[dur-tee][lawn-dree]

Thoughtful Thursday: A place to code home

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Peoples) — Thu, 21 Mar 2013 21:53:00 +0000

I’m finding so many amazing websites these days that I have to share yet another!

As a woman thinking about a career change, it’s hard not to think about taking a dip in the coding pool. When I say coding I mean getting into software programming, which means learning lots of different computer language like HTML, CSS, Java, Python, Ruby, and more.

I’ve always been at least slightly interested in delving into one of these languages. When I was a mere Freshman in college, when creating your own blog site was becoming all the rage I actually took the time to learn quite a bit of HTML. Somehow, I got scared of what “coding” meant. Plenty of people were doing computer science, but they were all guys and at the time it didn’t occur to me that maybe they knew something I didn’t and that was that the next big thing was actually the computer industry.

Okay, I could have flipped open any magazine that was talking about up and coming businesses, especially being brethren of the Silicon Valley, but it just didn’t occur to me what a big market it was going to be today. And so… I got an English degree.

I actually love my English degree. It’s taught me how to speak more clearly, form my thoughts into coherent sentences, spell lots of big words that I may or may not ever use, and writing is definitely the one thing I do every single day of my life.

Well enough talking. The site that I found is Code Academy. It is a free interactive site that feels a lot like a game and gives you a lot of the basics of many coding languages. It’s so fun that it makes me want to go back for more!

Currently I’m easing myself back into HTML because it’s been a long time. It’s really easy, but I don’t want to skip any step and find myself lost.

Will I ever actually use any of the programming languages that I am going to try learning?

Who knows! My hope is that I will learn something new, I’ll have more to include on my resume, and perhaps it’ll lead to some new occupation in the future. If you are anyone that has been interested in at least trying out coding, this is the site for you! It’ll give you a taste of code and you can decide from there if you want to pursue delving further into the muck!

Whoa Wednesday: A website that brings a generation of teen women together

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Peoples) — Wed, 20 Mar 2013 21:20:00 +0000

Tavi Gevinson

The other day I found this site: Rookie Mag. I didn’t find it by looking for it because I’m not sure why I would have looked for it in the first place. I found it because Gawker highlighted a video by founder, Tavi Gevinson doing a TED talk on Still Figuring it Out, which you should probably watch. What’s special about Tavi is that she not only prepared this almost 8 minute talk discussing female power, oppression, obsession, and confusion, but she did it and she’s only a teenager.

Tavi is a fifteen year old sophomore that started a magazine called Rookie magazine when she was fourteen to create a space for young girls to talk, converge, celebrate, write, and showcase their feelings about becoming a woman.

In Tavi’s first editor’s letter to her burgeoning audience of teen girls she informs them what the magazine is about.

“I don’t have the answers. Rookie is not your guide to Being a Teen. It’s not a pamphlet on How to Be a Young Woman. It is, quite simply, a bunch of writing and art we like and believe in.”

She further goes on to state in her talk that the magazine isn’t created to “give girls the answers” it’s actually created so they will “give themselves permission to find the answers themselves.” I honestly can’t think of anything more admirable then creating a space for young women to choose to “not” identify themselves in any one real way and to let themselves question for as long as they can, need, or want to until they find the answers they’re seeking.

It seems there is often a rush to grow up so fast, to understand who you are, how to get a boyfriend, how to fit in, how to be popular and this site teaches girls that there’s no one way that you need to be, no set of “things” that you need to have. The ideas of what it is to be a teenage girl are scoffed as mere presuppositions of an old archetype that should be thrown out. Being a teenage is “complicated.” Any person that’s ever been a teenage girl knows that there is no end to the complications that arise from feeling like a confused, hormonal, estranged, deranged being with no idea how to correctly navigate the world.

I am now 33, which means when I was a teenager when the internet was just really getting a foothold on the market. I remember thinking... omg, imagine the things you can do with the internet, like talk to people across the country and some from other parts of the world! At the time I was using a slow dialup connection that often took a couple of minutes to connect. Pages back then often took minutes to load, but I didn’t care. I would wait the long minutes and log into any number of AOL chatrooms just to get the experience of talking to someone who wasn’t from where I was from, which was a young and newly booming Silicon Valley.

So now there are young girls who look at the internet and don’t just think that they can perhaps talk to someone across the world, they find ways to engage the world! I am so in awe of young women like her, the same way I was in awe of my friend Zeena who started a local zine when we were the same age. It excites me that this young woman is doing global outreach to other young women. If you are a woman, a man dating a woman, a man that has daughters, a man that wants his sons to understand women, then you should take the time to look at this site and send it to others.

Seeing young women express themselves without worrying what someone will think of their quirks, their intelligence, their nerdiness, their beauty, their disregard for fashion, and anything else is truly what gives them so much strength. I must say, I am extremely excited to see what this next generation of women brings to the table; it’s going to be hawt.

First Friday: My first podcast ever goes live!

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Peoples) — Fri, 15 Mar 2013 15:59:00 +0000

Last month I decided to do a series of interviews with people about their First Love and today I am releasing the first installment with my friend Nick!
I decided to name the podcast Durtee Lawndree in line with my blog, because it exemplifies exactly what I want my blog to be about and that is people "airing their truths." I had a great time talking with everyone and am super excited about releasing future episodes.

What I've learned through this first podcasting process:

#1. Interviewing is a learning process and I can only get better
     For those of you that know me, you probably know that when I start talking I can definitely hold me own, but when it comes to sitting with someone, asking questions and speaking with them, my nerves get a little itchy and inflamed. For this first session I had set interview questions because of this fear, which I think worked well for me. My hope going forward is that when I sit down and interview I will be able to sense the interviewee a little better and formulate questions as it goes along.


#2. Editing is a learning process and I can only get better
I've pretty much only used my Garage Band and some Pro-Tools for light music editing, which means I have never been in the position of splicing and dicing a whole conversation.
For this first interview I cut almost 45 minutes down to about 20. It hurt my soul to take out huge chunks of conversation that I thought were interesting and funny. However, I knew that I needed to shorten a lengthy conversation that did encounter some stumbles as well as had information that wasn't necessarily relevant to our conversation.
This part of the editing process reminds me of when I'm editing my own writing and I think... this part is so intriguing and well written and I have to throw it in the garbage. Sometimes I can save the writing for later, but sometimes I can't because it would be too disjointed as its own.

#3. DON'T Interview at a super loud venue like... a coffee shop
When I was scheduling times with people to meet there was no part of me that realized I needed to account for noise level. This is obviously the mistake of a beginning podcaster. In my mind, cafes are quiet and that's why people are always there studying, right?
In reality, cafes are quite loud with the bustle of the baristas making drinks, flipping book pages, conversations, spoons in coffee mugs, all stuff I realized is white noise that I drown out while working on a project. At least I know I don't have ADD.
Since at this point I don't have a real mic and was using my handy iphone mic, I don't have very much ability to isolate the conversation from the other noises, though I did use a variety of techniques to minimize it. I'm looking forward to getting a mic at some point for this project, but until then it's gonna be up to Carmen, my iphone, to help me with the interviews.

#4. Patience
      As with any new skill it does test a little bit of patience. Editing itself is not all that hard, but getting to know short cuts and accidentally pressing the wrong one, deleting a section and not noticing till later is a little trying. As I edited, things ran more steadily and the process became a little faster. There definitely are still elements that I have to learn like making cuts and transitions a little more smooth, but I'm sure that will come with more editing experience.

#5. Podcasting is really fun
      Though I write a lot and I have finished writing products, I realized there's nothing quite like having a finished sound product. Strangely it felt like I'd accomplished more in this 25 minute segment than in all the thousands of hours I've done writing throughout my life. I'm still not sure why that is.

If you have any comments, questions, concerns, want to be interviewed, want to give me free editorial tutorials, have a mic you want to donate or anything else is on your mind, email me: durteelawndree@gmail.com

Now here's the podcast!
If your browser has trouble loading the podcast go directly to Podomatic and listen from there.

Tasty Thursday: I suck at cooking but I do it anyway and so should you!

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Peoples) — Thu, 14 Mar 2013 17:28:00 +0000

Most days the idea of cooking a meal is daunting and a chore. It's something I very much want to love, but when I look at a variety of ingredients my mind doesn't automatically figure out how to pair them.
For those of you that have friends that cook, as I do (I even have a friend that's a chef), it's often hard to relay to them your excitement about being a good cook while realizing you're terrible.

"Oh it's easy, you just put spice 1, spice 2, and ingredient in a bowl, mix them and voila!"

Whatever, friends that know how to cook; this is not what happens in my world. In general I'll add spice 1, spice 2, and ingredient and it turns into some either extremely bland yet colorful dish or an extremely over-spiced, palette confusing mess. Just like outfits and color coordinating I have no idea how to mix and match ingredients.

I've been told multiple times that I don't need to know how to mix ingredients, it's all about just mixing it up and trying new things and seasoning it to my taste.
The fact is that I don't even know what that means. If I don't know even the very basics of cooking beyond the difference between dicing and chopping then how am I supposed to move forward? Where do I go from here? Why even keep cooking?

Well, I've decided instead of listening to all that totally wrong advice for me from people who actually know how to cook that I would listen to myself. If I don't know how to pair things well, then I am just going to follow recipes exactly. When I say exactly, I mean down to the last grain of salt - sea salt that is.

Last night I decided to prepare a dish called Vegan Coconut Curry Red Lentil Soup that I found on Food.com. I chose this recipe because I knew that I had lentils and coconut milk in my cupboard, the only ingredient on the list that wasn't at my house was the cilantro, so this made it a cheap meal for me. However, for you, I decided to calculate the price per serving just in case you are wondering.

I try to find the best deals when shopping and so I tend to shop around, though do a majority of my shopping at Trader Joe's and Madison Market Co-op near my house. There were some things I didn't add because I'm assuming that you have some basic staples like oil to cook with, salt, sugar, and water. Usually these products are bought in bulk and so the cost is fairly negligible.
Below you will find the cost of the product on the left, on the right you will find a note if it was changed or if I am noting how it was purchased.

Recipe for 12 Servings (I was making the dish for my band)

($0)1 1/2 tablespoons olive oil      I used Coconut Oil because I don't use Olive Oil for cooking -ever
($.50)1 1/2 tablespoons curry powder   purchased in bulk section at Co-op
($0)3/4 teaspoon cinnamon
($.89)1 1/2 onion, chopped
($.79)3 carrots, peeled and diced              I included the full bag cost
($.50)3 teaspoons fresh ginger, grated       Uwajimaya 1.79lb
($.50)3 garlic cloves, chopped            Madison Market 1.99lb
($0)3 teaspoons salt
($0)1 1/2 teaspoons sugar
($.99)1/2 cup tomato paste
($0)10 1/2 cups water
($1.98)1 (22 1/2 ounce) can coconut milk   Two 14oz cans - Used Light Coconut Milk
($1.86)3 cups red lentils                              Madison Market   1.86 per lb
($2.58)1 (22 1/2 ounce) can garbanzo beans, drained (chickpeas)   Two 14oz cans
($0)1 1/2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
($.79)1 1/2 to taste fresh cilantro (for garnish)   Bundle for .79
($.39)1 1/2 to taste lime wedge (for garnish) Bought one from TJ's for lime wedge and lime juice

Total: 11.77

Additional Garnish: Avocado (1.50)

This makes each serving approximately .98c I did not make note of what things were organic or not. I buy some stuff organic and not others depending on my checking account. This is a fairly low cost meal, but I know people that can do it for cheaper and it can definitely get pricier by buying everything organic. This is a great recipe if you want a lot of meals to come out of it.

The original recipe says 1 serving is 469.5 cals per serving. I'm pretty sure that is reduced because I used light coconut milk but I didn't calculate it.

How did it turn out?

It was amazing! Apparently following a recipe really works wonders, who'd have thunk? My band mates loved it and so did my roommies, so I think that I actually accomplished something.A step in the right direction.

I don't know if I'll ever be an excellent cook, but I certainly can follow a recipe like a champ and so I'm just going to continue doing this. I'm going to attempt to cook at least one new meal a week, so stay tuned for those. In the meantime if you can't cook like me, there is hope!

Tame Tuesday: Why I didn't go out last night and liked it

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Peoples) — Wed, 13 Mar 2013 16:01:00 +0000

Seattle is a place where there are always things to do. There are literally at least five shows that I could hit up on any given night, a few friends that I'd love to see, a bar I'd like to try a new drink at, a new restaurant opening on the hill that wants for a yelp review - well not by me because I hate writing those damn things, but at least a restaurant I can tell I should eat at yet last night I decided not to do any of those things and stay home.

STAYING IN FOR ALL THE RIGHT REASONS

Reason #1: Exhaustion
When I was younger, I thought this was a lame excuse for staying in.
"Sleep is for the dead!" "YOLO!" "Life is something that happens when you're not asleep."
What do I say to those sayings now? Nonsense! Tomfoolery!

I think we know by this point that sleep is actually essential to living, to being productive, to being healthy, to not wanting to punch out your coworkers the next day, and to not getting tired hunger (the omg I'm so tired that I need to shove a gallon of sugar via as many donuts as possible into my body so I stay awake, paired with a little sugar infused coffee).

I love resting and sleep. I love the way it feels to get in bed and curl up with my laptop and watch a good episode of Scandal or Lost Girl, a semi decent book, or using my phone to play sudoku or solitaire as I prepare for slumber. Then I enjoy those last moments right before sleep while I complete Pranayama breathing exercises for extra relaxation. I drift off into the other world my mind creates. While I'm there I sometimes get to fly, eat glutenous dairy covered pizza's, and I do the splits. It's a great place that I hopefully get to inhabit for 7-8 hours every night.

That place is amazing and I know that while I'm there I'm also helping my body detoxify and rejuvenate after the hard day I likely just put it through. It helps keep me from getting multiple colds per year like all of my friends suffer from as they push their bodies to maximum limits.
This could just be my almost 33 year-old self finally understanding the importance of something so important, but I personally think that it's okay to stay in now and say yes to numerous hours of beautiful sleep.

Reason #2: Accomplishing tasks I've been procrastinating on
How many things do you put off because you'd rather go get happy hour or dinner with friends? There's a bar or club that you just have to go to because they're having a 70's, 80's, or 90's dance night?

