Guilty. 16 year old me is in fact, guilty of appropriating black culture. We didn’t use that term back then though. It was referred to as “wanna be” or “wigger”. And at 16, I could probably rationalized why I felt just as oppressed and targeted as black Americans.
I was raised by a single mother and we spent many years on government assistance when I was a child. I went to the lowest socioeconomic school in my city while living with a mother who couldn’t define socioeconomic.
But, I never went to bed hungry. I always had clothes to wear (although it was bought from Goodwill and was hideous).I was never targeted by law enforcement for the color of my skin. People didnt follow me around department stores to make sure I didn’t steal anything. No one locked their car doors as I walked by.
Sometimes people kept a close eye on me (and rightfully so) because I was a party animal and underaged drinker, but I lived so well compared to the lives in the beginning of the movie Straight Outta Compton.
I’m reviewing this movie because, well why the hell not? (There is really NOTHING off limits in this blog. I just kind fly by the seat of my pants.) God I love this soundtrack and the accuracy with which the artist were portrayed was jaw-droppingly precise! I wish they would have spent more time on Pac and Biggie but maybe their movie is in the works (fingers crossed)! I concur with the people saying this movie deserved Oscar recognition. I realize that rap is still frowned upon by many people, but that doesn’t dismiss the art entirly.
Listen to words, they way the thoughts come to them without hessitation. Make up a 12 line poem right now, that people would pay to hear. Go. Now post it in my comments.
Any lover of art and craft and creativity cannot deny the difficulty with which rap was commenly written. I understand that a large amount of rap is now written and composed over months to years and by college education caucasians. I also recognize that there are inappropriate and oftenly offensive lyrics in rap music.
So now consider the lives they were raised in, the culture that surrounded ever aspect of their lives.
I will never know poverty like the men portrayed in Straight Outta Compton, therefor I cannot judge them. I don’t have to listen to what offends me, but I can appreciate beauty when it does not describe my life. I can see beauty in the lives and culture around me.
So why is appropriating another culture so offensive? Can’t tell ya! How glad are you to have read this far for nothing?
But here’s what I think. If a black man walks into a Starbucks in Uggs and orders a PSL in his best valley girl accent, I’m going to feel a smidge offended. It would feel like he’s mocking me and my Uggs. I would feel like he sees me as a joke and insignificant as a successful contributing member of society.
Clear as mud? I concur. But thanks for listening!
Well. Tomorrow is the last day! I’m all verclempt just thinking about it, but I digress.
I was really torn between this meme’s and tomorrow’s as my favorite. It still makes me giggle snort.
Engage Her et al.iens!!! Feedback! Sure, like my post. It makes me happy. But comment! I respond. I’m a real human girl! But I digress:
Psych! I don’t digress! Look at that passion! And 3 exclamation points? Do as Mr. Cage says or suffer the consequences of absolutely nothing!
Today I tagged the word “marijuana” in my post. I’m trying to tap into a whole new subset of people. So, to those of you brough to my blog by weed, I welcome you. I do not use illegal drugs and today weed is still illegal in my state. But I don’t judge…well I kind of do make snap judgements, but could not care less about marijuana. But if you don’t wash your hand after you pee or constantly show up late to doctor appointments, well then I hate you and judge you mercilessly. But I digress<—–at this point I’m going to try to use that word in all of my 25 days posts.
Nicolas Cage’s talent transcends multiple artistic mediums (totally made that shit up.) I present you now, my precious Her et al.iens, Nicolas Lisa:
Her beauty is forever etched in my memory, but upside down in my occipital lobe ’cause that’s how ours brains roll, bruh!
My dad recently passed away unexpectedly. While going through his belongings, we found a pipe. It was made of wood and had been sanded and polished…it was SO him! So I smiled. At the thought of my dad high, with the giggles or devouring a pizza because of munchies.
Let me be clear, we do not live in a state where marijuana is legal. Nor do I or my husband smoke weed. However, being in healthcare I cannot deny the medical benefits of weed. One of those being treatment for PTSD. While it is sometimes consider an antidotal symptom relief, I’m ok with that. Because my dad suffered from PTSD related to the Vietnam war and he felt relief from weed….at least I assume that’s why he was a pothead.
He suffered. From the day he stepped on American soil again, my dad suffered daily. He remembered being in a vehicle that backed over a little boy who was shooting at them. He remembered the man next to him loosing both legs (and likely his life) to an attack. He remembered a pallet of live ammunition being dropped on his hand and everyone thinking it would explode before they could get it off of him…with a crane. He remembered being flown to a hospital after that and staying there for a week and then being sent…..right back to war. For 3 days shy of one year, my dad spent every day and night of his life, under fire. He once told my brother, “they were shooting at us as we were landing and getting off the plane.”
And it never stopped.
My dad didn’t leave Vietnam the same. None of them did. It should be assumed they all have PTSD. People coming home from war should just be seperated into two groups: those with PTSD and those who are “in denial about having PTSD and will be diagnosed at a later date.”
So light one up for me, up there daddy! I’m so glad your pain is gone!