Fried Rice, Egg Rolls, Orange Chicken..... CHOP SUEY!!!!!!!!!!!

        I know that many of you will be surprised that I’m not doing a Jonas Brothers or Paramore or Vampire Weekend song.  Well, Vampire Weekend’s songs make no sense and I WAS going to do a Paramore song.  But thanks to an unnamed individual (Shiloh), I will be doing a System of a Down song instead.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I love CHOP SUEY!!!!!! The deciphering begins…..

Wake up
Grab a brush and put a little makeup
Hide the scars to fade away the shakeup
(Hide the scars to fade away the)
Why'd you leave the keys upon the table?
Here you go create another fable

            Voila, the first verse-thingamajiggy.  As you might be able to tell, the speaker at the moment seems violent and controlling. The person being spoken to has scars, and the command to hide them leads you to think that the speaker caused them.  “Why’d you leave the keys up on the table?” encourages that idea of controlling.  This whole section makes me think that the song is about physical abuse.  The next part of the songs repeats but the phrase “you wanted to” is added after every line.  This phrase makes it seem like the speaker is blaming the abused for anything that might have happened (ex. “You wanted me to slap you!”).

I don't think you trust
In my

Self righteous suicide
I cry when angels deserve to die

            This is the hardest part of the song to decode (Paramore reference, whoo!!).  But when looked at it from the perspective of abuse, it makes more sense.  The abused person might literally be speaking about committing suicide. Or, he/she believes that letting themselves be abused is somehow righteous or a good deed.  Perhaps, he/she loves the person that is abusing them and would rather suffer than turn that person in to the police.  The part about crying when angels deserve to die means… I have no idea.  The song repeats the first two parts again.  Then it’s:

Father, father, father, father
Father into your hands, I commend my spirit
Father into your hands
Why have you forsaken me?

            Here we have Bible reference to when Jesus was crucified.  Using this particular reference gives the notion that the person doing the abusing is the father of the abuse. 

In your eyes forsaken me
In your thoughts forsaken me
In your heart forsaken me, oh

            Just reinforcing the afore mentioned Bible reference. The abusive father has completely neglected and abandoned his child. Tragic….

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Extra-Ness

My friends and moi, playing a song we wrote =).

Life on the Rez

“El hombre con el sombrero nos envió!”

“Él nos contó muchas historias asombrosas!”

“Ho ho ho ho ho!”

“¡Cenamos esta noche en tortugas!”

“¡Serán buenos ellos, Z!”

“Z!”

“¡Soy feliz!”

            Brought to you by Charlie the Unicorn 2.  What this has to do with this blog: absolutely nothing.  But it amuses me so there you go.  And while I’m admitting everything, letting it all out in the open, I have something else to say: that movie we watched (I forgot the name) reminds me of Twilight.  Yeah, I said it.  Those Native Americans live on a rez just like Jacob and them.

            Moving on.  I don’t really know what we’re supposed to write about but I’m going to assume it has something to do with racism… or bigotry… or something.  So I’ll take it from there.

            When people think of discrimination in America, the first thing that usually comes to mind is racism against Blacks and Hispanics in the 1900s.  But Native Americans were discriminated against as well.  When they lived on a reservation their whole lives, they were separated from the rest of the country.  Even when living amongst Whites, stereotypes caused people to treat Native Americans differently. 

            As we’ve read in “Montana 1948”, some people thought that Indians were afraid of doctors because they were used to witch doctors or something like that.  It didn’t even occur to Wesley, the dad, that Marie had another reason for not wanting to be treated by Frank.

            Prejudice has always existed in society.  Some people just don’t like it when others are different from them.

P.S. I don't like bananas. I don't like to eat them and I especially don't like them in my ear.

Charlie the Unicorn 2 @ Yahoo! Video

Join or DIE!!!

            “THE DOOR is everything!  All that once was and all that will be!  THE DOOR controls time and space, love and death!  THE DOOR can see into your mind!  THE DOOR can see into your SOOUULLL!” (Courtesy of Charlie the Unicorn 3).

            In this case, THE DOOR is Wikipedia.  Really, where would high school students be without Wikipedia?  But, on to the topic.

            As defined by Wikipedia (see, there was a reason for my tribute), propaganda is “a form of communication that is aimed at influencing the attitude of a community toward some cause or position”.  And I have an example that might not be very important but just might be perfect.

            High School open houses.  They are the definition of propaganda.  High schools invite prospective students into their midst and try to persuade them to apply (come to the dark side; we have cookies).  I’ll use Whitney Young as an example, not that I’m condemning the dolphin habitation.

            So.  We wait for about an hour until the doors are opened.  We walk through the school to either the orange-n-blue bedazzled gym or the orange-n-blue bedazzled auditorium.  We hear a speech.  And the basics of that speech are “Join us!  We’re super awesome! We’ve won AAALLLL these competitions.  We have qualified teachers!  Etc., continuations, and blah blahs”.  Admittedly, we are kinda awesome.  But at open houses, you don’t hear about the BAD.  You don’t hear about gross lunches, crazy teachers, and any bullying going on.  And why would the bad be told?  That’s no way to attract buyers- excuse me - students.