I've been known to forego tasks or projects without a hard deadline by believing once again that yolo is in effect and that I need to have more friend time, because being social is shown to be good for your health too. What I realized last night is that a project I'm working on that I had a soft deadline of March 1st, was never realized because I've been busy, busying myself everywhere else.

Last night I decided to dedicate a few hours to finishing up said project - my first podcast ever.
Part of my hesitation when it came to finishing up this project was partly due to there being so much other stuff I could be doing and part came from realizing that I would have to be learning a whole new skill set. Once I immersed myself in the project, I realized the skill set is not actually hard to learn and I very much enjoyed sitting, re-listening, and piecing together the interview I did almost a month ago.

Reason #3: Self Time (Relaxation Time)
This is self explanatory. In a day and age where we feel like going, going, going is the definition of productivity, even though there are enough studies that tell us this is UNTRUE, it is important to have some self care time.
Some people equate self care time with spa, bath, relaxation time. For people like my roommate and many friends it means sitting down and spending time with a guitar or instrument of choice and playing or writing music.
It could mean journaling, it could mean cooking a meal, or anything that is ultimately very relaxing for you and gives you a chance to feel re-energized.

I should say here that I know a few people who are very re-energized when hanging out with groups of people (those darn extroverts), so if you know that being around people is your thing, spend time with them. I would try to find arena's that are not alcohol centered like playing sports or seeing a sporting event, dinner parties, dancing. The reason I say not "alcohol centered," is that generally, even when it's relaxing you and you're having a good time, it's not relaxing for your body to drink alcohol and that is key here.

Your body has a hard time resting, recovering, and repairing while it is detoxifying alcohol in your system. It's of utmost importance to clear this toxic substance from the body as quickly as possible before doing anything else like caring about your immune system, your digestion, or your motor skills. It takes the liver approximately 1 hour to metabolize 1oz of alcohol. That's not bad you say? Well that would be true if all of us were just having about an ounce of alcohol when we're drinking. The standard drink has between 1-2 ounces of alcohol depending on what you're getting. If you're drinking more than one or two then you're setting your body up for a lot of extra work.
When you have that hangover feeling in the morning it's usually because your body is either super dehydrated or it's having a hard time clearing the alcohol from your system. Either way, tiring out the body consistently is not a good thing in the longterm. To read exactly why hangovers happen, check here.

Reason #4: Catching up on Chores
Most people hate chores, though... I did once have a roommate that really enjoyed washing dishes. For those of us who would rather watch grass grow than scrub the toilet, sometimes we just need to set aside some home time for it.
If you live alone - do it for yourself. Having a clean space tends to make people feel more positive and productive in the long run.
If you live with roommates - respect your roommates and get stuff cleaned. If you don't have a cleaning schedule, now might be the time to implement one.
If you have a family - You're likely not reading my very singles oriented blog, but I'm sure you're cleaning all of the time, maybe don't use your very precious free time for chores.

Reason #5: Catching up on your favorite TV shows or your favorite stupid pet tricks
It's okay to sometimes watch your favorite shows. I lived with a lot of TV guilt for a long time living in Seattle. I had so much guilt that I eventually just got rid of owning a TV altogether, which has actually been a great thing. I don't have a TV on in the background anymore to distract me, I can't just sit on the couch and become a cushion like I used to. Now I have to be much more intentional about my viewing choices because I watch online. My favorite thing is that there are a lot less commercials inundating me about fast food, something I hate!
Pick a show or two that you're okay to committing with (if you want to). Don't apologize to me or anyone else for actually liking television, it's not one of America's favorite pass times for nothing. Take one or two hours a week to enjoy these shows. Talk to your coworkers about them around the... are there water coolers anymore? Let's say copy machine, I'm sure you are there more.

Bonus Reason: Save Money
Luckily in Seattle there are tons of free things to do, but sometimes it's hard to get groups of friends to do those free things when costly things like dinner and drinks sound so much better. Pocket some of that money by chillin' at home an extra night or two a week. It's okay, watch that money add up to extra cash for that vacation you can actually take because you stayed in.

It's okay not to go out. I enjoy it on the regular and even if no one is "seeing" me living, I know that I am. If you need someone to know you're doing something fabulous in the privacy of your home, that's what social networking is for, go ahead and tell the world! Or at least tell all 564 of your friends!

A week gone!

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Peoples) — Mon, 11 Mar 2013 17:02:00 +0000

I've been gone for a week working on a new blog. It is the complete opposite of this blog, meaning it's fairly simple and presents its whole self at face value.
I tend to get a bit wordy here, thus the descriptor of Durtee Lawndree. I will be back to my regularly scheduled blogging as of tomorrow.
Please feel free to visit my new blog Fine on Pine. Submit content, peruse the fineness!
Let me know your thoughts!

Feel Me? Friday: 5 Things You Should Do this weekend

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Peoples) — Fri, 01 Mar 2013 18:55:00 +0000

It’s almost SXSW and you know what that means?

I don’t care.

I’m sure all the bands leaving for their tours to go down to SXSW are totally worthy bands, are going to have a great time, and hopefully make some useful contacts, but as for me, I’m going to be up here sitting in my bed likely watching another episode of Scandal or Grey’s Anatomy because Shonda Rhimes is a genius.

On that note, if you’re like me and not prepping your bags, instruments, or your liver for what’s to come in Austin this year, these are what I recommend you do while chillin’ in the Pacific Northwest this weekend. Remember I am not The Stranger or Seattle Weekly.

If you never go out, go out. If you always go out, go out.

Idea A: Local Radio Station Hollow Earth Radio is putting on their 6^th annual Magma Festival, a “forum for underrepresented sounds and perspectives.” Every weekend for the entire month of March Magma Fest will be dishing up a variety of new and emerging artists via their local space on 20^th and Union and at other venues around Seattle.

Why go to this? My band NighTraiN was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to play for this festival in 2010 and we loved it. We felt supported by our local community and I want you, local community, to keep supporting lovely community based projects.

I know a lot of you have already supported KEXP during their pledge drive this last week, but go the distance and really get into the scene by helping out a very small local station on the way to getting its wings!

Check out the schedule for the whole month by going to:

http://hollowearthradio.org/magma#about

If this doesn’t sound quite right to you, just open up The Stranger to music listings, close your eyes, get your pointer finger ready and let it fall. Go to whatever random venue your finger points you to. Not that I don’t love the recommendations, but there’s a lot out there to hear and you might keep hearing some of the same old sounds if the only thing you do is trust rec’s.

Idea B: I’ve heard some people don’t like shows and that’s okay. Guess what? There are a million other things to do in Seattle including, but not limited to:*

1. Visual Arts – Is there ever a day in Seattle when an art show is not going on? I just told you to pick up a copy of The Stranger, so open it up and check out what venues are near or far from you and go to one. Go by yourself or with a friend. I prefer to go with friends because we can discuss how we feel about pieces and then get sloshed on some wine and snacks later.

2. Theater or Film – Once again, check your local arts listing. I’ve heard good things about I Won’t Be Ignored at Erickson Theater and La Boheme at McCaw Hall. I’ve yet to get to any theater productions as of late, but perhaps I’ll take my own advice and get to something soon.

3. Dinner and drinks with friends – When isn’t this a good time. I really want you to see your friends and you want to see your friends too. What’s keeping you from getting out there? Seattle is filled with amazing restaurants and it seems the food scene is only slated to increase. You should start experimenting with new restaurants now before you find you can’t catch up to the endless supply as good eateries and food trucks become ever more abundant.

* Don’t have any money? Don’t make that an excuse. Seattle is a lovely place to live because there are lots of free and low cost things to do. Not only is there first Thursday, a free art walk downtown, but lots of other neighborhoods also host their own throughout the month.

Check Seattle Artwalks for more info http://www.seattleartwalks.org/

http://www.yelp.com/list/things-to-do-for-free-seattle

Take at least 2-4 hours of you time.

I don’t really feel like I should be telling you this, but as a reminder you need some you time.

I know sometimes it’s hard to get in this time. You’re busy, so very very busy. I want you to ask yourself “what am I busy doing?” “Is there anything that’s not necessary?” “How can I re-plan my day so that I have a little extra me time?”

A few ways to get in extra time are pre-planning meals, getting up a little earlier, working it into something you’re already doing, rethinking how you view the things you’re already doing, stop incessantly checking your phone, email, facebook (you know how much time you waste doing these things).

What does “ME” time look like? It looks like you doing something that you want to do. If that means going to brunch with friends, relaxing and reading a book, taking a nice hot bath, watching a movie you’ve been meaning to get in for awhile, going to a car show, writing a song, starting your novel, etc. Take this time to really focus and say, “this time is for me, I’m going to use it to appreciate and pamper myself.”

I have a friend that has made it a point to pamper herself every single day, something I always aspire to, but don’t always achieve. What pampering to her means is if she doesn’t have a ton of time at least getting something small in. 1. Spending an extra 10-15 minutes giving herself a small facial. 2. Using the Steam and Sauna rooms at the gym after a good workout. 3. Taking a bath instead of a shower 4. Meditation 5. Writing in a journal. 6. Getting a massage (when more time and money are available) 7. A nap

*Hey Moms out there. I’m not forgetting you. It is very difficult to get some quality me time when you’re a mom. From talking to other mom friends, the best way to get this quality me time is to setup times when other moms will take your kid(s) and switch off every once in awhile so that you’re not paying the steep prices for child care and you’re both getting the benefits. Let me know other ways you’ve found to get in more spare time!

Do something for someone else without expecting anything in return

Want to feel a little better about life and yourself? Do something for someone else without expecting them to do anything for you. This means not keeping a mental tally of this or any other thing you’ve ever done and asking for something later, tomorrow, next week, or years down the road.

You can do this in multiple ways:

1. Do something sweet for your partner – make breakfast, take them out, make a special “Saturday Card” (cards aren’t just for birthdays and holidays anymore).

2. Do something special for your friends and family

3. Volunteer http://www.volunteermatch.org/search?l=Seattle%2C+WA%2C+USA

4. Smile – this goes a long way here in dreary Sea town.

5. Let someone tell you their story

6. Think of more!

Don’t check the weather report

Just don’t check it because you already know it’s going to depress you. You already know it’s going to be cloudy and possibly raining, so just make sure to be ready for that, wherever the weekend takes you.

Wake up appreciating being alive

You’re alive and if you’re reading this blog you’ve got access to a computer and you’re literate, at least partially. Be grateful that you have all of this because you are seriously doing better than 90% of the world. Maybe you don’t make tons of money, but can you feed yourself? Clothe yourself?

Just take a moment to realize how great your life is. You might forget it afterward, but at least you’ll have had this moment.

Thoughtful Thursday: My response to your response to my reponse

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Peoples) — Thu, 28 Feb 2013 17:43:00 +0000

My response to your response to my response

is that we can’t keep having this conversation

again

and

again

dragging like heavy stones

over tall mountains

it’s senseless

it’s hurtful

it’s for the best

My response told you that

your response couldn’t mean anything to me

anymore

it’s the same old door that we keep

opening and slamming shut

and folding over in endless loads

of durtee lawndree

Your response made me think about crying

but instead I said, “I’ll think about it.”

and turned away

we used to say the right words once

to answer all the wrong questions

now we say the wrong ones

to answer the things we should

have asked before

So my response to yours is that

I can’t listen any longer

to what you have to say

Your response

might be to push me down

pull me closer

solve our grievances with

love,

not words,

but dear

My response is there’s no more love

only fears left between us

these days

and the only thing left

is to let our silence speak our words.

Tuesday with Blammer: The party you just keep missing

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Peoples) — Wed, 27 Feb 2013 20:25:00 +0000

Tuesday with Blammer is quickly becoming the party of the early part of the week in Seattle. This gathering consists of primarily Seattle rock musicians along with friends and family and is a tradition started by Blake Madden of the now defunct Hotels and now funked Beach Dick. They’re dudes, they’re going to be a little funky. http://beachdick.bandcamp.com/ It happens one Tuesday a month at various homes around the city. This month it was hosted by locomotive punk band NighTraiN’s bass player, Selena Whitaker Paquiet, at her lovely blue home the Mlkywayhouse in the Central District neighborhood.

This event may have been the best Blammer party yet and here’s why.

The secret to a stellar Tuesday night party is making sure you have a few things in place:

Great Food

If you missed last nights party then you missed Vanessa Kaywood’s Creole “vegan chicken” Quiche, Cornbread and Green Gumbo, Selena’s Red Beans and Rice, Vegan Chocolate cupcakes, an incredible vegan chocolate cake (who made it?), some Milky Way’s courtesy of Rich Allen and the nice bowl of cat food next to those. All of those things were amazing; I went back for thirds on that quiche. However, the hit of the night was Dermot McErlain’s Central District Famous Ribs. There was not a single carnivore in the room without sauce marring their once pristine faces. What should have been required were some bibs, as shirts were defenseless against the smooth, rich sauce. These ribs were deadly addictive and need a warning stating that you may never be satisfied by “others” ribs again.

“Ribs! Ribs! Ribs!” can still be heard reverberating throughout the Central District shadows. Good one McErlain. Good one.

Good Company

Who likes to be at a party with people that suck? Not many of us that’s for sure. Maybe Perez Hilton because that means he’ll get a lot of good gossip out of it. As for me I have a particular blend of people I enjoy; smart, sexy, talented, salt of the earth people and that’s what I got last night.

Tuesday with Blammer brings a solid crowd of people that even your mom would want to hang out with. They are friendly and like to dance. For anyone unfamiliar with Seattle this is a delightful combination because generally Seattle is the subdued, thoughtful, timid friend that you always drag to parties in hopes they’ll have a good time and meet someone new, but undoubtedly ends up the weeping wallflower complaining at the end of the night.

What generally happens at these parties is people from differing friend groups are invited but they’re all really cool. You meet them, they meet you, facebook friend requests are sent, you seem them at other parties and then sometimes these friendships turn into real ones.

Bands with stellar names that also have of equal quality music to those names

Two bands played last night. It was kicked off by a one night only reprise of Snake Bite, a now defunct band as Sky left to pursue life over on the other coast in New York. Their music is described as “upbeat straight rock with sweet heartbreaking vocals” by NighTraiN lead vocalist Rachael Ferguson. After listening to them, I'm more than a little angry that they're no longer a band. What teases!

