When the Levees Broke: A Requiem in Four Acts

So, the other night, I came acoss Spike Lee's new Joint, "When the Levees Broke: A Requiem in Four Acts", one of the most powerful, telling and moving documentaries that I have ever watched .

The documentary chronicles the events associated with the passage of Hurricane Katrina, and was even more poignant, as it focussed on the victims who personally recounted their experiences.

The production was moving and insiteful, the cinematography powerful and poignant, with the use of an almost 'camcorder-like' style, and though the Director tried to remain objective in the portrayal of the events and interviews, the resounding criticism geared towards the political and economical failures was deafening in its silence.

The progam quality was not fraught with the almost bumbling, 'Columbo-esque' quality of a Michael Moore documentary, but it was evident that the film's creators were unable to remain objective about the passage of events. No one was spared. Not Condi Rice, and her apparent weakness for Manolo Blahnicks; nor Dick Cheny's penchant for fly fishing (and shooting close hunting buddies). A true outdoors man. Someone should have sent him to rough it out in New Orleans during the crises.

The events as depicted in the film were humbling, as was the apparant anger, shock and dismay of those who experienced Katrina's horrors and the failures of the US Government. What was even more apparent as the sequence of events unfolded, was the fact that Man will always bring about his own self destruction during the breakdown of law and order, and it will always start and end with the impoverished masses.

I was impressed by Soledad O'Brien's blatant challenge to the powers that be during her interviews, and the fact that Sean Penn was wlling to wade through waist high water, as a part of the rescue teams, demonstrating the fact that true charity does not only lie in the pocket, but is aptly demonstrated by actively joining the front lines to fight the good fight.

Now, it would be an apparent failure on my part, not to give special mention to my man, one Harry Belafonte. Sigh. Harry, Harry, Harry. Harry is a Man's man. An activist. An enigma. That gravelly voice. That sense of purpose. The focus on humanitarianism. Outspoken, political and sexy . Pardon me for the diversion, but Harry must have a special mention, as he is one class act! Wowza!

Anyway, as I digress.

I was quite disgusted by the clips featuring George W. Bush. Here is a man incapable of demonstrating any form of sincerity, empathy and/or sympathy, and I have concluded that it is because he is squinty eyed, lacks an upper lip and has a pointy hawklike nose .

His mere attempt to portray sincerity was a slap in the face to the Katrina victims, culminating in the classic quote addressed to Michael Brown, then Director of FEMA, "Brownie, you're doin' a heck of a job". What an ass. This man is totally incapable of assimilating himsef with the common masses, and has repeatedly demonstrated his continued ineptitude.

Anyway, if you are ever channel surfing and should come across any of Spike's Acts, take a look, and let me know what you think.

Out.

Girly, Girl

So, I have now realised that I'm not a 'Girly-Girl' ("GG") .

I would describe said GG as a delicate, ultra femininie, prissy somewhat high maintenance woman, who always has her compact on hand in case of an emergency, and is able to scream delicately during a tramautic event. Lawd, just the thought gives me the willies. Maybe I am not giving the GG justice through my all encompassing description, from which my bias is obvious, but I hope you know what I mean.

I love a good bottle of beer; I hate LifeTime Television, but...I also love a great 'chick movie', bawl during love and death scenes, and I hate those so called blockbuster films that are rife with gratuitous violence and no plot. I belch and fart with the rest of them, and I have no shame in saying that I piss and shit too. Go figure. I ain't shame.

I would define a man by his instinctual need to open the door for me, but I do not need him to as my biceps are in perfect working order. I would define a man by his restraint in using obscenities in front of me, though I will belt them out if and when I am irate. At the same time, I would like to hope that I am not 'butch', or a TomBoy, but maybe I do walk a fine line on occasion.

I recently had the pleasure of hanging with a bunch of GG's and lawd, what stress. I could not begin to fathom the need for the frequent use of the compact, when no activities were completed, requiring said GG's to use the compact, in my humble estimation. Lawd, sometimes you can just use your sleeve to dab at the sweat! Maybe the constant need for the compact is a form of security blanket? I am forever trying to figure out if the need to constantly primp arises through vanity, or some deep seeded insecurity.

