Serena Williams; Black Venus

Check out some of these comments I found beneath the video:

That's fucking rank

disgusting. she looks like a fucking ape.

and

thats nasty....on so many levels...

They are just a few of the startlingly abrasive and relatively anonymous sound-bites we get from the youtube-viewing community, which, among others, includes us.

Hall is correct in naming it the "Spectacle" of the Other because exactly what we can see is a showy demonstration of revulsion (or) hate (or) antagonism which implicates a sense of separation, distance and a violent attempt at distinction.

Hall asks why “difference is so compelling a theme, so contested, an area of representation”—but difference is of course a necessitated result of representation. And I just want to call out some of these overconfident and out-of-line commentators. The act of representation is identifying that which is outside of oneself. But marking something as different, exotic, strange or distinctive is actually a reaction to a thing’s comparability—to oneself! One doesn’t need to differentiate a table from oneself; a table doesn’t have the same shape that I do, nor does it communicate to other tables in the way that I communicate to other humans. I can’t draw parallels between the table’s urban and rural communities in the way I do for my own. Tables don’t walk, they don’t talk, and I can reasonably wait for a distant point in the future for the day that I may be suspicious of the table, itself, marking these same differences between us.

But as much as I insist I don’t look Chinese or Jamaican or even “American”, there is enough of myself that I see in the strange and separate “other” that I must mark it, forcibly, intentionally, and in some cases as we see, violently, as “different”.

So you, you-tube subscriber, that insists on the nastiness of this crazy black lady as someone that, presumably, lacks nastiness.....I suggest a moment's reflection on how quickly you've turned off those who will automatically assume your complete idiocy, even if, for them, they are doing so from a "completely different" and maybe even pretentious elevated level of scholastic open-mindedness. :)

Lots of questions about my future, now. About whether I want to spend it in West Africa, where I feel that my strengths are highly complimented within this culture of necessitated charm and talk. Or whether my interests take me to Iran, or Pakistan, or Afghanistan. To Arabic and Farsi and the middle east, and the Taliban and guns and women in burkhas....I'd miss the food here. That's for sure. Replacing yassa with falafel would only make me sad, but wouldn't it be something else, to live in Tehran.....I'd eat falafel to live in that citadel of paradox.
But let's not forget that I might just get this one chance to visit Paris, turning it down seems traditional, backwards, dependent and wasteful. But maybe my default can't just be "travel and move when possible" which I adore for its simplicity. What my default CAN be, i don't know. Which I suppose means that there could also be a life sans default, which scares me, cause mostly I don't think I know enough about what I want and need to make decisions....save that I want to protect myself from failure. And that failure includes regret--it's too bad I don't know what I regret these days. It was easier, not having any friends...the junior high life. Now, wanting to do good by many people, shit's complicated, and I don't know What to think.

caste

la logique du caste, le stratification social.
everyone has a supreme power, like blacksmiths can use fire, or griots can sing praises of entire families, so they must necessarily be brought to a lower caste to be controlled, for the good of the community!

Ah! OK! We do it like this.

A truly Senegalese maxim, we do it like this stands for so much more than the taranga ji (hospitality) billowing so freely about the country like a strip of wind battered heavy duty damask cloth, battering us oh so sweetly at every senegalese moment....it's sort of how everyone, senegalese or martian has to function here in Senegal. With some flexibility, mindful of blacouts (coupe de courrants) and floods and malaria and other inconveniences that might cause a trafic jam or a late blog entry.....a really tardy blog, maybe two-months out of date type-blog.

My two months have so fare been marked with amour for my friends Senegalese and American, my glorious professors, for Waly, for yassa, for everything but my sweat, which plagues me every day under the hot hot heat.

But as the saying goes, ndank-ndank....if you continue to try, you will one day catch the monkey in the countryside.....roughly translating to sometimes shit just doesn't happen very fast!

More to come, and as always, love,


Olivia

rasa * libre

Homesick. (Cali)

Nervous. (Packing)






















































































And of course, geeked up! AFRIQUE. onwards.

Where to begin?!? I suppose at the end, where I am!

Hard to believe, impossible to reconcile, but it's my last full day of California dreamin'....and can I handle it, I'm throwing a party.


When I step on the scene, y'all know me.
I walk with a limp like an ole school pimp
Oh real, Oh Gee.

On the scale from kick-it to rager, I can't predict what's going to happen. I invited everyone, but reminded no one....
I'm hoping that 1-5 people from every casual group I encountered on this trip shows up to drink a beer or three. I went all out. There will be champagne in my mansion in Atherton, where garage sales translate to estate sales....
My tahoe group is coming, that's Sam, Isa and Casey PLUS Casey's little friend Denver. AND some of the Peet's crew, Enrique and his band....

Looks like I'll be in bad shape on the flight tomorrow. It's young love, baby.

Anyway. I'm packing up my room, hoping to see many friends tonight. Hoping Jim doesn't rip the rest of his hair out that a bunch of 20-30 year olds are going to RAGE his impeccable cottage of serentiy.
Oh and P.S. I've agreed quite enthusiastically to allow my new friends and lovers to cut off all my hair today. A drunk barista with a razor....some drunk friends and zero judgement. Haha! Say goodbye to it,
I'll take a pic the morning after. To illuminate the change. :)



And, as the theme of my summer so eloquently reminds us all....

To me! Cheers! Nazdrowie!






Impreza,

Olivia

While my hangover isn't nearly as impressive as the movie, it still has me convinced that I will never feel happiness again, as I explained to Mikey earlier today. I have made efforts to nestle into my coccoon of pain and regret, but instead, I'm on my break at work at Barnes. Which is an ugly nickname for a quaint cube of drudgery. I really like the new assistant manager, Ash. It's too bad he's coming in as I'm leaving, but truly, also, just a part of this life.
I noticed a customer's RUGBY magazine that he was purchasing, and in my stupor proceeded to engage in quite a fun and honest conversation about rugby.

Clubbing in the city. My feet will never feel the same. Good luck to Lori at her rugby kansas tournament.