The musical section was dotted by BeachDick, a band fronted by Blake “Dick Beach” Madden, with Brendan "Danny Paradise" Malec on guitar and Aaron "Ronnie Reacharound" Voros on drums. A self described surf punk crunkwave band they hail from all over but now live on the eco-friendly streets of Seattle. They had a ridiculous amount of energy and showed it off in some thrift store swim trunks, tank tops, and flip flops.

I actually felt like I was listening to waves lap the shore from a Santa Cruz beach bungalow, waiting for someone to pass the weed. It was good, really good. So much better than I expected.

Listen to them here and feel a wave coming on: BeachDick

Someone that will post your every moment to facebook, twitter, instagram, tumblr

After a good party, a lot of people are going to forget what happened the night before and so you need to have some documentation. The easiest way to get this is to have one or more people with some kind of phone- the smarter the better, downloaded apps, hands, and eyes. They will be responsible for taking all the important pics; every piece of food on the table, people eating that food, funny moments, drunk stumbles, knick knacks, and more.

This will all be uploaded to one of the aforementioned sites and blam! Everyone will henceforward know that you 1. have friends 2. they invited you to an awesome party 3. that you had fun on a school night.

Am I telling you that you should be at this event next time it happens? Well I’m telling some of you, but not all of you. Yes, this is by far one of the best events of the month, but there will be a tipping point where there are too many people and it becomes a loud and raucous party, which is not what we are about.

What I want for you is for you to start your own like minded tradition. Have a dinner with friends. Not just 4 or 5. You already know them! You can do that anytime! Start a dinner that includes 10 or more people; people that maybe you don’t know but a friend does and it might make you feel a little uncomfortable to meet.

I want you to get out of your comfort zone and meet new people and have a damn good time doing it. It doesn’t meet you have to meet a new bestie because I’m sure your bestie is already awesome enough. This is just a chance for you to get out and explore some of the other awesome people in your city, besides it’s no secret anymore that socializing is good for your health and increases life longevity.

I would like to give special thanks to Mr. Madden for starting this tradition, to Chef Kaywood (a real honest to goodness Vegan Chef with mouthwatering food to die for), Miss Paquiet and Mr. McErlain for hosting and cooking some delicious food, all the participating musicians, and all the people that made it out last night for making my early part of the week at the end of the shortest month of the year f’ng awesome. Till next month Blammers!

Creepy mustache dude with a beer cozy + a hot girl

Afternoon Tea with Shaun T

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Peoples) — Tue, 26 Feb 2013 17:40:00 +0000

Afternoon tea is an English pass time and anyone that knows me, knows I’m a bit of an anglophile, so what better way than to spend my afternoons after a long day of work having afternoon tea with Shaun T? Many out there don’t know who Shaun T is, which is unfortunate, because he is a cinnamon skinned man with abs so chizzled your eyes hurt from the smack the oil sheen gives you from how hard they pop. He is a fitness trainer and choreographer best known for Insanity, a Beachbody workout system that you can find online.

As for our afternoon tea, it’s a daily thing. He comes to my house and into my bedroom where we "hang" for awhile. From what I can tell, his favorite is tea A greyt time with Earl, mine is Jonesing for Ginger, for relaxation purposes.

I suppose you’re wondering how Shaun T comes to my house everyday.

The truth is he comes as a tinier version of himself and visits me through the 13” space of my computer monitor. He's my own incredible shrinking man. Everyday around 3:30 we have a bit of tea, also known as an Insanity workout together. He tells me to “squat it out” and “get down deeper!” There are moments when I wonder if my legs might not just fall off if I do one more pulse. I often keep going by imagining Shaun T with a tiny teacup held lightly between the tips of his spongy fingers trying to “get insane” without spilling.

I laugh, “ha! You would have sloshed that one about!” as he does a jump squat or a power jack. Sometimes laughing like this is the only way to make it through one of the workouts when I am tired and would rather be watching Scandal while laying in bed.

At the beginning, I thought that staring at his abs and sometimes his ass whenever he turns to show us "proper form” from behind would be enough to take me through the entire program. What I’ve found is there is no body beautiful enough to make me forget that I am puddling like a ditch with a clogged drain after a hard storm. As the sweat pock-marks my floor while I’m completing drills with push-ups and runs and gasping for air, I can only think, Shaun T, you would have lost your liquids everywhere by now!

Laughter always gets me through a hard workout. When I can remind myself that not only is this hilariously hard but my body is also getting a tremendous amount out of the workouts, then I can make it through almost anything.

My literal afternoon tea is the water I get to drink during our 30 second rests and at the end of my workout. A cool glass of water is all I need to relax and remind me how alive my body feels.

I’ve got afternoon tea scheduled with Shaun T for another month. Feel free to come over some time and join us for tea; I guarantee you’ll feel nice and refreshed afterward.

Top 5 things I loved and hated about this past weekend

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Peoples) — Mon, 25 Feb 2013 19:25:00 +0000

I’m a fairly positive person and so I like to freely talk about the things I love. I love a lot of things, including but not limited to all baby animals. Sloth, owls, kittens, ewes, whatever, they are all cute. I also love Crime TV, elderly couples holding hands, the sound of Ira Glass’ voice, the sound of Rachel Maddow’s voice, the smell of freshly cut lawn, and more. I could go on for longer because I really do love a lot of things and I’m not super into hate, but sometimes I need to vent. There were some things I really loved about the previous weekend and some things I wanted to punch. Here we go.

5 Things I loved

5. Matty the baby sloth

This video is unimaginably precious. Last week Matty the baby sloth gave a hibiscus flower petal to a lady. I watched this 31 second clip ten times in a row, the first time I watch it. The little sloths tiny smile and the sweet way he gives her the petal then grabs her hand made a few tears trickle down the sides of my nose. If you haven’t seen this adorable viral video yet, then take a few seconds to lose yourself in his kind slothly little eyes, it might just make your day, your week or your year.

2. Learning

I suppose learning should be higher, but there a few things I loved more than learning this weekend. This weekend was one of the weekends where I was a group leader for the nutrition class I graduated from in 2011. I love going to this class because I learn even more about nutrition every time I’m there. This weekend we reviewed the Immune & Allergy and Endocrine system functions.

For anyone who knows me (s)he will know that I love nutrition and enjoy talking about the way food heals us.

Food = Life

Food = Health

Food = Happiness

People often ascribe to the old adage, “you are what you eat.” I truly believe this, meaning if you’re eating processed foods, your body does in fact become an interminable waste land of preservatives and fake nutrients. These make cells less supple, create a stressed body, a stressed/depressed mind, and more.

Your body is your house. How do you feel about walking into houses that are dirty and uncared for? How does that make you feel? Do you want to live in a well cared for house the rest of your life?

I want to state that being overweight is not synonymous with unhealthiness. Eating and acting in ways that mess up and tear down your house are, not weight.

3. Central Co-op (Madison Market)

I can’t say enough good things about this co-op. This is a member-owned natural foods cooperative that I affectionately call the Mad-mart. That means that people buy into ownership there to help the store and community thrive while sometimes getting discounts on food. There are lots of locally grown-organic foods with a variety of price points. I will always shop here before Whole Foods any day because I know I’m supporting my community.

The real reason I’m putting Central Co-op here is that this weekend on my two lunch breaks from class I went here for at least part of my lunch. I bought a sesame, ginger, garlic kale and chard salad on both days and some Synergy Raspberry Chia Kombucha. I did have more for lunch as well, but these are the things I’m most grateful for from the weekend. I literally lust after the Kombucha and when I ate the salad, my eyes teared up. If you notice, my crying reflex is a sign to me that something is really awesome.

I love this store and shop here and at Trader Joe’s almost exclusively for everything. I’m in the lower income range, so I basically get my bulk items like spices, grains, legumes from here and the rest from TJ’s. You should go here if you’re in the area, check it out, love it and become a member!

2. Dinner with friends

Six to seven months is far too long to go without a friend sighting. On Saturday night I met up with a group of wonderful ladies that I hadn’t seen in about that long. These ladies are part of my old Starbucks crew from when I worked down in Leschi. We headed to Saffron Grill in Northgate area for a bit of Indian food.

I felt a pregnant tummy for the first time in my entire life at almost 33. Who really knows what I’d been waiting for? I have this secret fear of holding babies kind of like Robin in How I Met Your Mother and I suppose that fear extends to getting too close to the makers of those babies.

It’s been decided we won’t wait another six months. Friends are important for health too.

1. Scandal

No, I’m not talking about any outrageous events that have recently happened. I’m talking about the show by one of my favorite drama creators, Shonda Rhimes. I didn’t actually happen upon this show until early last week. I kept hearing rave reviews about it, but wasn’t sure if it was going to be for me. I’m never sure if a show is going to be for me until I’m in bed feeling exhausted; not quite exhausted enough to sleep, but too much so to do anything productive. I queud up my Netflix and started the first episode. I was hooked after the first minute. Quinn… got a job for no reason! Ooh… I’ve gotta find out why. And so it goes.

The first season was only 7 episodes and so I had to move onto season two, which is currently airing on ABC.com. I figured out a way to start on Season two and currently I’m in the middle of Olivia helping… oh wait, I don’t want to ruin it for you. I suggest if you haven’t seen this yet that you check it this weekend. It might just make your list of top fives. It’s deliciously well written and oh so Scandalous!

5 Things I hated

5. Matty the baby sloth

I realize I just said I love these. The only reason this is on here is because I realized after I had watched it for the kazillionth time that I actually wasted a lot of time loving this little dude. I also watched some other compilation of cute animal videos too. There are many other things I could do in place of watching all these wonderfully tear jerking vid’s, like finishing up a podcast or… perhaps I would have just used it watching more Scandal.

4. The Oscars on my facebook, twitter, instagram feeds

The cold hard truth here is that I don’t give a shit about The Oscars. Part of it is because I watched only two of the movies on this years list of contingents: Les Miserables and Django Unchained. I generally don’t have time or money to watch a majority of movies.

The other reason is that I just don’t ever have the urge to sit through what I would characterize as one of the most boring four hour shows ever to grace the television screen. I have seen it in the past and almost gagged on most of the inane jokes told by normally very funny hosts. I can only assume that the comedic guidelines keep them from being funny or maybe it’s just the venue.

From what I hear, missing last nights Oscars was one of the best choices I’ve ever made because of Seth MacFarlane’s miss and diss jokes. I’m sure a few people laughed, but apparently the Family Guy and American Dad creator told a lot of unseemly jokes about race, gender, and class that hit all the wrong places and elicited quite a few groans from the audience.

I woke up today and realized that the Oscars aren’t going to go away for a few days due to the objectionable humour of MacFarlane as well as some unsavory tweets by the satirical humour website The Onion about Quvenzhane Wallis, a 9-year old black actress up for Best Actress for her starring role in Beasts of the Southern Wild.

One of The O’s staffers tweeted, “Everyone else seems afraid to say it, but that Quvenzhané Wallis is kind of a c—, right?” I’ve got plenty I could say about this, but at this point most of it has been said, why the hell would anyone in their right mind say anything about a 9 year old being a cunt? I don’t really give a shite if you’re in the game of satire, there are limitations and this is one of them.

Thank you Onion for apologizing, but in the wise words of TV show Last Man Standing, “words are like toothpaste, once they’re out of the tube, you can’t put them back in.”

Well, I suppose now that The Oscars are over we’ll go on to caring about the Kardashian’s and The Bachelor. I would also be okay with not seeing those in my news feed either, but I suppose I should just get used to it because people are always gonna love crappy television. It’s what people watch to realize that their lives are actually on the up and up. I’m one of them.

3. Realizing my period is about to start

That’s all.

2. Getting up for class

As I said earlier, I love learning. What I didn’t love about it was waking up at 6am on both of my days off this weekend just to be in class for 10 hours. I already hate waking up at 5am for work during the week. I just have to remind myself that learning is a privilege.

1. White Male Privilege

I am not going to state any names because of right now I will still have to see this particular offender. What I can say is that I was astounded by this particular white male’s lack of listening skills as a clearly smart, savvy, and sophisticated woman brought to his attention that often women are not listened to and need to make sure they have even more resources and knowledge than men in order to garner their respect.

What did this guy do? He dismissed her concerns by telling her that she has a “negative view” and that this can of course only hinder her progress. He then turned away from her so that she could not even have a chance to dispute him.

I could say so many things right now to refute his stance on this position, but clearly he was not even up for a debate. What do I say to men that refuse to acknowledge that there are particular social problems that women have to deal with while they can go about their merry way?

Well to you I say sir, “go take a women’s studies class or intro to sociology!” (I need to note that I deleted at least 10 other not so savory things I would rather tell him). It gets rather old having to deal with this kind of patriarchal thinking, but today I’m not going to fight it out. I’m going to continue to love people and just remember that all we can keep doing is educating ourselves and hope that others decide to open themselves up to learn and listen with us.

Aunt Sue

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Peoples) — Fri, 22 Feb 2013 18:48:00 +0000

C. 1948

Just gorgeous.

Nigga Please

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Peoples) — Thu, 21 Feb 2013 20:00:00 +0000

Not long ago my white friend jokingly said that I shouldn’t get to celebrate all of Black History Month because I’m not 100% black. I’m actually 36% West African according to my DNA results in case you’re interested. She said that I should get the back end of the month obviously referencing the back of the bus. I was so astounded by her comment that I fell silent. What does one say to a friend that pretty much just said your black side still deserves to take a backseat to your white side?

At the time I laughed it off; she is one of the more sarcastic people I know and may have been saying it in response to my repeated use of the word “nigga” and felt that she could join in on the frivolity I was having. I do have to admit I was going gangbusters with the word “nigga” that night because 1. I had never really used it before and there was something about saying it that was in fact liberating my black side. 2. I was also saying it in response to having heard it a bazillion times in Quentin Tarantino’s Django Unchained as well as on my recent trip to St. Louis to visit the “black” side of my family.

Nigga is not a form of vernacular that I have ever chosen to partake in. My first experience with the “N” word was when I was 7 years-old and walked across the street to visit my friend Pepsi, also known as Juan by his parents. I went to his door looking for him in the dilapidated cherry colored apartments across the street and found his brother standing at an open screen door.

