit bad. but it wasn't cheating (in the least), it was research. so for the sake of this post, i started cruising men for a week like i was single. i started looking up and thinking about who would i be interested in under such circumstances. two days in, i saw cute, very spanish looking guy, whizzing past me in an awful hurry towards plaza catalunya. i didn't do more than look him in the eye and think, 'you're cute'. he doubled back. i spoke to him for a few minutes, and we exchanged numbers. three days later, we met up. the convo went something like this:

him: i have the feeling you're very successful with men.
me: what do you mean?
him: you know what i mean...
me: {{{{laugh}}}}
him: well, you're tall, beautiful and when i saw you . . . i should stop talking now.
me: go ahead.
him: do you know what made me stop and talk to you?
me: tell me.
him: i see pretty girls in the street all of the time, but when you looked at me, you gave me courage to stop.

maybe flowery spanish man talk, but the proof was in the pudding. he DID stop. and there we were, in a bar with old saloon decor and a guy with a clip-on tie playing show tunes on a baby grand. he turned out to be a good guy, who now knows i have a boyfriend; entrepreneurial and interesting, and y'all know how i love guys who can talk to me about european politics. but most of all, i know my dating and attraction muscles still work, which is always comforting (even in a relationship, it takes the pressure off). in the words of carrie bradshaw, 'it turns out all you need to get a date, is another date!'

this idea of building dating momentum, leads me to my second piece of advice: go out with anyone who asks.

my friend 'sparkly' got her nickname with her objection to this advice, launching into an explanation of why she couldn't go out with anyone unless she felt a spark. my eyes rolled into the back of my head. if you are single and unlucky in love (indeed, not even finding men to date), "sparks" may be short-circuiting your dating life.

bullshit. the whole 'spark' thing is bullshit. here's why: you need a spark to share a kiss with someone. to sleep with them. but to sit for an hour over coffee and conversation? you do not need to feel a spark for this. you do not need anything more than 5 euros and kick in the ass. the 5 euros i can't help you with, but a kick in the ass…

'sparks' are mechanics. they're hardwiring. some neurological connection between a biological feeling and a certain characteristic in another person created at some point in your life, without your knowledge or permission. and you never bothered to explore what that connection was made of. can you imagine? choosing a partner is one of the most important things you'll do in life and you're leaving it to some mechanic, involuntary reaction? doesn't that sound… crazy? relying on the mechanical and involuntary is cool for, like, your heart and the workings of other major organs, but when we're talking about the heart you fall in love with, well, that's not so cool. and if you don't have a history of successful dating, chances are your mechanics, those sparks chicks love to swear by, have been leading you astray. those sparks have been short circuiting your dating life.

the way around them, is to ignore them, just until your standards and dating habits reset in a more conscious way. i'm not saying have sex with everyone. and of course, please say 'no' to smack heads and gang bangers. but to everyone else, say 'yes'. one hour. a drink. a stroll. this allows you to get comfortable with dating, and you learn to assess men with consciousness and deliberation. this is not to say that 'gut' feelings shouldn't be trusted. but they are almost by definition, based on past information that may no longer even be valid or relevant. WHY BRING OLD HABITS TO YOUR NEW LIFE? why not experiment? and by experiment, i mean go out with anyone who asks.

hey, i even went out with a lesbian once. it didn't take long for her to realize i only wanted her friendship and was completely straight, but i loved her brain and her spirit. not only is she dating a boy now, she remains one of my best friends in the world. you never know who you'll meet and what impact they'll have on your life. in the end, i spent one hour talking to a guy who studied economy at the university of kiev during the fall of the freaking soviet union. and i got a free spanish lesson. and a post. and sparkly's "just dating, for the first time in [her] life!!". it's not about 'sparks'. it's about momentum.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

world music wednesday: alicia keys and alejandro sanz



i didn't expect greatness, honestly, when i first heard that alejandro sanz and alicia keys had paired up on the bilingual, 'looking for paradise'. even though they've both written two of the most perfect pop songs of the last 15 years, in my book (corazón partío and no one). i also didn't expect for it to be borderline disastrous. indeed, it's damn near unlistenable. the visuals, including the final rooftop party scene are stellar. but you almost don't even make it to the party scene, because you want to pause after sanz starts yelling 'oh! my sister!' at 2:28. no. joke.

the song starts out sunnily enough, with some vintage A-keys riffs and the sort of clean minimalist production meant to foreground sanz's spanish-styled guitar strum. it isn't long, though, before we're hit with TEFL textbook call and response:

i'm singing for somebody like you/ yo canto para alguien como tú, baby!!

we're talking fromage con queso. really? much as i love pop music that mixes cultures, i'm not sure (outside of what latino artists like pitbull and daddy yankee are doing) that there's much hope for it. artists get caught up in literal translations, in making sure both sides get it and they forget what really makes a great pop song, in any language: the intangibles. those incomprehensible bits, like an mj 'hee!', that hint at the beyond. right now, bilingual pop trends towards the language lab which does NOT pop alchemy make. verdict? so NOT paradise.

anyone know any great bilingual pop songs to restore my hope?

