TEARS. RUNNY NOSE. MOUTH HANGING OPEN. HEART...BROKEN

That describes me at the end of The Wrestler. The film, staring Mickey Rourke(Body Heat, Sin City) deals with the life of a theatrical wrestler who knew his greatest glory in the 1980's and is now living out his life in present day New Jersey in much less than splendor.

The wrestler in question, Randy "The Ram" Robinson begins the film being locked out of his trailer and being reduced to sleeping in his van until he can get money for rent. Its a long fall for a guy who had a video game made with him as a main character.

This man was famous. He was big. Now, he plays that video game on what appears to be the first Nintendo ever made with a young boy who seems to have more important things to do than Robinson does.

But Robinson does have important things to do. He has to get his entire life sorted out. He needs to sort out his love life with the stripper, Cassidy (Marisa Tomei), fix his damaged, threadbare relationship with his daughter, Stephanie (Evan Rachel Wood), and retire from wrestling in order to regain his health.

Despite a healthy dose of humor, the film is hard to watch. Its sad and its violent. But out of the aspects of the film that make it not only bearable but actually uplifting is that Robinson does sort it all out. But its not by falling in love, or mending the wounds he's caused his daughter. Robinson sorts it out by realizing just what his whole life really is. Its wrestling.

After taking a job in a grocery store, Robinson assumes an accidental "Clark Kent" persona. Because of a jerk boss he is forced to wear a nametag with states 'Robin.' He wears a hair net and jokes with the customers. You wouldnt assume he is the man who sustains body slams and barbed wire by night. He's more lamb than "Ram."

And after trying life a different way-reaching out and attempting to foster a relationship with Stephanie and Cassidy, quitting wrestling- he goes back to what he knows. He turns his ear to the ones who were always there and listens to them.

You see, although his fame dwindled, his popularity never did. He's still recognized and lauded for his talent by people in and outside of the profession. He has fans all over the place. People who havent forgotten who he was, and who still believe he is that person.

By the end of the movie he's not making decisions for himself any more. His life doesnt belong to him. It never did. The life that he had, at the height of his success, belonged to the fans. And everytime he steps into the ring, its theirs again. Thats the only life worth living for him. And thats the life he chooses.

The film is gritty and ruff. Its real. An effect created by the sprinking of non-actors who appear in the film. Some, average people with small speaking parts. Many others wrestlers themselves who's "stage" names scroll across the screen during the credits.

In places I was reminded of the character Budd from Kill Bill vol.2, destitute and alone, with nothing but a shotgun and a country song as company. But there is nowhere near the amount of sympathy present for that character as there is for Robinson. Budd is so full of hate, so villainous you feel he deserves his place alone in the desert.

Though Robinson is no saint, you want his life to work. You want to stand in the thearter and cheer him on. Strangely you become one of his ever present fans. You keep him alive, all the way to the end.

I Was There

I was recently blessed with the opportunity to travel to DC with friends to witness the inauguration of Barak Obama as President of the United States of America.

The chance just fell in my lap the Saturday before it was to take place thanks to my friend Ke' Shawn, and I moved Heaven and earth to make sure I would be able to attend. With everything paid for I simply needed to clear it with my parents, my professors, and my place of employment.

It was an easy enough sell for all three, understanding this as a unique moment in history. With that taken care of, we were on our way that Monday night and that morning we were there with the throngs of people in Washington, DC, all ready to see and experience this unprecedented event.

By tram we made our way to the Mall to meet the day with millions of our fellow countrymen. It was as cold as ice with barely any room to move but at one moment, a current surged through the crowd and all discomfort was forgotten.

There were times leading up to that moment -favored dignitaries being announced and taking their seats (Jimmy Carter, Colon Powell, etc.)- which hinted at feelings of warmth. But at 12noon, Barak Obama said "So help me God," and suddenly the 20th of January became the hottest day in July.

I could scarcely take it in. I stood, grinning like a child, wholly rapt in the moment. I felt like crying, but I laughed aloud instead, gladdened more than moved. Besides, that warmth was only a feeling and not a truth. We were still basically on the surface of Pluto and, my tear ducts having frozen, I could produce no tears.

We stood and listened to his speech. And I felt a great connection to those millions there who had gathered there that day. And to those across the country who were watching on TV. To those who viewed it in other countries, and even those who listened on the radio.