“What are you doing here nigger?” I froze. I had never been called a nigger and didn’t know how to respond, but I knew that it was bad. My mom had told me that it was bad, so instead of asking for Pepsi and telling him why a nigger was there, I ran as fast as I could back to my house where my mom looked at me and said, “girl, where is that boy? I’m gonna go give him a piece of my mind.”

I didn’t let her give him any piece of mind, mostly because I wanted to be able to go back across the street and visit Stephanie and Pepsi. I figured that it must come with the territory; though I wasn’t sure why Mexican’s would call black people niggers when they were minorities too.

As I grew older I heard about the people who called each other nigga’s, but I wasn’t sure who that was because it wasn’t me and it surely wasn’t my mom. She told me, “If I EVER hear you say that word…” there’d be a long pause and nothing but an “mmhmm.”

That long pause meant you don’t even want to see what happens if you do that thing I just told you not to do. So I mostly never did any of those things my mom told me not to do because there’s something about a powerful black mother saying, “Nicole that’s one…” that scared me so straight I made sure to do whatever the exact opposite of what she said not to do was just so I would stay on her good side.

That brings me back to slightly more present day, my first real run in with Nigga. It’s mid October 2011 and the sky is drained of color as are the people on the streets of Manhattan, when my girlfriend and I decide it’s time to head back to Brooklyn via the F to the G train to get us up to Lorimer stop. We’re exhausted from a long day of touristing about the city. We hit Ground Zero, the ferry to see the Statue of Liberty and then we hit up some local pizza joints.

When we make it to the station, my pedometer says we’ve gone ten miles, but there are no seats in sight and so we rest against poles that look like carriers for meningitis because we can no longer hold our own body weights. The exhaustion keeps us from speaking or perhaps it’s all the fighting we’ve done, but it never seems long before the train station fills up laughter, the rustle of bags, and friendly conversation.

We watch the stairs because one day of people watching at a subway station seems so much more interesting than a full year of doing the same at any Seattle bus stop except for 3^rd and Pine. Three young black men, limping from the weight of holding their pants up, make their way down the stairs. They anchor themselves to the bottom few stairs and a conversation begins.

“Nigga whatchoo thinking bout doin’ nigga?”

“I don’t know nigga, why you wanna know?”

“Nigga I don’t, I don’t fo sho, I just wanna do something sick.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know nigga, like you know… coo nigga.”

“Yeah? Let’s go to the shop nigga.”

Their speech is fast and it’s hard to move my ear gracefully in between their sentences, but I’m keenly aware of all the nigga's being tossed around. Nicole seems even more floored.

“How can they even say that so many times?” She asks.

I really don’t know; I’m shaking my head. How the hell could this be real, I thought this was just on TV shows? What I understand is that I really have been distant from a large part of the black experience. Mine has always been from the perspective of a semi-privileged biracial girl that’s sequestered herself in the whitest parts of the country for most of her life. It’s not that this was intentional, just that it happened and hasn’t seemed to change much since my inception.

What I don’t understand is why anyone needs to say nigga in every single sentence, sometimes 2 or 3 times? Aren’t there any other words to say what you mean? I realize though that I’m an educated nigga. I roll the word around in my mind, wondering what it means to be a nigga.

I just don’t really want to say nigga, because I don’t feel comfortable using a word that is basically just a variation on the word nigger and connotes a deeper branding of the African-American body and history.

For me nigga is like saying motherfucker, it just doesn’t feel right. I feel unusually uncomfortable thinking about anyone fucking their mother, but saying things like shit, damn and your run of the mill fuck are totally game.

I Wikapedia’d nigga when I got home because I had some questions about its origin. First I read this article, this will make sense momentarily. Nigga began as an eye dialect (use of nonstandard spelling for speech to draw attention to pronunciation) of the word nigger. It’s a variation of the Spanish/Portuguese noun negro, a descendant of the Latin adjective niger, meaning the color “black.” It was first brought to stage by comedians such as Paul Mooney, Richard Pryor, and Nipsy Russel in the 70’s to joke about blacks. The term was quickly appropriate by other comedians, hip-hop artists, and the African-American community. Tupac Shakur “who has been credited with legitimizing the term, said his song N.I.G.G.A. stood for ‘Never Ignorant Getting Goals Accomplished.”

With my slightly better understanding of nigga I am still unsure if it’s a word I would want to use, but I can see why some would want to use it, however I doubt most people using the term no why they are using it in the first place.

On this particular Wiki page there is a box where you can listen to an audio recording of the article; I pressed play. In the first thirty seconds I wrapped myself in a prickly and uncomfortable blanket of reaction to hearing it. I can’t believe a white man is reading this! I said to myself. The words sound disingenuous with the tight pronunciation and lack of soul. I was quick to judge the narrator until I stepped back for a minute.

I gave myself a moment to ponder a few questions. What does a black voice sound like? Why would I assume that the narrator isn’t African-American and why does it matter to me at all when it’s the verbatim reading of an article?

Well the fact is that I had to check myself. It is true that in certain parts of the country you can hear certain characteristics in a voice that are telling of where someone is from and what their cultural background is, but it is likely only because certain inflections are ingrained in the culture just as in some cultures where certain words must be spoken with specific tones in order to be understood. It is likely that when a large majority of a culture speaks one way then many will continue carrying on this tradition and the likelihood that others will believe this is how everyone speaks, will be perpetuated.

I “assumed” I knew the speaker without hesitation because it is still part of my belief system that African-American voices sound a certain way. However, without reservation I can tell you that I can’t count on fingers and toes how many times I’ve been told I “sound” white. I was angry that I would do the same to another.

Also, so what if a white man was reading this article aloud? Would I be angry if a white scholar had read something in another context? Why should one be more acceptable than another? It wasn’t just some man riding roughshod with nigga. There is a lot of controversy over who is allowed to say nigga, but in this instance my general call is that anyone could have read this and I should have been okay with it.

At the party as I said, “what’s up with you nigga?” that bazillion times, I realized as I said it that the word for me feels disconnected with my personal black experience. The word though ultimately stemming from nigger doesn’t feel like or connote the same meaning for me. Tupac said, “a nigger is black man with a slavery chain around his neck,” while “a nigga is a black man with a gold chain on his neck” Though I don’t completely agree, I hear and feel the difference between these two words. Nigger sends chills up my back and shards of glass through my heart; nigga just makes me think please.

As for the friend that told my black half to get to the end of the month. She most likely said it in jest, but the fact is that I don’t actually get to hide the black in my skin for half of the month. My DNA card might say I’m 36% black, but it doesn’t mean I’m only black 36% of the time. As we all know, what people can see is what they judge you by. I went ahead and took the whole month. Only a few short days left to celebrate.

And with that, have a good day nigga.

*** Side Notes

Spell check hated this blog

There’s a lot of other shit that can be said about nigga. I’m only one girl and I’ve only got so much time and am certainly not writing a book on the subject.

Let me know what your experience with nigga has been!

As the deadline approaches

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Peoples) — Wed, 20 Feb 2013 16:04:00 +0000

It's getting ever closer to my This American Life submission date and I've only got one thing left to finish - My Resume!
Is there really anything more daunting than staring in the face of resume yet unwritten? Writing out accomplishments and all those skillz that have been accrued throughout the years of work. The only thing I've found more frustrating than a resume is the cover letter to go atop it. Making a cover letter and resume standout in pools of applicants these days is a lot like finding good Mexican food in Seattle, difficult.

Yesterday morning I decided to stare my enemy in the face and go all in because the worst that could happen is I come out at the end with yet another crappy unusable resume, but at least I'll have learned something throughout the process.

I googled at least forty different phrases that I thought might lead me to the description of the perfect resume and what I found at the end of my search is what I found at the beginning that "one size does not fit all." The articles told me that one resume is not enough and that I should have at least five resumes tailored to a variety of positions that I would like to pursue. Many compared it to having different outfits for different job interviews. Would you wear the same outfit for all of them they asked? My answer to this question is "hell yes!" I know that's the wrong answer, but they are asking me, a girl that can barely pick out my own daily outfits because fashion sense isn't one of my gifts; I barely know how to match black with other blacks. I mean come on... if I can interview in one outfit, then that's definitely what I'm gonna do, but... I do see their point. I decide to think of it in terms of what other people would do and I suppose that means they surely would have separate interview outfits, so I guess this means that I need to start working on a variety of resumes.

Things to know about the resume I'm about to write:
1. I have decided to "change careers"
Technically I don't know if I'm changing or actually starting. I've been stuck in admin positions for the past few years and it is definitely not where I want to stay it was mostly a place I landed when trying to make enough money to pay off some student loans after college. Now I'm changing to the career field of "writing, publishing, advertising, marketing, etc." in order to utilize my writing background a little more.

2. I don't actually have a varied background in my newly chosen career field so what do I do about the resume. Do I lie?
Well that was a big question for me as I was writing because what does one do to spruce up a sparse resume? It was in this instance that I realized I actually did have to rely on transferable skills. These are skills that you have already acquired via all of your other occupations, hobbies, volunteer experience, etc. I decided to create a list of all the skills that I am at least 70% sure I already have and even added a few that maybe I'm a little iffy on (because I'm 100% sure I could learn them quickly if needed). If you need a quick place to find lots of these skill sets checkout ONET.com.

3. I'm not sure if it should be a functional, chronological, or combination resume.
After reading through a variety of articles for the career changer I decided to go with combination. A combination resume has the ability to show off your transferable skills as well as help you focus on all the practical things that apply to your future career. Going chronological keeps you a little more boxed in because it only showcases what you have already done, while going functional apparently scares some employers off because it looks like you've done nothing.

4. 1 page or 2?
My previous chronological resume that was getting me no interviews was two pages long and I'm pretty sure that I've had enough career experience at this point to have two pages, but as I said the resume has gotten me nowhere. I decided to google search "best resumes of 2013" and came to this page. All of these beautifully designed resumes are only one page long and are probably getting more interviews than mine, so I decided to stick to a one pager. My favorite is the resume on fabric, I am contemplating getting at least one of those, but for this one I decided to go for design #7.

Once I picked a design I decided it was time to start going for it. I had my old resume in hand and was able to transfer at least a few things over, but for a majority of it I decided I needed to redefine some of the responsibilities I had, using better key words. There are plenty of skills checklists you can use, but here is an easy go to one provided by Rogue Community College.

After some researching and writing I came out with a resume in about four hours. The only thing I realized at the end was I didn't actually finish a writer's resume, I wrote one that's more tailored to Sales & Marketing, which is fine because I do in fact need those five resumes. Sales & Marketing is a direction I'm definitely okay with going, but this leaves me with a vacant writer's resume spot, which I will be attending to today.

This all just means that This American Life is going to have to wait another few days for my application, but my goal is to have it in by March 1st anyhow. By the way, if you know any TAL staffers, please feel free to put in a good word for me!

Anyways, here is yesterday's finished product sans my contact info! Sample Resume

What this Blog is about

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Peoples) — Fri, 15 Feb 2013 17:53:00 +0000

Durtee Lawndree: [dur-tee lawn-dree]
1. A place to air grievances, outdated catch phrases, clichés, and Freudian slips.
1. A dusty old story that needs to be aired out and given a second chance at life.
3. A place to soil yourself with words.

Origin: 2008 My backyard

I originally created this blog back in 2008 so that I had a place to write snippets from my memoir. We can all see how well that's gone because it's still in progress. Don't worry, it's still happening and it even has a title More Peoples than you can handle. That's slated for release sometime in 2032.
Until then, I am turning this into a place for venting, writing about what interests all of us from time to time - dramatically boring gossip, and just a general place for me to let the world know what I'm excited and pissed about - these things can in fact simultaneously exist.
On that note, let me know what you've got a lot of strong feelings on and I'll write about it in the blog!

Email me at durteelawndree@gmail.com

What's all the fuss? It's just Vacuum Day isn't it?

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Peoples) — Thu, 14 Feb 2013 17:35:00 +0000

It’s February 14^th, which means it’s V Day!

When people tell me it’s V day, I’m not really sure what to think. Is it Vagina Day, Vacation Day, Vacuum Day, Vagabond Day? I mean really what does this damn V stand for? I ask someone and they tell me it’s Valentines Day, a day to celebrate love and the joy that comes from having love for friends, family, and lovers. Well that certainly sounds like a holiday I can get down with because I’ve at least got some friends and family and I definitely love them but where does it come from? I decided to search online for some answers and I so I googled “The History of Valentines Day.”

Valentines Day is supposedly named after a Saint named Valentine of Terni (Valentine of Rome), who was martyred on about AD 269. There is a rich tradition of legends that surround him and this day. What is not contested is that he was killed in some way, so may he rest in peace. The question is, was St. Valentine put to death in protest of Emperor Claudius outlawing marriage for single men in order to keep a healthy and strong armed forces? Was he martyred for freeing Christians from Roman prisons? Did he actually create the modern Valentine card by sending a greeting card to a young girl while imprisoned? Or was it actually the Christian church turning the pagan tradition of Lupercalia, a day connected to fertility, into a more holy day?

The fact is that we don’t know the true story of Valentine’s day, just what we’ve pieced together and that it likely is a mutation of many of the legends. We also get the main gist and it’s that Valentines is about love.

How did we go from the death of a martyr and pagan feasts to greeting cards, boxes of chocolates, and romantic dinners for two? Well it comes down to poetry. Poets, writers, artists, etc have notoriously fucked things up for the rest of the world, turning what could just be normal sadness into those of heart wrenching and debilitating throes of madness and melancholy, battles into ill fated losing conquests, and love into the only thing worth living for on earth?

It is told that The Parliament of Fowls, a love poem, was written by Geoffrey Chaucer in 1382 to honor the first engagement of King Richard II of England to Anne of Bohemia. You can go here to read it in Old English. He references St. Valentine in his poem.

“For this was on Saint Valentine's Day,

when every bird cometh there to choose his mate”

Well, thanks for nothing Chaucer. As the day itself grew, love poems such these ones became more expected. The rise of greetings really began after this era. Take note, this is more than 1100 years after St. Valentine was martyred.

As we all know by now, Valentines day is one of the most contentious holidays of the year. It tends to be one that is either loved or despised by the masses, but what about the huddled few that honestly don’t give a shit at all? It’s just a day in my calendar and I’ve got at least five other things that need to get done today like my workout and a blog. (Oh… getting the latter done right now).