Monday, November 2, 2009

lost in translation 20


my girl isis always says that the best way to learn a language is during sex. i beg to differ on that one. or at least i guess it depends on how articulate you are during. how... active you tend to be. face in the pillow? panting? grunting? drooling? coitus could add a whole new layer of incoherency. take the word chupar. which you only hear in relation to sex or candy. almost two years ago now i was cornered by a colleague in a bar, who wanted to tell me about the student he'd fucked the night before. he's a young, handsome, all-american frat boy type, getting ass like mick jagger in '64.

'yeah, well, she was so bold,' he explained as i shook my head. 'during class she kept saying, 'quiero chuparte, quiero chuparte', under her breath or when she thought the other students weren't listening.'

and so that was the first time i'd heard the word, chupar.

tell a lie.

the real first time i'd heard it was during sex. and now there was no mistaking its meaning. of course chupar meant suck. also because of chupa chups the popular brand of lollipops. i've got a mean sweet tooth. i don't really do candy, but sometimes i do oreos, which also makes me feel very american, and please, no interracial sex jokes. this is about language.

so yesterday, i pulled out that navy blue box, and stacked a few next to a creamy cup of earl gray tea. the 'how-to' caught my eye. 'how to eat an oreo'.

step 1: abre la galleta. got it. open the cookie.

step 2: chupar la crema

.... and i'm like, hold up-suck the creme?? that's weird. who sucks the creme out of a cookie? the illustrations came in really handy.

cookies
see that? step two? chupar definitely means lick. and suck. it means both. WTF??

they say the english language has more words than most other germanic and latin languages; about a quarter of a million all told. herein lies the deficit: sex and candy. there's a HUGE difference in the physical sensations produced by 'suck' and those produced by 'lick'. they deserve linguistic distinction. they deserve separate words. to collapse them into one is just... well... disrespectful and imprecise. a misrepresentation of the material realm. we might as well just grunt into our pillows.

Friday, October 30, 2009

expat life and dating (for black women)

DatingBarScene
i haven't been dateless for even one minute since '05. no matter how many people have tried to reassure me that as a black woman, or a too tall or too smart or too-whatever-woman, i was at the bottom of the dating pool. i haven't been on the bottom of anything unless i wanted to be. and yes, i meant that exactly as dirty as it sounded.

i will concede, however, that as a black woman and an expatriate, no less, we do face some challenges. what are they? how do we meet those challenges (and furthermore, how do we meet men)? there is no quick and dirty way to address the subject of expat life and dating and black women, in one fell swoop of a blog post. there are just too many elements. so i'm going to go at it one step at a time. and i apologize for the exclusionary nature of things today, but when it comes to dating, this perspective is what i know best. i've held many an impromptu dating coach session with my friends here in barcelona. the first and most memorable was last spring at a dive bar in plaza reál. my girl, fake frump girl, was not too happy with my first piece of advice:

girl, show your breasts!! okay. let me explain. i was frustrated. here we are in one of europe's night-liveliest cities, on a saturday night, and she's hiding in a shapeless black turtle neck and sexless black trousers. 'look, i know i'll get a reaction if i walk down the street in a short skirt,' she says in rebuttal. 'i know i'll have every man's head turned. but i don't want that kind of attention. that doesn't attract the type of guy i want in my life.'

i got what marie forleo would call, 'an intuitive hit'. she wasn't scared about the type of guy she'd attract.