When I think about it I am reminded of a revelation I had one day driving back to school from my home town. I was listening to a performance of "My Man's Gone Now" from Porgy and Bess on NPR. It was a live performance and the woman's voice reminded me of a soprano I had heard in a performance at the War Memorial Auditorium a year before with my friend Jameel.

When the performance was over, the applause began and ended and the radio personality announced that the song was performed by a woman who won an award from UNC-G's School of Music. I sat for a moment and remembered that the woman who sang at War Memorial won a similar award. In fact, it was the same award. It was the same woman. The same performance. It had been recorded and rebroadcast on the radio.

When I realized this, I thought back to the applause and knew that I was apart of that sound. Some of those claps and cheers were mine. I was there. It is such an interesting, complicated feeling. You know you are you, an individual. But in an instance such as that, you are lost, among a sea of people, of sound.

But like the great and terrible moments in our recent history, since the advent television and radio, you are-in a way- preserved along with that moment. From those poor people who's screams are audible in the background as the newscaster describes the tragedy of the Hindenburg to the grateful millions who's cheers filled the Mall on Washington that day- we are the ones who can say "I was there." Whether like a burden or a badge, we carry it.

I am one of the grateful millions. One who can utter that phrase for all the years of my life. One who can say "When History called the role, I was there to answer back 'Present'."

Gran Torino- A Picture of a People

Gun toting, teeth grinding, epithet spewing, septuagenarian. This is the main character, Walter Kowalski, in Clint Eastwood's Gran Torino.

The film, one of this years Oscar contenders, finds Eastwood's Kowalski- a taciturn World War II veteran- living in a neighborhood now populated with those he once only saw as war-time enemies.

The power of this film comes partly from Eastwood's now typical performance, that of the grizzled, growling 'man with a problem' who's going to 'fix it.' In 2004 his 'problem' was Maggie Fitzgerald, the paralyzed boxer of Million Dollar Baby. This year, its a violent Hmong gang that has terrorized his neigbors Thao and Sue, whom he befriends during the course of the film.

The other part of Torino's power owes itself to the ever present racial slurs Kowalski and others let loose. Some might make you squirm while others could cause you to snicker or laugh out loud. Whether you're squirming or squeeling, you must take the time to stop and think about the material that is presented. I was able to find quite a few lessons in this story. A story which, in truth, sounds impossible at first.

Walter Kowalski hates foreigners (Koreans especially) but they're his neighbors and he ends up becoming friends with them?

That extreme oversimplification of the plot gives it an almost Disney-like 'cheese' factor. But I assure you, this is no Disney picture. And while at first the premise seems unbelievable, the films pacing makes sure no major character developments occur too quicky or, quite possibly, at all.

Torino does a good job of informing viewers about its supporting cast, the Hmong- people from different parts of Laos, Thailand and China who came to America after being targeted and killed for fighting alongside the U.S. in Vietnam. This is a culture and a history I knew nothing about, despite going to school and working with Hmong people. I was happy to be enlightened.

Throughout Torino, we find Kowalski grumbling something or other. One scene shows him chiding Thao about the neighbors lack of curb appeal. Kowalski, the 'American,' is a man concerned about appearances. His grass always cut, his car washed and waxed, and his flag-our flag- always waving. Meanwhile, he has virtually no relationship with his sons, failing health, and guilt so burdensome he can find only one relief. His neighbors, on the other hand, may have shabby facades, but inside those houses are close knit families with strong ties to their heritage.

The trailer for the film calls it "prime, vintage Eastwood." That's an easy critique considering some of the scenes look like they were filmed with 'Dirty Harry 6" in mind. Instead, I say that this is prime, vintage America. The America that, despite its sublime curb appeal, put its racism in the front yard (right beside the Gardenias) and held so many problems inside.

Kowalski is a man out of place and out of touch with the larger world around him. Perhaps like last years Academy Award winner for Best Picture, this film would be called No Country for Old Men, that is, if it did not display some hope that there is a place in the present for those who suffered through the history many of us only read about. The history that made them bitter and hateful. The history that made them 'American.'

A Love Letter

October posed a problem for me. My friend Shari left for Manchester, England, like I did one year ago. As her date of departure approached in September I recalled how I felt as the time came for me to leave the country. Upon looking back, I saw that one thing I really cared about was staying in contact with those I had left here The States.

Naturally, there was the internet to help me both update people on my life and stay updated on things going on here at home. But I didn’t want that to be my sole method of communication. E-mail, an already cold and detached means of correspondence would only be made more so by the distance. So I decided to write letters to those I was separated from.