Last year alone, people spent about 20 billion dollars on things like dining out (this is the biggest spender with almost about 10 billion going towards food alone), candy, flowers, getaway’s, jewelry, and more. All this for a holiday that may never have existed if it hadn’t gotten a little traction from the arts community.

For all those people getting valentines, the majority are for lovers, with the minority given to friends and family. My opinion is that people are really just giving out these “other” valentines so that the singles don’t feel slighted.

Many singles have decided to rise up and start their own tradition of an Anti-Valentines day, which ironically enough still often includes things that they rise up against, including anti-valentine greeting cards, voodoo dolls, and candy. We all know that candy fits right into feeding both happiness and sadness so it’s a welcome addition to any package.

Why do singles feel the need to get a gift of angst? Honestly I’m still not sure. I’m currently single and sassy and I’m not just saying that. There is no void that I need to fill with gifts and sappy messages. As a single I don’t feel that I’m “missing out” because I’m not and if you’re also single you’re not either unless you’re currently moping around the house hoping for someone to come sweep you off your feet.

Lately I’ve been having a lot of talks with my “taken” friends many of which now are married with children and they have given me quite a bit of perspective. “You get to do what?” They say as I talk about going out to multiple shows a week, playing shows with my band on the regular, sleeping whenever I want to, leaving the city on a whim for another destination, writing blogs. “Where do you get all that time?”

Well… I just don’t have the same obligations. It doesn’t mean that at some point I don’t want to be pressed for time with the whole shebang of kids and husband, it just means that right now I’m enjoying single life because it only lasts for so long.

So single people, I do understand your longing, I really do. At almost 33 I feel my biological clock ticking, but it’s okay because shit… this weekend I get to film a music video with my band, go to a party and not worry about shaving my legs because no one’s going to see that ish till winter’s over. Enjoy your single time, don’t be pissed at the world because some “one” doesn’t love you, hopefully you’ve got lots of wonderful friends and family so some “dozens” love you.
So what am I gonna do this Valentines? Well it's actually a friend's birthday, so I'm gonna spend this day spending a few dollars on her day of birth. It may ultimately be counted as Valentine's spending, but that's okay because I love her too.

If you really need a Valentine gift, I’ll get you one, it just needs to be in the realm of $0 dollars because I’m currently a struggling writer.

Are you listening? Receiving critique in the workplace

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Peoples) — Wed, 13 Feb 2013 17:09:00 +0000

I am the last to say that my friendships and relationships are perfect cherry topped sundaes, but I have learned a lot through the years to help me navigate them in more healthy ways and what I had to learn was more about me than the person I’m in the relationship with. To some this seems counterintuitive, but in the long run it has helped me to communicate and let others communicate more effectively with me.

Why? I can’t control another person’s anger, tone, or communication style, but I can control mine and that’s key in maintaining an open dialogue with others.

Listen and Think before you speak

We’ve all heard this old axiom, but many of us subconsciously believe this doesn’t actually apply to us. I have at times been one of those people, wanting my opinion to be heard before the person I’m talking to and likely about to fight with can get another word in. One of the number one ways to think first is to listen to what someone is trying to say to you before inserting your input into the situation.

It’s tough to listen to someone tell us what is wrong with a project that we’ve turned in, a presentation we’ve done, or worse, something that might actually fall into the “personality problem” category.

I’m an optimist, so I generally believe that when a coworker, friend, or loved one comes to me with a critique then there are probably some words of wisdom that I should glean from it even if all I want to do is yell slurs at them or slink back to my cave and curl in a ball.

With this said, I want your next unforeseen run-in with Colonel Critique to be as productive as possible. How?

Ask yourself:

Can I repeat what this person just said back to me? If not, then you probably weren’t listening and became defensive as the first few words came out of their mouth. The key to listening before responding is taking a second to repeat what you just heard and rephrase it for yourself. Then ask yourself, is the accusation true or untrue without making excuses or blaming others if it is.

This means if your boss comes up to you and says, “Sam, you screwed this up, the edits aren’t correct. It looks like we’re going to have to delay production for another day because of you.”

What you may have heard was, “Sam, you’re an idiot, I’m going to fire you.”

What you should be hearing is, “Sam, the edits weren’t quite right and you need to fix them, just make sure to review them more thoroughly the next time.”

If True:

Your response should sound more like this, “I’m sorry I have delayed production, I understand the errors and will make sure to be more thorough next time around.”

Just make sure that next time around you actually are more thorough so that this same conversation does not happen again and escalate.

If False:

Still continue to be civil. You still need to respond to why something that was your responsibility was not well handled. Keep a calm and steady tone in order to keep the dialogue open and both of you as composed as possible. If it was not your responsibility at all let your boss know. ** As a reminder, if you delegated the task it was still your responsibility to follow-up.

Changing the way you hear people and speak doesn’t happen in a day; it takes practice and can be a life long process. It can ultimately help you become a better listener and make you a more trust worthy person. If people believe they can come to you and express their views without you going off the deep end then it will make all your relationships a little better.

Does this all mean that you should just let people yell at you at the office? Of course not! You will know when something is necessary feedback and when it’s not. If someone is criticizing you and you just can’t figure out why, pull them aside and ask them what or how these things relate to your job and if it’s something that needs to be escalated to higher authority. Generally you can alleviate some of the tension just by listening and talking it through.

Have any comments or questions about critique at the office? Let me know!

nicolecpeoples@gmail.com

Snail March

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Peoples) — Tue, 12 Feb 2013 17:45:00 +0000

On May 15^th of 1987, when I turn the ripe age of seven years old, it’s decided that in order to save money, instead of going to Chuck-E-Cheese or Great America I have to throw my birthday party at our condo on Palm Street with lots of red balloons, a slip-n-slide, and a triple chocolate birthday cake.

I really want a piñata, because I love the idea of being blind-folded, spinning around like a dervish, and striking out for the unknown. If the unknown is the right direction and you hit hard enough then there is a wonderful shower of bubble-gum, blow-pops, lime salts, and coins that spill across the ground and must be fought over and hoarded in pockets, socks, and overfilled hands.

I don’t mention the piñata thing to my mom because I’m worried about being seen with one as one of the only two black girls living in a mostly Latino neighborhood. Worried that Pepsi, one of our neighbors, might be mad and call me a nigger again. They have the market cornered on these things and so I decide that I must come up with something else.

If it’s going to be a house party then there should be plenty of games. There should be games where there are prizes at the end because every kid wants to win something, always. I don’t want to play just any game like red rover or tag, I want it to be mysterious, new, and ingenious, which means I have to make it up. I believe that I am a master of games because I of course have played every game of solitaire in the book of 65 solitaire games my mom gave for Christmas. I also successfully won a few games I made up like find Mr. Bear and hide and seek while playing with my imaginary friend Kimmy, though she wouldn’t be at the party, but my school friends would be.

My solution is a good game of Snail March. To play, someone must be blindfolded and cross a path filled with live snails and marshmallows while attempting get to the other-side without crushing the tiny shells or having a gooey mess of hot melting fluff between their toes.

The first seven year-old to cross the path without maiming an innocent snail wins a whole Hershey’s bar. To a seven year this is a big deal, just like a dollar when the tooth fairy comes is monumental. I lay out the thirty snails I collected the night before and a whole bag of marshmallows on the concrete path in front of my condo and it’s time to go.

Out of the fifteen kids at the party, fourteen of them accept the challenge and one after the other go blind-folded onto the path. Some kids start off believing they can construct a plan.

My friend Jane, another black girl like me but with big fro on her head is first and she tries to tip toe over them. Her first few steps are good, she passes 4, 5, 6 snails and numerous mallows, but on her sixth step she loses her balance and her right foot comes down like a mallet atop one of the shells. The crunching sound of the snail lingers in the air.

“Eew!” she shrieks and she is such a panic that she forgets her strategy and runs across the path as quickly as possibly, leaving more death in her wake. After this, the game really begins.

Some kids open their legs wide like sumo wrestlers in an attempt to step around the scene. Some walk straight lines trying to remember what the path looked like before the blindfold went on. The problem is that the snails are scared and wiggling their way to the nearest bluff of grass. All the movement is making it worse for the kids and treacherous for the snails; if only they knew how to stay still. By the end, there is a mound of white puss squishing between our toes.

We all mutually agree that no one has won, and are ecstatic because my mom has bought enough chocolate for us all to get our own chocolate bars. We are happy as we wash our feet and devour the chocolate before demolishing my triple chocolate birthday cake a few minutes later.

When everyone leaves and the sun is setting, my mom says I have to clean the path where there are still remnants of marshmallow and snail carcasses. I stare fascinated by the scene, a veritable bloodbath. I try to hose down the path, but it’s no use, it gets worse, the remains grow stickier. I revert to using the straight edge of a dustpan to scrape everything off and this is when I really take notice of a single snail. I see his miniature eyes and tiny massacred body and start to cry.

I realize that I’ve ordered the killings of these poor defenseless terrestrial pulmonate gastropod mollusks, well… I didn’t know that name at the time, but what I do know is that it’s not fair that they had no say in the matter. There must be a proper burial even though there’s not much left to bury. In order to soothe me, my mom says,

“Honey, if they didn’t die this way they would have died eating the salt I sprinkled around the yard.” This doesn’t help at all. I am seized by grief as I scrape the heaps of carcasses into a paper bag and scoop out a tiny grave for their burial that my mom attends and says a few words at.

That night in my journal I draw a snail and name him snaily. He becomes my mascot as I grow older even once I’ve forgotten the reason why. I draw him on everything from test papers to posters and sign him as my name is journals. I become dedicated to snail rights and try at any cost to keep my moms salt off the garden.

I think my mom decides it’s all a little too much. The next year she decides I can choose where I want to go for my party. I choose Great America that year and every year after until I’m an angsty teenager and realize that parties are for losers.

Women Who Rock

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Peoples) — Fri, 08 Feb 2013 22:51:00 +0000

Thank God it’s Friday. I haven’t said this in a long time because it’s been a long time since I’ve had a full-time 9-5 job, approximately 5 months to be exact. Those months have been glamorous sleep filled, mostly stress free months wherein I got to try my hand at owning my own business. What I wasn’t very prepared for is the difficulty of the market and the ability to sell my small home office space. I had to skimp on space in order to cut costs. Well, it’s five months later and it’s not that I’ve given up, but I’ve decided that maybe small business ownership isn’t for me at this time and the future will hold that for me instead.

In the meantime as I transition out of small business ownership I am focusing primarily on writing and creative output. I’m actually transitioning my career as a whole and looking towards fields that will utilize my creative and social skills. I momentarily thought well I could do software development and then just as quickly realized that the field doesn’t give me enough contact with people for me to be satisfied.

I am currently blogging more than ever and working on that memoir I’ve been putting off, which you may get snippets of now and again.

As a woman with fingers and toes in many ponds I want to talk about an important upcoming event called the (Un) Conference and Film Festival put on by Women Who Rock. This group is dedicated to bringing “together musicians, media-makers, performers, artists, scholars and activists to explore the role of women and popular music in the creation of cultural scenes that anchor social justice movements in the Americas.”

This years (Un)Conference will be held March 9^th, 2013 at Washington Hall on Yesler and 14^th in Seattle, WA. I will be participating as a speaker with this wonderful organization and presenting on Writing Memoir Through Music. This class will have a two part structure focusing first on how to begin writing your own memoir, filled with examples on how to begin, information on structuring it, and how to create captivating stories. The second half of the seminar will focus on structuring pieces into musical format. For many writers that are thinking about writing music this can be a very difficult process. Turning a story into song can be full of confusion, frustration, and compromise and so I will be showing women how to make it as a simple and fruitful a process as possible.

I would love to see your face. If you are interested in the seminar but can’t make it that day let me know and I will forward the materials to you the day after the seminar takes place.

My band NighTraiN will also be doing a seminar on starting a band in later life. By later life, we really mean 25 and up. I don’t have any charts or graphs to back this up, but my general belief is that most people don’t pick up new instruments or start playing in bands all that often beyond that age. We want to help women garner enough confidence and knowledge to begin the process of learning an instrument (first or new) and possibly helping them to start new bands. Information from this seminar can’t be sent, but we will be offering this for a small fee after the fact.

Why is it important to me to participate in a seminar like this? Well… because women are still not well represented in the music industry. But you see lots of girls with guitars you say? Well there are lot of women that love music and want to play it, but generally they are not paid as well as men and primarily remain solo artists. Only about 15% of signed artists are women with men still making the highest figures.

Behind the scenes is almost exclusively male with women accounting for less than 5% of producers, engineers, account execs, etc.

Why aren’t women well represented? Are we just less gifted? Do our voices strain the collective ear? There are plenty of theories of why women fall behind here just like in most other “male” dominated occupations and they are including but not limited to:

Women opt out of music in order to have a more stable life, career, family.
It’s a man’s industry so women stay out due to fear and intimidation.
Women are notoriously underpaid in the music industry.
Women have to ride the fine line of “grace, charm, and beauty”
History shows that women just aren’t capable of being great

The list could go on for pages. I’m sure you’ve probably thought of another few myths that consistently keep women out of the industry. Some of these reasons such as number #2 are very visceral as women feel out the industry and realize that they are often flying solo while men take the reigns vs #5 where there is just a general feeling that if it hasn’t been done before than maybe it can’t be done.

It’s important to discuss how to get into an industry that is in fact male dominated and how to get over these fears and move forward. Women Who Rock is a safe space for women to learn and create. As a musical late bloomer (I started at 28) I know that it can be difficult, but it can be very rewarding. It’s necessary to give women tools and this organization is doing that. If you are a woman that is ready to rock, Register here!

Also for more contacts with other women in music, check out Women In Music

This is just the beginning

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Peoples) — Thu, 07 Feb 2013 23:02:00 +0000

5 am has almost got the best of me these days. I’m not used to early mornings where the birds have yet to chirp because it’s just not fucking time for the world to wake up.

Right now I’m waking up for a temp job at a ship yard down by Lake Union. It doesn’t pay much, it has almost shitty hours… the upside is I get off at 3, and the scenery is by far some of the best with ample views of ships, sky - though it generally be gray, lapping water, and the Space Needle.

One of the owners of the company took me on an hour long tour my very first day here within my first two hours of working. We walked beneath the SS something or other on the drydock and I momentarily hesitated and wondered oh shit what if the walls give way and flood us out? What if the boat isn’t anchored properly, I stumble on one of these lines connected to it and it topples over on us all? Needless to say, neither occurred and I’m still living.