'okay. let me ask you this: do you think the way that you dress reflects your personality and who you are?' she looked down at her get-up. the girl is a fast talking firecracker, both in english and in spanish. frump was not in her personality. i couldn't understand why she'd be dressed in a way that had nothing to do with who she was. 'no… but when i first came to spain, i wore colorful head wraps and fitted clothing… and i was always harassed on the streets.' there it was: she was afraid of calling negative attention to her blackness.

i don't point out that back then, she also got herself a man who eventually became her baby's daddy within days of being here. (they broke up only recently.) instead i say, 'girl, you came to spain in the 80's basically. it was a different place then. do you think it'd be as bad if you dressed like that now?' show your breasts was my crass american way of saying DO NOT DULL YOUR SHINE. so, that's expat dating rule one.

as [black] women abroad, we're very… visible. everyone has questions about where we're from, they want to touch our hair, they want to tell us about the one black friend they had who was from angola or whatever. when we walk through the streets of, say, spain, men call out 'negrita' 'morena' or some other such reference to our skin color. we have to answer for every single stereotype or misconception about all black people that everyone has ever heard. we have to be representatives. it can be exhausting. and the attention can make us want to turn inward. be less visible, just so we don't have to deal with the drama and the constant surveillance. we dull our shine, which, when you're looking for a relationship, or just trying to date successfully, does not work. you need your sexy or no one's going to notice you.

the trick is to know your audience. you know what the general misconceptions are about black people in your part of the world. you know whether or not blackness is associated with poverty, promiscuity, criminal activity, or even the ability to dance and sing. you know what's been heard, and what the common assumptions are, because folks confront you with it over and again. remember this post? they constantly ask you to confirm or deny every piece of stereotypical bullshit they've ever heard. you already know what people think. now use that information. how are you going to make people see YOU when they look at you, and not every single thing they've learned about your race or place in the past? once you see the obstacle and acknowledge that it's there you can begin to chart the path around it. as far as i'm concerned, that path must begin at refusing to dull your shine. not becoming so obsessed with the idea of not being singled out that no one singles you out. not even for a date. and you remain single.

imagine being a guy. how tough approaching a girl must be. now think of how tough the cross cultural approach must be. in the course of two hours in an airport, i'm normally spoken to in about 4 different languages. imagine a guy who wants to approach you and has no idea even what language to speak to you in? can't be easy. and if you're a black woman and an expat, imagine the preconceptions/ misconceptions european men come to the encounter with. let me be clear: men rarely approach you out of the clear blue sky. they are literally drawn to you by the signals you're sending. if no one's coming, it's either because you're not sending any signals or you're sending indecipherable ones.

for the next month, try 2 experiments:

first, check what's going on with how you dress. really, what's your look saying? are you dressing to avoid bringing attention to yourself and to your blackness? NB: everyone already sees it. now dress like you. if you don't know what that is, figure it out. go through your wardrobe, try shit on. feel what makes you feel good. feel what makes you feel like you. take the time. it's important in places of meager diversity. help others through all of the cultural mistranslations to get to YOU.

second, look up. when you're walking in the street, look up and out into the world at people. try looking passersby in the eye. not ice-grilling, or being creepy about it. just quick, fleeting eye contact. notice what you're thinking and how you're feeling. notice their reactions. do they look away quickly? smile at you? can you make them do either of the two? sounds strange, and if you're shy, sounds embarrassing. but an experiment like this can help you understand what you're projecting to people, and how you may or may not be attracting what you want.

by the way, i saw fake frump girl last saturday night, rocking heels and a low cut animal print shirt, and chattering away about the brazilian she's dating. and she's GLOWING. i'm not saying that's all because of me (cuz she's pretty dope), i'm just saying...

*mastering your expat life is a weekly series about all things expat, whether you're considering moving abroad, or you already and expat and looking to master that status.

Thursday, October 29, 2009

lost in translation 19

a conversation this morning between the baker man and me. street names have been changed.

bakerman: do you live nearby?

me: yes, right on the corner of no-sé-que and no-sé-cuanto. you?

bakerman: yes, i live on calle cómo-andas with my girlfriend. nice neighborhood. tranquilo. but there are a lot of chinos.

me: really? i hadn't noticed.

bakerman: yes! yes! more and more everyday.

me: well, they own a lot of the wholesale . . .

bakerman: . . . and the shops and the hair salons and the fruit stands. there used to be a catalan textile wholesalers on calle donde-sea, but they've taken it over.

me: yes, well, when it comes to business "they" are very . . .

bakerman: . . . bad!

me: okay. i was going to say, 'serious'.

bakerman: well, soon this neighborhood's going to be chinatown. you watch. 5 more years and i'm out of here.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

world style wednesday

DSC01108
i needed a spark. some color and graphics in my life. an exclamation point for my soul. oh, for those days when a simple walk home ends in just that. today, it was gallery and design bookstore, ras. quirky and minimalist, stocked with oddly stylish swedish titles, as well as unexpectedly intellectual shit, like a tome on global housing projects, ras also renewed my faith in the statement tee. i almost copped the hot pink 'make art not war', when i saw the equally ethical 'f*ck art, let's dance' postcard for 1 euro, and copped that instead. i predict this house of textual design porn's line of buttons will be barça's next big thing. now hours later, i'm not sure how i left the shop without the following trio of buttons:
'Ilegal.' 'Sin papeles.' 'Cásate conmigo.' (Illegal. Without papers. Marry me.)
DSC01102
ras gallery barcelona
10 calle doctor dou