Now with Shari gone, I longed to do the same. The only problem is finding the time. Writing a blog is one thing, but piecing together a carefully worded extended thought is completely…oh wait… it’s the same. But still, the formation is different, the way it all comes together. It’s difficult to explain but as a writer I see a distinction.

So, as usual, I have been going to class, working at the library, ushering at our auditorium, spending time with friends and doing all the other things a young college student does in his spare time. But I was plagued by the fact that though I’ve been doing all of those things, I wasn’t able to work in writing a thoughtful letter to my dear Shari!

Now I get pretty busy, but as my father says, “All those great men in history had the same amount of time in a day as you do; twenty four hours- no more, no less.” And these guys weren’t sitting around on youtube all day. They were forging governments and invading countries.

Needing inspiration from “the greats,” where else could I turn but to Love Letters of Great Men, the compilation of epistles (letters) by some of history’s most notable figures. And these are some greats, might I say. Voltaire, Beethoven, Van Gogh. These men who produced books, music and paintings also found time to produce “I am a prisoner here in the name of the King; they can take my life, but not the love that I feel for you.”(Voltaire). And “Oh God, look out into the beauties of nature and comfort your heart with that which must be.” (Beethoven).

Leafing through the letters of these famous men, one thing linked them together, aside from their elevated status in our historical memory, and in their own time. It was their passion that spurred production. It was the love they felt for their loves that allowed these well-springs to open amidst wars and turmoil and bridge the expanse that often separated them.

My hope is that this post will do just that. Narrow the gulf between us…convey my love to her, who now is so far away, though at times feels as though she is at my side. I miss the walks around the museum, the span of time sitting, looking at a painting, drinking it in, then looking at each other and knowing that the other knows what you’ve tasted. I miss the pain in my gut and the tears in my eyes, both from the laughter shared with her. I miss where she is now. I know that her adventures there will be different than my own yet very much the same, as we are very much the same.

Autumn is here. The leaves have begun to change. The days get colder and we see less of the sun, obscured by the clouds of a new winter. But still, there are days like today when, though only temporarily, all is bright and beautiful. Despite the clouds of tragedy that surround, it causes me to hope, and look forward to when my sun will return to me.

For Shari, a sister more than blood can say.

Monae- A True Work of Art

I was reading this months Vogue when, amidst the ubiquitous Prada adds and Ralph Lauren spreads, I came upon the "People are Talking About..." section. This month features a short article about a new artist who has recently carved out a niche in my heart: Janelle Monae

Anyone who knows me is aware that I love music. LOVE! And my taste in it has been described as classic, strange, exotic, funny, eclectic and unique. So it's no surprise that all these words can, and have been used to describe Monae. Her music is an intriguing blend of sounds from all over the audio-verse. There is funk, rock, rap, electronica and exceptional vocal talent on display in her work, and sometimes its all in one song!

Discovered by Big Boy of OutKast at Justin's, the restaurant owned by P. Diddy, Monae has caught the ear of many in the music industry. Called everything from "enchanting" by Andre 3000, to simply "fire" by Missy Elliot. Monae is leaving a lasting impression on her peers.
With a style all her own -hair pulled up the sides, coiffed on top, Plaid blazers, silk trimmed jackets, tuxedo shirts, high wasted trousers and various bow ties!- this young lady is a walking fashion statement, with an ear toward the future and a voice from the past (check out her heartfelt rendition of the classic, Smile).

In a time like this, when so many songs come equipped with instructions on how to dance to them (Bend your knees, rock your hips, shake that booty meat?) it's rewarding to see Monae let loose on the stage in a completely non-choreographed ecstasy.


I'm captivated by her energy and her voice, but I love a live performance. And to see her in motion is to witness a force of nature. She moves away from the mic, kicking, clapping, and spinning around like a whirling Dervish. Then, swinging one arm in front of her and one arm behind she marches to the beat of her own drummer. Im not sure where she's going...but Im right behind her.

The Man Bag: What if Your Pappa Got A Brand New One?

There has been lots of chatter about Mens Fashion. Mainly because it has begun to once again blur the line it maintains with womens fashion.

First it was skinny jeans. The snug fitting bottoms once worn only by old school Rockers came back on the scene a couple of years ago, though really only on the Womens side. The few guys who were wearing them were from the "EMO" sect, and were purchasing across the isle...or just borrowing a pair of their sisters.