I have approximately an hour and a half of actual work to accomplish while I’m here. I’m doing the bare minimum because that’s all they need right now- it’s a temp job.

What have I been doing with my spare 6.5 hours during the day? Well… most of those hours have been fairly productive.

Starting my application for an internship at This American Life.
Applying for other more fruitful jobs.
Writing Blogs
Creating a seminar for The Women who Rock Conference.
Continuing TAL application
Inventing new titles for my mostly unfinished memoir.
Drinking coffee because I’m so fucking tired from waking up at 5 in the morning.
Daily stretches because my chair is hard and killing my neck, back, shoulders, tailbone.
Did I mention the TAL app?

Okay well as you can see my extra hours are not wasted. I’ve actually been more productive in just the last four days than I believe I’ve been the last 6 months. It’s funny how getting out of the house can garner up creativity and drive that had gone missing in action for awhile.

What’s up with this TAL application you ask? Well, it’s something I’m doing. I’m putting all my eggs in one basket. Okay, I'm not actually doing that. I’m fully aware that this is a lucrative internship and everyone and their mom is applying for it. What I’ve learned thus far from completing the app:

1. What I thought was stunted creativity is actually just a bunch of underused brain mush that begins solidifying as it’s cooked, much like a chocolate cake - I would like a gluten free one of these please.

2. I should be pursuing something creatively, if not TAL, then anything where I’m getting to write, market, consult and talk on endlessly about the inanities of life in a profound way.

3. That I type faster than my brain is working, much faster.

4. That I’m going to be a little pissed at Ira if he doesn’t take me, but it won’t be the end of the world. I’ll likely just write him a strongly worded letter about what a huge mistake he’s made, likely insert a worm and hope that he gets the reference.

5. That I can actually be focused. Yup, when you want something really badly it makes it that much easier to focus.

6. Maybe I should pursue podcasting on my own – I have done a series of interviews with friends to prepare myself for said internship and it has been one of the most enjoyable things I’ve done as of late. Deeply informative, entertaining, and has made me reassess my own personal beliefs. These need to go on if not for anyone else's but my own. There will be posts of each of these interviews as the podcasts are release (please stay tuned for these in early March).

Well... it looks like the clock is hitting 3pm in just a second, which means I’m out now everyone! Enjoy your day and visit This American Life to see the application process for interning there or just listen to one of their amazing podcasts. Please cross your fingers, dot your i’s and say some prayers for me because strangely enough I really do want to work my ass off there for 50-60 hours a week for six months.

Questions? Write me at nicolecpeoples@gmail.com

St. Louis Day 4: Poisoned

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Peoples) — Thu, 17 Jan 2013 20:59:00 +0000

I can’t run today because Norma’s gonna be here soon. We’ve got 9:30 brunch plans and it’s already 8:30 by the time I wake up.

“Oooh girl, you slept in late!” says Jean. I think this is not late because in my time zone it’s still just 6:30. I correct her and tell her she is the one that’s late because she’s in her own damn time zone.

“Well, get ready because Norma Jean’s gonna be by pretty soon.” I hop in the shower and wash off the smoke that I know is gonna stick to me in the few minutes after I hop out. Contacts in, makeup on and I’m ready to see a little more of the city.

Norma Jean grabs us in her boyfriend's black BMW and Tina and Jean ooh and aww over how luxurious it is.

“This is a nice ride, a niiiice ride, it sho is,” says Jean. “Mmm… hmm… I gotta get me one of these.”

We take Skinker all the way down to Keinlin and down some other round about roads till we get to an IHOP that is crowded and bustling. I do not like IHOP in the least and have only had bad experiences here except for the time at 4am in Raleigh when it was the only thing that could sober me up.

I look at the menu and there are very limited options for a gluten, dairy, soy, and egg free eater like myself and so decide on the grilled tilapia and steamed broccoli. The others go for the cheapest items on the Senior 55 and over portion of the menu, which means pancakes, waffles, bacon, and ample amounts of butterscotch and classic maple syrup.

We get our own big carafe of coffee and drink it like cold water on a hot day.

We discuss the previous few days and our visit to see Lois.

“What about that Darryl guy, don’t you think maybe Tommy’s right that he might be abusive?” I ask.

“Well, he might be but that sho is her problem and not mine,” answers Jean.

“He wasn’t very nice when he came out to meet us. He barely said hi to us and gave us some awful glares."

“Well you’re not that nice either.”

“What are you talking about? If I were being introduced to people I would at least stick around for more than a literal second.” She is obviously confusing my shyness for lack of caring.

“I’m the only friendly one around here! I’m friendly and I care about people. See I go talk to everyone, everyone! You ain’t friendly and you don’t care about people.”

I can feel my heart galloping now and my cheeks are on fire.

“Don’t assume you know ANYTHING about me! Just because I don’t talk to everyone doesn’t mean I don’t care, it means I’m shy! Shy and not caring are not the same thing!”

“Oh girl, you don’t care.”

“Yes I do, I just don’t express it the same way you do.”
Norma attempts to mediate the situation and agrees with me but Jean won't listen. I am pissed, decide that this should be the end of our conversation and look away to my phone for moral support. How dare she decide that she understands me as a person when she has barely known me for longer than these few days.

Our food comes but only after tables that have ordered before us get theirs. Aunt Jean is steaming mad and already talking about sending her food back because it’s gonna be cold.

The rest of us tell her to cool down and just wait and see what’s up.

When it does come it is actually is kind of cool, but Jean doesn't send it back because she’s too hungry to wait for more and doesn’t trust that it won’t come back to us with spit and piss mixed in.

My tilapia with mushroom sauce looks fine until I start eating it and it tastes a little off, but I keep eating because I’m once again famished and can't stop shoveling it in.

I sit in silence the rest of the time and wonder on how I can get a few moments away from everyone to cool down, but don’t see an out. I want to sequester myself in a bathroom stall and call friends but when I reach the bathroom it is a single and there is a line so I take my turn and return to the table.

Norma Jean pays our check, we exit for one of many smoke breaks and then drive across the street to Galleria mall. We enter Dillards and peruse the purses, the shoes, and then I realize that something is wrong. Something is terribly wrong and I need to find a bathroom fast.

“I’ll be back,” I shout as I run toward a clerk and ask where the closest restroom is. I’m gonna be sick. My stomach has turned and I think I might throw up. Getting to the restroom feels like wading through a desert to an oasis. When I find it, I am seconds away from shitting on myself and am grateful I made it in time. My mouth is watery and tingling so I make sure I have a bag in front of me just in case.

Right now I am sure that I have been food poisoned.

Why the fuck did you keep eating it? I ask myself, but I know the answer and it is stupid and I am angry at myself for knowing that something was wrong and letting it go.

My head is in vertigo as I leave the restroom and my body shivering. I know all is not yet well, but I must get back to my family. When I find them they are upstairs and Tina is just taking off a pair of Coach boots that are snuggly stuck to her foot and have to be pried off by an extra pair of hands.

“I’ll take them!” She tells a girl that must have been helping her.

“Where you been?” They all ask in chorus.

“Oh, just looking at the lingerie downstairs, needed a few things.” I didn’t want to admit what was really going on, that I was sick and that I needed rest.

Not long after, we make our way from the mall to yet another smoke break and then over to Shnucks, a local chain grocery store. In desperation I pick up some lemon, ginger, coconut water, and lemon sorbet. My body is convinced that lemon sorbet is the simple resolution to my sickness.

While I find my remedies, Norma Jean, Aunt Jean, and Aunt Tina find their way to the fish counter and have a few pounds of catfish fried up for our dinner.

“Mmm, this is gonna be some good fish!”

I want to hurl at the idea of having any more fish after that less than savory breakfast.

Norma Jean drives us to her house for dinner and cards. Dinner is the catfish and some salad. Though I still feel a little nauseous there is still a lasting hunger that makes me go after the cool leafy greens. The salty warm smell of the catfish lingers and I quickly give in and have a small piece because I’ve gotta know what it tastes like. It’s my first taste since I was ten.

“What do I put on it?”

“Anything you want. I put ketchup or hot sauce.”

“Would mustard be fine.”

“Sure, try what you like.”

I douse my little fish in mustard, find a seat and devour the catfish and greens as if it’s my last meal. The fish is delicious but I don’t want to take too many chances and decide against more and go for the sorbet, half a container of it. Soon I feel less shaky and more grounded in my body but I’m not sure this is the last I’ll see of my stomach problems.

We eat around the TV and everyone catches up on As the World Turns. I feel like it’s the same as yesterday’s episode, but they all say “no, no girl, this, this and this has happened.” I’m still pretty sure it’s the same anyway.

After dinner, once my Aunt Linda finally arrives my Aunties and Norma Jean sit at the tiny plastic kitchen table and start a three hour long game of Spades. The game is fast paced. One game takes five minutes or less and there are two teams. They make up rules and teams and get going. There is hootin and howling in the kitchen the longer the night goes.

“Oh no, Oh no!” is what I hear from the living room. I don't want to join the game because I need to get some time alone. It’s time to pray and do some daily devotions from the new So Who Do you think you are? series at my church.

I get time for my devotions and a short nap before more people enter the house, because in black houses the door is always open and the people are endless.

In walks Norma Jean's daughter Stephanie and her brothers of whom I can’t remember the names.

Stephanie talks and talks about what’s been going on here and there and tells us that we should join her at Stress Free Friday’s, a networking happy hour for professionals in the African-American community.

The only thing I know is that I want to go because there were be more people there than just my Peoples.

“I’ll be there!” I say. Things are looking up.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my family, but at this point I have been sequestered in rooms, halls, and dining areas with them for the entire trip and I want to meet people who aren’t Peoples like I want a piece of gluten free chocolate cake.

When three hours have passed, games have been won and the cards passed to countless people for more games, it’s time to leave once again. Some are just happy while others are happy and drunk. I am neither, but I’m alive. Everyone makes sure to send love to everyone else and the night is once again over and it's time to meet my blow up mattress once again.

St. Louis Day 3: Tackheaded Women

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Peoples) — Wed, 16 Jan 2013 16:55:00 +0000

I wake myself up with another run. It’s not so much that I want to run as get out of the house and get some fresh air. Though it’s still a bitter cold, I suit up and get ready to head out.

“You sure it’s not too cold,” says Tina as she lights a smoke near the oven hood.

One stare at that lit cigarette and I am sure that I need to get out.

“Yup, I need the exercise.” This is of course true and I don’t want to miss too many days that I would usually spend at the gym, but running outside is not ideal.

I take a good 2.5 mile jog out into University City and grab some coffee on my way back. I weave in and out of the neighborhood, checking out the

University City is nice, it’s a little college neighborhood that houses the Northern Campus of Washington University. It is wealthy while Jean lives in low-income house only half a mile away.

It looks more like the things I’m used to with the retail row dotted with specialty shops, music stores, and of course Starbucks. As I make my way back with Starbucks in my hand I am cautious and make sure that I stay on the main road as I have been warned that the area can be dangerous once you leave University City.

At the apartment I am told to get ready because we’re going to hang out in the community room. It’s the big room attached at the front for the residents to hang out in. I throw some clothes on, grab my books and make my way downstairs. We meet Norma Jean, an old friend of my Aunties at the door and head into the room.

Jean knows everyone in the room and introduces them all to us.

“Hey Jimmy, Harry, Sally, Shirley, Jesse, and on and on.” Everyone is either playing pool, playing cards, or seated watching it all happen.

We make our way to a table and set ourselves up. Norma Jean Gauldin has known the Peoples family since she was 11. The Gauldin’s and Peoples families lived right across the street from each other on Enright and became best friends almost immediately. The Peoples family had seven children while the Gauldin’s had six. Some of them would pair up to hang out if they were close in age and at other times all of them would find their way into parks or into trouble.

Norma Jean was my Aunt Shirley Jean’s best friend, probably because of the similarity in the middle name. They still are best friends. Aunt Tina married Norma’s older brother Robert after high school and became a Gauldin herself that’s how tight the two families were.

Norma Jean has a bright smile and a caring face. She is dark and pretty. At first I think she is no older than 45 or 50 but realize that she is 61 just like Jean and has babies, grandbabies, and now a new great grand baby. She reminds me that “black don’t crack” and I am grateful. She also has a sweet deep laugh that I get to hear over and over again as they tell stories.

“How are you brothers?” asks Tina.

“Oh… they’re the same, they’re above ground and still dating those tack-headed women.”

“What’s tack-headed?” I interrupt.

“Oh it’s those damn women that don’t care about themselves. They don’t care how they look or what they’re doing with their lives. They’re all about drinking, drugs, and gambling. Yup, my brothers like them because they don’t have to commit to nothin’.”

I love that these women have a name that there is a whole group of people devoted to just living day to day. Men can be tack-headed too, but it seems that they just get called no good niggas or gangsta’s by everyone around here.

They all catch up and I listen to it happen. I don’t bring up too much about my life unless Jean brings it up, especially the fact that I am a musician. She tells anyone and everyone that her niece is a musician and is going to be touring the country. In reality yes I’m a musician but my band is just going to be doing a fourteen day tour across the South soon, but that doesn’t matter to her. To her I’m already famous.

“Booby’s a musician too Nicole, maybe you two can get together and do something. He’s family and family gotta help each other out.”

“Yeah and my grandson Kev is a musician too, he had a popular one come out not long ago. Have you heard of Huey?”

I shake my head no.

“Well they’ve got a big song that hit, you should look ‘em up.”

I nod sure because I think it’s wonderful that there are more musicians, but I am doubtful that there will be a collaboration because I’m indie folk while they’re all hip-hop. I also just don’t listen to hip-hop much unless it’s playing on top 40 while I’m in the car trying to stay awake.

I try to keep quiet so the conversation will turn from me and onto something different. I know soon Aunt Jean will grow weary of talking about me and move onto herself or someone she knows. As quick as a bullet they start talking about who is or isn’t still alive.

“Well Charles dead not too long ago.”

“What about your cousin, Lou I think it is.”

“Oh he’s okay, but you know his brother got shot up there on some street near MLK not too far back.”

“I’m am grateful I made it past 60. Do you know how many people don’t live to see 45 this day and age?”

“Yeah, we’ve sure put a lot of ‘em away.”

“Yeah, we’re lucky for sure.”