Friday, October 23, 2009

back in barcelona

barça with a rainbow
and the city got all pretty and magical and rainbow-y for the occasion. this was the view from my balcony only an hour or so after my return. so beautiful i thought unicorns were gonna spring forth from the lingering clouds. but two days in transit (i stopped in london first) means my 'dating in europe' post is still being plucked and prodded and poked at, writerly speaking. it'll be up first thing in the morning.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

world movie wednesday



the serb signed on to feature in his first american film. he sent the script to me, so that we could address any pronunciation issues before filming starts in november. the screenplay's a bloody, bloody thing and he plays an exceedingly unsavory character of nebulous eastern european origins. it's good stuff. mostly because when i first met him, he would call this kind of work, 'fake acting' and 'american bullshit'. so, you know, now i know he loves me. that, and i officially became an eu resident yesterday. things are weaving themselves together so nicely, feels like we've embarked on our real life version of universalove, an austrian flick that follows 6 different love stories, in 7 different cities: marseille, luxembourg, brussels, tokyo, rio, brooklyn and... wait for it... belgrade. this trailer made the rounds in the twitterverse this weekend, exciting the whole lot-- heterosexuals and homosexuals, may-december, tragically doomed, odd, and oddly destined couples alike. it's also made the rounds at major film festivals in the last year, leaving me to wonder when we'll actually get to see it... anyone know? looks good though.

Monday, October 19, 2009

rihanna, postracial icon


as black women, we've been trained to follow certain rules, observe certain codes of decency and respectability. this used to be necessary. back when black people in the new world were slaves, compared to animals, constitutionally declared three-fifths of a person, and treated like the missing link; when scandalous, unsavory behavior by even one of us, was used to justify all manner of injustices towards all of us.

i'm starting to think these codes may have outlived their usefulness. perhaps always having to be 'decent' has stifled our individuality, creativity, and adventurous spirits.

take zahara jolie-pitt and the politics of uncombed hair in newsweek last week, where the writer takes angelina and brad to task for not 'controlling' zahara's 'unruly' 'fro.

'not all people will recognize zahara as the child of movie royalty,' she writes. 'to many, she'll be just a little black girl...'

wow. slave mentality, anyone?

by contrast, let's take little blonde shiloh jolie-pitt. shorty sports her brother's dirty soccer cleats, army fatigues, toy swords at her waist and tops it off with patterned fedoras. no more 'put together' or 'controlled' than her black sister zahara, shiloh's wardrobe eccentricity is written up as cute, quirky, and individual--a true expression of self. zahara's robbed of such luxuries, and angelina's flogged in a respected national magazine for not treating zahara's hair like a shameful family secret that needs to be hidden.

it's for this reason that i am incredibly inspired by rihanna right now. after being beaten and bitten within an inch of her life not even a year ago, she could have become an anti- domestic violence advocate. it would have been the decent thing to do. it's also a post she has every right to reject. instead she's walking the streets of berlin, venice, la, new york, and paris rocking colossal white fur coats and flesh toned body suits, deconstructed dresses and leather page boy hats. she almost singlehandedly brought back the acid washed jean, then went topless and muzzled in italian vogue.

her crowning glory? those dead strings of genetic material we black women collectively spend $9 billion a year on? shaved all to hell. her slender, often downward-sloped neck, tatted up.

clearly, surely, obviously, rihanna's been scarred: the girl jay z. immortalized on wax as 'little miss sunshine' rarely even smiles publicly anymore. rihanna's been bruised and she's not trying to hide, or do some clichéd common good with it. from the naked cell phone pics (which she's never addressed) to allegedly stealing justin timberlake from jessica biel, rihanna is straight scandalous. it's like those old codes of decency have been written on toilet paper and homegirl is wiping her ass with them. rihanna's just not having any of it. she seemingly has no desire to be a spokesperson or an example of anything but her own fabulousness. there's something so vulnerable, even masochistic in her boundary-pushing, aggro style of dress that just cries out for attention, something strong respectable black women are just not supposed to do. we're supposed to give back. use our pain to help others... rihanna's refusing to play the righteous race woman, coping in her own way. and for that, i'm totally feeling her right now.