            Again, I’m not disagreeing with the way that open houses are run.  I’m just saying there’s some propaganda-nizing going on.

Charlie the Unicorn 3 @ Yahoo! Video

Black Boy or Black Breaking?

            Black Boy or

Beat Street

?  Black Boy… Beat Street…  I’ll take Black Boy for 200, Alex.

            Black Boy, that ancient book that was so appropriately named, tells the story of a black boy by the name of Richard Wright.  The novel recounts his supposedly true life of Wright as an African American in the South in the 1910s and 1920s.  And as far as I have read, Wright didn’t have it easy AT ALL.

            (I don’t know how far we were supposed to read but I’m pretty far into the book, so [SPOILER ALERT])

            First, he sets the house on fire. Yes, as in flames.  (He wanted to watch the pretty curtains burn).  As ♪ Burn, baby, burn ♪ plays in the background, Richard’s family rush out and Richard is eventually beaten to within an inch of his life.  After beginning the book with an event as… EVENTFUL as this, it is to be expected that this novel is gonna be one trippy ride.

            Next he kills a kitten. A kitten.  A poor, defenseless little kitty cat.  THE MONSTERRRRRR!!!!! But he only did it because he wanted attention, right?

            Then blah blah, his life is even more messed up, he’s hungry, he gets separated from his brother, his mommy gets sick, etc., etc.  You know what, I’m just going to stop right here.  That’s enough meat for this blog stew.

            What do I think of this “autobiography”? Well, for one thing, it is ridunkulous.  It’s just sad that people actually had to live like this.  And, forgive if what I’m about to say is wrong, but one part of the book amused me when it probably shouldn’t have.  It’s the part when Richard was working for a white family and he said that they treated each other so badly.  I just found it funny how the family members were treating each other.

            So, as pity-producing and generally emotion-provoking “Black Boy” is, the book isn’t really half bad.

Young, Gifted, and Black, yes?

            Surprisingly, I can relate to Lorraine Hansberry, the author of “To Be Young, Black, and Gifted”.  Because, well, I am all those things.  That’s what I like to think anyway.  Maybe I’m not that young.  But going beyond the title, my childhood was somewhat similar to Hansberry’s.

            Children playing on the sidewalk, girls jumping rope, boys shooting marbles...  This was sort of how my childhood was (is?).  When I was younger, I played outside sometimes with my cousins.  What we played, I really have no recollection whatsoever.  Jump rope: I hated it.  Always did, still do, never won’t.  So there’s a difference right there.  And although I didn’t play marbles in the open air, an uncle of mine taught me how to play (don’t ask me what I learned;  I don’t remember). 

            Even though I grew up on a different side of the city than Hansberry, there was still that sense of the children of the neighborhood coming together to play.  I amused myself with the next door neighbors, people across the street, etc.

            Of course, I can relate to the wonder of the trains in Chicago.  Taking the train, maybe the red line, it is possible to see all the different parts of the city.  Admittedly, I’ve never taken the red line.  But I do take the blue line all the time and have taken the green line.  Just watching the people that enter those metal doors can delineate the diversity of Chicago.

             What does this have to do with being American?  Well, you can’t get much more American than Chicago.  Except for maybe New York, where things and people are busier and more expensive.

           

Marching or Saggin'?

            Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday is approaching us very quickly (I don’t know what day but I’m sure it is approaching quickly).  Hence, the prompt for this blog: “King Still King?”.  There’s no need to go into background information on MLK Jr., seeing as how everyone American child learns about him in 2^nd grade, or even before then.  But what difference did he really make?  (Forgive me if I don’t write as I usually do; too tired to be my characteristically witty self).

            Back when gas prices were low and my oldest aunt was just a wee little lass, African Americans were still not equal with the rest of the pale skinned Americans.  So there were marches for civil rights.  And more marches.  And maybe a few MORE marches.  All to fight the power, fight the man, and be equal.  Martin Luther King Jr. fought the power.  And he won, too.

            But what difference does that make now?  African Americans are free and equal to whites. We (may I say we?) can go to any hotel or restaurant we want.  Have the same jobs as “the man”.  Yes, we CAN do all that.  But do we?

            Sometimes, it seems as if some Blacks don’t appreciate the freedom that MLK Jr. and other protesters achieved.  We have succeeded in some careers (President Obama).  But others seem to not want to take advantage of the opportunities made available by marchers.  The children do poorly in school and fight.  The boys’ pants hang off their knees (♪ Pants on the ground…♪).  Civil rights leaders did not fight for us to regress and act/look like slaves. 

            I am only speaking of some of the African American race.  I know there are plenty that don’t fit these descriptions.  But for those who do, please stop enforcing stereotypes.