I am sad for them that they’ve put so many of “them” away, while I’ve barely seen any death. My mom was the first close person I ever knew that passed and she I can be sure will always be the heaviest and the hardest on my heart. I am grateful I don’t live here where death comes so easily to the young.

It’s now that I remember that two of my Aunties brothers died pretty young. Eddie Jr. was shot in the back of the head at 17 in front of their house on Enright and their brother Buddy was stabbed by his girlfriend at 30. Two brothers gone before they’d ever even had a real chance at life.

A few hours later Aunt Linda arrives by herself in Tommy’s car and says it’s time to head to Aunt Sue’s for dinner. “She’s cooked us dinner.”

“Oh Lord, at her age!” Tina seems beside herself that a 91 year-old would get over the stove for us without any help.

We say our goodbyes to Norma and plan to meet in the morning for breakfast and head off to Aunt Sue’s.

The house smells thick with cheese, a velveeta of some kind. She has made us pork chops, lima beans smothered with cheese, cornbread, and spaghetti with meat balls. The spaghetti is really for Tina because she can’t eat pork.

This is another one of those days where I am starving both because there’s not much food at Jean’s for me to eat and because of their odd eating schedules. I shovel pork chops and the lima beans on my plate though I know I shouldn’t do it because I’m going to pay a mighty price for the cheese, but I decide it’s better than going for the spaghetti or cornbread.

I’m up for seconds while the others are only midway through their meals.

“Were you hungry baby?” Asks Uncle Jesse.

“Mmm…hmm.” I don’t know when I’ve ever been this hungry. I’ve been hungry most of the short time I’ve been here.

“If you’re ever hungry again just get up and get yourself somethin’. This is your home now too. We’re you’re family.”

It never occurred to me to get anything. Never occurred to me to impose like that on my family even if they have that title because I’d never felt like I had family until now.

“When you’re done with that I found all the pictures,” says Aunt Sue.

As soon as we’re done eating and washing up we head to the living room a small but efficient room with a black leather couch, two black leather easy chairs Aunt Sue’s brown velvet recliner, a small 70’s coffee table decorated with flower tiles, and a 21” flat screen to break the space apart. Aunt Sue and Uncle Jesse retell stories of their parents peanut farm down in Alabama, about them eating those peanuts when they were still green and raw.

We look at photos of lost family and young pictures of family still with us.

“Guess who this is?” Aunt Sue shoves a tiny old black and white of a little girl with wild braids in my face.

“Umm…”

“Girl, that’s your Aunt Tina.” I stare at the features because they don’t look anything like her, but I believe her because it is confirmed by Tina.

“Oh yeah, that’s me. Here’s another one of me too, holding your Aunt Linda on my hip, and on the left there is your mother.”

This is the only young photo I’ve ever seen of my mom besides her high school graduation photo. She looks just like me as a child, or I look just like her. Aunt Tina looks angry.

“I was angry! That girl was always attached to my hip like I was her momma!”

This was like any other large family where the oldest always takes care of the youngest while their parents attend to other things.

I learned the names and faces of Peoples I will never know but look like.

In the background of our conversations is always the sound of a Western on TV, the only thing Uncle Jesse is found watching on a daily basis except for at 4pm when there is a break for As the World Turns.

It’s not long before the day has gotten away from us and we grow tired again. Linda needs to pick Tommy up from his family soon and get back to her hotel before too late.

“Well y’all could stay here. We’ve got a few extra rooms,” says Aunt Sue.

“We might take you up on that later this week, but not tonight. It’s too late.”

There are lots of hugs and the four of us leave again. In the car the four of us confirm tomorrow’s plans of brunch, the mall, and more food.

“Goodnight, I love you.”

“You too.”

Linda leaves and it’s time for bed.

St Louis Day 2: Baby it's cold outside

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Peoples) — Tue, 15 Jan 2013 17:44:00 +0000

It is early when I wake. What looks like 7:30 is 5:30am my time and my eyes are crusty and heavy from going to bed so late that morning, but I heave myself out of bed (a blow up mattress on the living room floor) because Aunt Jean is already rustling around the kitchen getting her coffee ready.

“Good morning gurl!”

“Hey.” I can’t muster any energy to seem enthusiastic about being up this early.

“We got a good day planned, yeah a good day. Linda gonna be over and we gonna go see Aunt Sue around noon.”

All I can think is thank God we have a few hours before I have to deal with people. I want to get out of here for awhile, go on a jog to wake my body up, but the news says it’s a brisk 18 degrees and I’m not sure my body is ready for that. I grab a granny smith apple and some peanut butter and sit in front of the tv watching the local news while I stare at the weather barometer on the bottom of the screen for any sign of it getting warmer.

I decide that when it hits 20 degrees I will head out. At 19 degrees I mentally prepare and change into my workout clothes. My aunt’s presume I’m crazy and say things like, “no no no, it is too cold out there for me, my joints would be aching.”

I laugh it off, but I’m wondering if I can even do it. There is a part of me that knows I have to jog in this weather now just to prove that I can.

Fuck, I think because I seriously don’t want to do this, but eventually the temperature reaches 20 and I know it’s time to leave.

With my hot pink track jacket and hot pink gloves I find my way out the door and hope that the neighborhood is safe enough.

“Go down to Delmar baby, you’ll be fine. Take that right and you’ll find a starbucks.”

I head off with the hope of finding Starbucks not too far away.

The Killers are blasting in my head phones and one stride after another I make it closer to warmth and glorious coffee. The run is not actually bad. I stay warm and my brow never sweats because it is being wiped away by the wind. I am almost happy for the cold that is until I grab my coffee and decide to walk the same route home.

Instead of a nice soothing wind I feel like I’m being brow beaten and whipped. My fingers quickly grow numb and my toes are catching up with them. I contemplate running with the coffee but decide against it for the obvious reason that more of it would be on me than in my mouth.

When I have to stop thinking about how uncomfortable I am, I will sometimes count and in order to forget the cold I began counting steps.

One, two, three… sixty-eight, sixty-nine, seventy. At approximately two hundred and five I lost count in order to illegally j-run across the street, but when I made it back I felt proud because in my hand was a lukewarm cup of coffee that the old folks couldn’t believe I had run for.

I had accomplished something and possibly almost lost some tiny appendages called fingers.

Linda and Tommy came to pick us up around noon and once again we pile into the car always wedging Tina into the middle. Every time she gives an “Ow, or oooh… damn that seat belt, it keeps hurtin me!”

We laugh and tell her to watch out, but the next time it seems to happen again.

Today we are going to Aunt Sue’s house where she lives with Uncle Jesse her brother. She doesn’t know that all of us are here in St. Louis, this is the surprise we’ve been meaning to give her since her 90^th birthday.

Jean knocks on the door when we arrive as we hide around the corner.

“Heyyyyy Aunt Sue, how you doin?”

“Oh, I’m good. Come on in.”

“Is it okay if I bring some of my friends in?”

“Sure, Sure.”

Tina, Linda, Tommy, and I all emerge from around the corner and she just stares.

“I don’t know who you is. I mean… I know you’ve got my face, but I don’t remember your names! Tell me!”

We all give her big, long hugs and introduce ourselves. I knew she wouldn’t remember me, because she hasn’t seen me since I was fifteen. I wasn’t much surprised by her sliding memory at her age, but when we got in I saw that pretty much only names had slipped and not much else.

Aunt Sue is spry for 91, running around the house, making us dinner, going through closets. She has a cane that she uses when her knee gets weak, but her body seems to be doing better than the lot of sixty something’s sitting next to her. She comes from the generation where ailments don’t get spoken at the table just in the bedroom, so I might be reading it all wrong.

There is more reminiscing, talk of passed away family and far away ones too.

“They down in Alabama” or “they done gone over to Texas,” or “didn’t you hear, he passed? Yeah… about a year ago or so.”

When someone has passed everyone nods and says, “Mmm…mmm,” then moves on. The acknowledgement of death is not what I’m used to. In Seattle it’s sad and hard and something to talk on for a while, while here it’s normal, it’s just a part that happens everyday.

At 91 Aunt Sue has seen a lot of death. She is the third child out of thirteen and one of only three left. There was Evelyn, John, Susie, Wallace – also called Ham, Eddie Sr., Sam, Connie, Minnie, Adabelle, Cleo, Jesse, Hattie, and Genevieve.

She had children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren die before her too, but those lines are too long for me to relate to you now.

I love my Aunt Sue’s laugh and the way she talks real high and says, “oh look at all my babies.” She smacks her teeth, smiles a lot, and points real hard at things. She is wonderful.

I am staring at her for a mighty long time and hoping that she doesn’t notice. Part of me just likes to see the way she moves and see the Peoples line in her. She is light skinned like most of the other Peoples, descending from Cornelius Nicholas (ma-dear) and John Peoples (Popi). Aunt Jean says the line that comes from Ma-dear and Popi are all red.

I follow the line of the room and notice all the red notes in everyone’s skin including mine.

“We is all red because Ma-dear was Indian,” says Jean.

“Oh yes she was! Cherokee,” says Aunt Sue.

My smile is a hard one because I just can’t get over how lovely my Aunt is and how much I wish I could have met her brother Eddie Sr., my grandpa, before he passed.

The girls tended to favor Ma-Dear while the boys were much darker like their father John.

Eventually we talk about an extreme hunger and Uncle Jesse goes out to buy us some Popeye’s. Everyone was kind and let me order food that would work with my dietary restrictions, so we ended up with fried chicken, green beans, and red beans and rice.

My stomach is turning on it’s side because of the eating schedule I’ve been on since arriving with scattered meals and barely any food I can eat. I eat the chicken without the skin and shovel heaping spoonfuls of the saltiest green beans and red beans and rice onto my plate. This is the best meal I’ve ever eaten.

After hours of this and that my Aunt Dela and her son Michael arrive. She is a twig of a woman, dark skin and short hair curled under what looks like a Church hat. She is stylishly wearing a blue coat lined with fur, though it looks hard on her frail body. She is sliding her feet across the floor moving slowly toward the chair being both pulled and held up by Michael. He sits her down and this is where she resides the entirety of her stay.

Everyone rambles on about the state of the world, about how it’s getting worse and worse and how all of them are getting shorter.

“Ooh, with this arthritis I done lost two whole inches! I was 5’8 and now I’m 5’6!” Aunt Linda gets up to show us her shorter stature and everyone nods and chimes in about how it’s happening to them too.

The arthritis has gotten to almost all of them and they say soon I will have it too but I’m just too young to know about it. I am insistent that it won’t happen to me, maybe because I’m too young to believe them.

When eight hours have passed we decide it’s time to leave. Aunt Sue needs to sleep soon and our bodies are growing tired, but that doesn’t mean this is the end of the night.

We make our way towards Aunt Hattie’s house, one of Sue’s younger sisters. She is recovering from a recent gall bladder surgery and we decide we need to go over and give her our well wishes.

Our arrival is greeted by her son Arthur a stocky man, light as the rest of us. Aunt Sue comes down too, slow for sure, but smiling and excited. She doesn’t know me either.

“This is Carolyn’s daughter.” This is one of the things I hear at pretty much every place we visit, multiple times until everyone has been introduced to me.

Yup, I’m Carolyn’s daughter and memories of my mother flood back every time I hear her name. They also seem to catch me off guard when my Aunt Tina talks and walks because my mother was her replica only a bit darker.

Here we talk about pretty much the same things we already talked about before just with different people. How this person and that person are and everyone remarks on the in memoriam card on the table for the boy next store that was shot and stuffed in his trunk.

“Took them three weeks to find that boy and he was just out in his trunk. It’s a damn shame.”

As we talk, more people enter the house.

My cousin Maurice, then Booby awhile later. They are younger than the rest, around my age and they take the obligatory pictures with my Aunties and hide away in the kitchen.

Sharon gets there and it turns into a party. She is loud loud loud. You could not contain her voice in a room of 10 inches of thick steel. She is sweet, funny, and gorgeous. She is the dark dark dark compared to everyone else.

“You’re only getting to see the red side of your family tonight Nicole except for Sharon, there are more dark ones like her around though,” remarks Aunt Jean.

I want to tune out and sleep on the couch because exhaustion is quickly folding its arms around me, but the laughs are too big and heavy for me to sleep.

The conversation turns to a woman named Lois that I find out is Sharon’s sister.

“Ooh girl she done gone and got burned up!”

At first it sounds like it’s a humerous conversation the way people start laughing until Sharon explain that Lois was “out doing yard work with her boyfriend, drunk as a sailor he threw gas on her. She somehow forgot the gas was there, went back in the house to grab a cigarette and lit herself on fire! She tried to put herself out by rolling on the bed and her skin stuck to it.”

We are all horrified at the circumstances and about how fishy it sounds that she would have forgotten the gas was there.

“That girl’s got nine lives! She’s just like a cat! Remember when she got all shot up?”

“Oh yeah, what… and she was stabbed!”

“She sure is lucky, she better watch herself, she probably used up all her lives by now!”

They talk of her for a while and I am sad and horrified by the story. They seem to mostly be amused because it’s Lois and that’s how Lois is.

It turns to 1Opm and we decide to make our exit. It is late and I’m ready for bed.

“Well… before we head in we better drive over and visit Lois,” says Jean.

“I guess so,” says Linda even though I can hear her hesitation, and so Tommy drives us on around.

They begin to make speculations as to what really happened.

“Sounds like abuse to me, I bet he lit her on fire,” says Tommy as we’re driving there.

“Mmm… maybe.” Everyone really starts thinking about it and wondering why she’s still with him because maybe this is actually the case.

We arrive at Lois’s and she is puffing a cigarette on the front porch of her beaten down white washed house.

She is dark as the night is long, short and scrawny. She’s wearing jean overalls with a white t-shirt that barely covers the scars on her chest and her necks looks like it has almost melted off. Her mouth barely moves when she speaks and it’s hard to understand most words that leave her lips.

Lois’s hugs are hard and lasting. It’s as if she doesn’t want to let go of any person that meets them for fear they’ll never come back. I could definitely see not coming back here. Everything about the house is poor from the broken front door to the stacks of old papers on the table. It is smoky just like the other houses I’ve been to and the couches are ratty and mussed up with old stains.

It doesn’t matter though because Lois is laughing. She laughs hard with broken teeth and says she’s excited to see us. I get one out of about every five or six words, but I can’t miss that she is happy that family has come in.