THEN: Like a mighty river, the 80's rushed back into our lives and suddenly everything was tight and colorful again. Now it wasnt just the "EMO" guys crying out for a tighter fit, it was all guys. From Skater Boys to B-Boys; they, much like a certain commercial from the time, declared "I Want My Skinny Jeans!" And the industry responded.

Now they can be seen in most every shop and boutique, and on almost every size and frame. Reminding all of a safer time...when what was in a guys pants moved around less than Denzel in The Bone Collector.

NOW: The big issue? The Man Bag. The topic has been toted around more than any of the actual bags have. And the reason- typical apprehension to new things. A particular problem for men whenever something comes along that challenges outdated views of masculinity.

Ive heard the arguments and read the blogs. The best they can come up with is that the bags look like purses and therefore, make the men who carry them look like women.

Really?

When women wear pants do they look like men? No. Because aside from the fact that the styles are different, they embody them in a completely different way. There is nothing inherently feminine about a non-bifurcated piece of cloth that is worn around the pelvis and buttocks (what we commonly call a skirt). Because with the right pattern, that same fashion is called a Kilt in Scotland, and its anything but feminine!

*Believe me on this one. Ive clubbed in Scotland before*

The wearers of the Kilt don't carry themselves as women, so they aren't confused with women. Are men in the US afraid that if they carry bags they'll be mistaken for the fairer sex? Surely they're smarter than...oh who am I kidding? Guys cant even stop screaming "No Homo!" (trying to reassert their imagined manhood) long enough to realize that if they feel like they have to do it, they're not really men.

Real men know who they are and don't give a damn if you don't! And style works the same way. Style is very personal, unique to an individual. You have to be able to know that you look good in what you're wearing. Fashion will continue to blur the lines between men and women, because both groups are distinct enough to extract their own feel. Fashion is for everyone, but style is all your own.

FUTURE: Men wont be patting themselves down while doing the "Keys, cellphone, wallet" check, but will instead be going through their man bags.

The Summer So Far

I cant believe it was March since the last time I wrote one these. Actually, on second thought...I can believe it. So much has gone on I just havent taken the time to write it all down. And though recently I've had plenty of time to write, I've just now gotten some inspiration.

Its the middle of the summer and there are only a few days left in July, so for me, my time in Charlotte is winding up. I'll be moving into my new apartment in Greensboro in a few weeks and saying "See you later." to the city. But Charlotte has become more than just a city to me. It embodies my new life, new job, new career goals and new friends.

Before I even arrived in town I was on the lookout for jobs. My second oldest sister, Kamille, who I would be living with during the summer helped by gathering applications and asking people she knew about positions. I was busy scouring the internet for something that would enhance my career aspirations of being a writer. Thankfully I found a listing for CharlotteStyleMag on Craigslist.com.

The listing described the mag as representing everything fabulous and fashionable in the Queen City. An online publication that was offering experience based internships. In other words, a great way to learn and get in on the ground floor of a budding fashion magazine. No pay but...BABY STEPS! So far- the magazine has been a great method for putting my name out there, getting to know people and, above all, honing my craft.

Much of this summer has been spent making new friends and spending time with the ones I already have. My buddies Jay and Marcus have been great sources of entertainment and escape. When I need to get away (even though Im already away) I know I can go to Jays place. And nine times out of ten, Marcus will be there. Whether it's an all night Scare-a-thon (Nightmare on Elm Street's a must!) or a Sex and the City Day (Jay=Miranda, Marcus...Samantha!) they're my go to guys.
Of course I have one of my favorite ladies in the U.S. here with me in Charlotte; Shari Tate. An indispensable font of inspiration, love, humor, and great places to go in the city(restaurants, museums, galleries, etc). She has made my sisters job of showing me around much easier.

And I would be remiss if I didn't mention the special visits made throughout June by my big, little brother Dustin. Big because he's bigger than me, little because he's younger-though not by much. We actually celebrated his 21st on the 6th. Fun times.

I got a job at Express at the end of last month. Ive worked a total of one day so far. It sucks but, I would rather have something than nothing. Well...to tell the truth, I would rather be working a job than just being employed but... aaanyway....

All in all, Charlotte has helped me have a great summer. Especially now that one of my NAACP colleagues has reminded me that she lives here and now Ive incorporated her into my circle. Lovely!

There's just one thing that takes away from everything else; the fact that I have to leave. Its not something thats particularly difficult for me, or at least it wasnt. Not until I started dating. But thats a post for another time.