I know that I have issues, but maybe I am a realistic enough to know that what you see, is what you get, and it aint gonna get any better, compact or not.

On that note, I shall now exit.

'Ta

'Fro

My Son...

So my son is quite a Dude . His personality is so complex, that he constantly amazes me. Just when I feel that I have him figured out, something changes and I am back just where I started.

I love our relationship. We are friends; pals; buddies and we can lie around and tell corny jokes or chase each other around the house when we re so inclined. He does not hesitate to call me ‘old’ or ‘geriatric’ and to speak whatever comes to his warped little mind. Yet, we have managed to balance this with the fact that I am somewhat strict, and will crack his tail if and when he steps out of line. I hate to brag but, he is quite and intelligent little twerp. The working of his warped little mind can be somewhat daunting, and he constantly keeps me on my toes. He does not accept information at face value, and will not leave an issue alone until he has fully grasped all concepts. Of course, I have also noted little factors that irritate me, such as the fact that he can be somewhat arrogant, which in turn isolates his peers. As a result he has to work harder to meet friends, and those that he does have are all older than he is.

Sonny is no athlete, much to his mine and his father’s dismay. We were both athletes in our prime, and still participate in activities in our nether years. As such, we cannot understand what mutant gene has absorbed simple concepts such as coordination, speed and agility in Sonny. He is quite the nerd. Mr. Man does not like to sweat, and if he did have a choice, he would stay indoors 24/7, watching Cartoon Network and playing video games. Nevertheless, terrible parents that we are, we have forced him to enroll in activities such as tennis, karate, soccer and basketball. He hates them profucely, but we have stressed that ours is a draconian relationship, and he does not have much of a choice.

Sonny loves Chess and Scrabble. He has started to teach me how to play chess, and he is quite a strict little teacher. I believe that he just loves the chance to boss me around. He even slapped my hand when I moved a Rook incorrectly. He is such a little Creep!

Sonny was born on Good Friday in April of 1996. This would make him 10 yeas old as of the date of this posting. I remember when he was born, he was so wrinkly, and pink, with a touch of jaundice. I was absolutely petrified, as I had no idea what to do with this strange creature. But, he and I trudged through and we made the best of it. Not all is perfect, but we seem to have developed our own personal formula.

Sonny’s Dad is from the island of Barbados. He is a good dude, and a very supportive and involved father. From the time that Sonny was two, he has traveled to Bim to be with his Dad and his Bajan family during school holidays. After the passing of Hurricane Ivan, we flipped it, and Sonny was enrolled in school in Bim, and he is now traveling to Cayman for the school holidays. He has a bit of a Bajan accept, and I do love the fact the he is multi-cultural.

Every holiday when he returns to Cayman, his personality and physical features have evolved. He is leaner; he is taller; he has to start wearing deodorant. Sigh. My baby is becoming a man. My next objective is to have him discontinue calling me “Mom”, so that I can claim that he is my little brother. When I initially suggested this to him, he laughed raucously and said that I was so old, that I would never get away with it.

Did I mention that he is a Creep?

Start Bloggering!!!

Rejoice! It is I.

So, I finally have a forum for the venting of my feminine angst; traffic woes; child-rearing headaches; work drama; boyfriend drama; best friend drama; drunken mishaps; PMS and other physical ailments; bad-hair days and general societal drama, without having to tolerate those rude interrupters, who should have the nerve to interject during my ongoing spiel!

Ha! It is about time. Of course, that age old adage comes to mind about “opinions being like assholes…" and all that, but go figure. I do have an asshole, and therefore I shall have my opinion, though I am sure that said opinion will not always be full of shit.

Hmmm….I do wonder if this could be the start of a possible rant, that is, the value of an opinion…

Nevertheless, I shall endeavor to use my new found power for the greater good; the continued evolution of a possible dialogue between man, woman and child, and of course, the best possible venue to cuss all those who shall trespass against me, piss me off, bare false witness, cut me off in traffic, or look in my general direction on a bad day. As my dear ol’ grandma used to say: “Never let it bubble up under ya heart and kill ya.” I shall therefore endeavor to be an obedient grandchild.

Out.

Afro.