“Ooh, how you doing?” says Tina.

“Well… I’m alive.”

“I know! I heard that your on your ninth life. It’s like you’re a cat!”

Lois nods, “mmm…hmm.”

“Well I was stabbed that time by that guy I lived with. Yup and he was angry because I wanted his money.”

“For what?”

“Oh, for crack.”

“Oh.” Everyone is shaking their heads because we already knew what she was gonna say but it’s still hard to hear.

“Well, what about that shooting we’ve heard about?

“Oh that? Well… you know I gots shot here and here and here and here and some other places too.” She is pointing to all areas of her body. I can’t really keep track of the spots, but I know that she should be dead.

“It was the crack that saved me, kept my body going. Kept my adrenaline up.”

Of course we all know, if not for the crack she wouldn’t even have been there.

“I got to the hospital and they thought they took them all out, but a month later I had to go back. Ooh, the pain in my back, ooh it hurt and they found another piece of bullet. “

“Mmm…mmm. I wouldn’t be alive if that happened to me,” says Jean. “My skin is too soft for bullets, would have taken me down!”

“You know, I kept dancing and moving while I was being shot, didn’t even really notice they was in there till the ambulance got there and I had to lay down. Nine times I was shot. Nine times!” Lois is expressive. She dances around the room like she is reliving the experience, the high that she had.

“Well, we heard you went and got yourself burned too!”

“Oh yeah, last summer. You know me and Darryl was out doing the yard and stuff and gas got on me and poof! I was lighting a cigarette and I was on fire. Ooh, it hurt. I could smell my skins burnin’ and my flesh was soft and I felt like it was melting. Ooh, wee! I was in the hospital for awhile and got out. Now I gotta take all these pills for all of the pain.”

She goes and grabs all of her pills for us to see, different pain killers and sedatives. She says she’s been on the Oxycodone for a few months now and might need it for eternity.

We stare at the pills like pills are something new.

“Have you learned anything yet?” Says Linda. “Don’t you think God is telling you something?”

“Oh yeah, well… he might be. Yeah, I might go to Church one of these days.”

“Why, haven’t you gone yet?

“Well I haven’t found the right one!”

“Have you gone to any?”

“Not yet, noooo, not yet.”

When 11:30 comes we decide to call it a night. We have listened to her stories and told her some of ours but we are beat and she looks it too. The goodbyes are long hugs and “see you soons,” though it seems there is no though of returning again on this trip.

Tommy’s old Caddy gets it’s money’s worth with us and we get back in and head back to Jean’s apartment. Home sweet home.

Another last gulp of fresh air and it’s time for bed.

St. Louis Day 1: Meet the family

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Peoples) — Mon, 14 Jan 2013 20:50:00 +0000

I’m not sure what to expect as I deboard Southwest flight 408 from Seattle to St. Louis. This is the first time I will be spending a significant amount of time with my family, living with them, learning about them, listening to them. My stomach is grumbling, perhaps with hunger but also excitement.

My Aunt Tina meets me at baggage claim and looks just like my mom from her hair and clothes down to her voice and the way she walks, just lighter skinned and older.

I am happy to see her, but this is a family that keeps a cool exterior when they see each other and so we hug, smile and say, “It’s so good to see you,” instead of

the usual squeal of “OMG I haven’t seen you in so long” that comes from other people. Everything seems subdued here. Things are slower, people are slower.

I get to the car where my Aunt Jean is waiting with her good friend Harry. He is a tenant in the building she lives in and driving her around because she doesn’t have a car. He is dark man with a large smile and gold capped teeth.

Harry pulls away my bags and shoves my oversized red luggage in the trunk of his black oldsmobile and my guitar in between myself and Aunt Tina in the back and begin my journey with my new found family.

“How you?” They ask.

“Oh good, just tired.”

“Mmm…hmmm, that’s what a plane ride will do to you.”

They talk amongst themselves for quite awhile, while I barely understand most of the words passing between them with their slight southern drawls.

When they laugh I laugh so it doesn’t look like I’m missing their jokes.

“So what? You play the blues on that there guitar?”

“I don’t, but I’ll learn it for you,” I said.

“Mmm…hmmm that’s right.” There is more laughter and smaking of lips.

I want to talk but can’t because the landscape is new and my eyes need to know it more than my mouth needs to speak. Everything is grey and cold because it is grey and cold at about twenty degrees. The city is painted white, gray, and peach and doesn’t stand out much with no hills to break the distance apart. I can’t tell the direction we’re travelling, so I just let it go and keep staring.

The deeper we drive into St. Louis the more dilapidated the buildings get. Many are boarded up and tagged over. Some are torn or burned down to the ground. I keep my silence and don’t ask where we are going, if it’s safe or warm. I just wait and watch buildings and houses fly by.

A large cemetery meets my view and I follow its curves around corners and mention its enormity to my family. At the end is Normandy High, which looks like it can hold around 4000 students. It’s filled with nice large brick buildings and a full basketball court.

“Aww, it’s just sad. From the high school to the graveyard that’s where they go,” said Harry.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Aunt Linda licks her lips and smacks her gums.

They pass by the conversation like it’s an everyday one while my heart sits heavy at the thought of kids dying for no reason. It’s the truth though and I need to hear it and remind myself that I’m lucky to live in Seattle where the nearest high school breeds a collection of astute, well read, intelligent students. Here the students succumb to the city, to the gangs, to the life. I suppose I should say here that these are young black kids, because this is part of the inner city of St. Louis.

We drive on and away from the cemetery, the high school, and the sadness. There are still more run-down houses lined by cars with broken windows and plastic sheeting to shelter their insides from the cold.

“I’m right off of Skinker, not too far now,” Jean says.

So I keep an eye out for Skinker, which I can’t help but think is a horrible name and my fifteen year-old self keeps saying stinker and shrinker.

After a right onto Skinker, my eyes dart from house to apartment complex to house. Some are boarded up still on this street, but most look okay. There are deep brown apartments with dark chocolate awnings and I pray to God that we are not staying there because I’m sure it has roaches. We turn off of Skinker onto the street where those apartments are and pull into the parking lot of Alpha Terrace, the complex right next door.

Relief sweeps over me. These ones look clean, comfortable, and well lit. From the car I can see security at the door and gated parking. Once we unload the bags we enter the building to what is actually a front desk run by residents of the community, a senior citizens community. Roaming the halls and lounging in the group hall are older citizens of the community, cheerful and sitting playing cards or pool.

There are introductions at the front as we sign in as guests.

“Oh, this is my sister and my niece,” like she’s showing us off to these people.

They smile and nod, but not much more.

We take an elevator up one floor to the real first floor and step off to see long dark blue-carpeted hallways with long streaks of oil and dirt. A short walk down the hall reveals to me little cards with the day of the week attached to every door.

“Oh, that’s so we know the residents are still with us. We check to see if they’ve changed the day to the current one, if not, we check in on ‘em.”

Apartment 109 is hers and I can smell the smoke before we enter.

I should have known, I think as we enter the apartment.

I gasp for one last breath of fresh air before we enter, though I realize it’s not going to hold me for longer than it’s gonna take me to step over the threshold.

The apartment is filled with smoke and white walls. There is very little art but there is a cascade of plants near the one large window out onto the street.

Her furniture is made of the same old grainy plywood I always see in all of the black houses I go to.

There is a deep strong smoky smell that I fear is going to sting my lungs and immediately lodge a cold into them. My thoughts return to my younger days when my mom used smoking as a punishment. If I was a difficult child for any reason she would take to smoking in the middle of the living room where the smoke wouldn’t filter and would creep under the door to my room. I hated her for it sometimes and would choke, cough, and sneeze from the fumes.

I was a sick child. Sick all of the time.

Tired barely describes the feeling of my body heavy and burdened by a long morning of traveling and soon I curl up on her velvet pink couch and suffer through dreams interrupted by screams from the TV and my Aunties reminiscing back and forth.

We are waiting for Linda to arrive. She is the last remaining sister. These are the three children left of seven siblings, Tina, Charles – also called Buddy, Carolyn, Shirley – also called Jean, Eddie Jr., Bruce, and Linda, the others have all passed, most recently Uncle Bruce. He is the real reason for this trip, the catalyst for everyone to stop saying they’re going to come visit and actually do it.

I have been saying that I was gonna fly in for the last four years ever since my mom passed away, but each year something came up or money would be tight and it was never the right time.

Aunt Tina called a few days before Christmas and said, “Nicole, I’m sorry to tell you, but your Uncle Bruce passed away.” My immediate reaction was nothing. I had no feeling toward it because I had never met him. I had seen one picture and heard a couple of stories, but never knew more, but was sad for her, sad that she lost yet another sibling. They were now down to three.

This is why she called, because not only had he passed, but they were gonna have a family get together before anymore of them went “underground.”

There seemed no better time to go and with my flexible work schedule and extra Southwest miles I bought my ticket the next day.

Aunt Linda arrived late, about three hours late, which means those dreams of mine lasted an extra few longer than I expected.

When she arrived, her face was just as I remembered, high forehead with milk chocolate skin, and long silky straight black hair. She is the only one with a thin frame out of the four of us. Behind her walks in her husband Tommy, dark as night with a sweet smile.

There are hugs and kisses and “I can’t believe it’s you! It’s been too long, let’s not let it be this long again!”

We sit and talk and decide where the night will take us because it’s already getting late and we are all a little hungry.

We pile into Tommy’s ’98 black Cadillac and head across town to Sam’s Club, then Walmart where I throw in a basket the best looking fruits you can possibly find at a Walmart to tide me over for a couple of days, and then we decide to dine at Applebees.

The food is surprisingly good and we all reminisce on all the little details about not seeing each other and how we all look a like, but we certainly don’t look our ages.

Tina is the eldest, Jean is in the middle of the seven, and Linda is the youngest spanning ten years with Tina at 65.

“I’m 45!” Shouts Jean.

“Guuuuurl, no you not,” says Linda.

“Yes, I am and I will be till the day I am under this ground!”

The sisters all nod and let her be 45 if that’s what she wants.

We eat fast a quietly like we are starving children led to a feast. When we are done we decide tomorrow’s plans, pile back into the car and drive back to Etzel Ave. to get ready for family the next day.

I blow up my mattress in the tiny living room and inhale the musty fumes of old Vendetta 9mm’s and drift off, excited to meet the rest of the family come tomorrow.

Holes

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Peoples) — Sat, 25 Sep 2010 02:19:00 +0000

Dear A,
When I first met you, I told you a story about myself that was a lie. I lied to you because I thought it would make you like me better than C. I think that it did, but still I feel guilty for wanting you to be my friend and not hers. I thought that if you just pitied me more than you pitied her then we would be better friends. That was 1998, in the dorms at UPS. I e-mailed you a story about my not life, about the not life that was harder than it ever actually was. No doubt things had happened to me, but what I wrote to you was something that never happened and I secretly wished had because I wanted the anger I would be allowed to have if it had.

Instead I was just a melancholy eighteen year old with nothing to show for it but a black wardrobe to hide my rotund body and the cuts on my arms. Those were real, those were not lies, but all the rest was.

What I'm trying to say is that what I did to you two years ago is inexcusable. I know A that it seems like these two things are unrelated, but in truth they are part of the same folly. They are part of the same story, the story where I say something or do something to get attention even if it is the wrong kind

When I went out to the car with him all I meant to do was get another drink. That's all I meant to do, I swear it. I would never have done anything to intentionally hurt you because you were my best friend, the one I called out too, cried to, wrote shitty poetry for, and most of all loved more than I loved any other friend. When I went to the car with him, I thought yeah... maybe I'll smoke some more too and talk a little. I know it's not okay to blame things on the tequila and weed, but you've done stupid things on tequila and weed too right?

We talked about drumming when we went out to the car and I sang him the first song I had ever written by myself. I was so proud to have my first song, the one that was all mine and meant that maybe I was better than some stupid 9-5 job. I sang him the song not because I wanted him to hear it because I would rather have sung it to you, but because I needed to get it out of my soul because it replayed itself over and over again in there and it needed to be let out.

As I sang, his hands beat the steering wheel and the dash then the windows making my song come to life with the beat of his makeshift drum kit. I was delirious with joy because it was like he understood me for a second and that's all I wanted. When the music was done he said, "I want to sleep with you, you're so sexy." A, I knew that I couldn't do that because I would never do that to you, and so I shook my head and said instead, "I won't, but I'll kiss you." God, this all sounds like an excuse and I'm sure at the end it will still sound like one and I can't take it back though that's the one thing I wish that I could do.

After it happened I realized it was wrong and that I couldn't take what had happened back, swore with him that we would never say a word, took another swig of tequila and headed back into the club. "What took you so long?" you said. I felt that you already knew, did you?

I introduced you to someone to distract you, a guy I was seeing at the time. I thought if you saw me kiss him that you would forget your worry and doubts. I kissed him though I didn't want to. Laid it on really thick for you to make it look like there was more than there was and instill doubt in your suspicions.
You smiled at me as we all danced, this is the last time I would see your smile except for in pictures I would look at later to remind me we had been friends. The dance floor was dying and my date had to leave and for his departure I was glad. I met someone else to fill his shoes, someone else in the bar to buy me a drink and tell me I'm pretty. I know that's all I really wanted but I shouldn't have taken it from "him" because he was yours, he still is yours.

I took the guy from the bar home that night. It wasn't the first time I had done that, nor would it be the last, though it was closer to the ending. It was close to the ending because it wasn't long after in the silence that came that I realized how selfish I had been, how selfish to kiss him because of how lonely I thought my heart felt. I didn't understand until the silence that you were more important than any other person in my life. As the silence grew, a hole deeper and wider and more menacing than any I had seen, made its home in my heart. It made itself quite comfortable there and I tried to stitch it up, cover it, fill it in, but nothing seemed to.

I thought that the silence would end, but it never did. The hole has closed up a little, but it's still there and it still consumes things when it is hungry for its fill. I miss you and I'm sorry for how selfish I was and for how selfish I probably still am. I'm sorry that I hurt you like I did and wish I never had because you didn't deserve that, especially not from me.
I've tried getting you back for years now, but it is a futile pursuit. All I can say now is that I miss you, love you, and hope the best for your life. Please know, I never meant to hurt you.

Yours,
Nicole